The summit was windblown and scorching in the sun. Even with the uba covering most of his face, Carnelian had to squint. The place was more extensive than he had expected: an uneven floor of blocks and cracks and shadows. Three men were sitting on a promontory. One of them rose, staring at him. Soon all were staring.
‘Lookouts,’ said Carnelian indicating them with a jutting of his chin. ‘See the beacon ready to be lit.’
Osidian was gazing out over the plain, turning slowly as if searching for something. Carnelian allowed his sight to soar. A vast sky fell into a single encircling, melting horizon. Trees danced in the heat. He saw the mirrors of lagoons, the ragged drifts of herds. The curves of the two outer ditches were betrayed by their borders of magnolias. At his feet, smoke was rising through chinks in the cedar canopy.
Carnelian turned to Osidian. ‘They are better organized than one might have expected of barbarians,’ he said, hoping to encourage a more sanguine outlook on their situation.
‘They merely ape the Chosen,’ said Osidian.
‘How so?’
‘Can you not see this place is marked out in the form of a wheelmap or a legionary camp?’
Carnelian looked again and saw the three concentric ditches: the outer two each containing a swathe of land divided by the crooked spokes of smaller ditches into ferngardens; the third the grove of cedars on the koppie hill. If the first were the Outer Lands and the second the Guarded Land, then the hill and stone upon which he stood would represent Osrakum. The sight of these fortifications forced through his hope the bleak awareness that he and Osidian were Masters powerless among people who had every reason to hate them. His eyes fell on the ivory roof of the Ancestor House, in which their fate was being decided by the Elders. What would they do to Fern? Surely his mother, Akaisha, would be able to protect him. Carnelian recalled the look of need in her eyes. Tiny figures were moving through the inner fern-gardens. Faint voices drifted up from the cedar grove; bright laughter and the smells of cooking. Had this really been Ebeny’s childhood home? Even the possibility warmed his heart a little.
He turned to Osidian. ‘You know, Ebeny, my nurse, it seems certain to me she came from this tribe. Of all the koppies, that we should end up here …’ Carnelian shook his head in wonder.
Osidian was looking at him as if he were listening to an echo.
Carnelian smiled remembering her. ‘In my heart, she is my mother.’
Osidian’s lips curved into a sneer. ‘When will you realize, Carnelian, these sensibilities are an affectation. You are Chosen. Your persistent desire to hide from what you are is a delusion I find increasingly repulsive.’
Fear that Osidian might be right only made Carnelian despise his cold Master’s face. ‘Do you know, Imago Jaspar once said something very similar to me.’
At the sound of that name, Osidian’s face became as rigid as a mask, but Carnelian did not care. He delved inside himself for the truth of what he felt and was sure his love for Ebeny was real.
‘Besides,’ he said, burning up in her defence, ‘it is perhaps those very sensibilities that might secure sanctuary for us here.’
Osidian’s face sagged. ‘Here? How can you expect me to live here?’
Seeing the distress bleeding out of him, Carnelian could not sustain his anger. He remembered who Osidian had been. He remembered the pressure he had put on Osidian to go with him to the Yden one last time before the Wise made him God Emperor. Despair soaked through his confidence. He tried to rally.
‘Even if we care nothing for ourselves, there are others we cannot abandon.’
‘Your precious half-caste, for example?’
Carnelian was stunned. ‘You mean Fern? That half-caste saved your life not once, but many times.’
‘Do you hope to blind me by throwing that in my face? Do not play me for a fool, Carnelian, I have seen the way you two look at each other.’
Osidian’s bitter words struck Carnelian like blows. ‘I don’t …’ He shook his head. ‘I really don’t know what you are talking about.’
Osidian shrugged, then went seeking a shadow in which he might find refuge from the sun.
Carnelian was dozing in the shade when he heard a scuffle of feet approaching. Sitting up, he saw it was Fern with Akaisha, Harth and some other woman Elders. Carnelian nudged Osidian awake and rose to face them. He tried to read Fern’s face. As their eyes meshed, Carnelian could not help considering what Osidian had said. Fern gave him a brave smile that was hiding some pain.
Harth stepped forward. ‘You understand my words?’
Concerned for Fern, Carnelian gave her a nod even as he realized Osidian had not bothered to get up.
‘We have decided to postpone our decision as to what we are going to do with you. In the meantime, Mother Akaisha has offered to keep you in her hearth. You will be under her authority. The first time you disobey her you will both be put to death. What do you say?’
Carnelian glanced at Fern, then at Akaisha, who was searching his face as if she were looking for a sign.
From the sour look on Harth’s face, Carnelian deduced it was Akaisha who had bought them a reprieve. ‘Will the Tribe accept this arrangement?’
Harth raised an eyebrow. ‘The Elders have accepted it. We are the Tribe.’
Halfway round the Crag, Akaisha took a rootstair down into the mottled shade of the cedar grove. She was asking Fern for news of Ravan.
‘He should have appeared at the hearth before you went to the Assembly?’
A shake of his mother’s head made him scowl. She reached out to take his arm. ‘Most likely he fears my grief.’
She half turned her head. ‘We’re nearly there.’
Carnelian nodded, but his attention was on a group of people under a nearby tree who had stopped everything to watch them pass.
‘It is considered impolite to stare into another’s hearth,’ said Akaisha and looked surprised when he apologized.
Some children began following them, daring each other to run in close to the white giants. Osidian frowned, studiously ignoring their dash and screaming flight, until Akaisha turned on them. Her scolding sent them scuttling for cover. The gurgles of their furtive laughter made Carnelian smile and remember his own childhood.
‘We’re here,’ said Fern gloomily, stepping from the stair on to the hillside.
A cedar spread its branches above them. Its trunk was the centre of the arc they walked, crossing the radiating ridges of its roots. Carnelian heard squeals of delight and saw some children chasing each other in and out of the shade. Ahead, Akaisha seemed to catch fire as she reached a space unroofed by the tree. Carnelian approached, narrowing his eyes against the dazzle. He stumbled over a root that ran across his path. He could smell the smoke but it was too bright to see the flames. As Carnelian’s eyes adjusted, he saw a woman standing with two boys at the edge of the long, oval clearing.
‘Whin, these Standing Dead are to be our guests for a while,’ Akaisha said.
She turned to Carnelian. ‘This is Whin, a daughter of my hearth who, next to me, is the nearest to the roots of our mother tree.’
Whin was possibly forty, though her weathered skin looked older. She regarded the Standing Dead with a severe face. To avoid her eyes, Carnelian looked at the boys, who were also staring, their cheeks flushed from the heat of the fire. He smiled and they smiled back. Sharply, Whin told them to resume stirring the earthenware pots sitting upon the embers.
Fern moved round the fire towards the woman, who lifted her hand. He touched his palm to hers and their fingers meshed.
‘May our roots grow together,’ both said.
Their hands fell.
‘You are to be punished, Fern?’
Fern winced. ‘For my sin against the Mother, I am to labour as a woman, Aunt Whin.’ He sneaked a look at her face.
‘You deserve worse,’ she said, but her eyes warmed a little.
They grew cold when her gaze fell on the Standing Dead. ‘Go, Fern, give our guests
some bedding and let them choose hollows. I wish to speak to your mother alone.’
Fern seemed to be waiting for her to look back at him.
‘Whin, has Ravan been here?’ said Akaisha, anxiously.
‘Ravan, your mother wants to see you,’ cried Whin.
From the gloom gathering round the trunk of the cedar, Ravan emerged using his arm to shield his eyes from the glare. He came to a halt, looking at the ground.
‘Son.’
Ravan glanced up at his mother and then saw the Standing Dead.
‘They’re to stay with us a while,’ she said.
Ravan’s smile was dazzling as he gazed at Osidian. Carnelian noticed the momentary frown with which Akaisha observed this.
‘It warms my heart to see you again, my son.’
Ravan disengaged his gaze from Osidian and looked at her. Akaisha opened her arms. ‘Will you not kiss me?’
Awkwardly, Ravan advanced into her embrace and planted a kiss on her cheek. Carnelian could see how unhappy they both were as they separated.
Whin looked over. ‘Are you still here, Fern?’
Grunting something, Fern motioned for the Standing Dead to follow him. Ravan made to join them but Whin stopped him.
‘You stay with us, dear.’
Uncomfortable, Carnelian followed Fern into the shadows, then up a hollow lying between two roots. Where the hollow narrowed into the trunk, it was packed with jars. Above their heads, ropes hugged packets and bundles to the bark. The shoulders of the branches were hung with coils of djada, with fernroot forming the rungs of ladders. Fern took hold of some loops of rope and pulled himself up into the tree. Carnelian watched him walk out along a branch and undo a bundle. He tugged two black blankets free, hesitated, tucked one back and pulled a russet one out instead.
‘Catch,’ he cried, then let them drop. Carnelian caught both. Fern landed on the ground beside them. Carnelian crushed the blankets with his chin so that he could look over them.
‘Where do we sleep?’
Fern did not answer. Squinting, he was watching his mother and his Aunt Whin talking as they cooked. Ravan was sulking beside them. Fern looked at Carnelian.
‘Eh?’
‘Sleep. Where do we sleep?’
Fern looked puzzled and then brought Carnelian’s face into focus. He took them round to the uphill side of the tree where the ends of the branches hung nearer to the ground. Fern swung his hand in an arc. ‘Take whichever of the empty hollows you want.’
Carnelian watched him walk off towards the women. The Plainsman glanced back. ‘Don’t leave the shade of our mother tree.’
Carnelian nodded and turned to Osidian. ‘What do you make of this?’ he asked, in Quya.
Saying nothing, Osidian walked off up the slope. Hugging the blankets, Carnelian followed him. The roots faceting the ground defined hollows in many of which blankets and other bundles were neatly stowed. Of the empty hollows, most were too short for a Master to lie in. Higher up, they found a hollow large enough to accommodate them both.
Carnelian looked at Osidian. ‘Will this do?’
Osidian gazed round with distaste. ‘Their animal eyes will be on us wherever we go.’
Carnelian spotted the faces looking at them from the shade of the nearest tree. Turning slowly, he saw there were others staring. He thrust the black blanket on to Osidian and then pushed his nose into the russet one. He was disappointed. However much the blanket might look like one of Ebeny’s, it did not have her smell. He shook the blanket open and let it settle on the cedar needle floor, then laid himself down along the hollow with his head up-slope. The perfume of the needles rose around him.
‘It’s surprisingly comfortable,’ he said.
Morose, Osidian looked down at him. Behind his head the needle-brush canopy was aflicker with blue specks of sky. Carnelian could not bear another argument.
‘They’ll soon tire of staring.’
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply the warm, resinous air.
The air had cooled when Carnelian was woken by voices. He sat up in the hollow. Down the slope, among the deepening shadows, people were coming up the rootstair. Their trudging and the way many let their heads hang betrayed their weariness. For a moment Carnelian felt like lying back before they should see him, but he stayed where he was, knowing he would have to face them some time. A woman glancing up spotted him and was transfixed. Asked why she had stopped, she replied by pointing up at Carnelian and her companions found him with their stares. He imagined how ghostly and terrifying he must appear to them.
The discovery was passed by cries out through the Grove and soon Carnelian was having to endure stares from other directions. He tried a smile, but this only seemed to intensify their horror. Elders among the hearths must have begun spreading the news of the decision they had made, for Carnelian could see and hear the reactions of disbelief. Reluctantly the Ochre tore themselves from their staring and continued up the hill to their hearths.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Osidian lying at his side.
Carnelian looked down. For a moment Osidian seemed as strange a creature to Carnelian as he himself must appear to the Ochre. He shook himself free of the illusion.
‘Nothing. Well, just watching the people returning for the night. We must prepare ourselves to meet Fern’s kin.’
Frowning, Osidian closed his eyes. Carnelian fought the desire to shake him. He forced himself to look out again. A group of women and men were approaching up the rootstair, some walking hand in hand, others carrying infants. Shrieking with excitement, the children that had been playing near the hearth ran down to them. Carnelian watched with a kind of envy their joyous meeting. A man caught a little girl and threw her up with a whoop and, catching her, hugged her as she squealed with delight. He slung her over his shoulder and continued climbing. A woman bent to embrace a boy, kissing him, nodding as he began to pour out his day for her. Several of the children were already pointing up at the strange white giant. Carnelian saw Akaisha approaching the group. The women handed the children to their men and gathered round her. Carnelian could hear the mutter of their talk and felt the sharp glances they cast up at him. Most of the men were frowning. Carnelian rose to his feet, wondering if he should go down and brave them himself.
The group resumed their climb behind Akaisha, who now had a baby in her arms. The children clung to their parents’ hands. As the group left the stair, they fanned out towards the sleeping hollows. Akaisha caught Carnelian’s eye and beckoned him. Obeying her, he was forced to pass through the others. They moved from his path as if he were a leper.
‘I can’t speak the soldier tongue,’ Akaisha said as he approached.
‘If you don’t speak fast, I’ll understand your Ochre … my mother,’ he replied.
Her eyebrows raised. ‘You really do speak our tongue.’ She frowned. ‘Walk with me.’
She led him towards the stair of roots and soon they were descending it side by side. Everywhere Carnelian glanced, he found eyes. He was glad it was necessary to fix his gaze on his feet, to find a way down the uneven steps.
‘We call this stair the Blooding,’ Akaisha said.
Carnelian could not help noticing some women undressing under a cedar, their skin smooth and brown in the deepening shade. There was a glint of water as they began to wash each other. A breeze from the east drifted a mist of cooking smoke across his path. Its smell reminded Carnelian’s stomach of how hungry he was.
‘We’ll eat soon,’ said Akaisha as if she had heard his thoughts.
‘It was kind of you to …’ Carnelian could not find the next word.
‘You’re not the way we imagine you to be,’ she said.
‘We must be … disappointing.’
She stopped to look up at him surprised. ‘In what way?’
‘You believe us angels … and now see we’re only men.’
Her eyebrows rose again, causing Carnelian to feel he had been caught saying something childishly conceited
. She reached up and he allowed her to touch his cheek.
‘You really are just a man,’ she said. ‘And, though your beauty is unsettling, your face is not the lightning which we believed you hid behind your masks.’
She resumed their journey down the winding stair. ‘But it was not that which I meant. It is your manner that is unexpected. The other, he is what we expect of your kind. But you … you are almost like one of us.’
‘I speak your tongue … a little.’
‘No, there is something else.’
‘I grew up among Plainsmen.’
They had almost reached the foot of the slope so that they could gaze out from under the cedar canopy across the ferngardens, golden in the dying sun. The easterly caressing them was rich with the perfume of the magnolias. Carnelian felt an ache of joy that forced him to stop and close his eyes. It was as if he had come home after being a long time away.
He sighed. ‘It is so peaceful here.’
‘Tell me of this servant woman who spoke our tongue,’ Akaisha said.
Carnelian opened his eyes to look at her. Her upturned face had a tightness around the eyes and mouth that made it clear this was the reason for their walk. Seeing how vulnerable she was, Carnelian considered his words carefully. He began to relate everything he knew about Ebeny and of his childhood with her across the sea.
‘So far away,’ Akaisha breathed, staring sightlessly as if she were seeing the island at the other side of the world.
She came back. ‘This Ebeny spoke our tongue and she wove our patterns. Was there anything else she had from her people?’
Carnelian saw the yearning in Akaisha’s eyes and, as desperately as she, he wanted to give her some proof. He closed his eyes and searched his memory. Suddenly, he grabbed her hand. ‘She … she …’ He calmed himself. ‘Her mother …’
Akaisha gave an eager nod of encouragement while Carnelian tried to stitch the words together in his mind so that he could utter them in a piece. ‘Her mother gave her a stone woman.’ He showed the size of it in his hands. ‘She called it her Little Mother.’
With her free hand Akaisha pulled something out from her robe. Carnelian made to take it but she snapped it into her fist and pulled away from him. Her eyes burned. ‘You mustn’t touch it. A man must never touch a sacred image of the Mother.’
The Standing Dead (The Stone Dance Of The Chameleon) Page 21