Ravan sat up, his face fierce. 'We couldn't just leave them there.'
Ranegale turned on him. 'Why are you and your kin so determined to bring a curse down on us? Wasn't the death of your father warning enough?'
'Don't you dare say that,' bellowed Fern, and his aquar lurched forward carrying the brothers towards Ranegale, whose beast raised its plumes in alarm. Ranegale brought it under control with his feet and fixed Fern with his single eye.
'I can understand the boy might be too stupid to know better, but you?' he said. 'And why did you bring the Standing Dead?' He shook his shrouded head. 'If the auxiliaries didn't see them, the tower lookouts certainly did. What do you imagine will happen now?'
Cloud forced his aquar between Fern and Ranegale. 'We're alive and free, that's a lot more than any of us had a right to expect.'
They'll hunt us down,' cried Ranegale.
'You know as well as I do that when the Ringwall gates are open, the laws of the Standing Dead forbid the legions to pass through.'
'Perhaps that would be so,' growled Ranegale, 'if we didn't have two of them here captive.'
Fern glanced at Carnelian. 'We had to bring them. They know we are Ochre.'
Loskai and Cloud gaped at him in horror.
'Which one of you told them?' Ranegale said in a dangerous voice.
Fern splayed his four-fingered hand and touched the palm. That one,' he indicated Carnelian with a nod of his head, 'saw it in my father's recruitment tattoo.'
Carnelian watched as the men looked at their hands as if for the first time. Ranegale squeezed his into a fist.
'Even if that's true, it's all the more reason why we should kill them now.'
Carnelian withstood the menace of Loskai's stare. Even Cloud was nodding as he looked at him. Carnelian considered whether he would be able to eject Krow without hurting him. He felt bitter that his decision had so quickly brought him and Osidian death. He had abandoned his father for nothing.
Fern moved his aquar to shield Carnelian. 'I'll not let you harm them.'
'You'll not let us?' cried Ranegale, widening his shoulders.
Carnelian saw Loskai's hand straying to the spear hitched to his saddle-chair.
'Look, we can argue this out later,' cried Cloud. 'For now what's done is done and arguing here in sight of the Ringwall is just asking for trouble. What we must decide now is where we go from here.'
Ranegale allowed his head to fall. He pointed eastwards. 'Out of sight of the Ringwall, we'll ride all the way to Makar.'
'How will we get into the city?' demanded Ravan.
Ranegale gave the youth a withering look but, when Ravan withstood it, he answered him: 'Since we're postponing decisions, we might as well leave that for later too.'
Ranegale raked them with a baleful eye and then, turning his aquar, he walked her off across the red mud.
They rode away from the Ringwall down muddy gullies. When they had lost sight of the wall, they turned east only to find their route slashed across by more gullies. Over and over again the aquar were forced to clamber down, then scrabble out the other side. Carrying two riders, Blur often needed more than one attempt. Sometimes they would climb onto a bony escarpment scored into slabs as if by some god's knife. There, the aquar had to pick their way carefully for fear of breaking their legs. To add to the misery, the sky opened and released a deluge. Soon the gullies were filling with water the colour of blood. One pool came up almost to the saddle-chairs. Fearing some might be even deeper, Ranegale began to go around them.
Every diversion took them further south. The gullies deepened, the ridges between them slicing up as sharp as shoulder blades. Soon they were being forced to follow the streams for long periods before they would find a gap through which to climb over into the next gully. When Blur was perched on one of these, Carnelian glimpsed the land stretching away to the north as far as he could see, all bony runnels thinly skinned with soil.
They sank into the land, her rock rising around them in leprous walls. Among the towers and pinnacles, Carnelian could almost believe he had returned to the Valley of the Gate that opened into Osrakum except here the pillars were pale and faceless. The gully they were following was swollen by others into a valley along one edge of which they filed, trying to avoid its torrent.
Suddenly, with a foaming roar, this tumbled in cascades into a ravine which, far below, framed in its narrow jaws a misty infinite world roofed by a stormy sky.
Ranegale held up the reckoning cord dripping in the rain. All could see it now only had two knots.
'If we return,' he said, indicating the way they had come, 'we're not likely to find a way to Makar. At least, not in the two days we have before our people give up waiting for us.'
In their saddle-chairs, the raiders sagged as miserably as did the corpses.
'So what do we do?' asked Loskai.
The cloth clinging to Ranegale's face was so drenched Carnelian saw with horrid fascination that the barbarian had a hole where he should have had a nose.
'We camp here,' said Cloud.
Storm clouds were conspiring with the approaching night to blacken the sky. Everyone peered through the gloom at the bare rocky valley.
This'll have to do,' said Cloud.
There were a few unhappy nods. One of the youths found some shelter under a shelf of rock that projected out from the valley wall. Carnelian urged Blur to follow the other aquar towards it. It was a relief when he and Krow were able to climb free of her saddle-chair. They were stretching their limbs when Cloud approached. He stood over Krow.
'Why did you involve yourself in sacrilege?'
Hanging his head, the youth indicated Carnelian. 'My father, this one claimed he had read the name of our kin tribe in Father Stormrane's hand.'
Cloud regarded Carnelian for a while before offering him his hand. Carnelian bent over the palm. He used the method that had worked before to decipher the recruitment tattoos. Having teased out the appropriate sounds, he converted them in his head into the barbarian tongue.
Twostone,' he said.
Cloud went pale. He placed his hand on Krow's head. 'You were right to help him.'
'My father,' the youth said with a nod and managed to slip Carnelian a smile of thanks as the Elder led him away.
Carnelian saw Fern and Ravan had untied the corpses and went to help lift them out of their saddle-chairs. Struggling with the noisome burdens, they laid them against the rock at some distance from the camp.
As Fern stood over his father's body, Carnelian could not tell if there were tears mixing with the rain running down his face. He took hold of Fern's shoulder.
'You have my gratitude for defending us back there.'
Fern looked into Carnelian's eyes. 'You know our speech, don't you?' he said using the barbarian tongue.
Carnelian's first instinct was to pretend not to understand, but he saw no threat in Fern's eyes. 'How did you find out?'
'At the kraal, you answered Ranegale when he threatened you in our tongue,' said Fern, shifting to Vulgate.
Carnelian thought back, then nodded, remembering it.
'Is this something all Masters can do?'
'No.' Carnelian saw Fern was waiting for more. 'Many in my household were chosen from the flesh tithe your people give… are forced to send to the Mountain.'
Fern frowned. 'How many Plainsman tongues do you know?'
'Plainsman?' said Carnelian, echoing the unfamiliar word.
Fern touched his chest then indicated the other raiders. 'It is what we all are.' He spread his hands as if smoothing a cloth over a table. 'Our tribes cover the Earthsky. How many of our tongues do you know?'
Carnelian shrugged. The one you speak. What others are there?'
Fern regarded him with frowning disbelief. 'Our tongue is peculiar to our tribe.'
'Surely the languages spoken by other tribes will be similar to your own.'
Fern frowned. 'We have such difficulty understanding one another we often resort to t
he Vulgate which the veterans bring back with them from the legions.'
Carnelian stared at him. Could Ebeny have come from the Ochre tribe?
'It's a strange coincidence,' he said.
'Very strange,' said Fern, clearly troubled.
Carnelian ran his hand down the blanket covering his leg. It was hard to believe it was not Ebeny's work.
That is a woman's weave,' said Fern.
Carnelian looked up. The colour?'
Fern nodded. 'Women wear the earth's hues: men, the colour of the angry sky.'
'Still, I will wear it. It reminds me of my… Plainsman mother.'
'Why have you been pretending not to understand our tongue?'
'It is a weapon I might have need of.' They stood for some moments regarding each other. It was Carnelian who spoke first. 'Will you tell the others?'
Fern chewed his lip. 'I don't know yet.'
Carnelian could see he would just have to trust him. 'If you'll help me, we can move my brother away from the others. I'll stay with him and not bother you.'
Fern shook his head. 'I want you to sit with us. The decisions we'll be making will concern you.' He must have sensed Carnelian's reluctance. 'If Cloud and Ranegale decide you are to die, I’ll stand with you against them.'
Carrielian stared in disbelief, but the fierce determination in the Plainsman's face did not invite discussion and so he nodded his assent.
***
They carried Osidian between them. Carnelian was certain he had been much heavier. Ranegale and Loskai made angry protests as Fern urged the youths away from the rock to allow Osidian to be laid out in what shelter the overhang provided. Ignoring the stares, Carnelian took a sodden blanket, crouched and smoothed it over him. He looked for life in the discoloured face but it might as well have been wax. Sick at heart, he rose and turned to face the Plainsmen. Though only the men looked directly at him, he could feel the general resentment Carnelian could not imagine what had possessed him. Even if Osidian were to live, would he thank him for having brought them into the wilderness among barbarians?
Fern indicated a place beside him. Carnelian hesitated, but then sat beside the Plainsman, hunching to alleviate the ache in his back. A nudge made him lift his head to find Fern offering him what appeared to be a bale of rope and a flint knife. Carnelian took one in each hand. The rope was heavier than he had expected. He brought it closer and curled his nose up at its odour.
'Djada,' Fern whispered into his ear.
Carnelian saw the youth beside him waiting expectantly. He pulled a length of the slimy rope through his fingers and cut off a piece then offered the rope and knife. The youth showed him he had his own blade, but took the rope. Carnelian turned to hand the flint to Fern, but the Plainsman was staring at the ground, chewing. Carnelian put the knife down in front of him and, overcoming his disgust, he bit off a chunk from his djada. As he began to chew, he found it was, as he expected, the same dried meat he had been eating for days. It did not taste as bad as it smelled.
Continuing to soften the meat in his mouth, he watched the coil being handed round. Ranegale, his eye fixed balefully on Fern, lifted his finger in accusation but Cloud, looking at Carnelian, spoke first.
This one here read the name of my tribe from my hand.'
Ranegale turned his anger on Cloud. The hands of the corpses could've been cut off.' Fern glowered. They're my kin.' Ranegale flung his head back in exasperation. There was no time to cut anything,' said Cloud. 'But the sacrilege -'
'Whatever harm might come to us from that, perhaps we've suffered it already.' The Elder glanced sadly in the direction where he knew the three corpses lay.
'And the Standing Dead?' asked Ranegale, forming ears with his hands.
'Remember it was this one,' Fern indicated Carnelian with his chin, 'who warned me of the tattoos.'
Ranegale began a protest, but Fern waved him down, speaking quickly. 'Do none of you see any significance in the way they came to us?'
Carnelian shared the general incomprehension.
Fern looked each of the men in the eyes. 'We've never asked how it came about that we should find two of the Standing Dead as slaves among sartlar and painted black.'
'I don't follow you,' said Cloud. 'When are men's bodies made wholly black, my father?'
Cloud shrugged. 'When they are dead.' Fern's eyes caught a reflection of faraway lightning. 'Exactly.'
'But they weren't dead,' said Ravan. 'What are you trying to tell us, Fern?' Cloud asked softly.
Fern ran his hand down over his curls plastered flat by the rain. His eyebrows rose. 'I'm not really sure.'
Ranegale let his hands fall and gave a snort ‘I think he's trying to tell us he believes it was the Skyfather who sent the Standing Dead to us.'
A shiver ran up Carnelian's spine. Though the Masters used red for mourning and green for resurrection, their Black God in his many aspects was lord of the sky, but also, death.
'Is that what you mean?' Cloud asked Fern.
Fern seemed an uncertain child as he looked at Cloud. 'I suppose so, my father.'
'Because of the bitumen on their bodies?'
'And one of them bears a mark.' Fern stood up and walked through the youths to where Osidian was lying. As Cloud and then Ranegale and Loskai followed him, Carnelian resisted the temptation to join them. Instead, he craned round to watch them leaning over Osidian. Ravan had taken a few steps towards them.
'Look at his forehead,' Fern was saying.
Cloud straightened and looked at Fern. The mark is in his skin?'
'However hard I rubbed, it wouldn't come off.' 'It looks like an eye,' said Loskai. 'More like the mark that might have been left by lips,' said Fern.
'So you're claiming he was kissed by a black man?' sneered Ranegale. 'Did you kiss him yourself, Fern?' His voice seemed very thin in Carnelian's ears as they recovered from a thunderclap. He was remembering that Osidian had once told him the Wise believed his birthmark a sign put there by the Black God.
Fern's stiff posture betrayed his anger. 'If I had kissed him, do you think it likely my lips would've left a permanent mark?'
Cloud spoke gazing down at Osidian. 'You think he's been chosen by the Skyfather?'
'Chosen for what?' exploded Ranegale. 'Has the rain soaked into everyone's head? Can't you tell this is his grief talking? He's desperate to find a reason why his kin's all dead and so he fixes on this business: this possessed notion that the Skyfather descended from on high to plant a kiss on the forehead of this one.'
'What about the bitumen?' offered Loskai.
Ranegale turned on him. 'High Father, not you too!'
Loskai retreated behind a blank expression.
Carnelian noticed how the youths huddled together; how they trembled with each thunderclap. Ravan returned, deep in thought. Carnelian gave him a smile and was pleased when it was returned. He looked down at the knife. Was the Black God behind the disaster that had befallen them both? It seemed inconceivable the God should have delivered Osidian into the hands of barbarians and yet, there were the signs. It gave Carnelian hope he had made the right decision in seeking refuge among the Ochre but he could not rid himself of foreboding. The Black God was also the Lord of Strife and War.
As the men filed back, lightning flashed the valley into jagged relief. Ranegale, as he sat down, looked round him gauging the general mood.
'A great blessing this gift from the Skyfather's been so far.'
'I believe the decision whether or not to kill them should be left to the Elders,' said Fern.
Ranegale looked at Cloud. 'Even though you're no longer Ochre, you are an Elder, my father. If you chose to make the decision now we could rid ourselves of the burden of these Standing Dead.'
Ravan, Krow and many of the others were clearly anxious to see what Cloud would decide.
The Elder shook his head apologetically. 'I won't make this decision on behalf of your tribe. Besides, should we be considering anything that might turn the Skyfathe
r even more against us?'
The sky rumbled as if in agreement and Carnelian saw everyone but Ranegale nodding. He gave a snort. 'Well, everyone here will stand witness to my counsel. Let's hope, Father Cloud, we don't have cause to regret your inability to make a decision.'
Lightning flared revealing stark shadows in the raiders' faces. The thunder that followed shook the very rocks upon which they sat and the rain redoubled its downpour.
'How are we going to get home?' Ravan asked over the hiss.
Only the storm answered him, but in the next flash, all could clearly see Ranegale was peering in the direction where the ravine cut down out of sight.
'Down there?' cried Ravan.
The swamps?' said Loskai, aghast.
Carnelian listened to the stream gurgling into the throat of the ravine.
'If we go down there,' said Ravan, 'we might as well give up any hope of seeing our hearths again.'
The fear in his voice spread to Carnelian, who sensed a general unease.
'How do we know there's even a way down?' asked Loskai.
The gate in the Ringwall proves there must be,' said Ranegale. 'Besides, the gradient of the ravine and the distance we seem to be from the land edge makes me certain it'll take us all the way down.'
'If you're right we've got to wonder what kind of people use it,' said Cloud.
'Manila?' Ravan asked, his shadow head turning as he tried to make out faces.
Carnelian felt Fern readjusting his position. Peering at his face, Carnelian saw the resemblance he had not placed before. Though paler than they, though not as tall, Carnelian saw Fern bore a decided resemblance to the black men who had escorted him and his father on the road to Osrakum. He should have seen it at once in his tightly curling hair.
Their lands lie somewhere south of the Earthsky,' said Cloud.
The swamp's a haunt of nightmares,' moaned Ravan. 'Demons,' muttered Krow.
'Hush,' said Fern. Those are just stories used to scare children.'
There must be another way, Ranegale,' said Loskai.
'Makar will be hard to enter unseen. I've been worrying about that all day. Even if that weren't so ' He made a sound of disgust. 'We're burdened with the corpses and, thanks to Father Cloud, the Standing Dead. Besides there's no way we're going to make the meeting and that's the only reason we're heading for the city.'
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