Osidian’s face, burial black. Pits for eyes. The tree burning. Her screaming is the flames, is the branches piercing him like spears. He falls before the swelter of her approach. Ebeny aflame, wild-eyed, masked with blood. No, it is Akaisha mouthing words, her hair, flames beaded with iron. Bloated ochre face mouthing words he cannot, will not hear. Horror of her corpse breath. Her dead lips kiss him, suck him into her. Struggling against her fiery walls squeezing him to blood.
Carnelian woke transfixed by the moon. Osidian dead in the dream, the fire; both seemed omens of defeat. Plainsmen against dragons: he could hear again the mocking laughter of the men who had served in the legions. Such futile defiance would only provoke Aurum’s terrible retribution. Only the Wise could have given him a legion. Why else but because they wanted Osidian, alive so that he could accuse his mother. Carnelian was another witness to her crime. The bright stare of the moon possessed him. Cypher of the Wise. The same cool clarity that characterized their thought. Left to them, just enough would be done to restore order in the Earthsky and nothing more. Aurum was the real danger.
The moon was as colourless as the Marula salt Krow was bringing from the Upper Reach. If such a treasure were to fall into Plainsman hands they would cease to provide military service to the Masters. That the Wise would not allow. Greed for its possession would enflame the tribes to wars amongst themselves. It had to be destroyed. But what of the mine it came from?
As his nostrils filled with the reek of death, Carnelian felt his resolve fraying. Who was he to find a way through such a labyrinth? Merely another victim of the forces he had helped unleash.
The corpse they were lugging up to the summit of the Crag was so putrid they had had to wrap it in a blanket to keep it intact. The blanket was soaked through with the fluids weeping from the decomposing flesh. Carnelian and Fern struggled up the last step onto the summit and paused, panting through ubas wound several times over mouth and nose. The glare squeezed their eyes to slits. Ravens hopped, screeching, among the charnel heaps. Even through the layers of cloth the stench was overpowering. They dragged the corpse with a bandy-legged waddle to avoid treading in the dark trail it oozed over the brown-crusted rock. When they found a space they gripped the blanket edge then rolled the corpse free. They averted their eyes, but could still feel the sodden release of weight; were still enveloped in the aura released by its moist collapse. Carnelian let go the blanket as dry retching racked him like a cough. Ravens rushed in to fight over this new feast. Flies eddied like smoke. The dream had stripped his mind of the dullness that had protected him. Under the repeated stabbings of their beaks the corpse was releasing its rot-soft meat. Jet eyes blinked their beads at the root of gore-clotted plumage.
He tore free of that horrid fascination and sent his gaze soaring up into the clean sky. That blue so pure above the corruption of the world restored him to his centre. When he returned his gaze to earth he looked south and west, searching for Krow. That morning he had been doing that every time he came up to the summit. Fernland spread to incandescent lagoons. Acacias, spaced like the towers of the overseers in the Guarded Land, danced languidly in the haze. The only other movement was the slight creeping of the herds along the edge of the lagoons. He saw Fern was gazing northwards and sought the focus of his attention. Carnelian’s heart leapt. Riders. The omen of his dream, of his conjectures overwhelmed him with dread. ‘Plainsmen . . .’ he murmured.
‘Marula,’ said Fern in a flat tone, looking as if he was barely managing to stay on his feet.
Carnelian almost asked him how he knew, before seeing for himself that they lacked the easy grace of Plainsman riders. Too few to be a rout, they had to be bringing a message from Osidian. If this were verbal, then most likely it would be Morunasa who was the messenger. It was strange that the thought it might be this man he loathed should kindle hope. What would Fern do? Turning, Carnelian saw he was moving away, crouched, towards the steps, dragging the blanket after him. He followed him. Reaching the edge he watched him descend. When Fern reached the clearing below, he turned west. Carnelian sighed relief. They had just carried the last of Mossie’s hearth up and the next one they had meant to clear was further down the Westing. It seemed that Fern was intent on ignoring the visitors. If Poppy remained with him, Carnelian might have a chance to tackle Morunasa alone.
He quit the shade to cross the earthbridge. The withering heat was preferable to the region he had just come through. Being the furthest from Akaisha’s tree, they had left the Northing and Sorrowing hearths for last. The cedars there were still laden with dead. The air choked with flies.
Unwinding his uba he breathed deep, not caring about the scorch of the clean air, his gaze fixed on the riders ambling up the Northing in the shade of its magnolias. As they drew closer he could see by the indigo robes that most of them were Oracles. Their leader pulled the cloth down from his nose and mouth.
‘We must have water.’
The voice was so hoarse, the face so gaunt, that Carnelian did not at first recognize it was Morunasa.
Ribbons of light writhed up the Crag rock when they pulled back the cistern cover. Morunasa was the first to drink. He downed one bowl and then another, exposing his sharpened teeth in a grimace of relief. He handed the bowl to one of his fellows and looked off among the trees. ‘This place feels something like our sacred grove.’
As they had climbed the rootstair from where they had left the aquar and Morunasa’s warrior escort, Carnelian had noticed with what frowns of recognition the Oracles had regarded the corpses and the swarming flies.
Morunasa looked at him. ‘And you have the look . . . and odour of an offering to our Lord.’
Carnelian glanced down at his body encrusted with filth, but it was the awe in Morunasa’s face that made him feel most polluted.
‘Perhaps our God has followed us here,’ Morunasa said, voicing one of Carnelian’s fears.
Another Oracle, reaching awkwardly for the bowl, winced as his sleeves slid down his arms revealing seared flesh, crusted and weeping. Morunasa saw what Carnelian was looking at. ‘Dragonfire.’
Turning, Carnelian almost believed he could see flames reflecting in Morunasa’s eyes. Dread seeped into him. ‘Defeat then?’
‘Hookfork invited the Master to negotiate, then betrayed the truce. Many were lost to the firestorm as we covered his escape.’
Remote from Morunasa’s voice, Carnelian stood stunned by an outcome even worse than any he had feared. ‘How many dead?’
Morunasa’s eyes burned. ‘Among the Flatlanders?’
‘I know the Marula are mortal too.’
Morunasa’s glare softened. ‘The Flatlanders suffered worse.’
‘He’s protecting the Marula?’
Morunasa snorted. ‘Not from love.’
Carnelian understood. ‘He believes you are more fully under his control.’
Morunasa nodded. ‘The Flatlanders now have one worse to fear than him.’
‘But they still follow him?’
‘He persuaded them they must delay the dragons to give their people a chance to get away.’
‘Away where?’
‘To the mountains.’
‘So early in the year? Madness!’ Though the heavener hunts Osidian had organized might have provided enough food for the journey, it was still impossible. ‘The raveners . . .’ he said, feeling revulsion at the idea of exposing so many people to the fernland before the predators had gone east. Day after day as naked prey. Night after night manning rings of fire against the monsters. ‘Madness,’ he said again. ‘They don’t even have the aquar they would need to pull the drag-cradles.’
‘The tribes will set off once their men return.’
Migration across a land still prowled by raveners with Aurum pursuing them. The image of the old Master torching ants caused dread to rise in Carnelian. Who could survive the coming holocaust? He forced himself to consider what else Morunasa had said. ‘Delay? How?’
The Oracle frowned. ‘We
skirmish with them, encourage them to attempt envelopment, then break out before the dragons can come in to finish us.’
Carnelian began to understand their stooping, their dull eyes. How many times must they have come close to annihilation? The image of Akaisha and Ebeny burning. Cedars lit like torches. Holocaust. He strove to focus his mind. Despair was an indulgence he must not give way to. Aurum was not the only threat. Osidian would have a plan to have his power survive this debacle. What part might these migrations play in his schemes? Carnelian tried to find some hope in the possibility of the tribes fleeing to the mountains, but what was there to stop Aurum pursuing them with fire? The Withering perhaps? Even a legion could not hope to endure such waterless heat. Yes, the Withering might drive Aurum back to the Guarded Land. What then?
Carnelian focused on Morunasa. ‘Why’ve you come?’
‘When the salt arrives here from the Upper Reach, he’s commanded that you take it to the koppie of the Bluedancing.’
So that was it. Osidian wanted to safeguard the treasure with which he might recruit more Plainsmen. He would fight on until the Earthsky was a lifeless desert. He must be stopped.
Carnelian knew that in what was to come Morunasa could well be pivotal. ‘And what’s to happen to your people?’
The Oracle considered his answer. ‘Our warriors still follow the Master, but this land can no longer be saved.’
But the Upper Reach could be. Carnelian considered whether Morunasa might be hoping to persuade Osidian to retreat there with the Marula. Isolated in the Isle of Flies, Morunasa could hope to overthrow him. Then Morunasa would be free to re-establish the Oracles’ cruel dominion over the Lower Reach. Carnelian was not happy about that, but he had to do what he could, not attempt to save the whole world.
Morunasa dipped another bowl into the cistern. ‘I’ve done as he bade me.’ He drank another draught, then declared he must return to the Master.
‘How many days before the dragons reach here?’ Carnelian asked.
Morunasa shrugged. ‘Two at most. More easily might he seek to stop the Rains than their advance.’
They carried some of the precious water down to the aquar and the warriors. As they drank, greedily, they squinted at the incandescent plain. Most likely, the anxiety in their faces had less to do with returning to the withering heat than with returning to the battlefront.
Watching Morunasa, Carnelian strove to devise some way he might use an alliance with him to help the Plainsmen. Though he and Morunasa might conspire against Osidian, this would not protect the tribes from Aurum, who would soon be in their midst. Fern and Poppy might be saved. He reached out to touch Morunasa’s shoulder. The Oracle glanced at Carnelian’s hand in surprise.
‘Leave me some aquar.’
Morunasa raised an eyebrow. His gaze unfocused then sharpened again. ‘I’ll leave you one.’
‘Leave me two . . . please.’
Something like a smile played over Morunasa’s lips. ‘I can spare only one.’
He barked a command at one of the Marula warriors. The man glanced at Carnelian, then gave a nod. Morunasa and the rest climbed into their saddle-chairs. Their aquar rose and they began filing through the Northgate. One by one they sped away, pulsing bright and dark as they coursed through the magnolia shadows.
Carnelian regarded the man Morunasa had left behind. He peered along the Homing in the direction in which it was likely Fern and Poppy were working. He would have to go and talk to them. How would they react to the presence of one of the murderers of the Tribe? He had worse news for them. A holocaust was bearing down on them he could see no way to deflect and all he might suggest they could do was to destroy the salt. Beyond that, his only hope now, however thin, was that somehow he could restore the subjugation of the Plainsmen to the Masters.
The Maruli was sneaking glances up the hill at the hanging dead. He looked distressed. Perhaps it was unjust to hold him responsible for the massacre. What choice had he had, but to obey the Oracles and Osidian? Carnelian caught the man’s attention and, together, they set off with the aquar ambling after them.
Poppy stared down at the Maruli standing where Carnelian had left him on the Homing. Mattock in hand, Fern regarded the man with cold malice. Trying to head off a dangerous confrontation Carnelian spoke quickly. ‘Morunasa left him here because I asked for an aquar. Whatever he may have done, remember that he’s little more than the Master’s slave.’
Fern turned on Carnelian, raising the stone blade of his mattock, snarling. ‘If he comes anywhere near one of my people I’ll kill him.’
Carnelian was relieved Fern was venting his rage through words rather than action. ‘I’ve something to tell you.’
Fern climbed out of the grave he had been digging and advanced on Carnelian. ‘What? That Morunasa’s come with commands from the Master?’
Carnelian eyed the raised mattock then looked at Poppy. ‘Please, Poppy, go to the hearth. I need to talk to Fern alone.’
Holding him with a glare, the girl shook her grimy head. Carnelian saw the lump of ochre like clotted blood in her hand and how gore sheathed her arms. What was he trying to protect her from? He sat on the ground. ‘Let’s talk then.’
Poppy’s eyes softened and she too sank to the ground. Fern lowered the mattock, but remained standing. Carnelian began by admitting that Morunasa had come with instructions from Osidian ‘. . . to safeguard the salt Krow’s bringing from the Upper Reach.’
Poppy struck the ground with her ochre. ‘Even now he does whatever the Master tells him.’
Carnelian looked from her face to Fern’s. ‘The Master’s been defeated. He flees before the dragons. They’re coming here.’
He watched them pale beneath their masks of filth. With the back of her hand Poppy stirred the cedar needles she had ochred. Fern let his mattock slide to the earth, his gaze rising blind up into the canopy. Carnelian went on to explain what he thought Osidian wanted with the salt and felt guilty relief as he spilled his worry out. ‘And so we must do what we can to destroy it.’
Fern impaled him with his dark eyes. ‘What does that matter when the Standing Dead are going to turn everything to ash?’
‘What does Hookfork want with us?’ Poppy said, her childish distress making Carnelian feel he had been wrong after all to let her stay.
‘He wants the Master.’
‘Why?’
Carnelian could not deny the plea in her eyes. ‘Because Hookfork seeks to use the Master against the God in the Mountain.’
Fern’s face twisted and he let out a groan. ‘I don’t understand. How . . . ?’
Preparing to answer that, Carnelian felt how deep had been his betrayal of these people whom he loved. ‘Because he’s the brother of the God in the Mountain who, treacherously, set himself up in his place.’
The mattock toppled to the ground. Fern sank down open-mouthed. Poppy simply stared. Carnelian watched as the truth of it slowly sank in. Shock turned to agony as Fern realized the part he had played in bringing Osidian and Carnelian into the Earthsky. Carnelian could not let him bear this alone. He reached out, but did not feel he could touch him. ‘It was my fault. I kept this from you. I never imagined it would come to this. I was blind. I’ve always been blind.’ The enormity of his failure made his words run dry.
They sat like boulders until Poppy spoke. ‘So we must give Hookfork what he wants and then he’ll go away.’
As Carnelian nodded, a cold expression came over Fern’s face. ‘We’ll give him a mutilated corpse.’
Carnelian grimaced. ‘Dead, the Master’s a blunted weapon.’
He tried to explain the politics of Osrakum, but, sitting there amid the rotting dead, even to him it was all incomprehensible. He ended up assuring them that, if Osidian returned to Osrakum, he would be unable to escape the rituals requiring his death. ‘And this might turn the eyes of the Standing Dead away from the Earthsky.’
Silence fell again as they all stared blindly, tortured by guilt, by regrets, b
y grief. Carnelian, sickened, knew he must tell them the rest of it. He did not want to, but it was such weakness that had brought them there. He tried again to find a way round it, but the certainty of Aurum’s retribution was as solid as the massacre surrounding him. ‘Most likely this will not save the Master’s tribes.’
Poppy stabbed him with a look of pure horror. ‘Why not?’
Carnelian cast around for some way to make it clear. ‘Because Hookfork’s at least as cruel as the Master. He’ll see the defiance of the Plainsmen as an affront to his pride. He’ll feel . . .’ Corpse stench was the air they breathed. ‘As the Master did here he’ll feel the need to avenge the insult to the Standing Dead of your familiarity with him . . . with us.’
He bowed his head. He thought of telling them the Wise might yet restrict Aurum’s retribution, but he was sick of peddling false hope. He recoiled as Poppy touched his arm. The look of love in her face released his tears. ‘I don’t deserve . . .’
She gripped his arm. ‘They won’t leave you with us, will they?’
He wanted to tell her that Osidian would reveal to Aurum that he was here, that if he returned to Osrakum he could accuse Ykoriana and Molochite, that he would strive to curb Aurum’s holocaust, but, ultimately, all he did was shake his head. He wiped his eyes. ‘The most that can be done is to bring what’s left of the tribes back into submission to the Standing Dead.’
Poppy squeezed his arm. ‘Is that why you want to destroy the salt, Carnie?’
He nodded. ‘Otherwise who’d go into service in the legions?’
‘How do we take the Master alive?’
Carnelian looked at her, then at Fern who was scowling, kneading one foot. ‘With Morunasa’s help.’
Poppy’s mouth became a line and Fern’s scowl deepened. She gave a slight nod. ‘And the salt?’
‘Krow’s our best hope there.’
The Third God Page 4
