'Let us go and inform the barbarians of the good news.'
'How can you possibly know where we are when we do not know ourselves?' asked Loskai.
Osidian smiled coldly. 'I know many things you do not.'
Fern grimaced as he saw Krow and others nodding. 'With respect, Master, you've never been here before.'
'Nevertheless, barbarian, I know the direction in which the koppie of the Twostone lies.'
Loskai scowled at the fire. This is ridiculous,' he grumbled in the Ochre tongue.
Ravan turned his glare from Carnelian to Loskai. The Master did find a way across the swamp.'
Loskai scowled, his mouth opening to say something. He closed it, shook his head and turned back to the flames.
Ravan allowed himself a tiny smile of triumph and then made it his business to interpret for the others. Carnelian could see how eagerly they listened. Fern sunk his head in thought. When he next looked up he could not be blind to the hope shining from the face of every youth. He fixed Osidian with doleful eyes.
'It seems that again we are to follow you, Master.'
Enough rain fell during the night to wash the world away. The struggle to keep the fire going was quickly lost and, with it, any pretence they had of being protected from raveners. Shivering, Carnelian huddled with the Plainsmen, his nostrils filled with the reek of wet charcoal, water running down his back. Through the downpour the cries of monsters kept making him lift his head to search the blackness, imagining their shapes coalescing, lumbering towards them with malicious gluttony in their eyes.
When first light came they were cheated of far sight by a vapour rising from the earth. It was Osidian who made them set off. They grumbled, but were soon glad of the movement for it drove the chill from their bodies.
Ravan and Krow at his side, Osidian led them into the south-east where the sun peered at them blindly through the drifting mist. They swam through ferns laden with dew. Each swishing frond lashed water over them until the angles of elbows and knees could be seen pushing through the sodden cling of their robes and cloaks. They came into a region where the spiral heads of the ferns swung menacingly above their heads. Roots tangled their feet. Their curses sounded as if they were being uttered in the confines of a room.
When Carnelian saw shapes looming out of the mist, hovering above him as large as houses, his pace faltered and he leaned back to stare. The trees looked like the watch-towers of the Guarded Land.
Someone collided with him. It was Fern. They both gazed up at one immense candelabrum of branches.
'A cone tree,' said Fern and took Carnelian by the shoulder. 'Let's not lag behind.'
'Isn't this blindness dangerous?' Carnelian asked as they pushed through the wet thrash of more ferns.
'The sun will soon burn this mist away,' Fern said. His words were hurried, tense, and Carnelian could see the way the Plainsman's eyes were peering over his shoulder searching for danger.
A rumbling in the ground froze the Plainsmen in a staring panic. Shocked, Carnelian felt each tremor in his bones and saw the way everyone was searching the mist in all directions. It seemed to be ships that came hoving into view. He fell back gaping at these saurian leviathans. Cries. Confusion. He was grabbed and yanked around. He stumbled, regained his balance, then was fleeing with the others. A root snared his foot. He fell. The shaking of the ground entered him through his palms and knees. Leaping up, he was coursing after the human cries. A cone tree solidified suddenly before him. Around its trunk Fern was marshalling the Plainsmen. Unable to check his headlong speed, Carnelian careered into them. Hands pulled him closer to the tree.
He turned, feeling their elbows against his back, and stared out in the direction he had come. Where the mist was dissolving, a jade plain was revealed, teeming with saurians wading languidly through the ferns. Some were horned, some flecked or crested with scarlet. Rich golden hides baroqued with dusky reds like old wounds. Many, no bigger than aquar, ran in spurts, but others lumbered thunderously, their necks pushing their heads deep into the sky's blue.
At first Carnelian thought the Plainsmen were shrieking with terror, but glancing to either side he saw their faces were lit with joy. Bright passion gushed from them in ragged song, their eyes brimming with love as they gaped up at the monsters. Among them, Osidian seemed more interested in their reactions than in the saurians.
Carnelian reached over Krow to grab at Fern's shoulder. 'Aren't we in danger?' he cried.
His friend turned, blinking tears from his eyes, struggling to focus on something as tiny as Carnelian. He nodded but quickly turned back, unwilling to forgo the sight of the leviathans.
Carnelian dared to gaze out again. One of the monsters was approaching. Carnelian pushed back against the tree in terror. The reek the creature gave off became the only air there was to breathe. A leg as large as a crag lifted from the ground, hung impossibly in the air, then came down again, punching a tremor into the earth that rattled his teeth. The bows of the creature's chest forged closer, its hide keel rising up to a neck which was leaning a faraway head into the branch-nest of their tree. Carnelian felt the wood shudder as the monster fed.
Fern was laughing with the rest, tears of joy running down his cheeks. Trusting the people round him, Carnelian allowed his fear to abate and began to share in their wonder. His eyes were unable to measure the immensity of the being before him. He became convinced he could feel its massive heart beating the air.
There was a tugging on his shoulder. It was Fern looking sidelong at him.
'A heavener,' the Plainsman breathed. 'Connecting earth and sky. Sacred. I've never seen one so close.' He shook his head in disbelief as he looked back at it. 'Isn't she just the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?' Mesmerized, Carnelian could only nod.
The sun grew stifling hot, forcing Carnelian and Osidian to swathe their heads with their ubas for fear of their skin burning. A breeze stirred a swell in the fern meadows, spreading infinite ripples towards the horizon. Across their path there lay the dazzle of a lagoon. The vast blue dome of the sky was marred only by a teasing of cloud. The euphoria of their encounter with the heavener sustained them for a while. Carnelian shared in their laughter and delight but this mood withered as the sun rose ever higher. Flies plagued him. He grew too weary to consistently lift his feet over the snares of the root-ridged earth and he tripped often. His view of the fernland contracted down to his feet, to his burning throat until at last he caught Fern by the shoulder and demanded some water. Frowning, his friend passed him a skin.
'One mouthful only,' he growled huskily, and when Carnelian protested and pointed out, indignandy, the flashing water that lay in front of them, Fern narrowed his eyes and shook his head.
'We dare not approach open water. The herds cluster along their margins and where they are, raveners will be too. If we are to reach the Twostone alive, we must avoid taking such risks.'
Carnelian looked at him aghast as he lifted the skin, which was less than half full. 'Do you really believe there's enough here to see us through?'
'We'll find caches at which we may refill it.'
Carnelian pushed the waterskin back into Fern's hands and resumed his march through the ferns. However unjustly, he could not help being angry with his friend.
As they made a wide detour around the lagoon, its mirror trembled in the corner of their vision as a throbbing headache. Narrowing his eyes against its glare, Carnetian saw the creeping shimmer at its edge that spoke of the leviathans drinking there. Envy consumed him. Distracted, he caught his foot and crashed to the ground. Carnelian growled at the youths who rushed to help him up, rose by himself nursing another bruise, stumbled on, head bent, grumbling against the heat, the flies, the whole, accursed Earthsky.
As their shadows narrowed away from them, Fern called to Osidian that he thought it better they should make a camp for the night. When Osidian agreed, everyone flopped down. Groaning with relief, Carnelian lay back against the rough fern leaves, feeling the thick
stalks bend and snap under his weight. He lay with his eyes closed, listening to his breathing. As this grew more shallow he was able to hear the trilling, the snagging textures of insect flight, the gentle susurration of the breeze among the ferns and a delicate knock, knocking that made him open his eyes and see above him two curling crosier femheads butting against each other. Then he saw the sky's smooth fathomless blue depths and he smiled, contented.
When the Plainsmen began to stir he lifted himself on to one elbow, grunting as his bruises crushed and stretched. He saw how wearily the youths stood and, finding Fern still bent, grinned at him. His friend straightened, grimacing at the pain, and, catching each other's eyes, they both burst into laughter.
'Shall I hunt with you?' Carnelian asked him.
Fern shook his head. The Master wouldn't want us to starve, now would he?'
Carnelian ignited more laughter. Then the Master shall take it upon himself to gather dung to make a fire.'
'That would be kind of him,' said Fern with a grin. He gathered up some youths and they slipped in among the fern stalks, their spear blades the last part of them to vanish.
Carnelian felt Osidian's gaze and, turning, saw in his eyes a green anger. Carnelian felt as if Osidian were accusing him of something but was reluctant to imagine what. When Osidian's fingers strayed up to his rope scar it caused Carnelian to suffer an ache of guilt. He noticed Ravan watching them both with silent fascination. Carnelian turned his back, then chose Krow and a few others to go with him to gather dung.
Carnelian, Krow and the others flattened a clearing among the ferns and with their hands combed the dried matter in towards the centre upon which they built a dung fire. The hunters returned with a single, scrawny saurian.
'We'll just have to make do,' snapped Fern when one of the youths complained.
In the deepening dusk, weariness was turning to bad temper. As the heat of the day faded into a brooding night some quarrelling broke out among the youths, which Fern resolved with surprising patience. Even before they were finished eating, some of the youths had succumbed to sleep.
Each day was the same as the one before. Carnelian lost count of how many had passed since they had come up onto the Earthsky. The success of their evening hunts diminished with their strength. They drank whenever they found a brackish pool trapped between some roots or nestling in the crevice of a tree. Carnelian grew accustomed to his thirst sweetening even the filthiest water. His muscles hardened like drying fruit while weariness seemed to be softening his bones. The faces around him became cadaverous. With the others, he lost the will to speech so that the groans, the mumbling complaints, became the only human sounds he heard.
Each morning Osidian, Ravan and Krow would lead the way and, grumbling, everyone would stumble after them. Carnelian knew well with what growing resentment they followed Osidian because he felt it himself.
'How long shall we have to follow the Master before we accept that he leads us to our deaths?' said Loskai.
Night after night Loskai's complaints had become bolder, but this time there was a rebellious edge to his voice that made Carnelian sit up. All eyes were on Osidian, who sat as he always did, a marble idol, his sight tangled in the brilliance of the fire.
Loskai leapt to his feet and indicated Osidian with his head. 'Can't you see he's already a ravener?' he said in Ochre. 'When we can go no further, who will find us? Who will give us to the sky?'
When Osidian lifted his head to look at Loskai, the Plainsman grew pale. 'What're you babbling about?'
Loskai stared at him slack-mouthed.
Osidian smiled coldly. 'Do you want to lead, barbarian? Well then, I give them to you.' His gaze returned to the fire.
Loskai looked round for support.
Ravan leapt to his feet. 'I'll follow none but the Master.'
Krow joined him.
Fern frowned. 'Would you deny, Loskai, that the Backbone runs unbroken the length of the Earthsky?'
The Plainsman looked blank. Fern sighed. 'Going east we'll come across it eventually.'
'Eventually?' said Loskai snatching at the word as if it might bring him victory.
'If you've a better plan, let's hear it,' Ravan said.
Loskai said nothing.
'Well then, sit down, before you end up sharing Ranegale's fate.'
Loskai's face hardened. Carnelian watched him glance sidelong at Osidian. For some moments the Plainsman stood trapped in the fascinated stares of the youths, before he seated himself clumsily, a murderous light in his eyes.
Carnelian's head bobbed with each step he took. His eyes could see nothing but the endless weave of fernroot across which he was struggling to pick his way. The sun beat down upon his back so that he was breathing the moisture of his own sweat. His whole skin itched. His scar had become so tender he had to keep pulling the uba off it. He was aware of the sour taste in his mouth, his gummed-up eyes, the weakness he had to overcome for each step.
When shouting broke out around him, he looked up blearily, expecting to see a ravener or some other monster wading towards them through the ferns. He could see nothing. He narrowed his eyes to allow himself to concentrate on the shouting. It was fading and had the vibration of running. He looked for and found the disturbance in the ferns that betrayed the youths running headlong. It was then he noticed a ridge of rock rising from the fernland like a tumbled wall. North and south it ran as far as the horizons.
'Praise the Mother,' said Fern near him, in a ragged voice.
Carnelian turned to see his friend fallen to his knees. Tears were glistening down his cheeks as he stared unblinking. Carnelian looked back at the ridge and understood what it was.
Clambering up onto the Backbone, Carnelian took delight in the views it gave into the blue distance, in the cooling breeze, but most of all, in the tearful joy of the Plainsmen.
Fern came scrambling over the rocks towards him. 'We've talked amongst ourselves and even Loskai's had to admit we're not much more than a day's walk from the Twostone.'
Fern gazed over to where Osidian was standing with Ravan and Krow. The Master's sorcery is powerful.'
Carnelian wondered if now Osidian would lose his hold over them. 'Shall we get there today?'
Fern shook his head. 'Night would overtake us if we tried. It'll be better if we make camp here and complete the last leg rested.'
They built their fire up among the smooth black rocks of the Backbone. The Plainsmen were transformed. They moved their thin limbs with vigour. They smiled and laughed. Even their hunting was more successful than it had been for days. The moon rising full and bright seemed an omen of salvation. All the talk was of the delights, the comforts they expected to enjoy the following day once they arrived at the koppie of the Twostone. It was only when they saw Krow, grimly silent, that a shadow passed over their hearts.
Fern sat himself beside the youth. 'I'll talk to your Elders myself. No one'll blame you for Cloud's death.'
Krow gave him a thin smile and Fern put his arm around his shoulders. Loskai was scowling.
'What about our tributaries?' asked Ravan.
'I warrant that we'll find they passed through more than forty days ago,' said Fern and there were grins and nods of agreement.
The Tribe will have given us up for lost,' said one youth.
Frowns all round, uneasy muttering.
That's why we'll not linger more than one night with the Twostone,' said Fern. They'll lend us aquar and, in no more than six days, we'll be home.'
Eyes brightened as the Plainsmen turned again to discussing the festivities the Twostone would be sure to throw to welcome them back from their adventures. Carnelian watched the youths' eyes widening as they realized for the first time that they were now not only just one short day from safety but, in addition, they would be returning as heroes.
'And what about us?' Carnelian asked Fern, quietly.
His friend looked at him, frowning. He angled his head to one side. 'I don't know,' he said at last.
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Carnelian thanked him for his honesty. He did not hear the words after that but only the happiness in their voices. Ravan's face was not as bright as the other youths'. Beside him, Osidian looked morose. Carnelian saw how, apart from Ravan, the other Plainsmen were paying Osidian no more attention than they would have a rock. Carnelian could not recall anyone having thanked Osidian for getting them there. After the long nightmare in the wilderness, the Plainsmen had returned to a world they knew. In that world it was the Standing Dead who were powerless.
RAVENER GRIN
And the Skyfather made birds That they might be everywhere his eyes
(Plainsman lore)
The plain lay under an immense blue weight of sky. A distant herd appeared to be foothills. Stands of scouring-rush, groves of ginkgos, a few vast spreading acacias were all that alleviated the blank horizon. Trudging along the spine of black rock, it took Carnelian a while to notice the mound rising green from the plain.
He fell back until he was walking beside Fern. That is the first hill I've seen since we came up into the Earthsky.'
'It certainly is a hill of sorts,' said Fern. 'Of what sort?'
Amusement raised the corners of the Plainsman's mouth. 'A tumbling of stones among trees.'
'It's a koppie isn't it, and the one we seek?'
Fern beamed. 'Yes, the koppie of the Twostone.'
Clearly, they were not the only ones that had seen it. Murmurs of excitement were passing among the youths, putting new strength into their legs.
Krow ran up grinning. They'll have been watching us for ages and no doubt will soon ride out to see who we are.'
Some of the youths broke into song. One cracked a joke that made his companions fall about laughing. For a moment their gaiety lifted Carnelian's foreboding, but then his stomach began churning as he imagined the reception the Twostone were likely to give him and Osidian.
Fern led them down from the Backbone, making directly for the koppie. This island in a fern sea made Carnelian remember the stories Ebeny had told of the hills on which her people lived. If these koppies were not as grand as his childish imaginings had made them, neither were they the paltry things his Masterly cynicism had later reduced them to.
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