The Third God

by Ricardo Pinto

Carnelian felt uneasy. ‘But you might be seen, perhaps captured.’

  Osidian shook his head, slowly, still lost in his vision. ‘I shall travel with but one companion, humbly, upon the road.’

  ‘Morunasa?’

  Osidian nodded. ‘With him at my side, my height will not mark me as more than just another Marula.’

  Carnelian could see Osidian would not be dissuaded. ‘And the huimur?’

  ‘You will take them west until you come within sight of the towers of the Great South Road. There you will await my return.’

  Carnelian considered the power Osidian was putting in his hands. How easy it would be to betray him. That thought was bittersweet, but he decided he must hold to his strategy: Osidian’s rebellion must be big enough that, in contrast, the part the Plainsmen and the Lepers had played in it would appear diminished. He raised his hand in assent.

  When Carnelian woke, Osidian was gone. He rose and the legion came awake with him in the dawn. He could read the Lesser Chosen commanders’ uncertainty in the cast of their bodies, but chose to ignore it and banished them to their towers with a gesture. He sought out his officers and told them they would guide Earth-is-Strong as if he were sitting in her command chair. He assured them they would suffer no punishment for this infringement of legionary law, then he dismissed them, insisting that, throughout the day, they should stay within direct signal range of Heart-of-Thunder. Soon he was mounting the ladder up into Osidian’s tower. Once seated in Osidian’s chair, he sent commands flashing round the ring of dragons. Turning Heart-of-Thunder into his own shadow, Carnelian led them west.

  It became hard to believe they were moving at all. Certainly, the grid of trackways gave an impression of forward movement but, every time they reached an intersection, with its identical overseer tower and the ring of the kraal behind it, it seemed they had merely returned to the same spot they had been in before. Dusty hri fields formed dun rectangles edged by the trackways. Sartlar laboured beneath the withering sun. Sometimes he would watch a gang of them jogging along the thread of a track. That would stir harsh memories of slavery and loss. He would turn away, letting the land blur, allowing the sway of the cabin to seduce him into thinking he was bobbing on a gentle swell. The sartlar became invisible to him, merging into the dull monotony of the land. Space lost its meaning. Time alone was perceptible. An eternity of it ruled by the tyrannous sun that made each overseer tower shrink and grow its arm of shadow.

  In the evenings the meaningless vastness of the world contracted to the space within the laager. With darkness his world shrank to the smoky interior of his pavilion. Harried by doubt he would seek escape in sleep, but when this came at last he would be drawn down dark paths into the underworld of dream.

  On the afternoon of the fourth day since Osidian had left with Morunasa, Carnelian was woken from a nodding half-slumber by his Lefthand. ‘I dared to think the Master would wish to be woken.’ The man glanced at the Righthand. ‘We risked bringing the dragon to a halt.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Master, our lookout claims to have glimpsed a watch-tower.’

  ‘Ahead of us?’

  ‘And to the south, Master.’

  Carnelian gazed out through the bone screen. Gridded land stretched to the same hazy horizon he had been seeing for days.

  He rose from his chair. ‘Signal the others to fall back.’

  ‘Master.’ The Lefthand punched the deck with his forehead even as he shuffled aside to allow Carnelian to pass round the back of his chair.

  The Righthand scurried to attend him. ‘Master?’

  ‘I wish to see for myself.’

  The legionary looked horrified. ‘Climb the mast?’

  Carnelian chopped an affirmative. ‘Bring the lookout down.’

  The man hesitated, squinting up at Carnelian as if he feared he might have misunderstood.

  ‘Go on,’ Carnelian said, softening his tone.

  The legionary ducked a bow, then scampered to the staples set into the mast. Climbing them, he opened a hatch and slipped up onto the roof. Carnelian could hear his footfalls above his head. Heard him shouting something. At last, a face appeared in the hatch. ‘He’s down, Master.’

  Carnelian left his cloak on his command chair, then climbed the staples. It was a squeeze to get through the hatch. The land spread vast and dusty beneath an immense, colourless sky. For a moment he was lost in all that airy space. Then he looked down; the ground was far away. The wedge of Heart-of-Thunder’s head seemed like a prow. Carnelian focused on the men prostrate on the roof. The Righthand and two others. One was gripping a mechanism Carnelian recognized as a tiny version of a watch-tower heliograph. The other must be the lookout.

  He gazed up the mast with its glyph plaques. It tapered upwards like a knotted rope hanging from the sky. Far above was the swelling of the standard. At that height the mast did not look strong enough to bear his weight. Nevertheless, he was determined to go up.

  As he climbed the staples running up the back of the mast the breeze was causing it to shudder. Each plaque he passed was larger than a shield. Soon the men looked tiny on the roof below. He could see not only Heart-of-Thunder’s head, but his rump and tail. Glancing up, he saw the standard was hanging huge above him. Soon he had reached it and found there, just beneath the grimacing paired faces of the Commonwealth, something very like a deadman’s chair. He took a firm grip of its hoop with first one hand then the other. Then he swung himself astride the central drum. It threatened to rotate under him forcing a spasm as he thought he might fall. He righted himself, waited for his heart to calm, then gazed out over the land. Wind roaring in his right ear, he located what he sought. The prongs of a watch-tower due west. It had to be on the Great South Road. Two more watch-towers lay to the south, no doubt part of the Ringwall. Makar had to be nearby. Suddenly he felt utterly exposed. It seemed as if the Wise were gazing directly at him. He slid off the chair onto the first staple and began the descent.

  The sun was low when a voice like a gull’s caused Carnelian to push past his Hands and hurry out of his pavilion. The cry coming again from the sky made him glance up. The lookout clinging to Heart-of-Thunder’s mast was pointing back the way they had come. It took Carnelian a while to notice anything in the long shadows the dragons were casting, but then he saw two riders approaching.

  ‘There is no time for discussion, my Lords,’ said Osidian. He glanced around at the makeshift camp Carnelian had made. He had not bothered with a laager, but had stopped the dragons where they stood in their ragged line of march. His pavilion and the others for the commanders seemed coalescing pinnacles of the deepening shadows. The commanders had gathered with Carnelian to welcome Osidian’s return. Morunasa wore his ashen frown like a mask.

  Osidian sent the commanders away to get everything ready for an immediate departure, then turned to Carnelian. ‘We must reach Makar before dawn.’ His mask was reddened by the sun. ‘And I do not know how long it will take us to get there.’

  Carnelian could hear tightness in Osidian’s voice.

  ‘We will advance in single file with Marula thrown out in front of us to check the ground.’

  Carnelian remembered his experience fleeing with the Ochre raiders near Makar. ‘The ground there is dangerously fissured?’

  Osidian turned to look at him and gave a nod, then glanced up to the nearest dragon. ‘We must do what we can to ensure they have solid footing.’

  ‘We need to talk, Osidian. I want to know what you have seen and what it is you intend to do.’

  ‘There is no time, I tell you!’

  Carnelian could see the crews were already swarming up into their towers. ‘I could ride with you inside Heart-of-Thunder’s cabin.’

  ‘Who then would command Earth-is-Strong?’

  ‘My Hands have been doing that for days.’

  ‘But they are marumaga!’

  ‘Did you expect me to be in both towers at the same time?’

  Carnelian was a little surprised
at this prejudice, but then realized that, while his own experience with that caste had been with his brothers, Osidian’s was certain not to have been anything like as intimate.

  Osidian made a gesture of exasperation. ‘Oh, very well!’

  They rode Heart-of-Thunder directly towards the flaming sunset. Below, the Marula spread before them in a fan, aquar and riders almost invisible because they seemed beaten from the same copper as the land. It was the shadows they trailed that allowed Carnelian to make out where they were.

  He looked around him. The cabin seemed soaked in blood. Every surface glistened and glowed. An apparition, Osidian, stood gazing out, steadying himself against the dragon’s gait by gripping the right arm of his command chair. Carnelian was holding onto the left. The two officers had to manage kneeling behind them.

  ‘What did you see, Osidian?’

  The apparition turned to Carnelian and began speaking, but he heard nothing. All he could do was stare at the reflection of his own mask in Osidian’s. It seemed the same lurid red face that had been haunting his dreams. To the drone of Osidian’s voice the red face thinned and twisted like a slow flame. It resembled Akaisha’s face warning him, but Carnelian also recognized it as his own. He turned away, nursing his beating heart.

  ‘What ails you, Carnelian?’

  Carnelian breathed deep and hard, still haunted. As his heart slowed, he felt as if he was coming awake. Osidian’s hand was on his shoulder. ‘Just a momentary dizziness.’

  ‘Sit in the chair.’

  Carnelian glanced at it reddening further in the deepening dusk and shook his head. ‘I am recovering; please begin again with what you were saying. Tell me everything.’

  Osidian paused a moment. ‘Very well. All day and all night we rode west then, before dawn, we found an abandoned kraal. We slept in its tower until dusk and then set off again, but this time turning south towards the Ringwall. We crept into a stopping place and as the sun rose we hid ourselves among the rabble. All day we endured moving among them on the road.’

  ‘No one wondered at your height?’

  Osidian made a gesture of annoyance. ‘I hunched . . . Morunasa made sure they saw his face while I was careful to hide mine. They thought me one of his kind.’

  Carnelian nodded, then motioned him to continue.

  ‘We approached the city in late afternoon. When we reached a market outside its walls we found a place to hide until nightfall. Before the moon rose we passed through the city and found what we needed. That was last night. Before dawn we slipped away into the open fields. East we rode, then north, searching for your trail. Finding it, we rode along it until we reached you.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘We learned much from overhearing travellers talking. Morunasa got more from questioning others.’

  ‘Is Aurum there?’

  Osidian shook his head. ‘I believe he is down in the Leper Valleys.’

  ‘What?’ Carnelian said. His shocked tone awoke concern in the officers. He calmed himself.

  ‘He must be searching for me,’ Osidian said. ‘Though rumour suggests he is even now on his way back to the Guarded Land.’

  Carnelian heard the glee in his voice and understood. ‘You believe we shall arrive in Makar before him and trap him in the Valleys.’

  Osidian was nodding. ‘Put in such an untenable position, I have hopes my Lord Aurum will realize he has no choice but to negotiate with me.’

  Carnelian could not deny the nausea he felt. He slipped round and slumped into the chair. He had thought he was leaving Poppy and Fern in relative safety. His mind was lit by nightmarish dragonfire. He lifted his head and let the darkness that was falling outside quench the flames. To save whatever remained of the Leper Valleys, Aurum must be drawn back to the Guarded Land. Carnelian turned to look up at Osidian, in whose metal face lurked disturbing, murky reflections. ‘We must make a plan to take Makar.’

  They halted so that Carnelian could transfer to Earth-is-Strong. Standing astride the head of Heart-of-Thunder’s brassman, Carnelian paused, stunned by the immensity of the night sky. The earth’s lightless sea snuffed out the stars along the southern horizon. He noticed two burning on the boundary between earth and sky. He scanned east. There, though much fainter, was a third. Each beacon marked the presence of a watch-tower on the Ringwall. He gazed into the south-west and for a moment thought he could see the dull glow of Makar. His certainty wavered. He gazed further west, in the direction they were heading. He searched the horizon there for more fallen stars, but could find none. His vantage point was too low. He began the descent to the ground.

  Reaching the earth he was struck by how separated he was from it by the ranga calluses of his suit and felt a powerful urge to stand upon it barefoot. Heart-of-Thunder was a cliff of blackness. His mast speared the infinite sky.

  Escorted by Osidian’s Lefthand, Carnelian made his way back along the dragon line. It was a long way. The monsters snuffled. Their rich musk permeated the night. Glancing up he caught a gleam running along a flame-pipe. Then the faint glow of a Master enthroned in his tower. He wondered if it came to battle whether the commanders would really obey Osidian. Would they really be prepared to make war upon the Commonwealth?

  When they reached Earth-is-Strong the Lefthand cried up to her tower. The brassman was lowered, then a ladder rustled down to meet him. He climbed it, feeling he was ascending to the stars. One of his crew was waiting on the brassman to guide him in. Entering the tower Carnelian was cheered by its warmth, by the now familiar smell. He ascended to the upper deck. As he sat down in the command chair, he glanced to either side. His Lefthand and Righthand were there, kneeling in their places. ‘Tell Heart-of-Thunder we’re ready to go.’

  His Lefthand gave a nod and bent to mutter into his voice fork. While Carnelian waited, he peered out through his bone screen. Directly ahead a dragon and its tower formed an indivisible shadow mass. He stroked the smooth arms of his chair as he considered the plan he and Osidian had come up with.

  A sudden spark hovering in the night made him start. It was a signal coming back down the line. The dragon in front lurched into movement. Carnelian felt the tremors it was sending into the earth. He had no need to have the signal deciphered. He whispered his command to his Lefthand. The familiar rocking of the cabin once Earth-is-Strong had found her gait soon lulled him to sleep.

  Some time later he woke and, peering, noticed two lights twinkling on the western horizon. He knew they must be the southernmost watch-towers on the Great South Road. Osidian had set them on a course that led directly between them as they had planned.

  A whisper made Carnelian sit up. It was his Lefthand. ‘Master, a signal—’

  ‘From Heart-of-Thunder?’

  ‘Yes, Master.’

  ‘A command?’

  The Lefthand shook his shadowy head. ‘Wishing you good luck, Master.’

  ‘Bring the dragon to a halt.’

  The man did as he was told. Carnelian watched the mountainous shadow of the dragon in front slowly merge with the night. Osidian was making for the southernmost tower. Carnelian raised his hand to indicate the tiny beacon of its neighbour to the north and his Lefthand set a course for it. As they began to move, he could just make out the small body of Marula below that had been assigned to him to make sure the ground before him could hold Earth-is-Strong’s weight.

  Carnelian had hoped for steady progress. It was essential to their plan that he should reach his tower before Osidian reached his. His recollections of the land around Makar had made him confident it was Osidian who would have to navigate around the most ravines and fissures, but this was the second massive sinkhole his Marula had had to lead him round. Carnelian could smell the fear from his men as they waited for the next thump to vibrate the cabin and show that Earth-is-Strong had made another solid footfall.

  The moon was rising behind them when Carnelian sent his dragon crashing through the stopping place. He had done what he could to align her on the track that led
from the fields directly towards the watch-tower and its gate in the hope it would give her a clear passage. He could not risk giving any overt warning of his coming lest he should alert the tower. He had hoped there would be enough people awake in the stopping place to feel the thunder of his approach, to see Earth-is-Strong’s monstrous shape looming up out of the night towards them and then sound a general alarm that would send people fleeing from her path. Even so, he could hear screaming thinned by the cold air. The command chair transferred a judder up his spine each time Earth-is-Strong crushed something beneath one of her massive feet. However hard he focused on his objective, he could not stop imagining what it was he was leaving flattened behind him.

  The cabin angled back as his dragon climbed a ramp towards the leftway wall. The tower loomed up, its rib arms held aloft as if in shock or surrender. The gate upon which it stood sentinel was closed. Osidian and he had expected this. He had his Lefthand slow Earth-is-Strong until she was edging towards the gate. Another command made her lower her head. The point of her crest moved forward as she tipped her anvil head to target the gate with her flat crown. His whole body felt her making contact. His Lefthand was muttering commands. Carnelian had to put his feet out to stop sliding off his chair as she leaned into the wood. It groaned like the bow of a baran striking a massive wave, then it detonated once, twice more, and exploded, spitting splinters. Released, Earth-is-Strong stumbled forward. The cabin lurched, shaking everything, as the dragon lumbered through the ragged gap.

  He moved her out onto the road. The glitter of campfires on the far side slid to the right as he turned her south. He could hear the rush and clatter of Marula riders as they surged up the ramp onto the road behind him. They had their commands. They would swarm the watch-tower and try to take it intact. Failing that, he would have to turn his flame-pipes on it. He trusted his lookout to warn him if any attempt was made to send a message north. He had instructed him to look for any signal.

  Carnelian leaned forward, peering down the road. There it was, the next watch-tower, its twinned flares just above the straight black edge of the leftway. Heart racing, he looked for the telltale flicker that would show any attempt to betray them to the Wise. As far as he could tell, those flares were twinkling as innocuously as stars. He squinted, trying to see any sign of Osidian. He sat back, relieved. Everything suggested he had made it on time. A sudden wavering in the flares jerked him forward again. They steadied. There it was again. The rhythm seemed to him too slow to be a message. He gazed away from the far-off tower, west into the murky land. In a layer, a hazing was hugging the ground. It was barely perceptible, but it was there. Mist? He scanned further west and saw that there the night was clear. He squinted at the haze. Could it be smoke? But what could make smoke rise in such a neat band?