The Standing Dead - Stone Dance of the Chameleon 02

by Ricardo Pinto

  Carnelian's attention was drawn to the rhythm of the drums. 'What's happening?'

  The Tribe are getting ready for the gatherings.' 'Gatherings?'

  'All the tribes are up here in the mountains.'

  Carnelian started. 'Coming here.'

  Poppy calmed him with a shake of her head. 'It's not our turn. We're sending people to other valleys.'

  He reached out and took her hand. 'Have you been -looking after me?'

  Poppy grew fierce. 'Fern wanted to but I wouldn't let him.'

  He laughed and kissed her again, then threw back the blankets.

  'Are you sure you're strong enough, Carnie?'

  'Let's see,' he said and, rising, found he felt weak, but otherwise well enough. Poppy looked unconvinced as she brought him his robe and helped him wind on his uba.

  'Are you going to see the Master?'

  Carnelian felt he should but did not really want to. 'You said Ravan is looking after him?'

  Poppy nodded. 'He and the other from my ... from the Twostone.'

  'Krow.'

  She gave a nod.

  'Well, in that case, I think it better we should let him rest. Shall we go and see what's going on?'

  Poppy beamed and grabbed his hand.

  As they walked together, the excitement of the drums transferred itself to their hearts. Soon they were among the women who were singing as they worked. They watched them grind red earth in the hollows of saurian shoulder-blades. One girl poured the resulting powder into a jar which another was stirring. It looked like blood. Carnelian could see other jars holding the rich pigment and wondered what it was for.

  'You're up,' a voice cried, and Carnelian saw it was Fern bounding towards him. He looked closely at Carnelian.

  'You seem well enough.'

  ‘I don't think he is,' Poppy piped up.

  Fern gave her a look of concern. 'Do you think he should rest longer?'

  Carnelian interrupted Poppy's reply. 'Would you like to be alone to discuss me?'

  They all grinned. He made sure to hold each of their gazes. 'I'm fine. Really.'

  He laughed when he saw Poppy and Fern exchange glances. 'Now will someone please tell me what's going on here?'

  'What happened up there?' asked Fern.

  Carnelian saw by the serious way they were both looking at him that he would have to give them some kind of answer. 'We got lost.'

  Fern frowned. Poppy glanced up at him and then she frowned too.

  For a moment, Carnelian was overwhelmed by the love he felt for them both. The easy flow of his feelings for Fern surprised him. With a shock, Carnelian realized he felt free of Osidian. He no longer felt that Osidian's darkness was a burden he had to share. Sadness at the love they had lost threatened to overwhelm him.

  Poppy and Fern were watching him. Carnelian took his friend's arm and pointed. 'What're they doing there?'

  Fern looked uncertain. Poppy shook her head, then shrugged. 'They're making ochre, Carnie.'

  'For the women?'

  'For everyone that's going,' said Fern. The gatherings are held under the protection of the Mother.'

  He pointed to a pole set upright in the ground from which there hung a flag woven from scarlet feathers. 'A trucestaff inviting us to the valley of the Smallochre.'

  'A kin tribe?' asked Carnelian.

  Fern shook his head. 'One of those neighbouring the Koppie. All our neighbours will be there: the Woading, the Tallgreen, the Darkcloud, the Bluedancing.'

  The Bluedancing?'

  The trucestaff will ensure there'll be no trouble.'

  Carnelian gave Poppy his hand and then put his other arm about Fern's shoulders. 'Come on, give me a tour.'

  They watched mud gouged from the bank of the stream being piled upon a sled. They helped some boys drag it back to where the women threw handfuls of it into leather bowls. Fires were burning smokily where cubes of fat were being melted into oil. One bowl, brimming over, was lifted with a pole by two men. Children were scolded out of the way as it was carried to where women were kneading mud into balls. The women punched depressions into the balls into which the oil was carefully poured. They watched it cool. When it was just beginning to set, they began to fold the edges of the depression into it and then resumed their kneading.

  Mud balls that were ready were rolled in ochre earths. The red dough produced was being worked into men's hair, which was then lifted up and moulded into crests. Several women worked on each, helped and pestered by children, using their palms to shape and smooth them up until each man had a curving fluted crest like a bellower's rising from his head.

  Next the ochre dyes were brought. With these, patterns of concentric circles were painted on their skins using flexible lengths of cartilage or dabbed on with fingers. The men grinned and the women laughed and scolded them as they tried to evade the tickle of the painting.

  A little further on, under an awning, Fern showed Carnelian the women that were to go on the embassy. Akaisha was there, grimacing as Whin worked wax and fat into her hair.

  'Is he all right?' she asked Poppy.

  Carnelian tapped his chest grinning. 'I'm here, my mother.'

  She grinned. 'I know you are, dear.' She looked at her son. 'You should be getting ready, Fern.'

  Fern looked embarrassed, but proud. 'I'm going too.'

  'It's a great honour,' said Whin, pleased for him.

  They hung around just long enough to watch as a cone of basket-weave was placed on Akaisha's head, around which her salt-beaded hair was wrapped to make a glossy horn. Whin gave them a nod as they took leave of her.

  In the stream, aquar were being scoured clean. On the bank, others were having their hides layered with fine mud. On this smooth ground rings and spiral designs were being daubed. Feather-wreaths were being clasped around their necks. Their saddle-chairs were being prepared with bright standards and banners of tattered, scarlet saurian-leather.

  Fern took Carnelian's shoulders. 'I really should go and get ready. Are you sure you're fine?'

  'Yes, now get going.'

  They grinned at each other and then Fern moved off into the crowd. Carnelian allowed Poppy to draw him into the children's dances and their games. Still not wholly recovered from the sky-sickness, he grew quickly weary and, seeing this, Poppy led him away from the hubbub. It was a sense of duty that made him ask her to take him to see the Master.

  Osidian had chosen an acacia away from the Tribe under which to make his camp. As Carnelian and Poppy approached, two shrouded figures came out to meet them.

  'He will not see you, Master,' said one, who turned out to be Krow.

  Carnelian looked beyond him but could see nothing in the brooding shadow beneath the tree.

  'He mentioned me specifically?'

  'Yes, you,' said the other figure, Ravan. He drew his uba from his face, revealing a sneer.

  Carnelian considered his next words carefully. 'You should take care, Ravan; his feelings for you might not be what you believe them to be.'

  Ravan smiled unpleasantly. 'You're just bitter you've lost him to me.'

  The youth was distracted by the hubbub floating towards them on the breeze. His eyes, gazing off at the Tribe, were filled with longing.

  'Why don't you all come and see what's happening?' offered Poppy, brightly.

  Ravan gave her a filthy look, turned on his heel and strode back to the acacia. Ducking an apologetic smile, Krow followed him. As Carnelian walked away he was haunted by a feeling that he should have left Osidian on the mountain to die.

  Carnelian stood among the Tribe watching the emissaries set off. Around him bull-roarers were producing a slow, undulating moan. Bone struck on bone: stone on stone. Everyone was jigging up and down in an oceanic surge. Through their midst, with barbaric pomp, rode the embassy of the Tribe, the truce staff carried before them. He saw Fern beside Akaisha and waved. Harth was there with Crowrane and Loskai. Carnelian spotted Ginkga, Galewing, Kyte. The Elders' saddle-chairs were the gaudiest; hu
ng with feathers, tinkling trinkets, pieces of stolen brass that caught the light like mirrors. These wizened men and women with nodding crests, hung with their jewellery of salt, sat enthroned in their saddle-chairs, to the backs of which had been lashed feather-pennoned poles. Behind them came the riot of their warrior escort, dark skins agleam with sweat and vermilion designs.

  When Sil announced she was going to gather herbs in the foothills, Poppy asked if she and Carnelian might go with her. Sil and Carnelian glanced at each other, embarrassed.

  'I don't-' Carnelian began, but was interrupted by Whin.

  'You should go, Carnie. Poppy will enjoy it and, though there's unlikely to be any danger, I would feel happier if my daughter had an escort that I trust.'

  Carnelian and Sil both stared at Whin, surprised by her endorsement. The rest of the hearth reacted as if the matter had been decided and helped bundle them off, so that soon, Sil and Carnelian with Poppy on his lap were riding towards a far edge of the valley.

  At first Carnelian and Sil could think of nothing to say to each other. It was Poppy who decided she and Sil should teach Carnelian songs. At first reluctant, Carnelian began to enjoy himself, even their teasing of his accent. They found a rash of berries the birds had overlooked and dismounted to pick them, putting as many in their mouths as in the baskets. When Sil caught her robe on some thorns, Carnelian helped her loose. They watched Poppy plucking berries, her mouth stained with their juice.

  'She's a lovely girl,' said Sil.

  Her eyes met Carnelian's and they saw each other's grief at what they were to lose to the tithe.

  'You know Fern loves you?' Sil said, quietly.

  Carnelian looked into her eyes again and nodded. 'I love him too.'

  She smiled a little and looked at her berry-red fingers.

  He reached out and took her hand. 'He may love us both, but you are his wife.'

  She looked up solemn, beautiful. Poppy chose that moment to return. She beamed when she saw them holding hands.

  On the day Carnelian noticed that the valley was losing its green vibrancy, the embassy returned. Children's shrieks of excitement pierced the lazy afternoon and soon

  people were streaming across the meadow to welcome back the riders. Carnelian was among them with Poppy and Sil, laughing as the noise deafened him, adding to it himself with a bellow or two.

  The riders came to a halt, Akaisha at their head, unable to make any progress against the throng. From every throat came calls for news. Akaisha signalled the riders to make their aquar kneel. Seeing her lowered to the ground, Carnelian and Sil pushed through to help her out of her saddle-chair. They could feel in the tremble of her arms how tired she was. She was hiding some pain behind her smile. Fern appeared beside them. He waved people away while Akaisha leaned on Carnelian as he walked her towards the encampment.

  'What news, my mother?' Sil asked.

  She made a face. The usual. Marriages, talk of hunts, of fernroot yields.'

  'What about the Gatherers, my mother?' Carnelian asked.

  Akaisha's face sank. 'It's as we'd guessed: they came this year to every tribe.' She looked with concern at Carnelian, trying to read his expression.

  'So what if they search for you? No one knows where you are.'

  He leaned down and gave her wrinkled cheek a kiss. Sil put her hand on his arm. 'Leave her with me, Carnie, I'm sure you and Fern will want to talk.' She leaned close and kissed him on the lips and then she and Akaisha moved away.

  Fern was looking at him with eyebrows raised.

  'We've become friends,' said Carnelian, embarrassed.

  Fern grinned. 'I knew you would.'

  Carnelian noticed a nasty bruise on the side of his friend's head. 'How did that happen?'

  Trucestaff, or no trucestaff, we had a run in with the Bluedancing.'

  'A fight?'

  'A brawl with some young hotheads wanting revenge for the beating we gave them earlier this year.' He grinned. 'We gave them another good hiding.'

  HAND OF DARKNESS

  And when, for her bride-price, she gouged out his eyes she held the thorn in her left hand.

  (from the 'Rudya', the first book of the 'Ilkaya', part of the holy scriptures of the Chosen)

  The breeze could not disperse the palls of smoke that hid the dawn. The Tribe had fired the further reaches of the valley. The Withering had at last stretched up to find them, parching the blue out of the sky, scorching the green from the earth. Their stream had dwindled, choking dry. The fern meadow turned amber, dying.

  Harth and others of the Elders had sniffed hope floating on the air. Several had gone out beyond the entrance to the valley to confirm it. When they returned they went among the Tribe claiming they had smelled the rain in the breeze blowing from the west. When the young looked sceptical, they were reassured it was not a matter of having a keen nose but of being blessed with the experience to recognize the subtle perfume of the Skyfather's approach. After that it had been all hurried packing.

  'We must rush to meet the rain,' said Fern. 'Even now it rolls towards us across the Earthsky.'

  Carnelian wondered at the certainty in his friend's voice. Carnelian could smell nothing in the air but burning. To reach if we'll have to cross a desert.'

  'We still have water,' said Sil, Leaf strapped to her back.

  Carnelian had seen how lightly loaded the drag-cradles were with waterskins.

  Fern craned round. 'Would you have us stay here?'

  Carnelian looked back at the wall of smoke clogging the sky. Aquar ambled on every side as the Tribe made gentle progress to the valley entrance.

  Osidian approached, attended by Ravan, Krow and other youths. Carnelian felt Poppy, Fern and Sil close around him like a faction. He greeted Osidian in Vulgate and he gave a nod but would not meet Carnelian's eyes.

  Osidian turned to watch the smoke rising. 'It hides the sky.'

  The fire will renew the earth,' said Fern. 'When we return next year this valley will be as green as it was when we arrived.'

  Osidian was not listening. His eyes were grey, reflecting smoke as he spoke. 'Even the sun cannot see through that curtain of darkness.'

  Thirst drove them west with ever greater speed. They had been struggling across the torrid land for days. Dawn found them plodding and so too the dusk. They had redistributed the djada and what little water was left so as to free drag-cradles for the pregnant, the younger children, the old and those who had to take turns resting. It was being whispered that the wind-blown promise of rain had been false. People gazed accusingly at the Elders, so many of whom were not having to walk. Carnelian understood there was a need to blame someone. It was difficult not to despair. The furnace air driving into their faces snatched all moisture from throat and eye. The sun glared relentlessly down. Carnelian choked on the ashen dust rolling hissing across a desert desolation. Whenever he lifted his itching eyes, the charcoaled plain stretched before him limitless and droughty to an umber horizon.

  The water they carried dwindled day by day, as had the stream in the valley, and still the rain did not come. Every day, in the calm before the dawn, Carnelian saw Akaisha lift her head and dilate her nostrils like dark eyes. She shook her head and, when asked, she swore by the Mother that the Skyfather's rain was hiding unseen in the hem of the sky. With the others, Carnelian wanted to believe her but as each day withered into a chill night, they had to camp again in an unwatered land.

  Aquar began dying. The Elders had ordered they should be given less water to save what was left for the people. Carnelian and Poppy saw one creature reel, stumble and fall, tumbling its rider into the dust. The woman rose, wearily, now the colour of the ground. They watched her urge the aquar to rise; she stroked it, talked to it, begged and even struck the creature in desperate rage. It would not budge and, forlorn, she joined the column of people toiling on foot.

  When rain came it came unseen. People were leaning forward, straining for each step, eyes closed, despairing faces hidden in the coil
s of their ubas. The scorching west wind flung a hail of sand against them. It was a distant flash that woke eyes all along the march. Carnelian squinted blearily and saw a darkening horizon. Thunder rumbled. Even as he stopped to stare, the separation between earth and sky was inking black.

  'A sandstorm?' he gasped, but the only answer he received was Poppy grabbing hold of his hand.

  'Can you feel the Father in the air?' Akaisha shrilled.

  Then Carnelian heard the rushing. The front struck them screaming, tearing the uba from his face. Veils of darkness were coming at them, hissing. The sand before him pocked as if a thousand tiny feet were sprinting towards them. Then he smelled the water and it was upon them, running down his face, drowning the air.

  The march of the Tribe dissolved into a riot. Carnelian danced with Poppy. People slipping down from aquar were throwing themselves on each other. Many ran about shouting, their faces turned up into the rain, their arms outstretched seeking to embrace the Skyfather's gift of life.

  The sky poured its water into the thirsty earth, washing the air clean of dust. Those next few days were a carnival. The rain raised the wilting necks of the aquar and the spirits of the people. Everyone seemed younger, renewed along with the world. Laughter was everywhere and singing. When they camped, children ran laughing, playing muddy games under thunderous skies.

  Calm interspersed the storms: the clouds would open and allow the sun in to dazzle them. Now they smiled to feel its warmth upon their faces. Too soon the clouds would close and the rain resume its downpour. So much rain that the plain began softening into a marsh, in the midst of which lagoons were spreading. Soon every day had become a plodding, sodden slog through sucking mud.

  Carnelian collapsed beside Fern. Akaisha had chosen a ginkgo for her hearth and had made them hang blankets in the branches, though these gave scant protection. They hung sodden, collecting the rain which spilled over in rivulets, splashing them, besieging them with puddles. All around them in the rumbling gloom the Tribe sheltered as best they could, but even the aquar drooped drenched.

  Whin and Sil had nestled a fire between the roots of the tree. When the wind gusted, it forced the smoke towards them in choking, eye-stinging drifts. The lurid flicker sporadically lit Osidian's face.