The Standing Dead sdotc-2

by Ricardo Pinto

  Ginkga's voice carried over to Carnelian and Fern. 'You two.'

  They exchanged a look of resignation and went to her. She confronted them arms red to the elbows, face the colour of fresh blood.

  'You should take off as much as you can.'

  Fern pulled off his robe and, reluctantly, Carnelian followed his lead. They both endured the ribald comments the women made about their bodies.

  Ginkga offered them a bowl that appeared to be filled with blood. 'You're here to do penance for your insult to the Mother. You must wear her colour as we do.'

  Fern scowled, but took the bowl. He kneeled and put it on the ground and motioned Carnelian to join him. Facing each other, they dipped their fingers in the bowl and smeared the redness over their faces under Ginkga's grim supervision. When they were done, she led them to their work. Shouldering the slimy sag of a lung between them, they struggled to heave it back to the drag-cradles.

  Sweltering, they laboured, their torsos and their heads itching with gore. Carnelian had tried to make a joke about their red faces but Fern was not much inclined to humour. The sun had brought with it a plague of flies that swarmed the growing mounds of offal. A constant procession of people came to stare. Worst of all for Carnelian was the mob of jeering children that had collected, who hung around him as he worked, coming as close as they dared. Already weary, past nausea from the stench, their baiting was almost more than he could bear.

  Fern gave him a look of sympathy. 'At least their antics are driving away the flies.'

  Carnelian frowned. 'I'd prefer the flies.'

  Fern chuckled.

  'I'm glad at least it amuses you.' Fern looked concerned. 'I didn't mean -' Carnelian cut off the apology with his hand. 'I know you didn't.'

  'If I asked her, perhaps Mother Ginkga would send them away.'

  Carnelian began to shake his head, then winced as it adhered to the bundle of tendons he was carrying over his shoulder. The children laughed, delighted, and he growled, scattering them.

  The Standing Dead haunt their nightmares. To see one of them here, doing this work…' Fern shook his head, frowning, himself overcome by the wonder of it.

  'It's not that I'm blaming them,' said Carnelian. 'I just wish they'd leave me alone.'

  They'll tire of it.'

  For some time after that Carnelian despaired they ever would, but gradually the gang began to thin until the last few children were wandering back across the earthbridge, making for the shade of their mother trees.

  The blaze of the sun managed to enter through Carnelian's slitted eyes to give him a beating headache. The air scorched his lungs. The sun was nearing its greatest height when Ginkga called for a break. Panting, brushing away flies, Carnelian and Fern scrambled for the shade of the Bloodwood Tree as if it were a river in which they might swim. As shadow slipped over them, Carnelian put his head back and groaned with pleasure. A delicious breeze cooled his skin. He saw two girls ladling water out from a jar that lay against the trunk of the tree. Fern called over to them and they came with slow, reluctant steps. They stood uncertain, staring at Carnelian.

  Fern grew angry. 'Come on, fetch us some water.'

  The girls ran back to the jar.

  They shun me,' said Carnelian.

  'Both of us. Do you blame them?' Fern opened his arms to display his grimy torso.

  Carnelian chuckled. 'I suppose not. You look as if you've been peeled.' He laughed when Fern raised an eyebrow.

  'Red's not your colour, Carnie.'

  The girls returned with a bowl of water and some roasted fernroot which they carefully put on the ground in front of them. Fern insisted Carnelian drink first. When they had quenched their thirst, they went to sit with their backs against the tree. As they munched away at the fernroot, they gazed across the sun-bleached fernmeadow to the Newditch and into the wavering mirage of the plain beyond.

  Carnelian looked round. Fern's red face was crusted black with blood. He was scratching his head, where the curls were stiff with brown matter. Glancing round, he saw Carnelian looking at him. Carnelian thought his friend's eyes very bright.

  'Where did you get that hair?'

  Fern frowned.

  Carnelian looked away, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the world beyond the shade. 'Perhaps I shouldn't have asked.'

  'My mother was travelling through the Leper Valleys on her way back from the Mountain when she became separated from the other tributaries. She was raped.'

  The murmur of the women's talk was a buzzing of bees. Carnelian turned his head to look at Fern, whose chin was resting on his chest. His eyes were focusing on the fern-root in his hands that he was snapping into little pieces.

  'A Maruli?' asked Carnelian.

  Fern's chin dug into his chest. 'Smeared all over with ash, yellow-eyed with a ravener grin.'

  'It must have been hard for you growing up here.'

  'My mother protected me.'

  'And, surely, so did the rest of your hearth?'

  Fern turned to look at him. 'When I was born, Whin sided with those who urged my mother to expose me on the summit of the Crag.'

  'But you're married to her daughter.'

  'My mother claims Whin agreed to that because she shared her passion for reuniting their two matriarchal lines, but I don't believe it. As is our custom, I had tried to find a wife in another hearth. Because of the way I was fathered none would have me. My mother must have begged Whin.'

  Seeing the anguish in those dark eyes, Carnelian fought a desire to embrace him.

  'What's the matter with you?' Fern asked.

  Carnelian did not know what to say. He could hear the women on the other side of the tree returning to work and used it as an excuse to rise.

  'We'd better get on with it,' he said and, without even glancing at Fern, he strode off to the drag-cradles with their heaped, rotting entrails; their clouds of flies.

  The Skyfather be praised,' Fern sighed, as Ginkga announced an end to the day's work.

  With a grunt, Carnelian dislodged a quivering mass of membranes from his shoulder. They tumbled with a wet thud onto a drag-cradle, splashing him with mucus. He was past caring. Lifting his gaze to the west, he saw the sun was drowning in its own blood. At least the air had cooled.

  'You worked well enough,' said a woman's voice. Turning, Carnelian saw it was Ginkga. He could see how hard it had been for the woman to make that admission.

  Thank you, my mother,' he said in Ochre, and Fern echoed him.

  The Elder came close. 'You may have bewitched Akaisha but don't imagine the rest of us will leave this as it is.'

  Carnelian withered. Her eyes lingered on him a while longer before she went off to join the other women washing themselves beyond the margin of blood-stained earth.

  Fern's eyes shone bright in his filthy face. 'My mother will protect you.'

  'You're a mess,' Carnelian said, trying to make light of it all.

  Fern grinned at him.

  Carnelian suddenly itched everywhere. 'I'm desperate to get clean.'

  'We'll have to wait our turn,' Fern said, indicating the women with his chin.

  'I suppose it's forbidden for us to go up there,' he said, looking with longing at the cedars on the hill.

  Fern gave him a heavy nod. The mother trees may only drink their daughters' blood.'

  They waited, tormented by itching, until they saw the women plodding back towards the Grove. He and Fern ran to take their place. His friend indicated a patch of dry, clean earth on which he wanted Carnelian to stand, then he rushed to fetch water and pluck some leaves from the Bloodwood Tree.

  When Fern returned, Carnelian scrunched the leaves into a ball as he saw his friend do, dipped them in the bucket and then used them to scrub away at his skin. When they had done as much as they could unaided, Fern began doing Carnelian's back. Carnelian submitted to this and, when his friend asked, tried to explain how the scars running down either side of his spine showed the blood-taints of his father and mother
.

  When Fern was finished he gave Carnelian the leaf-ball. Fern took Carnelian's hesitation for pride. Unwilling to explain his feelings, Carnelian turned Fern and began rubbing at his back. The only other man he had ever done this for was Osidian.

  They said nothing to each other as they made the weary climb up through the Grove. Carnelian's heart warmed as his eyes fell on the spreading beauty of what he allowed himself, for the first time, to consider his mother tree. When they reached the edge of her earth, they removed their shoes which they had done their best to clean. Both groaned with pleasure as they sank their feet into the fragrant carpet of needles. Side by side they headed for the hearth, where they could see people already gathering for the evening meal.

  When Carnelian came to a halt, Fern stopped too. 'What's the matter?'

  'Osidian,' Carnelian said bleak with the realization that he had almost forgotten him. He peered up towards the sleeping hollows. Shapes were moving there, but none that could have been Osidian. He remembered Fern and squeezed his shoulder. 'You go on ahead, I'll join you as soon as I can.'

  Without waiting for an answer, he began climbing the slope. His steps faltered as he neared their hollow. He recalled the day spent with Fern, the intimacy of their washing, and felt he had already betrayed Osidian. He took the final steps and looked down into the hollow.

  Osidian was lying in it asleep. For several heartbeats, Carnelian regarded him, moaning as his mind touched on a yearning that Osidian should not be there at all. The sound made Osidian stir. As he opened his eyes, Carnelian fought the desire to hide.

  'Are you well?' he said with a voice that did not seem his own.

  Osidian turned his head to look at him. Carnelian was transfixed by the green-eyed stare. He managed to find his tongue. 'Have you eaten?'

  'You eat their filthy food, I will not.'

  Carnelian saw the two cakes he had left there that morning were still untouched. The confusion of his emotions fused to anger. 'If you will not eat, my Lord, then you shall die.'

  'So be it,' Osidian answered in an eerie voice. His eyes narrowed, seeing something behind Carnelian, then they closed.

  Turning, Carnelian saw it was Fern.

  'My mother sent me to fetch you.'

  Carnelian turned back to Osidian. How much did his behaviour stem from jealousy? Carnelian felt wretched. 'Please come with us?'

  Osidian seemed asleep. Carnelian tried to find an argument that might bring him back, but Fern's presence was making that impossible.

  'What's the matter with your brother?' the Plainsman asked.

  Carnelian turned on him. 'Nothing!'

  Fern's shock at his tone upset Carnelian. Knowing Osidian was listening made Carnelian reluctant to apologize. He felt trapped between them. Unable to speak, he pushed past Fern and made off in the direction of the hearth.

  Ignoring the stares, Carnelian marched up between the rootbenches towards the fire. There was a gap in the line of men and boys where he and Fern had sat the night before. Reaching it, he sat down and focused his gaze on his hands. Grime still clung to the fine cracks in his skin. He felt Fern brushing against him as he sat down. Carnelian busied himself prising rinds of dried blood from under his nails. The smell of iron evoked Osrakum; spilling into his mind the usual horror and yearning.

  'Fern. Carnie.' His name was charming in Akaisha's accent. Carnelian raised his eyes and looked past Fern to the head of the hearth where she was smiling at them.

  'We were told you worked hard today.'

  Carnelian gave her a smile. Whin at her side was stony-faced.

  'It's only the first day of many,' said Fern, gruffly.

  Carnelian glanced round at him. A blush of ochre lingered on Fern's face. Their eyes locked. Carnelian was the first to disengage. He knew he could not explain his anger to him. A bad end to an otherwise promising day.

  Across from him, Sil was regarding them both with a fixed concentration. Carnelian feared she was seeing how he felt towards her man. She looked weary. Traceries of red earth incised her arms and hands.

  He tried a smile. 'You seem to have been working hard yourself.'

  Sil stared for a moment, but her face softened to a lovely smile that made Carnelian warm to her. She gave a nod, then looked shyly down at her hands and then up at him. 'No doubt you'll find out yourself in time… Carnie.' She flashed a bright row of teeth. The repair of the ditches is a task the men share with us.'

  Sil's friendliness smoothed some of the tension out of Carnelian's shoulders. He sank back into the domestic comfort of the hearth chatter as food was passed down the line. He saw again the thin Twostone girl and smiled at her.

  When the girl had passed on, Carnelian leaned across to Sil. 'What's her name?'

  Sil shrugged. 'She's not said a word since we found her living wild in her koppie.'

  Fern interrupted them by putting the first bowl in Carnelian's hands. Turning, Carnelian offered it to Ravan. The youth scowled at him.

  The Master's not eating?'

  This was the last thing Carnelian wished to discuss. 'He's still recovering from his fever.'

  'How's he going to get better if he doesn't eat?'

  Carnelian offered the bowl again. 'Go on, take it.'

  Ravan continued to scowl at him. Fern leaned out to look at his brother. Take the cursed thing. What's wrong with you?'

  The youth turned his scowl on Fern.

  'Ravan, do as your brother says,' Akaisha said, loudly. In response, her son snatched the bowl so violently it spilled half its contents over Carnelian. He jumped up, scalded. Fern leapt up.

  'You stupid, little -'

  'Sit down, all of you,' cried Akaisha.

  Carnelian sat down and, glowering at each other, Ravan and Fern did so too. The passing of the bowls resumed. When Carnelian got his, he ate, wondering how long he could conceal Osidian's utter rejection of the Plainsmen.

  Carnelian awoke gripped by fear. He struggled to order his thoughts. He had been dreaming he was with Fern watching Osidian die. Carnelian's hand found Osidian's body warm beside him. He listened for his breathing, but could hear only the sighing as the mother tree sifted the breeze through her needled canopy. Her voice was comforting. Through her roof there was a hint of dawn in the colour of the sky. He became aware of the sounds of the Tribe waking. He slipped out from under the blanket, being careful not to disturb Osidian. Carnelian sat for a moment with his arms crossed, rubbing his shoulders, peering at him lying in the hollow. He denied the memory of his dream. He assured himself Osidian would soon give up his fast. As he blew warmth into his hands, he smelled yesterday's blood. He had to go to work. He rose, his body aching all over, dressed, then padded towards the huddle of shapes around the hearth to share their warmth and to have breakfast.

  It was Akaisha who led them down to the Bloodwood Tree with Whin at her side, with Sil and the others of their daughters and grand-daughters following on behind. Carnelian was further back with Fern. Three girls walked behind them, one of them carrying a baby. The little Twostone girl brought up the rear.

  The earther lay beneath the tree, most of its bones now exposed.

  Akaisha wrinkled her nose up at the stench. 'We'll have to finish her today.'

  'We'd have to anyway,' said Whin. 'Crowrane's hunt is supposed to be bringing in another earther today.'

  After everyone's face was painted, Akaisha asked Whin to marshal them to the boulder tables and to make sure the knives were sharp, then she turned to Fern and Carnelian. 'You two know what you have to do.'

  Carnelian removed the new shoes Akaisha had given him before they set off and put on the makeshift ones already stained with gore.

  Sil was standing nearby rocking her baby in her arms. She looked up. 'I'll help them, my mother.'

  Akaisha put a hand on her arm. She shook her head. 'No, Sil. Fern must see this through to the end, alone.'

  She registered Sil's glance at Carnelian and smiled at him. 'I never imagined that any man would choose
to share Fern's punishment.'

  Both women smiling at him made Carnelian embarrassed. 'I owe him.'

  'I don't need your gratitude,' said Fern.

  Those were the first words they had spoken to each other that morning.

  'Nevertheless, I will work at your side until you are released.'

  Fern shrugged. Carnelian yearned to re-establish the easy friendship of the previous day, but remembering his dream, he decided it might be better to leave matters as they were.

  Just before midday, it was Sil who brought Fern and Carnelian food and water as they took their rest with everyone else. Carnelian saw she had the thin Twostone girl to help her. The waif walked behind Sil taking small steps, her whole being focused on the bowl of water she was carrying.

  Fern made a lunge at his wife. 'Come here, let me kiss you.'

  Sil eluded him, grinning. 'Look at the state you're in. I'm not letting you anywhere near me until you wash.'

  Suddenly, water exploded everywhere. Carnelian, who had been watching the play between Fern and Sil with mixed feelings, saw the little girl staring appalled, the bowl lying empty on the earth near her feet. Carnelian went cold. The last time he had seen the expression the girl had on her face was on his brother Tain's face, when Jaspar had deliberately unmasked in front of him so as to ensnare him in a threat of blinding. He followed the girl's unblinking stare to Fern, his dark skin marbled with gore.

  'What's the matter with her?' Fern demanded, clearly unsettled.

  Sil crouched beside the girl. 'Why did you drop the bowl?'

  The girl did not seem to be aware the woman was even there. Carnelian thought he understood. He looked Fern in the eye. 'Most likely she witnessed her people being butchered by Manila.'

  Fern's face blanked with understanding. Pale, Sil had turned to look at him and now turned back to the little girl. She gently stroked some hair from the girl's temples. 'It's all right, little one,' she said gently, but the girl just kept on staring.