The Standing Dead sdotc-2

by Ricardo Pinto

  The sartlar woman greeted his comment with silence. Her fellow creatures shifted like aquar behind her.

  'I hoped the other Master might have made arrangements with you. ..' He bit his lip, not understanding his discomfiture.

  The woman struck her forehead off the floor with a crack that made Carnelian wince.

  'As the Master commands, so shall it be done.'

  Carnelian stood for some moments more before, following Fern, they quit that place; almost running, so desperate were they to cleanse their lungs with bright, fresh air.

  The disgust produced among the Plainsmen by the sartlar as they poured up from the netting avoided any questions about the caves. Seeing the creatures huddling in a herd, Carnelian began to wonder if they would be any use in repairing the Ladder. The sartlar he had spoken to before stood, head hanging, close enough he could smell her rank odour.

  'Do you know what to do?' he asked her.

  'What the Master commands,' she answered without lifting her head.

  Then I say that you and the rest of your kind must repair the Ladder.'

  'As you command, Master.'

  Her submissiveness irritated him: the Plainsmen looking on turned this feeling to anger.

  'How am I supposed to…?' His voice tailed off.

  'You're the Master,' the sartlar muttered.

  As he walked along the chasm edge, everyone followed him. Peering over, he saw the broken Ladder. At that distance it was just a nest of rope.

  'I'll have to go down there myself,' he said.

  Krow stood forward. 'I'll go, Master.'

  Carnelian smiled at the youth's eagerness. Thank you, Krow, but I need to see the damage for myself.'

  As Krow's face fell, Fern spoke up. 'Carnie, you should let him go. He'll be able to tell you what he sees.'

  Carnelian was warmed by what he saw in Fern's eyes. His friend fixed him with an intense look. 'If you should die?'

  Carnelian understood Fern's fear. If anything should happen to him, how could the Master be thwarted?

  'A Master can't die,' said a husky voice.

  Carnelian saw the sartlar woman had crept up beside them. He gazed at her, wondering what she meant. He supposed that, to a sartlar, the Masters might well appear to be immortal.

  'Let me go, Master,' said Krow.

  Carnelian saw Fern's nod and gave way.

  They tied Krow to the rope they had used to lower Osidian and Morunasa then, slowly, they lowered him down into the chasm.

  After a while, Carnelian turned to Fern. 'Why were you so keen he should go?'

  'He's taken the Master's rejection hard. He needs something to distract him.'

  Krow had reached the Ladder. Carnelian watched him examine it. i fear he merely wishes to follow the Master.'

  'If that's so, isn't it better he should do so with our help than without?'

  Carnelian glanced at Fern and saw the truth of it.

  Krow was waving. Carnelian gave the order to draw him back up. When the youth appeared over the edge, Carnelian grabbed hold of him. Krow looked pale but pleased with himself. Carnelian waited until he had calmed down a little before asking him to describe what he had seen. Carnelian pondered the problem.

  'Have you worked out how to do it?' Fern asked at last.

  'I think so,' said Carnelian. He put the back of a fist against the palm of his other hand. 'At the moment, the broken portion of the Ladder is sort of curled like my fist.' He looked at Krow, who confirmed it with a nod. Carnelian allowed his hand to uncurl. 'If we attach ropes from up here we can unroll the Ladder up the cliff high enough to secure it into the forked posts that Krow says have been left in the rock. Attaching ropes progressively higher each time' – his fist uncurled until the hand lay flat against the other – 'we should be able to bring it all the way up here.'

  'And what do we do then?' asked Fern. 'We attach it to those anchor trees,' said Carnelian indicating the two baobabs with their rope girdles. 'How?'

  Carnelian noticed the sartlar woman was watching his hands. 'We can sort that out once we get there.'

  He turned to the sartlar and pushed his hands closer to her. 'You understand this?'

  She gave a nod. 'Yes, Master.'

  'We'll need lots of ropes, each long enough to reach the Ladder below.'

  'We understand,' said the sartlar.

  'We'll have to lower your people down there to attach the ropes

  …'

  She turned her disfigured face up to look at him. 'People?'

  He indicated the others of her kind with his hand. She looked round. 'Sartlar,' she said.

  'We can use aquar to pull the ropes.'

  The woman sunk her head.

  'Is there anything the matter?' he asked her.

  'Better we should do it, Master.'

  He frowned. The Ladder will be immensely heavy.'

  She struck the ground with her foot. 'We take our strength from the earth.'

  Carnelian shrugged. 'I'll trust you… What are you called?'

  The sartlar looked up, her eyes so narrowed the folds almost closed them altogether.

  Carnelian grew uncomfortable under that scrutiny. 'You have a name?'

  'Kor, Master.'

  Carnelian was surprised. In Quya, that sound was the word for death.

  'Well, Kor,' he said. 'You'll explain to the other…?' 'People

  …?' she suggested.

  Carnelian felt off-balance. 'Yes…'

  'As the Master commands,' said Kor and falling to her knees, made an abject prostration before him. He waited for her to get up but she lay there as if she were dead.

  'You can go.'

  The mess of rags came alive and was soon hobbling off towards the other sartlar.

  'Disgusting creatures,' Fern said.

  Carnelian turned on him. 'Her kind, even more than the Plainsmen, are the victims of the Standing Dead.'

  Over the following days, the sartlar went at their task like ants. Krow assumed the role of overseer, but soon gave this up. The sartlar worked seemingly without instruction, though sometimes Carnelian saw Kor moving among them and concluded she must be directing them.

  Sartlar were lowered to the Ladder. Heavy ropes were dropped down to them which, once attached to the left cable, were hoisted so that the dangling section of the Ladder ended up folded over the part still intact. Once the pulled-up corner was secured, the ropes were removed and sartlar clambered down the dangling portion to reattach them further down the loose section. Gangs of sartlar held on to each rope and, digging their heels into the soil, heaved the whole mass up. Once raised high enough, the Ladder was made secure and the whole procedure was repeated. The strength of the sartlar amazed Carnelian so that he could almost believe Kor's boast that they were drawing it from the earth.

  Confident the sartlar could work without supervision, Carnelian let the Plainsmen linger up on the knoll and took to resting in the shadow of one of the anchor baobabs with Fern. Dozing, they talked about the Tribe, the Koppie, of the life they might have once they were free of the Master.

  One such time they fell to discussing how they would kill him. Upset, Carnelian declared that he would do it; that it was his responsibility. Already unhappy about this, Fern was made worse when Carnelian suggested they bring Ravan into their plot.

  'Why?'

  'Have you seen the way he looked at the Master? He clearly hates him.'

  Fern became miserable. The Master still possesses him.'

  Carnelian decided he must trust Fern's instinct.

  At that moment a commotion broke out. Leaping up, he ran round the tree and saw sartlar being dragged towards the chasm by their ropes. Some who had fallen were being flayed and were forced to let go. The others picked up speed, heading for the edge.

  Carnelian ran towards them, shouting: 'Let go. Let go.'

  Some did, but others seemed unable to release their grip and the ropes lashed them out into space. Carnelian reached the edge in time to watch them ride
the ropes down, down into the chasm. The Ladder hurtled earthwards, snapping free of the posts like cloth tearing buttons. He put his hands over his face as he watched sartlar spinning down through the air. Through his fingers, he saw far below the Ladder holding where it had held before. Its loose portion whipped into the cliff with a thud he could feel coming up through the ground.

  'Great Father,' breathed Fern.

  Carnelian let his hands fall and shook his head in disbelief, staring as if that might undo the disaster. He heard padding footfalls and turned to see Kor behind him.

  'What happened?' he gasped.

  She cowered. 'Shall I jump, Master?'

  'What?' he cried.

  'Punishment,' she whispered.

  He understood and groaned. 'No. No, Kor. I'm sure it's not your fault.' He turned back, blaming himself. 'One of the forked posts must have given way. So much loss of life.'

  There're still enough of us, Master.'

  He turned on her and the outrage in his face made her collapse. 'Do you feel nothing over the loss of your people?'

  Kor peered up at him. He saw behind her other sartlar nursing limbs, knees and heels bloody where they had ripped furrows in the earth. He looked down at Kor.

  'Send the unwounded down to see if there're any people that can be helped.'

  Kor nodded slowly, looking at him through her curtain hair.

  'Shall we start all over again, Master?'

  He looked off over her head. 'Perhaps… but not today and not until the wounded have had a chance to recover and, then, only if there remain enough of you.'

  She stood up never taking her eyes off him. She seemed troubled.

  'Is there anything more, Master?'

  'Nothing,' he said.

  She bowed. 'As the Master commands.'

  Work resumed the following day. Laboriously, the sartlar pulled the Ladder straight again. If Carnelian had not shared their life as a slave upon the road, he might have been surprised they worked with so little fear, but he knew their lives were worthless.

  In the gory sunset, Carnelian took one last look down the chasm wall and saw the Ladder had been brought so high it folded at no great distance below him. Kor had come to him saying they could finish it by night with torches, but fearing another disaster, Carnelian told her they should finish the work the following day when they would all be rested. He watched them crawl down to the saltcaves before walking back towards the anchor trees. He strummed a note from one of the ropes he had insisted they leave attached to the fold in the Ladder as a precaution should one of the forked posts fail. Fern stood by one of the anchor trees running his hands over its cable girdle.

  'What are you doing?' Carnelian called out.

  Fern grimaced. 'I can't see how the cables are going to be long enough to reach these trees.' He showed Carnelian where the cable had been sawn through. They'll have lost all the length you can see wrapped around this trunk.'

  Carnelian considered the problem. He walked round the tree, squinting at the girdle in the failing light. 'Is this made from one continuous piece?'

  Fern said it was.

  Then we shall have to unwrap it and somehow or other attach it to its original cable.' 'How?'

  Carnelian stood back and allowed his gaze to run up the trunk. He noticed a narrow opening in the bark high above. He pointed up at it. This one's hollow too.'

  Fern looked at it. Then…' he said, his hands searching the bark. 'Aha,' he said and hung himself from a crevice. 'All the hollows have handholds up to them.'

  'Another burial?'

  Fern shrugged. 'Climb and see.'

  Carnelian gazed up. 'Why not,' he said. 'I'm curious to see these husk pygmies.'

  Fern guided Carnelian's hand to the crevice and he found another slightly higher to the right of the first. It took him a while to find some for his feet.

  'You forget how small a man this was made for,' said Fern from behind him. 'You should take them two, maybe three at a time.'

  Taking his advice, Carnelian began climbing the tree.

  As he neared the opening he became aware of an unpleasant smell. He screwed up his nose and looked down at Fern.

  'I think the bodies in this one are more recent than the others.'

  He reached up to the lip of the hole, then pulled himself up into the hollow. Crouching on its edge, he covered his nose and mouth with his hand. It was too dark to see anything. He leaned out.

  'Fern, could you bring me some fire to see by?'

  He heard his friend running off and waited, feeling the moist breath of whatever it was that lay within the tree. It seemed an age before he saw the shaking flicker of Fern returning.

  'Shall I come up too?'

  'What about the fire?'

  Grinning, Fern wedged the brand between his teeth and began to climb. Soon the flames were blinding Carnelian.

  'Here, take it,' said Fern.

  Carnelian reached down and plucked the offered branch, carefully, drew its fire past his squinting eyes and pushed it into the hollow. What he saw made him start.

  Fern cried out: 'What's the matter?'

  Carnelian made space for his friend to squeeze in beside him. A dark pool filled the hollow, its surface broken by a face the size of a child's.

  'Perhaps the rain got in,' Carnelian suggested.

  'I don't think so,' said Fern. He took the branch from Carnelian's hand and waved it over the pool.*See how thick the liquid is?'

  'Like soup.'

  'Render.'

  Carnelian looked at his friend, whose face was luridly lit by the flames.

  'Render: the stuff they fed us in the legions. It's given to men and aquar and, I heard, the dragons too. Jellied animal flesh, fat and bone. Didn't much care for it myself, though it was extravagantly laced with salt.. A veteran told me I’d grow to like it.'

  Carnelian looked with horror at the face floating in the pool. 'A different kind of animal this.'

  'Only raveners eat human flesh.'

  They shared their disgust.

  'Look, it has no eyes,' said Fern.

  Carnelian saw the sockets were pools of render. He turned away, speaking between retches. 'Come on… Let's leave…'

  They clambered to the ground as quickly as they could. Sweaty, they both looked up at the opening and shuddered. Carnelian found himself remembering their first night in the Upper Reach when he had had the nightmare. Taking deep breaths, he began relating it to Fern.

  'I thought I had dreamed the shapes I saw moving around here.'

  They looked at each other. The sartlar,' said Fern.

  Carnelian nodded. 'How many pygmies do you think that pool might hold?'

  'Depends on how deep it is.'

  The night was populated by huge, menacing baobabs. There might be other trees like this.'

  Fern shook his head. 'Every tree nearby save these has been investigated for water.'

  'It seems that Morunasa was right, the pygmies didn't flee after all.'

  Fern's eyes widened. Then it was the sartlar who killed them, who cut the Ladder free.'

  Fear was added to Carnelian's queasiness. 'Why?'

  Fern looked sick. 'And we've been sleeping night after night without posting guards.'

  Carnelian tried to work it out.

  Fern spoke first. 'We must go and cut the ladder to their caves.'

  Carnelian took Fern's arm and pulled him away towards the knoll. 'Better to face this in the morning. Tonight, you and I will stand watch.'

  Together?' Fern asked.

  'No,' said Carnelian, 'one at a time. We'll each need some sleep.'

  Fern stared at him aghast. 'You might manage to sleep, I know I won't.'

  'Well, we should at least try and, Fern, it might be better if we weren't to mention any of this to the others until we know what's going on. There's no need to frighten them needlessly.'

  'And then of course there's the Ladder to be finished,' said Fern.

  'Yes, the Ladder,' said Carnelian glanc
ing back. He shuddered, sure he could see shadows creeping around the anchor baobabs.

  MUTINY

  A war can turn on the decision of a moment.

  (from a treatise on warfare composed by an unknown Quyan)

  Carnelian took the first watch. He sat with his back to the embers so that their light would not blind him to any movements in the night. Around him baobabs loomed, thrusting their skeletal arms into the starry sky. The waterfall grumbled. It was cold. He wrapped his blanket tighter round him and dug his nails into the palms of his hands to stave off sleep.

  The moon rising full oozed its silver among the baobabs, betraying stark shadows gathered around the anchor trees. Frozen by the sight, wetting his lips, Carnelian readied a cry of alarm should they come creeping towards the knoll.

  His eyes continued to see the sartlar even when he was certain they had returned to their caves. After that he tried not to imagine them under his feet feasting on the pygmy render.

  Later, when Fern relieved him, Carnelian told him what he had seen and then, reluctantly, went to his blanket. At first he tried lying with his back to the chasm, his eyes closed, but his ears kept him awake, listening for the padding of sartlar feet. He rolled over to face his fear.

  That was worse. Every sound, real or imagined, forced his eyes open to search the darkness.

  At last he gave up and moved to Fern's side.

  'Can't sleep,' Carnelian whispered.

  Fern smiled. 'During your watch, I was only pretending.'

  Carnelian sat down close to his friend.

  'It's cold,' he said.

  Shyly, Fern opened his blanket to welcome him. Hesitating, Carnelian shuffled closer. They managed to wrap both blankets round them. Silent, they kept watch together.

  Carnelian woke to find Fern lying against him asleep. For some moments he allowed his eyes to wander over the dark face so close to his. He smiled but then jerked round to look down towards the chasm.

  'What…?' his friend blurted, blinking, confused.

  Carnelian could see the Plainsmen sleeping peacefully around their hearths. Some were stirring, perhaps woken by Fern's voice, among them Ravan. Ignoring the youth's stare, Carnelian turned to his friend.

  'Sorry.'