The Chosen (The Stone Dance Of The Chameleon)

by Ricardo Pinto

  ‘Perhaps you’d rather be by yourself,’ said Tain warily.

  Carnelian put out his hand to take his wrist. ‘No, stay with me. It would help me to talk about it.’

  Carnelian told Tain of his meeting with the strange boy in the Library of the Wise, their expedition to the Yden. Tain could see the brightness of the lagoons in his eyes as Carnelian told him everything. The tale brought Carnelian and Osidian back to the Halls of Thunder and the long days of separation.

  ‘And you hoped to see him at the election?’ asked Tain.

  Carnelian nodded.

  ‘Did you?’

  Carnelian’s glower made Tain flinch. ‘Oh yes, he was there.’

  Tain waited for the words to come.

  ‘He is the one we chose to become the Gods.’

  Tain gaped. ‘The actual, the very Gods?’

  Carnelian shook the letter. ‘And now, he writes that he must see me.’

  ‘Are you going to?’

  ‘No,’ cried Carnelian. ‘I won’t be his plaything again.’

  ‘Carnie, are you sure that’s what it was?’

  Carnelian glared at him. ‘What else?’

  Tain lowered his eyes and played at interweaving his fingers. He kept snatching glimpses at Carnelian’s face until he could see that he had sunk back into sad introspection. ‘There’s one thing you should think about, though, Carnie.’

  Carnelian impaled him with his jade-green eyes.

  ‘Once he becomes the Gods, you’ll never see his face again.’

  Carnelian’s eyes went out of focus; his head shook. ‘So be it. I can’t see him. I’ll never see him again.’

  Something was tickling his lips and Carnelian brushed it away. The tickling returned. He opened his eyes, irritated, and looked straight into familiar green eyes. He lashed out, punching bone, pushing himself away up the bed.

  Osidian was there as tall as the sky and as beautiful, even as he grimaced holding his face. ‘You hit me.’

  ‘What did you expect?’

  ‘Anger, I suppose.’

  It welled up so strongly in Carnelian that all he could do was glare.

  Osidian took a step back, his palms in front of him in a sign of appeasement. He looked so funny that Carnelian had to frown really hard to stop himself from smiling. Osidian’s hands dropped slowly. For some reason, that made him the enemy again.

  ‘What do you want, Nephron?’

  ‘To explain,’ said Osidian, dropping into Vulgate.

  Carnelian crossed his arms and continued to glare at him.

  ‘You aren’t going to make this easy, are you?’

  Carnelian glowered more darkly.

  ‘OK, OK.’ Osidian scratched his head. ‘I meant to tell you.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Several times. Before the election I even thought of sending you a letter, but. . .’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘You were deep in the Sunhold. I was reluctant to give it to your father and afraid to give it to the Ichorians in case it should fall into my mother’s hands.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference even if you’d sent it. By then it was already too late. You had plenty of time to tell me.’

  Osidian looked at his hands, then up again. ‘I did tell you my name. Well . . . one of them.’

  ‘Am I supposed to be grateful?’

  Osidian’s face darkened. ‘You could make a vague attempt at seeing it from my point of view.’

  ‘Your rank, you mean, Celestial?’ asked Carnelian, returning to the Quya.

  ‘No,’ replied Osidian, grimacing.

  Carnelian could feel his anger cooling. ‘What then?’ he said, trying to reheat it.

  Osidian grew taller, stiffed out his heavy-sleeved arms. ‘Everyone has always known who I am.’ He let his arms drop to his side. ‘When you obviously did not . . . well, I went along with it.’

  ‘Playing with me.’

  Osidian’s chin dropped to his chest. ‘No,’ he groaned. He looked at Carnelian. ‘No. No. No. It was that . . . that you allowed me to forget who I was . . . to forget the election.’

  ‘The election.’ Carnelian thought about how close the result had been, how even now, Molochite was under sentence of death. He lost his grip on his anger and let it leak away.

  ‘Then we went down to the Yden,’ said Osidian, light seeming to shine from his face.

  Carnelian saw again the glittering lagoons, the smell and touch of him.

  Osidian looked at him with longing. ‘After that, the fear of losing you was greater than my fear of losing the election.’

  ‘You were so cold when we were coming back,’ said Carnelian.

  ‘My father was dead,’ said Osidian, a note of pleading in his voice.

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  They were both measuring the space between them.

  ‘You know it now.’ Osidian looked at him with hunger.

  ‘But . . .’ Carnelian was overwhelmed by grief.

  Osidian came closer. His hand touched Carnelian’s shoulder. Carnelian looked up at him. ‘But you’re to be—’ Osidian interrupted him by covering Carnelian’s mouth with his own. He lay down on top of him. The sharp brocades of his court robe scratched into Carnelian’s skin but Carnelian did not care. Osidian pulled up to look at him. His eyes and breath were fire. Carnelian buried his face in the small part of Osidian’s neck that was exposed. He drew him closer, gasping as the metal brocades bit deeper into him. He pulled him closer still. It was an exquisite pain.

  When Osidian saw the weals his robe had gouged, only Carnelian’s smiles allayed his remorse. ‘I would bear much worse for you.’

  Osidian kissed the pain away from each wound. Then he straightened up and began to struggle out of his robe. Propped up on his elbows, Carnelian looked on entranced. ‘Are you just going to watch?’ grimaced Osidian with his head caught.

  Carnelian grinned and nodded. Osidian looked like a white butterfly pulling itself from the crusty prison of its chrysalis. Once free he unfolded his arms like wings. Carnelian sighed as Osidian slipped his warm alabaster skin past his.

  They lay intertwined like sun-warmed serpents, firm and hot against each other.

  Osidian lay in Carnelian’s arms as peaceful as a sleeping child. Carnelian touched his body with wonder, examining the vessel that would hold the coruscating energies of the Twins. He shuddered at the thought, and Osidian nuzzled closer. Carnelian ran his hands over him as if he were feeling the pale yielding marble for hairline cracks that might allow the ichor to weep through.

  Carnelian stroked Osidian’s birthmark. ‘It really does look as if it was left by a kiss.’

  ‘Some of the Wise have argued that it made me unsuitable for the double Godhead.’

  ‘Unsuitable?’

  ‘They said that it was the mark of the Black God.’

  ‘And the God Emperor must be both Twins and not favour one above the other.’

  Osidian nodded.

  Carnelian lay back. ‘How did you come here?’

  ‘I came to see the Lord Suth, to thank him for his help.’

  ‘You mean, to see me.’

  Osidian lifted his head and looked at him solemnly. ‘I owe your father the Masks and will not forget it.’

  ‘You came as yourself?’

  Osidian grinned. ‘I came disguised as one of the Lesser Chosen of my House.’

  Carnelian bit him. ‘My Lord seems much given to passing himself off as someone else.’ He looked over at Osidian’s discarded robe. He should have noticed the lack of ranga. ‘Why the disguise?’

  ‘I didn’t want to be mobbed by the Chosen.’

  Something occurred to Carnelian. ‘You did come with guards?’

  ‘The Quenthas. They’re outside your door now.’

  ‘Two girls?’

  ‘Girls? Those girls could fillet a half-dozen of your best guardsmen without breaking into sweat.’

  ‘I do like them.’

  ‘They like
you too. There was a boy.’

  ‘My brother Tain.’

  Osidian raised an eyebrow. ‘Brother?’

  Carnelian stiffened. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

  Osidian adopted an expression of appeasement, flapped his hands. ‘Brother it is.’

  Carnelian relaxed. ‘He’s been through a lot. We’ve been close since we were children.’ He reached up to smooth the frown from Osidian’s forehead. ‘I know it isn’t worthy of one of the Chosen, but there it is.’

  Osidian squeezed him, kissing him passionately. ‘You could do nothing that was unworthy.’

  Carnelian smiled. ‘You think not?’

  ‘You’ve even chosen the Gods for a lover,’ said Osidian, grinning.

  Carnelian put his fingers to Osidian’s lips.

  Osidian kissed them and lay back. ‘Who did you think I was?’ When Carnelian said nothing he turned to look at him. ‘You blush, my Lord,’ he said in Quya.

  Carnelian could not look him in the face. ‘I thought you were . . .’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A sybling.’

  ‘A what?’ cried Osidian. ‘How did you work that out?’

  Carnelian hid his eyes with a hand. ‘Well . . .’ He peeped at Osidian. ‘You look a bit like the Lords Hanus . . .’

  Osidian looked horrified. The expression softened. ‘I suppose . . . my grandfather sired them . . . but a sybling?’ He made a big show of feeling his shoulders. He blew out. ‘I didn’t think I had a second head.’

  Carnelian blushed again. ‘I know it’s stupid, but when you told me you had a twin . . . and you seemed embarrassed about telling me who you were . . . well, I put two and two together—’

  ‘And ended up with a sybling.’ Osidian chuckled, shook his head. ‘I see . . . no wonder you asked no more questions.’ His face went very serious. His eyes looked deep into Carnelian’s. ‘And even then, you went with me . . . the Yden . . .’

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ said Carnelian and it was Osidian’s turn to blush. ‘Besides, I loved you for who you are.’

  ‘Love?’

  Carnelian looked away. ‘What am I supposed to call you?’

  Osidian pulled Carnelian’s chin back. His eyes were a furious green. ‘Whatever you want.’

  They lay wrapped in each other’s sweat. Osidian’s arm lay over his eyes. Their legs were intertwined. Carnelian was staring at the ceiling.

  ‘What about your taint scars?’ he said suddenly.

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘You only have them down one side.’

  Osidian lifted his arm off his face and looked at him with one eye. ‘Even you must’ve realized by now that I was fathered by a God Emperor?’

  Carnelian punched him and Osidian laughed.

  ‘But the blank side is on your left, the mother’s side.’

  ‘The God Emperor’s paternity goes on the left because of the sinistral nature of Godhead.’

  ‘I see,’ Carnelian said and resumed his staring. A little while later he sat up. ‘Can I see your blood-ring?’

  Osidian lifted up his arm again. ‘Does my Lord need proof that I am who I say I am?’

  Carnelian growled and showed his teeth.

  Osidian affected fear. ‘All right. All right.’ He removed his ring and gave it to Carnelian who peered at it. Four zeros. He whistled. Blood-rank four. He held it up to the light. Even the fifth number was low, a five. He gave it back to Osidian.

  ‘It surprises me that I can’t feel the heat of your fiery blood from here.’

  Osidian smiled at him. ‘Are you sure you can’t?’

  Carnelian turned and hugged him so hard he cried out. He relaxed the circle of his arms, buried his head in Osidian’s neck, nibbled it. His hands slid down his spine. He could feel the taint scars with his fingers.

  ‘This is your mother’s taint?’ he said into Osidian’s neck.

  ‘You know it is.’

  ‘Do you love her?

  Osidian pushed him gently away so that he could see his eyes. ‘She’s my mother.’

  ‘But do you love her?’

  Osidian frowned. ‘I’ve seen very little of her. Mostly, I fear her.’

  ‘So do I. You know she tried to have us all killed?’

  Osidian nodded slowly. ‘She slew my sister who would have been my wife.’

  ‘That is rumoured—’

  ‘That is fact!’ Osidian cried, making Carnelian flinch. ‘She knew that Flama would have voted for me.’

  Carnelian put his hand out and stroked Osidian’s head. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘We loved each other since we were children. When I am the Gods . . .’

  Carnelian shivered when he saw the chill look of anger that came into his face. ‘Does she know you feel like this?’

  ‘How could she not? Her eyes are everywhere.’

  Carnelian looked around the chamber.

  Osidian laughed. ‘Not literally.’

  ‘And your brother?’

  Osidian’s mouth showed his distaste. ‘Molochite will be taken from her. He’s always been her creature.’ He shook his head. ‘His cruelties . . . There are many in the House of the Masks who’ll breathe relief when my crowns’re painted with his blood.’

  ‘Will many others die?’ Carnelian asked, almost whispering.

  ‘Some.’ The green fire in his eyes went out. ‘My sons . . .’

  ‘Your sons?’

  ‘Only syblings, but I feel something for them.’ He smiled a pale smile. ‘There’re always children from the House of the Masks slaughtered at an Apotheosis.’

  ‘Why then did you make them?’

  ‘It’s one of my duties to make blood for ritual.’

  ‘I must go soon,’ said Osidian and they clung to each other more tightly.

  ‘Must you?’

  ‘I’ve already been away too long.’ The shutters rattled a long tattoo. ‘When I’m the Gods . . .’

  ‘Let’s not talk of that.’

  Osidian slid his hand to squeeze the nape of Carnelian’s neck. ‘We must.’

  Carnelian closed his eyes.

  ‘Our love’ll be difficult,’ said Osidian. ‘But if we both really want it to, we can make it work.’

  ‘But they’ll put your face for ever behind the Masks.’ Carnelian could feel that Osidian’s body had grown wooden.

  ‘Yes. But we can still talk. The Wise’ll not know it if we touch hands.’

  ‘Will we touch like this?’

  ‘Perhaps yes, perhaps even that.’

  Carnelian did not believe him. He knew the Wise would be always there. ‘I can’t bear it,’ he said. Osidian silenced him by pulling his face into his chest. He could feel Carnelian’s mouth, his tears. Carnelian pulled himself away. ‘How much time do we have?’

  Osidian said nothing, but stared up into the shadowy ceiling.

  ‘How much?’ Carnelian demanded.

  ‘There’s no more time.’

  Carnelian felt his heart become a stone. He felt it spreading numbness up into his head, down to his groin. ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘No.’

  Osidian jabbed a tear from his eye. ‘We have to face it.’

  ‘My father said that there’re four days, maybe five until they do it.’

  ‘Yes, but the rituals, the preparations . . . they’re endless, inescapable . . .’

  ‘But you’ve to go down to the Labyrinth?’

  Osidian looking at him, nodded.

  ‘Couldn’t we go there another way?’

  ‘What other way?’

  ‘Through the Yden.’

  Osidian stared. Carnelian watched Osidian’s eyes lose their focus as he calculated the possibilities. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘I couldn’t do it.’

  Carnelian fixed him with his eyes. ‘Even one more day like this. Just one!’ He could see the cracks appearing in Osidian’s resistance. ‘So we’d cause consternation. What of it? You’ll have your whole reign to appease the Wise.’

  Osidian was c
rumbling. Carnelian could see the boyish hope peeking through. ‘We’d have to let them know . . . tell them something . . .’

  ‘We could leave my father a letter. In all this world he at least should understand.’

  Osidian nodded slowly. ‘He won’t quickly forgive us for forcing him to stand alone against the Wise.’

  ‘He bore thirteen years of exile for your father’s sake. He’s stood against your mother and won. He speaks for the Great. Are the Wise so terrible?’

  Osidian looked at him with round eyes, as much as to say, you have no idea. ‘As you say, we’d have all my reign to make it up to him.’

  ‘Then you’ll come?’

  Osidian smiled a crooked smile. ‘How could I not?’

  Carnelian gave a whoop and threw himself on him. They wrestled violently until they fell onto the floor and rolled apart.

  Osidian sat up panting, grinning. When Carnelian began to move towards him, he put up his hand. ‘I submit. I submit.’

  Carnelian embraced him. They leaned their heads together.

  ‘Will you write the letter?’ Osidian asked.

  Their ears rubbed together as Carnelian gave a nod.

  ‘I’ll still have to return to my household, give them instructions.’ He disentangled Carnelian’s arms gently, stood up. They placed him back into his robe. ‘Meet me before sunrise at the usual place.’ They grinned at each other, they kissed and Osidian left.

  Carnelian slumped onto the bed. He gathered up the sheets and wrapped himself in them. Doubt surged in his stomach. He frowned, wondering if he was making a mistake.

  Carnelian sat cross-legged, with the parchment on the low table in front of him a narrow rectangle in the lamplight. He drew the glyphs carefully with the pen as his father had taught him. Several times he stopped, angling the pen so that it would not drip ink onto the parchment, then looking off into the darkness. His lips moved as if he were speaking but he made no sound. He was trying to explain to his father how he felt. How could his father not understand? But if he did not, no matter. Carnelian knew with a deadly certainty that he would withstand his father’s fury a hundred times if that was the payment demanded for this last day of freedom with Osidian.

  Carnelian let Tain in when he scratched at the door. His brother stared at the nest of sheets, the table in the middle of the floor, and at Carnelian’s white flaming weary happiness, his haunted look, the way he danced a little when he walked, the way he looked at him but saw another.