The Standing Dead sdotc-2

by Ricardo Pinto

  When Osidian broke the surface, his face was white. He clambered out, dripping, and Carnelian got up and welcomed him into the blanket, wrapping it round him, kissing his reddened scalp.

  Osidian embraced him hard through the blanket. 'Surely you don't imagine I'm prepared to suffer all this alone?'

  Carnelian melted into the comfort of his arms, his Vulgate, his boyish smile. He shivered with delight as he allowed Osidian to shave him. His black hair fell around him onto the rock as Osidian's arms crossed and recrossed his line of sight. Carnelian had plenty of time to decide he liked the new honeyed tones of Osidian's skin.

  When it was done, Osidian stood up and with mock imperiousness pointed at the pool. 'In there.'

  Carnelian did as he was told, disrobing and leaping into the pool before Osidian could push him. He gasped as the iciness engulfed him. But then Osidian was there beside him and the smallness of the pool forced their bodies close. The touching of their skin led to passion. Lust took Carnelian by surprise. Its heat was almost violence. The release when it came left them both gasping. They enjoyed each other again, at first fiercely but then with increasing tenderness until they were left with hardly enough energy to creep into the blanket. They huddled together, getting warm. They grew quiet as a melancholy settled over the glade. The water rushed and foamed. The goose-pimples stood out on their skin as they used its sound to send shivers up and down their backs; ripple upon ripple sheathing them in the ecstasy that was the Chosen sacrament of the feeling from the sound of rain.

  Carnelian felt tension returning to Osidian's body. He needed to talk to him before he retreated back into remoteness. He forced Osidian to turn his head and held it while he looked deep into his eyes.

  'We've enough here for happiness.'

  Osidian tried to shake his head from side to side.

  'Let Osrakum go,' Carnelian pleaded. 'Let it all go. Only when you do will your heart begin to heal.'

  Tears welled into Osidian's eyes and with them, anger. Carnelian was thrown away as Osidian surged to his feet, glaring.

  'I will not let it go,' he bellowed in Quya.

  He threw his head back and let the madness brighten in his eyes.

  'I shall return to where I belong. I shall bring down vengeance on my enemies.' He bent to pick up his robe and threw it on.

  Shocked, Carnelian rose to face him.

  Osidian's eyes were haunted fire. 'You can come with me or remain behind with the savages if that is your desire.'

  Naked to his heart, Carnelian shrugged. He stooped to pick up his robe and put it on, fighting back tears that came from the rage of defeat. He wound his uba round his head. He punched the blanket back into the pack. Saw Osidian waiting for his answer, shrugged again, turned away and, careless of the boulders, strode up the slope.

  They climbed into the heights in angry silence. Carnelian maintained a furious pace until all he could hear was his own harsh breathing. The sun was setting the mountains aflame when they agreed to stop for the night. Carnelian gathered branches with which he made a fire. They sat with the flames between them, nibbling djada. As darkness brought with it bitter cold, the flames dwindled and there was no more fuel. Eventually they were driven into huddling together. Neither said anything. Pride would not allow Carnelian to speak first. Osidian's warm body awakened passion which Carnelian smothered with sleep.

  The sky woke them with its flawless blue. Carnelian sat up and saw the sun had not yet risen above the mountains. He longed for its heat.

  'Shall we go up or down?' Osidian asked.

  Carnelian was sure if they climbed higher another night would kill them, but what was there to return to? Besides, he was not going to admit any fear to Osidian and so he shrugged.

  Osidian's face turned to stone. Then we shall climb.'

  Carnelian was thankful the effort of the ascent put life back into his aching limbs. When the first sun-rays fell on him, Carnelian called for a halt. Both basked like lizards on the rocks while they chewed djada. Then Osidian led them, climbing ever higher until the valley below had become merely a green wedge and the rest of the world spread turquoise and umber into the endless distance.

  They made sure to gather enough wood to keep the fire going well into the night. Still, when he woke the next morning, Carnelian's body was ice and it was with difficulty he managed to move at all. He searched for signs of the Tribe but the land below was still in twilight and he could see nothing moving save for an eagle curving its flight.

  Osidian asked him the same question he had asked the day before and, again, though it cost him, Carnelian gave another shrug. So it was they climbed even higher until Carnelian was rasping breath, the path welling in his vision. They had to stop often to get their breath back; to slow the hammering of their hearts.

  One time Carnelian caught Osidian looking longingly down to the valley, but when he saw he was being observed, Osidian forced them on. That night neither of them could keep anything in their stomachs. They sipped the little water they could find. Even supposing they had had the strength to gather firewood, they had climbed above the trees and there was none to be had. Under a frost of stars, they clung to each other all night and hardly slept.

  In the morning Carnelian could not move. He lay squinting at the sky feeling strangely elated, until a ray of sunlight found his face and woke thought in him.

  'Sky-sickness,' he croaked. He knew it, having suffered from it on his first, over-rapid ascent of the Pillar of Heaven in Osrakum.

  He marshalled his strength and, at last, groaning, managed to roll over. He stared for a long time at the deathly face peering from the blanket before he remembered who it was. Grief came like lightning. Carnelian fell onto Osidian and managed to scrape away the cloth so that his lips found the icy neck beneath. A pounding in his head made him blind. His lips could feel only the merest tremor of life in Osidian's body. Carnelian rolled back and saw nothing but blue. Osidian had not regained his former strength. It would be so easy to fall asleep, to die. Osidian would die with him and the Tribe would finally be rid of them both.

  Carnelian made one last effort and turned his head. He saw Osidian's livid scar. The red mark of the rope. That colour made him dream his life again. Every scene was there. He wept for all the suffering but no tears came. He could not move his head and so was forced to watch Osidian die. Carnelian had taken his life from him once, he could not bear to do it again. He tried to sit up. He panicked when he found he had turned to stone. Anger swelled in him until he could hear it roaring in his ears. He pushed and pushed and forced himself to sit up. He shook back and forth, rocking, groaning with each folding of his belly until he felt life returning. Then he concentrated on Osidian; reaching under the blanket to rub his chest, his back, his arms, his legs until, slowly, he brought Osidian back from death.

  They stumbled down towards the valley a few steps at a time, each half carrying the other. Reaching the first trees before nightfall, they collected twigs with trembling fingers. Carnelian almost cried when after much fumbling with their fire-drill he was unable to produce a single spark. Osidian tried. A spark lit hope and they fed this until there was a flame and then a fire.

  That night was milder and, with the morning, they found enough strength to continue the descent. The sun was still low when Carnelian saw smoke rising.

  'We'll be home soon,' he said, pointing.

  Osidian did not turn to look at him but only gave a nod.

  Drums were beating like hearts when Carnelian awoke. The air was warm and fragrant. Branches slipped the blue of the sky between their leaves. He made an effort to sit up and saw he was safe in the heart of the Tribe. He could see children winding a dance through a commotion of preparation. Their young joy gladdened him.

  'Carnie,' a little voice cried, and before he knew it, Poppy had flung herself at him. He hugged her hard, kissed the nape of her neck and muttered: 'I'm glad to see you too.'

  She pulled away from him and stared. 'You're better now?'
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  Carnelian was going to ask her what she meant, but then remembered and turned to look round to where the mountains rose purple to the clear sky. It came as a shock when he realized he could not remember reaching the camp.

  Poppy saw his puzzlement. 'We spotted you wandering dazed with the Master.' 'We?'

  'Fern, Sil, many others.' 'How long have I lain…?' Two days,' she said. 'And the Master?' 'Ravan is tending him.'

  Carnelian's attention was drawn to the rhythm of the drums. 'What's happening?'

  The Tribe are getting ready for the gatherings.' 'Gatherings?'

  'All the tribes are up here in the mountains.'

  Carnelian started. 'Coming here.'

  Poppy calmed him with a shake of her head. 'It's not our turn. We're sending people to other valleys.'

  He reached out and took her hand. 'Have you been -looking after me?'

  Poppy grew fierce. 'Fern wanted to but I wouldn't let him.'

  He laughed and kissed her again, then threw back the blankets.

  'Are you sure you're strong enough, Carnie?'

  'Let's see,' he said and, rising, found he felt weak, but otherwise well enough. Poppy looked unconvinced as she brought him his robe and helped him wind on his uba.

  'Are you going to see the Master?'

  Carnelian felt he should but did not really want to. 'You said Ravan is looking after him?'

  Poppy nodded. 'He and the other from my… from the Twostone.'

  'Krow.'

  She gave a nod.

  'Well, in that case, I think it better we should let him rest. Shall we go and see what's going on?'

  Poppy beamed and grabbed his hand.

  As they walked together, the excitement of the drums transferred itself to their hearts. Soon they were among the women who were singing as they worked. They watched them grind red earth in the hollows of saurian shoulder-blades. One girl poured the resulting powder into a jar which another was stirring. It looked like blood. Carnelian could see other jars holding the rich pigment and wondered what it was for.

  'You're up,' a voice cried, and Carnelian saw it was Fern bounding towards him. He looked closely at Carnelian.

  'You seem well enough.'

  ‘I don't think he is,' Poppy piped up.

  Fern gave her a look of concern. 'Do you think he should rest longer?'

  Carnelian interrupted Poppy's reply. 'Would you like to be alone to discuss me?'

  They all grinned. He made sure to hold each of their gazes. 'I'm fine. Really.'

  He laughed when he saw Poppy and Fern exchange glances. 'Now will someone please tell me what's going on here?'

  'What happened up there?' asked Fern.

  Carnelian saw by the serious way they were both looking at him that he would have to give them some kind of answer. 'We got lost.'

  Fern frowned. Poppy glanced up at him and then she frowned too.

  For a moment, Carnelian was overwhelmed by the love he felt for them both. The easy flow of his feelings for Fern surprised him. With a shock, Carnelian realized he felt free of Osidian. He no longer felt that Osidian's darkness was a burden he had to share. Sadness at the love they had lost threatened to overwhelm him.

  Poppy and Fern were watching him. Carnelian took his friend's arm and pointed. 'What're they doing there?'

  Fern looked uncertain. Poppy shook her head, then shrugged. 'They're making ochre, Carnie.'

  'For the women?'

  'For everyone that's going,' said Fern. The gatherings are held under the protection of the Mother.'

  He pointed to a pole set upright in the ground from which there hung a flag woven from scarlet feathers. 'A trucestaff inviting us to the valley of the Smallochre.'

  'A kin tribe?' asked Carnelian.

  Fern shook his head. 'One of those neighbouring the Koppie. All our neighbours will be there: the Woading, the Tallgreen, the Darkcloud, the Bluedancing.'

  The Bluedancing?'

  The trucestaff will ensure there'll be no trouble.'

  Carnelian gave Poppy his hand and then put his other arm about Fern's shoulders. 'Come on, give me a tour.'

  They watched mud gouged from the bank of the stream being piled upon a sled. They helped some boys drag it back to where the women threw handfuls of it into leather bowls. Fires were burning smokily where cubes of fat were being melted into oil. One bowl, brimming over, was lifted with a pole by two men. Children were scolded out of the way as it was carried to where women were kneading mud into balls. The women punched depressions into the balls into which the oil was carefully poured. They watched it cool. When it was just beginning to set, they began to fold the edges of the depression into it and then resumed their kneading.

  Mud balls that were ready were rolled in ochre earths. The red dough produced was being worked into men's hair, which was then lifted up and moulded into crests. Several women worked on each, helped and pestered by children, using their palms to shape and smooth them up until each man had a curving fluted crest like a bellower's rising from his head.

  Next the ochre dyes were brought. With these, patterns of concentric circles were painted on their skins using flexible lengths of cartilage or dabbed on with fingers. The men grinned and the women laughed and scolded them as they tried to evade the tickle of the painting.

  A little further on, under an awning, Fern showed Carnelian the women that were to go on the embassy. Akaisha was there, grimacing as Whin worked wax and fat into her hair.

  'Is he all right?' she asked Poppy.

  Carnelian tapped his chest grinning. 'I'm here, my mother.'

  She grinned. 'I know you are, dear.' She looked at her son. 'You should be getting ready, Fern.'

  Fern looked embarrassed, but proud. 'I'm going too.'

  'It's a great honour,' said Whin, pleased for him.

  They hung around just long enough to watch as a cone of basket-weave was placed on Akaisha's head, around which her salt-beaded hair was wrapped to make a glossy horn. Whin gave them a nod as they took leave of her.

  In the stream, aquar were being scoured clean. On the bank, others were having their hides layered with fine mud. On this smooth ground rings and spiral designs were being daubed. Feather-wreaths were being clasped around their necks. Their saddle-chairs were being prepared with bright standards and banners of tattered, scarlet saurian-leather.

  Fern took Carnelian's shoulders. 'I really should go and get ready. Are you sure you're fine?'

  'Yes, now get going.'

  They grinned at each other and then Fern moved off into the crowd. Carnelian allowed Poppy to draw him into the children's dances and their games. Still not wholly recovered from the sky-sickness, he grew quickly weary and, seeing this, Poppy led him away from the hubbub. It was a sense of duty that made him ask her to take him to see the Master.

  Osidian had chosen an acacia away from the Tribe under which to make his camp. As Carnelian and Poppy approached, two shrouded figures came out to meet them.

  'He will not see you, Master,' said one, who turned out to be Krow.

  Carnelian looked beyond him but could see nothing in the brooding shadow beneath the tree.

  'He mentioned me specifically?'

  'Yes, you,' said the other figure, Ravan. He drew his uba from his face, revealing a sneer.

  Carnelian considered his next words carefully. 'You should take care, Ravan; his feelings for you might not be what you believe them to be.'

  Ravan smiled unpleasantly. 'You're just bitter you've lost him to me.'

  The youth was distracted by the hubbub floating towards them on the breeze. His eyes, gazing off at the Tribe, were filled with longing.

  'Why don't you all come and see what's happening?' offered Poppy, brightly.

  Ravan gave her a filthy look, turned on his heel and strode back to the acacia. Ducking an apologetic smile, Krow followed him. As Carnelian walked away he was haunted by a feeling that he should have left Osidian on the mountain to die.

  Carnelian stood among the
Tribe watching the emissaries set off. Around him bull-roarers were producing a slow, undulating moan. Bone struck on bone: stone on stone. Everyone was jigging up and down in an oceanic surge. Through their midst, with barbaric pomp, rode the embassy of the Tribe, the truce staff carried before them. He saw Fern beside Akaisha and waved. Harth was there with Crowrane and Loskai. Carnelian spotted Ginkga, Galewing, Kyte. The Elders' saddle-chairs were the gaudiest; hung with feathers, tinkling trinkets, pieces of stolen brass that caught the light like mirrors. These wizened men and women with nodding crests, hung with their jewellery of salt, sat enthroned in their saddle-chairs, to the backs of which had been lashed feather-pennoned poles. Behind them came the riot of their warrior escort, dark skins agleam with sweat and vermilion designs.

  When Sil announced she was going to gather herbs in the foothills, Poppy asked if she and Carnelian might go with her. Sil and Carnelian glanced at each other, embarrassed.

  'I don't-' Carnelian began, but was interrupted by Whin.

  'You should go, Carnie. Poppy will enjoy it and, though there's unlikely to be any danger, I would feel happier if my daughter had an escort that I trust.'

  Carnelian and Sil both stared at Whin, surprised by her endorsement. The rest of the hearth reacted as if the matter had been decided and helped bundle them off, so that soon, Sil and Carnelian with Poppy on his lap were riding towards a far edge of the valley.

  At first Carnelian and Sil could think of nothing to say to each other. It was Poppy who decided she and Sil should teach Carnelian songs. At first reluctant, Carnelian began to enjoy himself, even their teasing of his accent. They found a rash of berries the birds had overlooked and dismounted to pick them, putting as many in their mouths as in the baskets. When Sil caught her robe on some thorns, Carnelian helped her loose. They watched Poppy plucking berries, her mouth stained with their juice.

  'She's a lovely girl,' said Sil.

  Her eyes met Carnelian's and they saw each other's grief at what they were to lose to the tithe.

  'You know Fern loves you?' Sil said, quietly.

  Carnelian looked into her eyes again and nodded. 'I love him too.'

  She smiled a little and looked at her berry-red fingers.