The Standing Dead (The Stone Dance Of The Chameleon)

by Ricardo Pinto

  Ichorous blood proofs the mortal vessel to receive fire from the sky.

  Every drop of blood within the vessel this fire ignites to purest ichor.

  (from the ‘Book of the Sorcerers’)

  LIGHT SEEPED WITH THUNDER DOWN THE CAVE TUNNEL TO WAKE Carnelian. He lifted his head and found his pillow was Blur’s neck. Her eye plumes fluttered as he sat up. Plainsmen wrapped in blankets lay between the aquar.

  Soon everyone was rising, yawning, stretching sleep from their limbs. After checking on Osidian, now as silent as the dead, Carnelian went to join the men gathering at the entrance of the cave to survey the colourless world outside.

  Ranegale pulled a blanket over his head and went out. Loskai followed, then Cloud with Krow trailing after him. Fern raised his eyebrows at Carnelian and, when he gave him a nod, Fern crushed his curls under a blanket and ducked into the rain with Ravan. Cursing, Carnelian rubbed his lips over the blessed dryness of his own blanket before he cast it over him and followed.

  Rain pattered on the blanket, which grew heavier until wetness began soaking through. Ignoring the discomfort, Carnelian had to peer to keep Fern in sight. Soon they had joined Ranegale and the others on the edge of the abyss. Around them water was spouting into space. Craning over, Carnelian could make out nothing in the vague and shifting greyness. Ranegale and Cloud were blinking away rain as they examined the walls of the abyss. Carnelian allowed his own gaze to wander over the pallid rock piled layer upon layer, everywhere pocked with holes. Countless ledges shelved the walls, in places seeming to form ladders that faded away into the trembling veils of rain.

  ‘Up or down?’ said Cloud, brushing a concerned glance over Krow and the other youths.

  Heads turned to look back up the slope, which was a frothing cascade.

  ‘We must descend,’ said Ranegale grimly. ‘What’s the point of climbing that? If we reached the top, we’d still have the same problem we had two days ago except we’d have less djada.’

  ‘There must be a better way,’ said Fern.

  Ranegale had cupped his hands to his ears to hear him. ‘A better way? And how do you think we’re going to find it? Shall we try every pass until we find one that takes us all the way down?’ Gazing into the abyss, he shook his head. ‘We must try here, while we still have the strength.’

  ‘How’re we going to get the aquar down?’ asked Krow.

  Carnelian tried to trace a plausible descent, but the ledges seemed as substantial as scribbles.

  Ravan was looking at Ranegale for an answer. As the man’s hands dropped to his sides and he turned away, the youth’s mouth sagged open with horror and disbelief.

  Loskai stared. ‘Ranegale, you can’t mean that you want us to walk all the way home?’

  Fern glanced at him. ‘For once I agree with your brother. We’ve no choice.’

  Ravan looked from face to face. ‘You can’t do it. I’ve reared Runner since she was a hatchling.’

  The men were all staring blindly into the abyss.

  ‘We should leave them here in case we have to return?’ tried Ravan.

  Cloud took his shoulder. ‘That would be more cruel. Would you want them to slowly starve?’

  ‘We could set them loose; let them return the way we came.’

  Cloud shook his head. ‘You saw how barren it is up there.’

  Ravan and Krow were struggling not to cry.

  ‘What about our dead?’ Cloud asked Fern.

  Carnelian looked to where the rain was melting the corpses into the ravine wall, then to the cave in whose depths Osidian lay a fallen statue.

  Fern was ashen. ‘We leave them here.’

  Ravan broke down and Cloud embraced him with one arm, reaching out with the other to Krow.

  ‘Cut their hearts out to take with us,’ said Ranegale.

  Fern stared blankly while Cloud grew angry. ‘There’ll be no need for that. Birds from the Earthsky will reach them here.’

  Morosely, Carnelian knew he must stay behind with Osidian.

  ‘What about the Standing Dead?’ asked Loskai.

  Fern’s eyes came back into focus. He indicated Carnelian with his chin. ‘I’ll help this one carry the other.’

  As Carnelian gazed startled at the Plainsman, Ranegale shrugged, scowling. ‘If you must.’

  Carnelian stood against the cave wall keeping out of their way. He was still reeling from Fern’s offer. He had tried to help with un-harnessing the aquar, but had quickly found he was only a hindrance. Grim-faced, the Plainsmen were soon working at tearing their saddle-chairs apart. The transverse poles they released from behind the chairs were being piled at the cave mouth. On to either end of each was wound a bale of djada rope the size of a man’s head. To one side a parcel had been laid, carefully wrapped in oiled skins the length and girth of a boy’s forearm. Beside it were some pouches that had clinked as they were put down.

  Smiling crookedly, Cloud regarded the pile of saddle-chair wicker. ‘If we’d known we could’ve had quite a blaze last night.’

  Fern asked Carnelian to help him lash together several of the saddle-chair poles into a beam to which he added his father’s spear with its iron head. As they worked, Carnelian thanked Fern, who merely gave a curt nod. When they were finished they laid the structure on the floor beside Osidian and Carnelian saw that it stretched longer than his body. They bound Osidian to it with leather bands, blankets and whatever else they could find among the debris of the saddle-chairs.

  Each taking one end, Carnelian and Fern tried lifting him. At Fern’s urging, they rotated the stretcher like a spit until Osidian hung from it facing the ground. The bindings creaked under his weight, but held. They turned him on to his side and laid the stretcher gently on the floor.

  The aquar were standing naked towards the back of the cave, blinking the mirrors of their eyes, their plumes rustling behind their heads.

  ‘They know,’ broke Ravan’s voice as everyone moved in among the creatures.

  One of the youths began a wail that Fern cut short with a reprimand. He handed Carnelian a flint knife. ‘You must do Blur.’

  When Carnelian hesitated, Fern grabbed his hand and pressed the knife into it. Carnelian could see the tears in Fern’s eyes as he made Blur kneel and showed him how she would allow him to bring her long head under his arm.

  ‘You cut here.’

  Carnelian watched Fern run his finger round the softly-scaled skin where the creature’s jaw met her neck. He looked into Fern’s face questioningly. His friend was fighting rage. ‘We must do them all at once or else they’ll panic.’

  Carnelian watched him walk away before turning to Blur. He saw his own reflection in her eyes. She was returning his gaze. He felt a bond with her. Like him she had a beating heart; she saw the same sky. She had yearnings, knew strength and weariness; pain and fear. He reached up to caress his hand down the warm column of her neck, crooning, stroking her plume fans closed.

  ‘Ready yourselves.’ The words echoed round the cave.

  Carnelian reached up and drew Blur’s scaly heron head to his side and slipped his arm over her warm skull. As he hooked her head close he could feel the hot humid breeze of her breath and the tickle of her blink against his skin. It made him ache that she should be so trusting while all the time he was sneaking the flint blade down to her throat.

  ‘Now!’ the word harsh and ragged.

  Carnelian took too long. The cave was suddenly deafening with aquar squealing their distress. Blur’s fans burst open in his face and he almost lost hold of her head. He clung to her grinding his teeth as she tried to lift her head and clumsily, sawed her throat open. Then he had to ride the jerk and shudder of her head. Her warm blood licked his toes. As her plumes sank, he was able to see the raiders. They were crying, man and youth, as they knelt in blood and loved their dying aquar and he found he too was crying as he cradled Blur’s now leaden head.

  As they were getting ready to leave, Carnelian noticed Fern watching him from the mouth of t
he cave and turned away to wipe his eyes. When he looked back, Fern was gone. Carnelian needed to keep busy. He saw Ravan rubbing fat over the surface of a djada bale. When the whole ball was gleaming, the youth fed it on to the handle of Osidian’s stretcher. Carnelian found a bale of his own. It was fleshy, reeking, the size and, he imagined, the weight of a severed head. Once he had greased it, he impaled it on the other end of the stretcher pole. Its smell clung to his hands.

  Fern reappeared carrying two dark bundles. One of these he tucked away under the blanket binding Osidian’s legs to the carrying pole. The other he held out to Carnelian.

  ‘You must wear these.’

  Fern pushed the black cloth into Carnelian’s arms. It was sodden and gave off an odour Carnelian recognized. He repressed a desire to throw it away.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ he asked, though he already knew the answer.

  ‘They were my father’s. I washed them in a puddle.’

  Ravan looked up. Carnelian expected anger, but the youth dropped his gaze and went on with his work.

  Carnelian looked down at the shrouds and then offered them to Fern. ‘You’re kind but there’s really no need.’

  Fern scowled and looked down at the ochre blanket Carnelian had around his waist. ‘You believe you can get down the cliff dressed like that?’

  Carnelian saw Fern was right. He put the bundle down, then, reluctantly, he removed the blanket, found two corners and began to fold it.

  ‘You can’t take it with you,’ said Fern.

  Carnelian hugged the blanket. He could almost imagine it had Ebeny’s scent.

  ‘I’ll get you another when we get home.’

  Fern helped him pull on the dead man’s robe. It was a tight fit and short. Carnelian tried to keep the disgust from his face as it clung wet to his skin. Fern handed him a long strip of cloth.

  ‘This is an uba. It is wrapped around the head.’

  Carnelian was mustering the courage to put it on when Fern suggested that, for the moment, he could use it for a belt. Relieved, he was further heartened when he found the cloak hardly smelled at all. Throwing it around his shoulders, Carnelian sensed Ravan was avoiding looking at him.

  Cloud announced it was time to leave. Dressed as a Plainsman, Carnelian lifted his end of the stretcher, Fern the other, and together they carried Osidian out from the cave. The rain had soon washed the colour of slaughter from their feet.

  Soaked and miserable, Carnelian stood among the youths peering through the rain, as Ravan and Fern with the other men climbed up to hang the dead on a crag, naked save for the charcoal that had been made and rubbed on their skin. Carnelian wondered at this strange custom.

  When they came down, everyone sang a ragged lament. When they were done, Fern would not look at Carnelian as he bent to pick up his end of the stretcher. They lifted Osidian between them and set off. Ravan walked beside them embracing a djada bale, his head hanging so that his drenched uba hid his face. The other youths trudged up ahead, each with his burden, following Ranegale and Loskai while Cloud walked among them encouraging them to sing. All they knew were riding songs whose rhythms only served to remind them of the aquar they had left bleeding in the cave, so they soon fell silent.

  At the edge of the abyss, where its pavement merged into the ravine wall, Ranegale found for them a ledge. He tested it then edged off along it, leaning into the cliff, followed by Loskai and then the youths in single file.

  When it was their turn, Carnelian went first. He kept his eyes on his feet making sure not to slip. It was difficult not to let his gaze stray down into the abyss.

  So they toiled, stopping sometimes to rub life into their arms. The ledge soon gave out and they had to clamber down to another. This was the first test. Ravan was ready to help and Krow too when he saw Cloud join in. As they lowered Osidian, he looked so serene as he hung suspended over the abyss Carnelian could believe him embalmed.

  As they progressed, Carnelian found the limestone was inlaid with the spirals of ammonites and other sea creatures. His wonder was short-lived. As they grew tired, the desperate struggle to hold on put everything else out of his mind.

  The day waxed and waned. The sky growled and sometimes a shock of lightning would blind them. To relieve the ache in their muscles, Fern and he took turns at being in the lead. Cloud said nothing but his hands were often there to help. When the ledges widened, they would sometimes turn their backs on the harrowing fall and stop for breath. As they chattered away their fear, they made sure only to watch each other’s mouths so as not to see the staring terror in every eye.

  Encroaching darkness made them fear they might lose their footing. They had passed many caves and, finding another one, they decided to stop there for the night.

  Little was said as they had their djada. Carnelian chewed some for Osidian and gave him water. Then he lay beside him to warm him with his body. Cloud told a story but Carnelian was too tired to catch hold of the words and, giving up, he fell asleep.

  For days they clung to the limestone with trembling fingers, the abyss echoing at their backs. Sometimes the terror clamped a youth so desperately to the cliff they had to resort to prising his fingers free. The rain leached their strength so that they were forced to rest more often. Mostly it was Carnelian and Fern who struggled alone with Osidian on his pole, though Ravan, Cloud and Krow helped when they could. Carnelian rarely had enough strength left to thank them.

  Whenever Ranegale let them stop, they collapsed. Though care was taken to make sure the youths ate their ration, most were growing thinner. The inevitable happened: one of them fell and took another with him spinning down into the abyss. After that Carnelian’s dreams, awake and sleeping, were all of flight.

  Under Carnelian’s fingers, Osidian seemed made of tainted alabaster. Was this the same vessel he had once touched with wonder, imagining it brimming with the ichor of the Gods? The light that once had been in him had gone out. The rounded beauty had sunk into his bones. Carnelian frowned back the tears as he struggled to remember how glorious his beloved had been. He glanced over to where Fern slept like the dead and wondered why each morning his friend chose to suffer another day carrying a fevered stranger down a cliff. How could Carnelian not wonder when he himself who loved him dreamed of letting the stretcher go; longing to watch this torture to sinew and spirit drop away from him into the depths.

  A rattle and gasping drew him back. Osidian was muttering, his feet hinging spasmodically on his ankles. Carnelian crept through the raiders, placing his feet carefully among their bodies. At the entrance to the cave he crouched to lift one of the leather bowls they had left out to catch rain. He was deaf now to the downpour but heard behind it the dull roaring of the river and the waterfalls feeding it with their arches. Tomorrow, if the Gods willed it, they would camp upon its bank. Even on the black ship, hiding in drugged dreams from the storms, he had not desired to reach the Three Lands as much as he craved to reach the ground below.

  He made his way back cradling the bowl, not wanting to spill it in case he should wake one of the youths. He set it down beside Osidian and knelt. Dipping the corner of a blanket into the water, he took it dripping to Osidian’s mouth, touching a finger to Osidian’s throat to make sure he was swallowing.

  *

  They spread themselves out on the moss, gazing up at the white rampart it seemed they had spent their whole lives descending. Cloud made jokes and poked the youths in the ribs. He would not stop even though they made no reaction but moaning. At first he only lit a smile here, another there, but somehow, he put light back in their eyes and choking laughter in their throats. They promised each other what they would do together once they got home. Some of the youths grinned, imagining their mothers’ joy at their return.

  Ranegale rose, fixing them all with his grim eye, and told them they were not home yet. Grumbling, everyone chewed djada and then, picking up what appeared to be much lighter burdens, they set off along the river bank.

  Ravan and Krow
took turns with Carnelian and Fern at carrying Osidian. There was time to admire the vast white columns buttressing the cliff and the boulders the size of hills they had to walk around.

  All day they had been getting closer to where the walls of the abyss framed a vast expanse of storm-grey sky. They heard the rapids before they saw them. From the mouth of the abyss, the river spilled roaring down into what at first seemed the ruins of a city. Clambering over this masonry, they soon found it was nothing more than blocks that had crumbled from the white cliff of the Guarded Land. Among this jumble they laboured and as night fell they managed to find a dry place to make a camp. A greater delight was the fire they were able to coax from some damp wood, over which they roasted three small saurians Cloud and Loskai managed to catch.

  Sitting with the raiders round the flame, Carnelian took pleasure in seeing them, ruddy-faced, lying back holding their stomachs. It was Osidian starting up his babbling that brought the return of unease. Later, when night fell, his body burned and cooled in quick succession.

  ‘He wrestles the fever,’ said Fern frowning.

  Ravan looked anxious. ‘Will he die?’

  Fern looked his brother in the eye. ‘Pray to the Mother for his recovery.’

  In the morning they set off eager to put the abyss behind them. It was not long before the rain had worn them down. Sodden they clambered among mossy boulders, always making sure to keep the limestone cliffs on their left.

  The going was so arduous they had to make frequent rest stops. The talk then was all about the Leper Valleys.

  When they had set off again, Carnelian asked Fern discreetly, ‘Is there danger in those valleys?’

  Fern shrugged. ‘We still have salt to pay their tolls.’

  ‘Will having two Masters with you not cause you problems?’

  Fern chewed his lip and looked round to make sure his brother was not in earshot. ‘I’m more worried that, seeing us arriving on foot, they might try to rob us. I don’t like the idea of getting into a fight with them. There’s the youngsters to think of.’

  ‘Surely if we give them the salt there’ll be no further reason for them to attack us.’