‘She comes!’ bellowed his leader.
The cry woke Carnelian rudely into action as he felt the aquar round him lurching into motion. Soon he was coursing with the others, riding parallel to the charging herd. Bull-roarers were singing above the tumult. Leaning towards the piston of one of his aquar’s legs, he craned round the back of his saddle-chair and saw the cow with the broken horn close behind him. Separated from her herd, she was being swarmed by hunters screaming battle-cries, spinning bull-roarers, striking at her with the flat of their spears. Maddened, in terror, she lumbered on, bucking like a ship in a swell. Then she was abreast of him and Carnelian added his shouts to the clamour and, clumsily at first, but then with fierce strokes, added his attacks to theirs. He could feel her exhaustion and saw how heavily she lumbered on and how her heavy head was hanging lower and lower, until, at last, she stumbled and fell, rolling into golden ruin and they closed on her and, baying, started feasting their spears on her blood.
The Plainsmen’s fury ended when they knew she was dead. A sadness spreading from them cooled Carnelian’s bloodlust. Through its pulsating heat, he watched them dismounting, approaching the hill of hide now all striped with blood. He descended too and, stepping out from his saddle-chair, found it strange to walk among the ferns. He stared with wonder at the creature he had helped to kill and felt no joy, so that, when the Plainsmen began to sing her a lament, his heart joined his voice to theirs even though he did not know the words. When they fell silent, they grew wary again, scanning the plain as if they feared some thief might come to steal her. Carnelian helped them unbale the ropes and lash them to her horns, her neck, around the collapsed pillars of her legs. When she was hitched up to the crossbeams of their saddle-chairs, he did as he saw them do, leading his aquar until she had pulled her crossbeam ropes taut, then, at a cry from Crowrane, all the aquar were made to lean into the ropes. With a shudder, the mass of the saurian began slowly to crush a bloody road across the fernland.
They towed the earther to the nearest acacia and drew her into its shade. They dug a crescent ditch as they had done the night before. The aquar were unsaddled and some of the younger men went to protect them as they grazed. Some leaf-wrapped bundles were produced which, when opened, gave off an odour of cedar that made Carnelian homesick for his hearth. Under Crowrane’s supervision, they scooped some of the cedar-impregnated fat and began to rub it into the hide of the saurian corpse. Carnelian asked Krow about it.
‘It helps disguise the rot which otherwise might draw raveners here.’
When they were done, they laid their fire but did not light it and then they sat down to await the night.
The blackness suddenly came at them, causing them to leap to their feet. Clutching a javelin, Carnelian backed away with the rest of the hunt as tall shapes emerged into the flicker of their fire. Riders, their aquar coming on at a slow walk. A sound of laughter.
‘Look how afraid they are,’ one of them said, his accent so strange Carnelian could barely understand him.
Plainsmen from another tribe. Swathed in their ubas, only their eyes caught the fire. Carnelian drew himself further back into the shadows where, to his relief, he found Osidian. He sensed it would be a disaster should they be discovered.
‘You’re on our land, Ochre,’ one of the strangers said, a touch of laughter still lingering in his voice.
Crowrane stood forward to confront them. ‘The earth belongs to no man, besides, here we are nearer our koppie than yours, Bluedancing.’
Their leader made his aquar take a step towards the Elder. ‘Perhaps, but even so, we’re the great Bluedancing and we go where we want. Do you wish to fight us, old man?’ The tone of mockery stung even Carnelian.
Crowrane stared fiercely up at the invader. ‘We’ve no quarrel with you.’
His eyes followed the riders that were moving around the camp. The gaze of their leader fell upon the slope of hide rising behind them.
‘Perhaps we should take your earther from you.’
Carnelian saw the way the men of his hunt moved to shield the saurian with their bodies. He felt possessive of her too. He set his teeth. If it came to a fight, he would stand with the Tribe.
‘At least we should take the best cuts,’ drawled another of the riders.
A mutter of amusement passed among the Bluedancing. Their leader made a gesture of contempt. ‘Let’s leave her to them. Look how scrawny she is. I doubt they had the strength even to take such a clapped out old cow themselves. Probably found her collapsed from age. Look,’ he pointed, ‘she doesn’t even have both her great horns.’
This was greeted by a chorus of snorts and derisive laughter. Their leader caused his mount to spin round and then leap forward, kicking through the fire, scattering its embers into the darkness then, whooping, the riders rushed headlong back into the night.
As Carnelian helped the hunt gather up the burning fernwood, he was as angry as they were.
‘Why don’t we mount up and pay them a return visit?’ cried Ravan.
‘Riding across the plain in the middle of the night?’ said Crowrane. ‘Are you possessed, child? Have you forgotten there are raveners out there?’
‘If they can do it why can’t we?’
‘You know perfectly well, son of Stormrane,’ said Crowrane. ‘The Bluedancing have at least twice our numbers. Do you want to bring a war down upon the Tribe we couldn’t hope to win?’
‘They grow more arrogant with each passing year,’ Ravan gave back.
‘They’ve always been arrogant,’ said Crowrane.
Ravan confronted the Elder with a stare.
‘Do you doubt, child, that I can remember further back than you?’
It took a while before the fire went out of Ravan’s eyes. ‘No, my father.’
For some moments the old man glared at him, but then he too swallowed his anger.
‘Consider yourselves lucky they didn’t spot the Standing Dead.’ Face sweaty with anxiety, he looked round at Osidian and Carnelian.
Gloving his hand with fern fronds, the old man stooped to scoop some embers. ‘Come on, let’s get this mess sorted out before we find ourselves having to fend off a ravener without a proper fire.’
Crowrane woke them before dawn and made them breakfast as they sat ready with their javelins and spears. Raveners were still abroad. Crouching by the fire, Carnelian flinched at their every cry. He savoured his meal as if it were his last. Then they waited until the edge of the world began to show. His heart lifted as the aquar sang their welcome to the dawn.
‘The raveners fear our fire too much to attack,’ said Krow.
‘We’re not home yet, child,’ said Crowrane severely and set them to hitch their aquar up to the earther.
When it had grown bright enough for them to see the Koppie tiny on the horizon, they set off towards it. When the sun rose, it found them moving laboriously northwards. It was slow work and they had to stop often to allow the aquar to rest. At midday, they stopped within the flickering shade of a copse of ginkgos. Carnelian, who had hoped they would soon be home, saw through the trembling air that the Koppie seemed as far away as when they had set off. Gloomily, he realized they would be spending another night out on the plain. The sickly odour of death was already penetrating the saurian’s cedar aura and floating away on the air.
Dusk robbed them of the guiding hope of the Koppie. Crowrane set them to rubbing more of the cedar balm on the earther, but this did not stop a mist of decay hanging around their camp. When a breeze picked up, they built a barrier of ferns on the saurian’s windward side, hoping thus to stop the wind from carrying her odour out across the plain. Having done what they could, they huddled around their fire, eating, talking, while all the time sneaking glances out into the night.
Carnelian drowned slowly in nightmares and, when he managed to come up for air, his half-waking was haunted by the shrieks in the blackness. Eventually he forced himself fully awake. He rose and stood until his legs would no longer support him
. Then he tried squeezing pain into his thighs. He was not the only one watching the night.
They were yearning for dawn when the raveners came. They felt their approach in the trembling ground. Crowrane slapped a youth’s arm that held a flare questing for the flames.
‘It could be anything,’ he hissed.
A waft of carrion breath soon changed his mind. Foolishly, Carnelian did not think to look away when he lit his flare. Blind, he heard the Plainsmen’s fear and, blinking for sight, he could just make out vast shapes coalescing from the darkness. Flares danced around him amidst a tumult of shrill battle-cries. Roars carried on a foul breeze of breath. The vast presence of their smell. A clashing of jaws. The fire describing their hideous shapes in monstrous movement. Then they left as quickly as they had come and the yelling raggedly abated until all Carnelian could hear was the guttering of the flares.
‘Put them out,’ came Crowrane’s command. ‘Mustn’t waste them.’
‘I’ve never seen them so unafraid of fire,’ one man said.
Loskai pointed his flare at Osidian. ‘The Standing Dead bring the raveners down on us as they did in the swamp.’
Ravan stood forward. ‘Remember it was the Master that saved us then.’
Krow was nodding, his face pale as he relived that time. Crowrane shoved him so that the youth dropped his flare.
‘I said, put them out.’
As the flares went out one by one, Carnelian glared at the Elder, disliking the way he had treated Krow, but also reluctant to lose the sorcerous protection of his flare. He ground its flames out in the earth. Then he stood with the others waiting, hardly drawing breath through his dry throat until the first light seeping showed the land free of the monsters.
The drudgery of another day pushing through the ferns, encouraging the aquar, dragging the saurian after them as if she were a slab they were bringing back from a quarry. The heat, the plagues of flies, the beacon of the Koppie staying obstinately the same size. Carnelian plodded on, drifting into a walking sleep haunted by black terror, squinting up at the cruel sun, watching with despair its slow fall to earth with its promise of another night.
Deepening dusk found them sullen behind their fire, fingering their flares nervously. It was then their fear was taken by surprise. The raveners came before the sun was fully down. Three black shapes loping against the bloody edge of the sky, heads slung low, their bobbing accenting each heavy stride.
A hand grabbed Carnelian’s robe and clung to him. He steadied himself on the edge of flight. He stooped to put flames upon his flare. Wielding it gave meagre comfort. The last snuffing out of day stole away their view of the raveners’ final charge. Thunder in the ground. Then the death grins slavering in the firelight.
Crowrane wailed: ‘Light the wings, sweet Mother, light the wings.’
On their right, the horn of their crescent ditch grew a plumage of flames which lit the underside of a jaw connecting back and up to a dark mass which swung away gurgling, revealing for a moment an eye bright with malice. Gaping, Carnelian became aware the fire glow was missing on his left. The earth groaned as a ravener stepped across the unlit ditch. Firelight showed the wall of its flank; the grinning length of its head. It was among them and the Plainsmen were shrieking. Without thought, Carnelian tore himself loose of their hands and joined the two or three men keeping the monster at bay with wild swings of their flares. The sound of Quya froze him: the clear voice intoning an incantation. Osidian, haloed by his flare, was advancing on the monster with his iron spear.
The ravener’s head turned to look at him with one of its tiny eyes. Osidian thrust fire up at it, so that it drew back screeching. Pouring Quyan syllables he rushed at it, driving it back. He cast his flare away and grasped his spear with both hands. As the monster lunged, Osidian shoved his spear up into its jaws. The monster impaled itself, driving the blade up through its mouth, snapping its jaws closed in a froth of blood, roaring, splintering the shaft. Carnelian cried out as the monster recoiled. Its legs knocked one into the other and it toppled, twisting, its tail lashing up and round, its mass punching thunder into the ground.
Osidian froze before it. Rage possessed Carnelian. Hardly knowing what he was doing, he leapt through their fire and charged the other two raveners. The hunt running after him lit the fernland erratically as they ran. The monsters fell back under the bright onslaught, turned and were soon thundering off into the night.
Carnelian chased them screaming, until a stumble brought him back to his senses. Flares dotted the darkness. Looking back the way he had come, the glow of their campfire seemed far away. Fear returned like a deluge of cold water. The other flares were converging on their camp. Quickly, he started making his own way back.
‘He felled the ravener like a tree,’ said Ravan.
They had watched all night, stunned, at any time expecting the monster to lift itself from where it lay just beyond the firelight. Now, with dawn breaking, they stood watching Osidian as he crouched within the angle of the monster’s jaws and dug the iron spear blade from its head. When he had it free, he walked towards them displaying the bloody iron on his palm.
‘May I cut a tooth, Master?’ asked Ravan and, when he received a nod, the youth unsheathed a flint and ran towards the ravener and was soon busy gouging a tooth from its jaw. When he held aloft the pale sickle longer than his dagger, the Plainsmen gave out a cry of triumph and soon Osidian was giving permission to everyone else in the hunt to take one. Even though he disdained to take one for himself, Loskai tried to appear to be sharing the general elation but a scowl was never far away. Crowrane was behaving as if nothing had happened, but Carnelian saw the old man sneak an awed glance at the Master. As for Osidian, he seemed as unaffected as if he killed raveners every day.
All the younger men wished to get as close as they could to the Master, but it was Ravan whom Osidian let walk at his side and carry what was left of his iron spear. Though the going was as hard as it had been the day before, their trek seemed to have turned into a jaunt. Their home seemed to respond to their high spirits by growing steadily larger on the horizon. A breeze blowing from the east cooled the torrid plain. Carnelian felt sufficiently at ease to take pleasure in the beauty of the waves chasing each other through the ferns so that the plain seemed to be a green and smiling sea.
They had hardly finished dragging their earther into position under the Bloodwood Tree before Ravan and the others were telling the women the story of the ravener slaying. Laughter broke out among them, swelling to a general cry of disbelief, but this was quickly silenced when the hunters produced the fangs they had gouged from the monster’s jaws. Passing the blood-crusted trophies among them, one by one the women lifted their eyes up to the Master. Carnelian watched Osidian receive their awe with indifference while Loskai and his father tried to hide their hatred behind smiles.
Carnelian’s gaze returned to Fern, whom he had been watching. He had the appearance of a peeled man and was the only one still working. As Carnelian approached him, he became aware of the stench coming off him and his halo of flies, but he forced himself to move closer.
‘Fern.’
As the Plainsman looked up, his eyes were the only things that seemed alive behind his mask of gore. He resumed his work. After some moments, Carnelian turned to walk away, not wishing to increase Fern’s humiliation.
*
Girls and women brought them water to wash under the Old Bloodwood Tree. If Crowrane had not insisted that they clean themselves carefully, many of the hunt would have rushed through it so as to get to their hearths more quickly. Leaves were kneaded into balls. A youth hurled one at a friend, soon involving everyone in a battle.
At first Carnelian remained as aloof as Osidian and Crowrane, but it only took the sting of missile to release the boy in him and he joined in. Before Crowrane managed to calm them, Osidian’s disapproving gaze had already taken all the fun out of it for Carnelian. When Krow offered to clean him, he chose to return the favour just to i
rritate Osidian, however childish that might be. It was only when he noticed the way Loskai was looking at Krow that Carnelian realized he had got the youth in trouble.
‘Perhaps you should do someone else.’
Krow must have seen where he had been looking, for he glanced at Loskai and shrugged. ‘I’ve given up caring what they think.’
The pleasure of being clean and in the shade made Carnelian remember Fern’s situation and he pitied him. Ravan was working at cleaning Osidian as carefully as a slave might. Much as he wished to, Carnelian knew he must not return to share Fern’s work.
Their hearthmates were waiting on the edge of the rootearth for the return of the hunters. None dared speak to the Master as he walked towards the sleeping hollows. By the way they looked at him, Carnelian knew the news of the ravener slaying must have already spread through the Tribe. Poppy ran into his arms. He laughed, lifting and nuzzling her as she clung to him.
‘I’ve looked for you every day, Carnie.’
Whin nodded in their direction and Carnelian returned the gesture. Akaisha released Ravan from a hug and advanced on Carnelian. Still holding Poppy, he stooped to receive a kiss and an embrace.
‘Welcome home, sister’s son,’ she whispered in his ear, then stood back, the joy in her face as she regarded her hunters making them grin like boys.
‘You must all be hungry,’ she announced.
‘Ravenous,’ growled Ravan and everyone laughed.
Holding Leaf, Sil was standing watching Carnelian. She twitched a smile as he approached her and kissed both her and the baby. People were moving back towards the hearth, their arms weaving them into couples around which the children chattered. Carnelian hung back. Akaisha glanced round.
‘Aren’t you coming, Carnie?’
‘I’ll wait for Fern.’
Akaisha frowned as she saw Sil’s face. As they all moved away, Carnelian felt that he had handled the situation badly, but convinced himself that it would only make it worse for him now to back down.
The Standing Dead (The Stone Dance Of The Chameleon) Page 30