Sitting on a root of the mother tree, Carnelian watched the twilight thicken in the Grove. He wriggled his toes in the prickly needle loam. The feeling of being safe and at home swelled up in him. The interplay of voices coming from the hearth made his heart surge with a wish to join them. He grew sombre, considering what Sil might be feeling.
It was almost night before he saw a lonely figure coming up the rootstair. He rose.
‘I waited for you, Fern.’
‘You needn’t have.’
‘I wanted to.’
Fern’s face was a vague shadow. ‘It’s good you and the others have returned safe.’
Carnelian reached out to take his shoulder, wanting to say something. Working out words, confused, he just said the first thing that came into his head. ‘I’m missing you.’
Fern shrugged his shoulder free. ‘That’s nice.’ He pushed past, leaving Carnelian feeling a fool.
Yet again Carnelian considered proving how he felt by returning to work with Fern, but fear of what Osidian might do made him stay with the hunt. He took his turn on the brow of the Crag: a long languid day observing the headache dazzle of the land through narrowed eyes. He escorted the women gathering fernroot from the Tribe’s ferngardens. When the hunt collected together in the Newditch, he took his place with them earthworking in the dust and stifle. Then it was out once more on to the plain to fetch water from the bellower lagoon.
That day, on their way back, the air began to haze from the east as if it were swarming with flies.
‘Sporewind,’ cried many voices and Crowrane had them redouble their pace.
By the time they reached the Koppie, the air was so thick with fern spores it seemed like dusk. Even through their ubas, it was hard to breathe. Lumbering blind over an earthbridge, one of the drag-cradles slid off, so that they had to cut it loose for fear it might pull its aquar down into the ditch.
For days the Tribe hid in their sleeping hollows while the sporewind choked the world. People moaned that it was the worst they had ever endured. Shrouded in his blanket, Carnelian ventured out only for water and to relieve himself as others did. For food there was a coil of djada in their hollow which he shared with Osidian and Poppy.
On the first morning when the air was clear, Carnelian unwrapped the uba from his head and pumped great, clean lungfuls. The world seemed much as it had been. As he resumed his tasks with the rest of his hunt, he might have considered the sporewind a dream if it had not been for the dust blanketing the plain.
It was on his third hunt that Carnelian witnessed his first earther hornwall. It was Osidian’s impetuosity that startled the herd. Defended by the older cows, the saurians fell back into a closed ring facing out, their horns and armoured heads forming a fearsome rampart within which their calves were safely corralled.
‘Fascinating,’ said Osidian in Quya. ‘This behaviour may well have been the model for the shieldwalls favoured by the levies of the Quyan cities.’
He glanced over at Carnelian and pointed. ‘Behold the horns like spears, their crests like interlocking shields.’
Loskai rode forward and let his uba fall from his mouth. ‘For all his legendary prowess, the Master has ruined this day’s hunting with his babble.’
Krow’s aquar moved towards Loskai’s. ‘Did you never cause a hornwall when you first started hunting?’
‘Shut your mouth, Twostone.’ Krow advanced on him scowling.
Crowrane closed on the two of them. ‘Back down, Twostone.’
Carnelian tried to redirect Krow’s rising defiance. ‘Surely they’ll move apart if we ride away.’
His comment was greeted with disdainful looks but it did have the effect of breaking up the confrontation.
When Carnelian returned to the hearth, he discovered a stranger about his age sitting next to Fern on the rootbench. Akaisha introduced him as being Father Galewing’s son, Hirane, who had married Whin’s sister’s daughter, Koney, while Carnelian had been away hunting. Carnelian kissed the young man and called him hearth-brother and received a look of thanks from his wife, who was sitting beside Sil.
Later, Poppy, wide-eyed as she relived the wedding, insisted on telling Carnelian everything. How they had spent the day washing Koney with cedar water and decked her out in a new robe the women of the hearth had been embroidering since before the Rains. How they had rouged her face and woven magnolia buds and petals into her hair. How when Hirane had come with his father and the rest of his people, wearing the black face of a hunter, he had found her waiting for him concealed beneath a wedding blanket of the richest ochre. How both his hearth and theirs had danced around the couple. When the moon rose high enough to make bright the root fork of their mother tree, he had poured water on Koney’s blanket and she had come out of it as beautiful as the stars. Sitting in the fork they had spoken their vows, broken salt together, and then Akaisha had removed his shoes so that he might stand barefoot upon his new rootearth and all his new hearthkin had given him the kiss of welcome.
As the girl spoke, Carnelian saw the light filling her face and he would have kissed her but did not want to break her vision, but as she described the newly-weds being led to the sleeping hollow where they would make and bear children, he saw trouble come into her eyes.
‘What’s the matter, Poppy?’ he said stroking her cheek.
She looked through tears at him. ‘When I’m old enough, will you marry me, Carnie?’
Carnelian was taken aback.
She sank her head. ‘None other will,’ she whispered.
He raised her chin and looked into her eyes. ‘You’ll be beautiful, many will seek your hand.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m not rooted in this earth.’
Carnelian glanced up at the boughs and branching roof of Akaisha’s cedar.
‘This mother tree is yours now too.’
‘She shelters me but knows nothing of my mothers.’
Carnelian was becoming upset when he saw a glimmer appear in her eye. He watched her reach inside her robe and fish something out from an inner pocket. She placed a tiny bundle on her knee and lovingly unwrapped it.
‘A winged seed,’ Carnelian said.
She looked up at him. ‘I brought it from the koppie of my people. Within there sleeps a daughter to my mother tree.’
‘Then you must plant it,’ he said, elated.
‘Will the Elders allow it?’ she asked.
Carnelian’s excitement died. He could not give Poppy the answer she craved.
‘Will you ask them for me?’
‘When the time is right.’
Accepting this, Poppy rewrapped her seed with infinite care, then returned it to its place next to her heart.
On the last morning of Carnelian’s fourth hunt, while he and the others were preparing for the final day’s journey with the earther they had killed, Ravan cried out, pointing. Smoke was rising from the Crag up into the dawn sky. As one they converged on Crowrane begging permission to return. The Elder stood some moments in the midst of their tumult, narrowing his eyes towards the signal, before he turned grimly to them nodding his head.
Carnelian did not need to be told something was wrong. As he worked the tow ropes loose from the crossbar of his saddle-chair, he grew sick imagining what might be happening at home.
He was soon mounted. The eyes of the riders around him betrayed that they too were listing dangers. Those who were still worrying at knots were cursed by those already mounted. With a cry of frustration, one of them produced a blade, hacked through a rope, then flung himself into his saddle-chair.
When everyone was up, Crowrane, without a word, turned his aquar towards the Koppie and sent her into a jog. They all followed him in a great raising of dust.
Their aquar reached the Newditch in a lather from the run. Smoke was eddying up from the brow of the Crag.
‘The Mother be praised,’ a voice cried, and several women ran across the earthbridge to meet them.
‘What is it?’ Crowrane demand
ed, speaking for everyone.
‘The Gatherer’s here,’ one of the women panted, eyes darting from one black face to the next.
The men who had young children rode past her, their saddle-chairs clacking against each other as they scrambled across the bridge. Carnelian stared stunned, then remembered Poppy.
‘This can’t be,’ said Crowrane, aghast. ‘He’s not due until next year.’
Carnelian was gripped by another sickening realization: Fern’s doom had come.
The woman seemed to be swallowing a stone getting her breath back. ‘He came in the night as he always does. The Tribe woke to find his tents already set up in the Poisoned Field.’
More of the hunt were streaming into the ferngarden while the women rushed around trying to stand in their way. ‘We must hide the Standing Dead. They must be hidden.’
‘Hide them where?’ Ravan demanded.
Verging on hysteria, the women looked to Crowrane for help. ‘The Elders, my father … they’ve told everyone …’ They looked at Carnelian, at Osidian. ‘They mustn’t be seen.’
Carnelian felt nauseous. His world had come to pieces and now so would that of all these people he loved. If he or Osidian were found there, the Masters would destroy the Tribe. He saw desperate indecision in Crowrane’s eyes.
‘What are the creatures babbling about?’ a voice asked in Quya.
Carnelian turned to see Osidian calm amidst the storm. His hand commanded Carnelian to answer. Finding his voice, he explained the disaster. Of all the emotions he had been expecting Osidian to feel, rage was the most unexpected.
Crowrane was arguing with the women.
Osidian looked away to the northern horizon. ‘They seek us. I had expected that they would, but not so soon. I am not yet ready.’
‘Ready for what? Who is it that seeks …?’ Carnelian remembered whose creatures the childgatherers were. ‘How could the Wise know we are here?’
‘I did not say that they know where we are precisely, but you yourself told me they saw where we left the Guarded Land; saw our captors were from this plain.’ Osidian smiled a dark smile. ‘Of course, down here, without their watch-towers, they can only fumble blindly hoping to find. The fact they have set their childgatherers to the search implies much.’
Carnelian thought about it. ‘Otherwise it would be the legions that sought us out.’
Osidian’s smile grew colder still. ‘My mother would see to that.’
‘Then they do this without her knowledge. Why?’
Osidian frowned. ‘Who knows what has come to pass in Osrakum since we left.’ He smiled again. ‘Still, this development is suggestive.’
He leered at Carnelian. ‘Tell me, my Lord, shall we allow ourselves to be found?’
Carnelian regarded him with horror. ‘Why would the Wise seek to know where we are, other than to destroy us?’
‘Or by finding us, pull down my beloved mother.’
Cold rage infused into Carnelian. ‘If we are found here these people will be punished.’
‘Exterminated,’ said Osidian, taking pleasure in the word.
‘You two Standing Dead, dismount,’ commanded Crowrane, but Carnelian ignored him and addressed Osidian.
‘I will not allow you to endanger the Ochre.’
Osidian sneered. ‘Will not allow? I do not yet choose to reveal myself to the Wise, but you can be certain my decision pays little heed to your threats, Carnelian; even less to what might happen to these.’ He indicated the people round them with a dismissive gesture of his hand. ‘I have other plans.’ Osidian turned his aquar with his feet. ‘Come.’
‘Dismount, I say,’ bellowed Crowrane. ‘Surround them.’
Carnelian saw Ravan, Krow, others of the young men of the hunt hanging back, looking from their Elder to the Master.
‘Where?’ Carnelian asked Osidian.
‘We shall return to our quarry.’
Carnelian glanced at Crowrane, who was pouring threats on the youths. ‘The two of us, Osidian? Alone?’
‘And why not. Do you fear the predators?’ He snorted. ‘You are transparent, Carnelian. You hope to save your barbarian boy.’
Carnelian glared at Osidian, hating him. ‘We both know he cannot be saved.’
‘What then?’
‘Poppy.’
Osidian frowned hearing the name.
‘Akaisha means to give her up to the childgatherer.’
Osidian dropped his head in exasperation. He looked up. ‘And?’
‘I will not let her do it.’
Osidian let his head flop back closing his eyes and groaned. ‘And if you go back in there and the ammonites see you? I thought my Lord expressed the wish to save his precious barbarians?’
‘I will be careful.’
Osidian fixed him with the terrible green intensity of his eyes. ‘I forbid it. This course of action imperils your life.’
‘Nevertheless, I will attempt to save the girl,’ said Carnelian and coaxed his aquar forward towards the bridge.
Ravan began pleading with Osidian who turned on him. ‘Choose to follow me or remain.’
He glared at Krow. ‘You too.’
The youth moved his aquar to Osidian’s side.
‘My mother will expel you from our hearth,’ cried Loskai.
‘So be it,’ said Krow.
This exchange seemed to make Ravan decide. ‘I’m yours, Master.’
Crowrane raged. ‘I’m your huntfather. You will obey me.’
Carnelian could not bear to watch any longer and directed his aquar towards the bridge.
‘You mustn’t,’ the women cried trying to grab hold of his saddle-chair. ‘The Elders …’
‘Hang the Elders,’ Carnelian cried, making his aquar advance through them, then, when he was sure they would not be hurt, he spurred his aquar into a run across the bridge. He was through the gate before they could bar it against him. Once in the ferngarden he glanced back and saw Osidian already riding away with Krow, Ravan and some others.
THE CHILDGATHERER
The flesh tithe is a core instrument of the Policy of Domination.
Ammonites of the appropriate lores and levels (feel the appendices
attached to this reel) are despatched annually to perform a demographic
audit and evaluation of the tributary populations.
It is the core of the Policy of Domination that the tributary populations shall enforce the strictures of the auditing procedure upon themselves. In seeking to protect their own offspring from the tithe, kin can be expected to betray any infringement by others in the group. The greatest benefit accruing from this technique is not that it compels obedience without expense to the Commonwealth, but rather that it foments internecine conflict in the tributary populations precisely at the points where its individuals are most closely bonded.
(extracts from a codicil compiled in beadcord by the Wise of the Domain Tribute)
MORBID SILENCE REIGNED BENEATH THE MOTHER TREES AS CARNELIAN crept up rootstairs and along paths fearing that, at any moment, he might be spotted. It seemed that the brooding menace of the faraway swamp had come to lair in the Grove. Peering through the branches of a cedar he spied people engaged in furtive rituals around its trunk.
When he reached Akaisha’s tree he did not approach it by its open, downhill side, but instead ducked under the uphill branches. Hearing voices, he remained crouched, peering across the sleeping hollows to where he could see many of his hearthmates. Sil’s lilt carrying through the silence was answered by her mother’s heavier tones. Imagining Whin’s reaction to seeing him there, Carnelian’s courage slipped away. The danger he was putting them in froze his feet to the ground. This is my home, he told himself, but did not believe it. Not today. Today you are a Master; one of the Standing Dead. One of the monsters who have sent their servants to rape the Tribe of its children. He despised the arrogance that had made him imagine that he could save Poppy. In the gloom beneath the cedar, a boy was being prepared by his mot
her. Who was there to take care of Poppy, to give her comfort? It was her need that melted Carnelian into motion. The cedar bristled against his shoulders, then he was able to straighten up and, shaken by his heart, he began to wind his way through the hollows.
‘Great Mother!’ cried Sil.
Grief drained the blood from his head as Carnelian saw Fern standing beside her.
‘You’re not welcome here,’ shrieked Sil. ‘You brought the Gatherer.’
Carnelian could do nothing but stare at the accursed legionary collar gleaming darkly at Fern’s throat.
‘Why are you here?’ his friend asked.
Akaisha appeared with Whin. ‘Are you trying to get us all killed?’
‘Where’s the other one of your kind?’ asked Whin.
‘Out on the plain,’ Carnelian answered.
Akaisha grasped Carnelian’s arm. ‘Didn’t they catch you at the Newditch? Did no one warn you? We sent messengers to every gate in case you should return.’
‘Yes, but … Poppy,’ he said.
Akaisha’s face sagged and she let go of him as Whin flamed to anger.
‘You risk the Tribe for the sake of one child?’
Carnelian saw the pain in Fern’s eyes and wanted to tell him he had come for him too.
‘One child?’ barked Sil.
Her anger ignited Carnelian’s own. ‘Do you find that so hard to believe?’ He scanned their faces. Whin’s eyes glazed as she looked into herself. The same expression came over the other faces. Only Akaisha’s eyes were seeing him and, in her face, there was something of shame.
She turned to her hearthsisters. ‘I’ll deal with this.’
Wild-eyed, Sil was led away by her mother.
‘Where’s Ravan?’ asked Fern.
‘Out on the plain … he remained with the Master out on the plain,’ Carnelian replied.
Fern hung his head. Akaisha looked at her son, already grieving for him. She put on a smile.
‘If your brother hasn’t come it’s because he can’t bear to see you torn from us.’
Her certainty was only a veneer. She peered out through the leaves and branches towards the plain as if she might hope to see Ravan in the far distance. ‘Otherwise, he would most certainly be here.’
The Standing Dead (The Stone Dance Of The Chameleon) Page 31
