Each day when they set off they would ride down the leafy avenue past the encampment of the Bluedancing which lay between the Homeditch and the Outditch. The ferngarden had become a village from which smoke was always rising. The Bluedancing were brought water and what food the Tribe did not need. In return, the women and children replaced the men at the ditches, labouring in the mud to shore them up where the Rains had brought collapse. There were so many new workers that even the Ochre women began to free themselves from this heavy work. They told themselves it was necessary, because the men had to hunt more often and the women to gather more fernroot to maintain an adequate food supply.
Eventually, the only Ochre remaining at the earthworkings were those who acted as overseers.
One evening, as they sat around the hearth, the discussion turned, as it often did, to the subject of the Bluedancing.
‘There’re so many of them,’ Sil complained.
‘And their settlement has devastated a large part of the Southgarden,’ said Whin, who still looked strange with salt beads in her hair.
‘With all their extra aquar, I can see we won’t make the end of the season before we’ll be forced to take them out of the Koppie to graze.’
There was much grumbling at this suggestion.
‘The Bluedancing eat so much.’
‘And at the moment they’re supplementing what we give them with the djada they’ve saved from their migration. What’ll happen when that runs out? How much hunting will we have to do?’
People hung their heads, worrying about it.
Sil looked at Akaisha and Whin. ‘If we don’t feed them they might rise against us.’
Several of the men snorted their derision at this suggestion. ‘What threat are women and children?’
‘My daughter’s right, they outnumber us,’ said Whin.
‘Even without their men,’ Sil added.
‘And you’re not always here,’ Whin said to the men.
Fern looked grave. ‘And we’re going to be out hunting, perhaps further afield than we’re used to.’
‘Couldn’t we send them back to their own koppie?’ said Koney.
Akaisha shook her head. ‘Without men to hunt for them, we’d be condemning them to death. If our situations were reversed, would you want to be thrown out on to the plain with your children?’
Nursing her newborn, Koney shook her head. ‘No, my mother.’
Whin frowned. ‘Our compassion might yet bring us disaster.’
‘Perhaps we should consider using their labour to extend the Koppie, as the Master has said.’ Ravan had come visiting as he sometimes did. People no longer felt him part of their hearth.
‘The Elders don’t need the Master to work that out for them,’ said Akaisha without looking at him. ‘The area of new land we would have to enclose would have to be enormous to solve the problem of grazing the aquar as well as to bring enough fernroot into safe gathering to feed us all.’
‘Then we must hunt more,’ said Fern.
‘We already hunt more,’ said Akaisha. ‘And though we’re hunting enough to feed everyone, not enough’s left over to make djada for the next migration.’
Everyone looked grimly into the fire. They looked up as Ravan stood to speak.
‘The Master sent me to tell you he’s devised a way in which more than enough food can be provided for everyone.’
Ravan stopped to take pleasure in their rapt attention.
‘Tell us then,’ snapped Whin.
Ravan shook his head. ‘He’s not yet sure, my mother; he’s not fully worked it out, but it would necessitate all the Tribe working together under his direction.’
‘Would it indeed,’ said Whin angrily, but Carnelian could see, though she tried to hide it, how attentively Akaisha was listening to her son.
‘When will he be ready to reveal to us this plan?’
‘It’ll be ready when the Elders give him the authority to put it into action.’
Though Akaisha and Whin frowned, Carnelian saw they were considering it and only then did he fully appreciate how desperate the situation had become.
One day, Carnelian and Fern were fetching water with Osidian and his hunt along the margin of the bellower lagoon. Flamingos in fiery clouds had just touched down and their chatter and busy sculling were rippling both air and water.
Carnelian was watching fish darting. ‘It’s a miracle,’ he announced. ‘They have sprung up from what was dust.’
‘Mother Earth is bountiful,’ said Fern, then smiled, ‘just after the Skyfather’s made love to her.’
Their musings were disturbed by a call from Krow. They saw an aquar speeding towards them.
‘News from the Koppie?’ said Fern and everyone frowned expecting the worst.
The aquar skidded to a halt. ‘The Elders command that the two Standing Dead should appear before them.’
As Ravan translated, Carnelian glanced at Osidian, expecting defiance but saw only a mild, even contented, acquiescence.
‘We’ll ride back with you,’ he said, then turned to Ravan. ‘You will come with us.’
‘I’ll come too,’ said Fern.
‘You will remain here,’ Osidian said, severely.
Fern looked to Carnelian, but he was seeing how much his friend’s defiance had angered the other men. Fearing what might happen should he support him against the Master, Carnelian decided to say nothing and, angry, Fern backed down.
Osidian was smiling coldly as he gave Krow command of the hunt. The youth looked at Fern as if he were measuring him up. Riding away, Carnelian worried that he had made a mistake in leaving Fern behind at the mercy of Osidian’s followers.
THE GREAT HUNT
Forgive our need, little sister
Receive the salt from our tears
Know that we are grateful for the gift you give us of yourself
Know that we have gloried in your beauty and your strength
Return to sleep in the earth, the mother of all
Until the Skyfather comes to make you rise again
In the uncurling of unending time
(Plainsmen hymn of thanks sung over creatures they have killed)
CARNELIAN FOLLOWED OSIDIAN AND RAVAN INTO THE ANCESTOR HOUSE. In the gloom, he could only just make out the Elders there waiting for them. It felt very different from the first time he had appeared before them: many were known to him now.
‘We’ve brought you here so we might consider the freedoms which you currently enjoy within the Tribe,’ said Kyte, in Vulgate.
Osidian smiled. ‘I had imagined you were going to beg me to save you from famine.’
Ravan hesitated, then translated Osidian’s words for the Assembly.
Harth rose to her feet, eyes flaming. ‘The famine you’ve brought upon us.’
As some of the Elders berated her, Osidian bent to hear Ravan’s translation of her words. He gave an elegant shrug. ‘Can you deny the benefits the Bluedancing have brought you?’
Ravan translated. Harth ignored him and addressed the Assembly. ‘We must sort this out amongst ourselves.’
‘What would you have us do, Harth?’ someone said.
‘Let’s be rid of the Bluedancing.’
Her words produced a murmur of protest. Akaisha rose. ‘Would you have us send our own children to the Mountain?’ She glanced round at the faces of those whom she knew had grandchildren marked for the tithe, then she looked back at Harth. ‘Do you want your own son to have died for nothing?’
Harth scowled to hold back tears. Her husband, Crowrane, spoke up. ‘We could keep the marked Bluedancing children, they wouldn’t be too much to feed.’
‘Shouldn’t we also keep some of the unmarked ones so we might use them to replace any that might die?’ said Mossie.
Harth turned on her. ‘Why not keep some of their women? I’m sure some of our men could get them with child. That way we could breed children to present to the next Gatherer in place of our own.’
‘It would
be heartless to separate them from their mothers,’ said Ginkga. ‘Do we really want to keep them here as orphans for as long as seven years?’
‘Besides, the labour of the Bluedancing frees us,’ said several people at once.
Harth looked suddenly frail. ‘Our ferngardens won’t yield any more than they’ve always done: our men already hunt as much as they can and yet every earther they bring us is immediately consumed. We’ve been home for more than a moon and haven’t managed to make a single rope of djada. Mothers and fathers of the Ochre, if you’re determined we must keep all the Bluedancing, can one of you tell me where we’ll get food for our migration?’
Carnelian considered her words. It was a choice between starving or else sending the Bluedancing out to die on the plain, with the consequence that Poppy and the other tithe children would, after all, have to be sent into the clutches of the Masters.
Carnelian became aware Akaisha was looking at him hoping for some other way. He shook his head and she looked disappointed. Frowning, she turned her gaze on Osidian. ‘Ravan told me the Master knows a way out of this dilemma.’
She looked at her son. ‘Ask him what it is he’d have us do.’
Ravan relayed the question to Osidian who whispered a reply.
‘The Master says that he has in mind a great hunt; a new kind of hunt that will bring the Tribe an abundance of meat,’ said Ravan.
‘What’s the bastard talking about?’ demanded Crowrane.
Osidian muttered and Ravan spoke. ‘It isn’t something that can be described but only something he can do for you. If you –’
Whin cut in. ‘Your price?’
Once he had her words, Osidian gave Whin an angelic smile. ‘There’s no price, merely a question of means.’
Carnelian watched resignation and defeat come over the faces of the Elders as Ravan began relaying conditions.
‘The Master says that he must be given authority over the Bluedancing women. Additionally, for a period of up to two moons, he must be allowed to lead the men of the Tribe as he did in the battle against the Bluedancing.’
‘But not into battle,’ Akaisha said quickly, fear stiffening her face.
Osidian promised they would merely hunt.
‘And how shall we be fed during these two moons?’ asked Whin, clearly outraged.
‘The Master will make sure the Koppie is kept supplied with meat,’ said Ravan, failing to conceal his triumph.
Galewing rose and surveyed the Assembly. ‘I for one say we should let him try.’
Many grumbled but none opposed him. Galewing offered to go with the Master to keep an eye on everything he did. With a heavy heart, Carnelian witnessed the Elders bowing their heads as a sign they were giving Osidian their mandate.
As they walked under the cedars, Ravan grinned as if he had helped the Master win a famous victory. Sick with foreboding, Carnelian saw Osidian was walking blind, his inner sight occupied with some vision.
‘I will not go with you,’ Carnelian said.
Osidian took a while coming back from wherever he was. ‘That is fortuitous, since I had intended to leave you behind.’
Carnelian had not expected that and felt cheated.
‘I need you here,’ said Osidian.
‘Why?’
‘I shall show you.’
Unhappy, Carnelian followed Osidian round the Crag, down the Blooding Stair and out into the ferngardens. They reached the Bloodwood Tree, which seemed strange without its ochre-faced women, and walked on into the fernmeadow beyond. Osidian fixed Carnelian with his green eyes.
‘All I ask of you is that you should supervise the work of the Bluedancing here.’
‘It depends what kind of work you want them to do.’
‘Digging, my Lord. Nothing more offensive to your sensibilities than that.’
‘Show me where you want them to dig.’
Osidian traced a wide circuit through the air. ‘The ditch all around this meadow must be cleared and cut to its full original depth. Its walls must be beaten hard and strong. All the earth you dig out should be piled up in a rampart on the outer edge.’
Carnelian surveyed the meadow. He saw that, apart from the earthbridge they had used to cross to it, the Horngate was the only other entrance. He looked at Osidian.
‘You wish for me to make a bottle into which you are going to drive a herd?’
Osidian smiled. ‘It was the way my forefathers provisioned their hosts when they campaigned down on this plain more than seven hundred years ago.’
Carnelian gave a nod, appreciating how it might work. He walked over to the ditch with Osidian and Ravan following him. Standing on the edge, he peered down. Where tree roots did not buttress the walls, they had crumbled. Mud and weeds clogged the ditch along its whole length.
‘This is no trivial labour.’
‘You shall have the use of all the Bluedancing. I will send messengers back to bring me news of your progress. If it be not fast enough we shall see if we cannot bend the Ochre to the task.’
Carnelian looked at him. ‘And where will you be?’
Osidian looked away to where the plain could be seen shimmering green. ‘Out there,’ he said with a jutting of his chin, ‘training the hunters.’
‘If he chooses to help me, I’d like to use Fern as my assistant,’ Carnelian said.
‘Oh no, Carnelian,’ said Osidian with a shake of his head and a feral grin. ‘That one will come with me.’
Fear gripped Carnelian. ‘Do you intend to hurt him?’
Osidian shrugged. ‘Hunting involves an element of risk.’
‘Do you forget that you owe him your life?’
Osidian controlled anger. ‘He will risk the hazards with the rest.’
‘I will not aid you unless you promise to keep him safe.’
Osidian chuckled. ‘Do you imagine you are that essential to this project?’
‘I shall reveal to the Elders the true goal of your schemes.’
Osidian smiled. ‘A crude manipulation but one Chosen in mood. Do you believe those decrepit savages even have the imagination to see my plans are possible? They will laugh at you, my Lord.’
‘I will make them believe me.’
Osidian threw up his hands. ‘Enough. I shall not touch your precious savage. Is that enough?’
Carnelian considered trying to get Osidian to swear a blood oath, but he feared pushing him too far and so he gave a nod.
That night Akaisha’s hearth were disturbed by a succession of women visitors saying they had come to see if it was true the Elders had given the Master command over all their menfolk. Over and over again, wearily, Akaisha had to confirm it, but Carnelian could see the visitors were hardly attending to what she said, but rather sneaking sidelong glimpses at Osidian, whose face the firelight was making brighter than the moon.
Later, men began to come in twos and threes to talk to the Master. Ravan at his side, Osidian received them away from the hearthlight near the rootstair.
When Fern and Sil left the hearth, Carnelian followed them. Both turned to face him.
‘Be careful,’ Carnelian said to Fern.
Sil frowned. ‘You will be going with Fern tomorrow, won’t you?’
Carnelian shook his head. ‘He wants me here.’
Sil glanced at the Master. Fern was examining Carnelian’s eyes and saw from where the danger might come.
Sil smiled at Carnelian and then led her husband away to their sleeping hollow. Unhappy, Carnelian watched them go. He felt someone near him and saw it was Akaisha.
‘Has the Master told you his intentions, Carnie?’
As he told her what he knew, her forehead creased into an ever deeper frown. ‘I don’t like it. It has a smell of impiety.’ She gripped his arm. ‘Are we doing the right thing?’
‘What choice do we have?’
She looked up at him, probing his face, then letting go, she looked away. Following her line of sight, Carnelian saw the black shapes of two men nodding as th
ey received a mutter of instructions from Ravan, beside whom loomed Osidian’s immensity.
Carnelian saw how much she was struggling with doubt. ‘I must start tomorrow. Will you help me?’
She tore her gaze back to him. ‘You’ll need quite a few of us to oversee the work.’
The next morning Carnelian took Poppy down to the Newditch with the rest of the Tribe to watch the men ride away. Osidian rode at their head with Galewing and his son, Hirane. Ravan and Krow were close behind. Searching for Fern, Carnelian found him further back. He watched until Akaisha and a score of other women came for him and, together, they went down to the Bluedancing field.
Their camp had trampled all the ferns into the earth. He saw the attempts they had made at forming hearths. These were so close to each other that the scatter of sleeping bodies formed a single mat of grubby cloth and flesh which reminded Carnelian, uncomfortably, of the way their men had looked lying on the battlefield.
‘Poor creatures,’ Sil said in a low voice.
‘They brought it upon themselves,’ Akaisha snapped to a nervous nodding murmur of agreement.
Before they reached them, the Bluedancing began coming alive. Carnelian could see their dirty faces gaping. They stumbled to their feet, clutching their children to their hips. A deputation of their Elders came out to meet the Ochre. Akaisha brought her own people to a halt. The salt bangles of the Bluedancing hung loose with their skin on the sticks of their limbs. Most had made an attempt to brush back their hair, but their faces were grimy, and their robes and head blankets filthy. They stank. It was clear that however much water they were being given, it was not enough to wash with.
Their dark eyes were fixed on Akaisha.
‘Today you work elsewhere,’ she said. The uncharacteristically harsh tone in her voice caused Carnelian to look at her. Akaisha’s narrowing eyes, her taut thinned lips seemed to show aloofness but he knew her well enough to see her pain.
The Standing Dead (The Stone Dance Of The Chameleon) Page 43
