The Third God

by Ricardo Pinto

  All day I marched north as Aurum fell back before me.

  Carnelian pulled the panels of the letter open. He examined both sides of the sheet. Only the seal and Osidian’s glyphs marked the skin. He folded the letter and lay back, clutching it to his chest. He wanted to know more; needed to know more. Aurum would not fall back without reason. Carnelian tried to still the rising fear. A trap? Osidian was moving into a trap. He gazed up at the ceiling. The dregs of his nightmare seemed to be the shadows up there edging the gilding. Did his dreams prefigure some terrible defeat?

  Powerlessness choked him into anger. What madness had possessed him to put his trust in dreams? Still, he could not deny his conviction that his dream had held a warning. Try as he might he could not grasp enough to make sense of it.

  He sat up and saw the homunculus still there, waiting. ‘Why was your master so interested in my dreams?’

  ‘The Wise believe dreams to be echoes from the future, Seraph.’

  ‘All dreams, all dreamers?’

  The silver mask inclined a little. ‘Some dreams the Gods put into those minds that are most closely aligned with the flow of events.’

  ‘Such as the minds of Sapients?’

  ‘More so those of the Grand Sapients, Seraph.’

  ‘Is that why your master chooses to sleep here beneath our feet?’

  ‘It is true, Seraph, my master seeks truth in dreams, but he sleeps also to keep his mind free of impure distraction. In any given year, he is rarely awake for more than twelve days.’

  Carnelian was shocked. ‘How can he hope to administer his Domain asleep?’

  ‘A cascade of the lesser Sapients of his Domain do that. His thought is not to be wasted on minor matters. Once a year, at the Rebirth, he is woken and it is then that he transacts those matters that his staff have prepared for him.’

  Carnelian pondered the strange life Legions must have lived. ‘A living death.’

  ‘Seraph?’

  ‘He can have no grasp at all of reality, of life.’

  ‘The opposite is true, Seraph. Remote from the world he gives thought only to that which is salient. His staff distill events finely and feed this distillation into his perfect mind.’

  Try as he might, Carnelian could not see how such an existence could be other than the most terrible imprisonment.

  Carnelian lay in his bed exhausted, trying to sleep. Though falling back into the well of dreams filled him with dread, he knew he must confront whatever was waiting for him there in the depths. He felt shame that this was now the only help he could give his loved ones, but even in this he felt undermined by his lack of skill. In any marketplace around the Commonwealth there were sure to be better interpreters of dreams plying their trade. Worse, a part of him rejected utterly such superstition. His only consolation was knowing how seriously the Wise took dreams.

  Carnelian, swimming up to the light, came awake, spluttering. His confusion made a cavern of the chamber; monsters of the clepsydra and clocks. The face was there in his mind, fiery, the colour of blood. Akaisha’s face, but not quite hers. Ebeny’s? Thoughts of her penetrated to the child in him. How he longed for her warm embrace, for her hand stroking his head. Locked away in Osrakum she seemed more distant than the stars. He steeled himself. Such longings were weakness.

  Blearily, Carnelian was making an effort to examine one of Aurum’s clocks when he heard the sound he most hoped for and dreaded. A knock at the outer doors. Soon, the homunculus had returned with another letter from Osidian in his hand. Carnelian accepted it, his heart pounding. Almost he put it down unopened but, not allowing himself to weaken, he broke the seal and read.

  He will not let me come to grips with him. I will pursue him all day and then through the night. He will not escape me.

  Carnelian felt sick. He could hear Osidian’s voice: the anger in it, the frustration. Such a reaction was predictable to anyone who knew him. He feared Aurum did. He could only hope the letter did not reflect all that Osidian was thinking. He had to believe Osidian was not so consumed by rage that he was blind to the possibility Aurum was leading him into a trap.

  He paced up and down, desperate to do something, but what? He stopped and looked towards the homunculus. ‘How does the elixir affect dreaming?’

  Looking wary, the homunculus hesitated before answering. ‘My masters believe it makes dreams lucid.’

  ‘You have yourself experienced this?’

  ‘I have, Seraph. The dreaming is intense, but I do not have the wisdom that makes their meaning clear.’

  Carnelian frowned. What he most desired was clarity. He had to believe he would understand his dreams if he could see them clearly. ‘I must take the elixir.’

  The homunculus’ eyes widened. ‘You cannot, Seraph.’

  ‘I have no choice.’

  ‘But Seraph, it is forbidden.’

  Carnelian laughed. ‘It will be the least of my transgressions.’

  ‘It is also dangerous, Seraph.’

  ‘How so?’

  The homunculus made vague gestures. ‘Some who take it never wake.’

  Carnelian considered this. ‘Yet most do?’

  ‘Most,’ said the homunculus. He looked pained. ‘Seraph, the initial doses, until the mind and body have become accustomed to its effect, produce unpredictable results.’

  ‘Nevertheless.’

  The homunculus’ gaze fell.

  ‘There is no need for your master ever to learn of this.’

  The homunculus made no response.

  ‘Fetch me a dose.’

  The man bowed and had soon disappeared into the corner of the room. As Carnelian waited, he considered with a growing dread what he was planning to do. Something monstrous lurked in his dreams. By taking the elixir, was he going to trap himself in his dreams with it?

  When the homunculus returned, Carnelian made him lie on the bed beside him. He took from him the amber bead. Holding it up to the light, he saw the spiral flows trapped in it. Strands more tenuous than spider silk.

  ‘Close your eyes, for I am going to unmask.’

  Glancing at him with anxiety, the homunculus obeyed him.

  Carnelian bit the bead in half. Its fluids oozed sweet and bitter on his tongue. Swiftly he pressed the other half to the lips of the homunculus and made sure he swallowed it. Hopefully, they would both sleep for the same amount of time. Carnelian lay back. The room was already changing shape, as if it were breathing.

  He feels the well behind him and the terror of its pull. He denies its whispering. His father offers him a cloak soaked with the wrath of the sky. Carnelian dons it like armour. It brings silence and stillness. It makes him taller. Ebeny offers a gleaming crescent in each hand. In his grip they are ivory ranga. Her feet bleed like crushed fruit. ‘Take the spear.’ He looks at his father, wanting it from his hands, but they are empty. He sees his mother impaled and does not recognize her raging face. Looking to his father for help he sees upon his face an expression he cannot read. Is his father to blame? His father shakes his head, sadly, holding his side, clearly wounded. Seeing the spike in his mother’s belly, Carnelian curls his fingers round it, pulls and it comes free, releasing a flood of blood that soon runs clear. The blue spear is rusted iron. Blade soft as liver, riddled with worms.

  Then he is lost and scared in a dark forest. It is raining cold, molten iron. A winking light draws him towards a burning tree. He touches its bark, smooth as bone. It is perfect and crystalline under his hand. Light is trapped in its glass, which looks so delicate he fears he must crack it. He becomes aware of the snake roof of branches shutting out the sky. Hears the sucking slurp as its roots leech blood from the flesh in which his feet are mired. Sickened by its feeding on the living and the dead, he raises his spear to strike, then sees the child trapped inside the chrysalis trunk. He knows it is himself, dreaming. He hesitates, fearing to wake the dreamer. The tree is the child’s dream even though it imprisons him. To kill it, he must sacrifice the child, sacrifice himself.
Aiming for the child’s heart, he stabs. The spear comes out clean and sharp and well made. The child is birthed in a torrent of blood. Carnelian walks away, cradling him. They come to a river that he crosses dry-footed because of his ivory shoes. A woman waits for them on the other side. Ancient, vulnerable, he loves her. Her face is a skull. She is the mother of his mother. He offers up the child and she lets him pass. Barefoot on the fresh uncurling green, joyous in the sun, with his brothers and sisters, breathing the blue of the sky.

  A wrinkled face. Crail? Carnelian strained to make sense of what he was seeing. The homunculus.

  ‘The Two be praised.’

  Carnelian reached his hand up to touch his own face and felt warm metal. He was masked.

  ‘How do you feel, Seraph?’

  Carnelian saw the homunculus’ eager anxiety. When he tried to sit up, pain shot down his spine. His head seemed to have turned to stone. He fell back.

  ‘The Seraph must rest, regain his strength. It always takes time to recover from such deep sleep. Much more so when one has been under for so long.’

  Carnelian attempted to speak. Still half in the dream, his voice there was clear and strong.

  ‘Seraph?’

  Carnelian tried again and this time noticed the rasping in his throat. He realized that was the only sound he was making. He gathered his strength and pushed air out. ‘How long?’ he croaked.

  ‘More than two days, Seraph.’

  Shocked, Carnelian tried to rise again. The same shooting pain.

  The homunculus dared to touch him. ‘The elixir worked very potently in you, Seraph. There was not enough nectar in what you took to sustain you, but I dared not give you more.’

  Through the eyeslits of his mask, Carnelian saw how scared the homunculus looked. Clearly he had been frantic. Two days! Something occurred to Carnelian. ‘How long have you . . . ?’

  ‘Been awake?’ the homunculus asked. ‘More than a day now, Seraph.’

  Alarm flared in Carnelian. ‘Legions?’

  ‘My master sleeps undisturbed.’

  Carnelian knew he dare not believe him. He struggled to roll over onto one side.

  ‘Really, Seraph, you have not the strength to stand.’

  ‘Legions,’ Carnelian said, pushing himself up on one arm. He remained there, trembling, before the arm gave way and he fell back onto the bed.

  ‘My master has not woken, Seraph. Truly he has not. Even if I had wanted to wake him, it would have been in defiance of his command.’

  Carnelian rolled onto his back. ‘What command?’

  ‘When I asked him when he wanted to awake he told me I would know the time when it came.’ The homunculus’ face was sweaty with anxiety. ‘I do not believe that time has yet come.’ His eyes lit up. ‘Another letter came for you, Seraph.’ He disappeared from view, but was soon back, brandishing a parchment.

  Carnelian stared at it as the homunculus showed him it carried Legions’ seal. ‘When?’

  ‘Early this afternoon, Seraph. It is now well past nightfall.’

  Carnelian gazed at the letter, wanting and not wanting to know its contents. ‘Read it to me.’

  The homunculus held the letter as though it had become dangerous.

  ‘Please, read it to me.’

  Grimacing, the man broke the seal as if he were tearing open a wound on his own body. Carefully, he opened its panels and began reading. ‘“It is dawn now. Though I have pursued him all night, he is still beyond my reach. Perhaps it is that I play into his hands, but I will not turn back now.”’

  The homunculus looked at Carnelian as if uncertain that he should continue.

  ‘All of it,’ Carnelian rasped.

  The homunculus returned his gaze to the parchment. ‘“If he seeks to envelop me, I shall break through. If he offers me battle, then we shall decide this matter once and for all. If he continues to flee, I shall pursue him, if needs be to the gates of Osrakum herself. It is possible that he will evade me, that he will make for Makar. If he does, you must come to whatever accommodation you can with him. Save yourself.”’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘Nothing, Seraph.’

  ‘Then please resume your mask so that I can remove mine.’

  ‘At your command, Seraph.’

  Carnelian heard the man pacing away. When the homunculus said it was safe, Carnelian peeled the mask from his face. Exposed, his skin was momentarily chilled. The pattern of his dream was clearer than the chamber around him. He closed his eyes and contemplated the shape of it. He tried to inhabit it, tease meaning out from it, but it yielded nothing definite. The memory of joy faded and the blue of that sky. He tried again to rise, but his body betrayed him. He felt he had washed up on some remote shore. He yearned for his friends, though they were far away with Osidian, in the Gods alone knew what danger.

  With a crash the outer doors were flung open. Carnelian jumped to his feet. He heard cries of protest, quickly snuffed out. Heavy footfalls approached. He cast around for something he could use as a weapon. An immense shape appeared out of the shadows, of which its billowing cloak seemed a part. Pallid military leathers. The serenity of his gold mask belied the storm of this Master’s entry.

  Carnelian feared at first it must be Aurum, then recognized the features of the mask. ‘Osidian,’ he cried in relief.

  Osidian glanced to either side and began unmasking.

  Carnelian threw his hand up to stop him. ‘We are not alone, my Lord.’ He looked around and found the homunculus cowering behind a clock. ‘Homunculus . . .’

  The little man glanced up.

  Be blind, Carnelian gestured with his hand. The homunculus put on its eyeless mask.

  ‘Why do you keep the creature here?’ Osidian said.

  ‘There is no other place for him to go.’

  ‘Very well. It makes no difference. I shall soon confront its master with everything I am about to say to you.’

  Both unmasked. Carnelian did not expect the emerald fury in Osidian’s eyes. ‘Aurum?’

  The emeralds narrowed. ‘If he had known of your scheme, my Lord, even now I would be heading towards Osrakum his prisoner.’

  Carnelian was startled. ‘My scheme?’

  ‘Spare me the pretence at innocence. How else could Legions have reached my commanders except through you who are his keeper?’

  ‘The Lesser Chosen commanders?’

  ‘Each had a letter delivered to him bearing the Grand Sapient’s seal.’

  ‘If they told you this, then surely they told you how they came by them?’

  ‘Have you not even the courage to confront me, Carnelian?’

  Osidian’s look of contempt stung Carnelian to anger. ‘I would if I knew what you were talking about!’

  Doubt banked the fire in Osidian’s eyes. ‘You insist on maintaining this pretence?’

  ‘It is no pretence. How did these letters come to them?’

  Osidian’s eyes narrowed further. ‘None know from whence they came. They merely appeared.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘A couple of days after we arrived here.’

  Carnelian gazed off into the corner, trying to imagine how Legions might have done it. Something occurred to him. He turned back to Osidian. ‘The render I sent out to you, the letters must have gone out then. Homunculus, did your master send letters out of the fortress?’

  Motionless, the little man made no answer.

  ‘You will answer,’ said Osidian, an edge to his voice.

  The homunculus nodded.

  ‘They were sent out of here on the same day that I arrived, were they not?’

  ‘Yes, Seraph,’ said the homunculus.

  Osidian glanced into the corner with its hidden shadowy stair. ‘He had the letters ready in the cothon, knowing I would have need of resupply.’

  Carnelian saw how he would not meet his glance again. Osidian knew he had accused him unfairly. Carnelian, still angry, turned his attention on the homunculus. ‘You knew this all the
time, homunculus.’

  The little man gave a reluctant nod.

  ‘Why did you keep this from me?’

  The eyeless mask looked up. ‘My first loyalty is to my master, Seraph.’

  ‘And you did not imagine that his plan would fail?’

  ‘My masters rarely fail, Seraph.’

  Still Carnelian felt betrayed. ‘But you hate him?’

  ‘Of what consequence, Seraph, the hatred of a slave?’

  ‘Had you thought to confess this to me, I would have done all in my power to protect you from him.’

  Carnelian saw the way the room was distorted in the homunculus’ mirror face and remembered what he knew about the little man. His anger cooled. He gazed at Osidian. ‘How did the commanders fail?’

  Osidian’s eyes met his. ‘They were to take me alive. It seems they could not agree on how to do it, nor when. Then they saw a way out in delivering me to Aurum. The opportunity to hide their betrayal behind one of the Great was too tempting for them, but they left it too long. Eventually, fearing that another might betray him, one of their number revealed their plot to me.’ His face seemed stone. ‘Though that will not save him.’

  ‘You blame them, even though it was a God Emperor who appointed them, with the Wise that are Their mouthpiece? How did you expect them to react when they received a command directly from Legions?’

  ‘Nevertheless, impaled upon my huimur’s banner poles, they shall provide me with standards that will bring terror to all their kind.’

  This threat was close enough to what had happened to the Ochre to sicken Carnelian. He felt only revulsion and contempt for Osidian, who once again was intending to use murder to assuage his own frustration and fear of failure. ‘Do you really imagine that will bring you any closer to victory?’

  Osidian flinched, his face darkening as he glared at Carnelian.

  ‘Who is going to command your huimur now?’

  Osidian’s nose wrinkled. ‘I shall promote marumaga legionaries. They at least will not dare betray me.’