Ravan pushed past Krow to stand beside the corpse. He reached down to lift its hand, then turned the painted palm in all directions. ‘Can everyone see the colour?’ He dropped the hand with disgust and wiped his fingers down his robe. ‘We know his Tribe.’
‘The Bluedancing,’ cried the crowd.
‘Let’s take our revenge on them. Let’s go and bring our children back.’
Several of the younger men cried out their support.
Ginkga shoved Ravan out of the way and glowered at the Tribe. ‘Yes, this bastard is Bluedancing.’ She turned to Ravan, contempt on her face. ‘Do you know how many men the Bluedancing have, boy?’
Ravan gave a shrug as if he could not care less.
‘Well, if you don’t know …’ She pointed at each of the youths who had shouted out support for Ravan. ‘Can any of you young fools tell us? No? Well let me tell you. For every one of us, they have two. Heed my words; even were the numbers on our side, fighting would be risky: against such odds, it would be madness.’
Harth came to stand beside her. ‘Ginkga speaks the truth. We’ve lost enough already. We’d lose more in attempting revenge.’
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ a woman cried out. Others joined their voices to hers.
Harth raised her arms, then waited until they fell silent. ‘Why is it, you think, the Bluedancing attacked us at all?’
Carnelian felt the blood draining from his face. He put his arm over Poppy to stop her trembling.
‘I’m sure it’s well known to you by now that, recently, the Master …’ she looked round at Osidian, ‘put some of our lads up to starting a brawl with the Bluedancing in which several of their people were badly hurt and –’
‘We didn’t start it!’ Ravan bellowed as he advanced on the woman.
Harth and the other Elders regarded him with horror.
Akaisha interposed herself between Harth and her son. ‘Who do you think you’re speaking to?’
Harth stepped out from behind Akaisha. ‘If the Bluedancing had seen the Master, they could’ve betrayed us to the Gatherers, bringing disaster down on the Tribe.’
Ravan grimaced, dropped his head, shaking it as if he was being confronted by an exasperating child. He lifted pleading eyes to his mother. ‘It wasn’t like that. The Master made certain they could not see him.’
When his mother’s frown deepened, he pointed at Harth. ‘Can’t you see she’s lying? It wasn’t like that, it –’
Akaisha’s slap across his face brought Ravan to a halt, gaping, accompanied by the crowd’s catching of breath. Akaisha’s voice carried clear and harsh. ‘Never again will you dare address an Elder in that insolent way.’
Ravan bared his teeth in cold rage. ‘Every man here knows the arrogance of the Bluedancing’s been swelling with every passing year. Are we to accept that any number of brawls, whoever started them, is justification for killing us and carrying away our children?’
‘This was the action of some hotheads,’ cried Crowrane. ‘It couldn’t possibly have been sanctioned by their Elders.’
‘What does that matter?’ a woman cried out and was answered by a surge of approval.
Carnelian was sharing the general feeling when he felt Osidian speak something in his ear. He turned and looked into his eyes.
‘Tell them,’ said Osidian in Quya.
Carnelian shook his head. ‘I will play no part in your games, Osidian.’
‘Then I will use another.’
‘What are you saying?’ demanded Harth.
Carnelian shook his head. ‘I will take no part in this.’
Osidian began to speak in Vulgate. Harth asked her husband to translate. He frowned.
‘He said that, even though their numbers are greater than ours, they still feared us enough to attack at night like cowards.’
Harth smiled slyly. ‘Does the Master counsel us to make war upon the Bluedancing?’
Osidian narrowed his green eyes as Crowrane told him what his wife had said.
‘And who would we put in command of this expedition?’ Harth continued as if she were reeling in a fish. She raised her eyebrows waiting for an answer. Osidian seemed not to hear her.
‘The Master himself, no doubt?’ she said and smiled.
Osidian spoke and Crowrane, scowling, refused to translate. Harth began to look uncertain.
Ravan turned to face the people. ‘The Master says that perhaps under his command we might find the manhood we lack.’
The Tribe erupted in outrage. The men, who had been feeling the humiliation, cried out that they had no need of the Master to find courage. They boasted of their bravery in the hunt.
Carnelian saw Harth’s horror as she realized she had lost control. The mothers who had lost children and husbands; the men who had lost wives, fired up the anger of the Tribe until there was a universal baying for war. Harth, Akaisha and other women Elders tried to calm them with commands, then appeals, but the crowd’s mood overwhelmed their opposition. Shouting against the tumult, Galewing, Crowrane and other Elder men gave their leave for war. Watching in horror, Carnelian froze when he saw the smile Osidian was making no attempt to conceal.
As the Tribe scattered to their preparations, Carnelian approached Osidian.
‘Why did you smile?’
The eyes Osidian turned on him were those of a stranger. ‘Matters have come to pass according to my will.’
Carnelian went cold. He considered asking Osidian how he had brought this disaster down on them, but knew he would get no answer. ‘Why?’
‘It is the God’s will.’
The cool, indifferent Quya made Carnelian boil. He would tell Akaisha and she would put a stop to Osidian’s madness. He looked around him and saw the hollow-eyed determination on every face. Even if Akaisha believed him, would she be able to tell the mothers to forget their lost children?
He felt empty as he regarded Osidian. ‘You will at least fight with them?’
‘I will lead them to victory.’
‘Lead them? Did Ravan not tell you that they rejected you?’
Osidian smiled again. ‘They will follow me.’
Carnelian felt tired, not understanding what he meant, not wanting to understand.
‘And you, my Lord,’ Osidian said. ‘Who will you fight with?’
Carnelian clasped his head in exasperation. ‘How many sides are there?’
‘Either you will choose to stand with me or else number yourself among the savages. Which will it be?’
Carnelian considered whether he might refuse to fight at all. But could he watch Fern and the others march out and remain behind? The waiting would be unbearable. He searched Osidian’s eyes for any glimmer of the boy he had loved, but all he saw was a Master.
He shook his head. ‘Not with you.’
Osidian turned away.
Carnelian stood there for some moments, considering all the arguments he might make, the appeals, but he knew the Master would never listen and, desolate, he went off to find Fern.
Carnelian wandered sick at heart through the encampment. Fresh edges were being struck on to the flint blades of their spears and javelins. Aquar were having their saddle-chairs adjusted. Unnecessary equipment was being removed. Men were taking turns hornblacking each other’s faces.
Carnelian’s heart sank when he saw Fern approach with Sil and Poppy. The girl looked like she wanted to run to him, but Sil was holding her hand. Fern offered Carnelian a freshly honed spear.
‘Will you fight with us?’
‘Do you really want this?’ Carnelian said.
Fern looking unhappy, shrugged. ‘It’s happening. To try to match the Bluedancing’s numbers everyone’s going: from the eldest to the youngest. We need every warrior we can get. Will you fight with us?’
‘Warriors?’ Carnelian snorted and when he saw Fern’s dismay, he reached out to take the spear. ‘Of course I’ll fight with you.’
Poppy ran into him. ‘You mustn’t go, Carnelian. You mustn’
t.’
He crouched, holding her away from him so he could look into her eyes. ‘You wouldn’t want Fern to go by himself, would you?’
Poppy looked at Fern and then back at Carnelian. Sil put a hand on Poppy’s head. ‘They’ll take care of each other.’
The girl looked up at Fern. ‘You promise?’
‘I promise,’ said Fern.
As Carnelian rose, Sil looked at him with a question in her eyes. He gave her a nod in answer, then put his hand on Fern’s shoulder.
‘Come, paint me for war.’
The Ochre warband had a ferocious aspect. Swarthy sinews, mid-night faces and, already, something like the joy of battles had come upon them. Seeing them round him laughing, even Carnelian began to believe in the possibility of victory.
‘Who can stand against such prowess?’ one man cried, and was greeted with much punching of the air.
As they mounted up, Carnelian looked among the women searching for Osidian and was puzzled when he could not see him anywhere. Searching among the warriors, he saw Ravan and Krow. He frowned. It was strange to see them separated from Osidian.
‘Our prayers go with you all,’ Ginkga cried, making the best of a bad situation.
‘Take your strength from the Earth and your courage from the Sky,’ cried Harth, looking morose.
Akaisha was trying to conceal her worry. ‘May the Mother and the Skyfather bring you back safely.’
Cacophony broke out as women called out their men’s love names; mothers the names of their sons; daughters their fathers’. Catching Akaisha’s eye, Carnelian gave her a salute and she replied with a curt nod. Sil was there beside her and Poppy. He waved at them and they waved back.
The warband rode out on this swell of anxious love, perhaps two hundred of them, following the trail their enemies had left churned into the mud.
The pace dropped as the camp fell out of sight. Word was passed round that they must conserve the strength of their aquar for the coming battle. Their ardour seemed harder to keep alight once they were all alone cantering across grey desolation. Even the sky seemed to be against them, dashing its downpour mercilessly against their faces as they rode along the muddy trail.
Sharing the increasing feeling of unease, Carnelian looked to the Elders who were riding up ahead. For a while now they had been in discussion amongst themselves, often looking back with anxious faces. At last they broke apart and began falling back, calling a halt. It was Galewing, frowning, who announced that they had chosen Crowrane to be their leader. Loskai looked smug as his father surveyed the warband.
‘Organize yourselves according to your hunts.’
As everyone moved their aquar in the direction of their hunt leader, a mêlée ensued in which unease flared to anger and loud recriminations. Shouting commands, the Elders rode round the edges trying to untangle the situation.
Eventually, Carnelian found himself with Fern, Ravan, Krow and the others of his old hunt in a clump in front of Crowrane. Loskai regarded them with satisfaction. One of the youngsters asked if their raid was going to be like hunting and Crowrane slapped him down in a way that only served to betray how thin was his composure.
‘What do we do next?’ asked Ravan, loudly.
Crowrane fixed him with a scowl. ‘We send scouts to locate the enemy.’
All the Elders who had been auxiliaries wanted to go. Confusion reigned once more, until Galewing’s hunt was nominated to go scouting. The rest remained behind under Crowrane’s authority. With Loskai as his lieutenant, the Elder busied himself making all manner of elaborate arrangements that seemed to serve no purpose but to make them acknowledge he was their commander.
As they waited, they dismounted and walked about. Carnelian surveyed the people round him with foreboding. Even through their warpaint, the youngsters seemed pale and sick. Most of the men were convincing as warriors only when they were conscious they were being looked at. There was nothing to do; nothing to think about except the coming battle.
Carnelian noticed Krow kept scanning the blank horizon. What was Osidian up to? He was amused to see the youngsters drawn to Fern, whose brass collar perhaps lent him a military aura.
When the scouting party was sighted returning, Crowrane gave in to the pleas of the youngsters that the warband should ride to meet them. As they closed on the scouts, whose faces were swathed, Carnelian could tell by the cast of their shoulders that they were not bringing good news.
Galewing pointed over his shoulder. ‘They’re there,’ he said, trying to sound calm. ‘They march across the Plain. We can be fairly certain they didn’t see us.’
‘Let’s attack them now,’ Ravan declared, causing everyone to look at him.
Crowrane fixed him with baleful eyes. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. If we come at them across the open plain they’ll have all the time they need to receive our charge. For any chance at victory, we need surprise.’
‘This is madness,’ cried Kyte. Carnelian could see the way his gaze shifted here and there among the warband as if he were already counting casualties.
‘I have to agree with Father Kyte,’ said Galewing. ‘We don’t have the numbers nor the training. We have nothing. We must forget this and return to our people while we still can.’
Ravan rode forward, regarding the Elders with a contemptuous gaze. ‘All my life you’ve claimed to be soldiers, but now I can see you never did anything more than catch thieves in the marketplace or stand guard upon a gate.’
The voices of the Elders rose in protest but Ravan’s young voice could still be heard above them. ‘We’re no less brave, nor less skilled with weapons than the Bluedancing and don’t you remember this morning, Father Crowrane, when you declared their raid the work of a few hotheads? If they could do it, so can we.’
‘Ravan’s right,’ a man cried. ‘I say we get the bastards. They took my son. How could I face my wife if I don’t bring him back?’
Many agreed.
‘Could any of us live with the shame of returning without even having tried?’ someone said.
‘Is this how you all feel?’ cried Galewing and was answered by a swell of affirmation. As the hubbub died away, the Elders looked at each other grimly.
‘If we go in, it must be at night,’ said Crowrane. ‘To hide how few we are.’
‘How will I find my son in the darkness?’
‘We can’t hope to find him or any of the captives whether we attack by day or by night. We snatch some of their children and then make a trade,’ said Crowrane.
There was a lot of nodding. Carnelian felt a wash of relief that at least they had postponed the terrible moment.
For the rest of that day they rode parallel to the march of the Bluedancing. With each step their aquar took, Carnelian saw their spirits fail a little more. Despair was growing in his stomach. Their proud demeanour had faded. Bedraggled, their warpaint now made them look like the jugglers Carnelian had seen in the market-place before the gates of Osrakum.
When next they stopped Carnelian approached Fern. ‘This delay has turned into a fatal error.’
His friend turned bloodshot eyes on him, grimaced, but said nothing.
Crowrane looked resolute, but his son betrayed him with every doubtful glance he gave him.
The rain continued to lash them. Carnelian felt more than saw the approach of night. As it closed about them it seemed to be their dread. He saw the queasy looks everyone was trying to hide. He yearned then for Osidian’s certainty as he tried to dismiss the fear that he and many others might well not live to see another morning.
Carnelian was thankful of the darkness that hid his fear. The night was filled with furtive whispering. The old were remembering their hunts, the good, long years of their lives: the young their sweethearts, their mothers, their dreams for the future. When a voice spoke, it seemed very loud. Carnelian felt everyone turning to listen with desperate hope.
‘We’d better go now … while we still dare.’ It was Fern.
‘This is a mistake,’ said Galewing.
‘We go,’ rumbled Crowrane.
‘Perhaps we should listen to Father Galewing,’ said Ravan.
‘We must go or return to the Tribe as cowards,’ said Fern.
Affecting strength, voices added their agreement and the Elders tried as best they could to marshal the warband. They rode out under a black sky dead of moon or stars. Carnelian let his aquar follow the others as they crept towards where they thought the camp of the Bluedancing lay. Stone spearheads clinked against each other. Leather sighed against aquar hide. The tiny sparks of their enemy’s fires came alive in the night and drew them on. Moths to a flame, thought Carnelian.
When they had come close enough to hear the voices of their enemy, it was Fern who stopped them turning back. He gave a battle-cry and sent his aquar careening in a charge. As his voice rode away from them, fear was swept away by shame. They would not allow one of their own to die alone. Carnelian sat startled as he heard their shrieks sweep by on either side. With his heels, he held his aquar where it was and heard their voices thin as they sped away. He was almost unmanned imagining the mayhem lying there waiting for him. Fern’s battle-cry sounded again and, cursing, Carnelian coaxed his beast to furious speed desperate to catch him up.
*
They huddled in the black heart of the night. A gash ached in Carnelian’s forearm. A whimpering, wounded boy was trembling against his thigh. The darkness was filled with shaky breathing and moaning. Many must have been wounded. Some had been lost. Voices were whispering names insistently. Someone pushed in beside him.
‘Carnie?’
‘Fern,’ he replied, dazed, glad to his core to have him near.
‘Are you bleeding?’
Carnelian fumbled and grabbed his friend’s trembling arm. The solid feel of it opened a way for his voice. ‘The whirling.’
‘It was my first battle too.’
‘It’s like the darkest dream. I felt the soft give of flesh, the screaming … Oh, dear mother, the screaming.’
They crushed into each other. A shadow loomed beside them.
‘It will pass,’ said Galewing in a strange remote voice. ‘It’s always hard to kill a man, even if he’s your enemy.’
The Standing Dead (The Stone Dance Of The Chameleon) Page 40
