‘He will not see you, Master,’ said one, who turned out to be Krow.
Carnelian looked beyond him but could see nothing in the brooding shadow beneath the tree.
‘He mentioned me specifically?’
‘Yes, you,’ said the other figure, Ravan. He drew his uba from his face, revealing a sneer.
Carnelian considered his next words carefully. ‘You should take care, Ravan; his feelings for you might not be what you believe them to be.’
Ravan smiled unpleasantly. ‘You’re just bitter you’ve lost him to me.’
The youth was distracted by the hubbub floating towards them on the breeze. His eyes, gazing off towards the Tribe, were filled with longing.
‘Why don’t you all come and see what’s happening?’ offered Poppy, brightly.
Ravan gave her a filthy look, turned on his heel and strode back towards the acacia. Ducking an apologetic smile, Krow followed him. As Carnelian walked away he was haunted by a feeling that he should have left Osidian on the mountain to die.
Carnelian stood among the Tribe watching the embassies set off. Around him bull-roarers were producing a slow, undulating moan. Bone struck on bone: stone on stone. Everyone was jigging up and down in an oceanic surge. Through their midst, with barbaric pomp, rode the embassy of the Tribe, the truce staff carried before them. He saw Fern beside Akaisha and waved. Harth was there with Crowrane and Loskai. Carnelian spotted Ginkga, Galewing, Kyte. The Elders’ saddle-chairs were the gaudiest; hung with feathers, tinkling trinkets, pieces of stolen brass that caught the light like mirrors. These wizened men and women with nodding crests, hung with their jewellery of salt, sat enthroned in their saddle-chairs, to the backs of which had been lashed feather-pennoned poles. Behind them came the riot of their warrior escort, dark skins agleam with sweat and vermilion designs.
When Sil announced she was going to gather herbs in the foothills, Poppy asked if she and Carnelian might go with her. Sil and Carnelian glanced at each other, embarrassed.
‘I don’t –’ Carnelian began, but was interrupted by Whin.
‘You should go, Carnie. Poppy will enjoy it and, though there’s unlikely to be any danger, I would feel happier if my daughter had an escort that I trust.’
Carnelian and Sil both stared at Whin, surprised by her endorsement. The rest of the hearth reacted as if the matter had been decided and helped bundle them off, so that soon, Sil and Carnelian with Poppy on his lap were riding towards a far edge of the valley.
At first Carnelian and Sil could think of nothing to say to each other. It was Poppy who decided she and Sil should teach Carnelian songs. At first reluctant, Carnelian began to enjoy himself, even their teasing of his accent. They found a rash of berries the birds had overlooked and dismounted to pick them, putting as many in their mouths as in the baskets. When Sil caught her robe on some thorns, Carnelian helped her loose. They watched Poppy plucking berries, her mouth stained with their juice.
‘She’s a lovely girl,’ said Sil.
Her eyes met Carnelian’s and they saw each other’s grief at what they were to lose to the tithe.
‘You know Fern loves you?’ Sil said, quietly.
Carnelian looked into her eyes again and nodded. ‘I love him too.’
She smiled a little and looked at her berry-red fingers.
He reached out and took her hand. ‘He may love us both, but you are his wife.’
She looked up solemn, beautiful. Poppy chose that moment to return. She beamed when she saw them holding hands.
On the day Carnelian noticed that the valley was losing its green vibrancy, the embassy returned. Children’s shrieks of excitement pierced the lazy afternoon and soon people were streaming across the meadow to welcome back the riders. Carnelian was among them with Poppy and Sil, laughing as the noise deafened him, adding to it himself with a bellow or two.
The riders came to a halt, Akaisha at their head, unable to make any progress against the throng. From every throat came calls for news. Akaisha signalled the riders to make their aquar kneel. Seeing her lowered to the ground, Carnelian and Sil pushed through to help her out of her saddle-chair. They could feel in the tremble of her arms how tired she was. She was hiding some pain behind her smile. Fern appeared beside them. He waved people away while Akaisha leaned on Carnelian as he walked her towards the encampment.
‘What news, my mother?’ Sil asked.
She made a face. ‘The usual. Marriages, talk of hunts, of fernroot yields.’
‘What about the Gatherers, my mother?’ Carnelian asked.
Akaisha’s face sank. ‘It’s as we’d guessed; they came this year to every tribe.’ She looked with concern at Carnelian, trying to read his expression.
‘So what if they search for you? No one knows where you are.’
He leaned down and gave her wrinkled cheek a kiss. Sil put her hand on his arm. ‘Leave her with me, Carnie, I’m sure you and Fern will want to talk.’ She leaned close and kissed him on the lips and then she and Akaisha moved away.
Fern was looking at him with eyebrows raised.
‘We’ve become friends,’ said Carnelian, embarrassed.
Fern grinned. ‘I knew you would.’
Carnelian noticed a nasty bruise on the side of his friend’s head. ‘How did that happen?’
‘Trucestaff, or no trucestaff, we had a run in with the Bluedancing.’
‘A fight?’
‘A brawl with some young hotheads wanting revenge for the beating we gave them earlier this year.’ He grinned. ‘We gave them another good hiding.’
HAND OF DARKNESS
And when, for her bride-price, she gouged out his eyes
she held the thorn in her left hand.
(from the ‘Ruáya’, the first book of the ‘Ilkaya’, part of the holy scriptures of the Chosen)
THE BREEZE COULD NOT DISPERSE THE PALLS OF SMOKE THAT HID THE dawn. The Tribe had fired the further reaches of the valley. The Withering had at last stretched up to find them; parching the blue out of the sky; scorching the green from the earth. Their stream had dwindled, choking dry. The fern meadow turned amber, dying.
Harth and others of the Elders had sniffed hope floating on the air. Several had gone out beyond the entrance to the valley to confirm it. When they returned they went among the Tribe claiming they had smelled the rain in the breeze blowing from the west. When the young looked sceptical, they were reassured it was not a matter of having a keen nose but of being blessed with the experience to recognize the subtle perfume of the Skyfather’s approach. After that it had been all hurried packing.
‘We must rush to meet the rain,’ said Fern. ‘Even now it rolls towards us across the Earthsky.’
Carnelian wondered at the certainty in his friend’s voice. Carnelian could smell nothing in the air but burning. ‘To reach it we’ll have to cross a desert.’
‘We still have water,’ said Sil, Leaf strapped to her back.
Carnelian had seen how lightly loaded the drag-cradles were with waterskins.
Fern craned round. ‘Would you have us stay here?’
Carnelian looked back at the wall of smoke clogging the sky. Aquar ambled on every side as the Tribe made gentle progress towards the valley entrance.
Osidian approached, attended by Ravan, Krow and other youths. Carnelian felt Poppy, Fern and Sil close around him like a faction. He greeted Osidian in Vulgate and he gave a nod but would not meet Carnelian’s eyes.
Osidian turned to watch the smoke rising. ‘It hides the sky.’
‘The fire will renew the earth,’ said Fern. ‘When we return next year this valley will be as green as it was when we arrived.’
Osidian was not listening. His eyes were grey, reflecting smoke as he spoke. ‘Even the sun cannot see through that curtain darkness.’
Thirst drove them west with ever greater speed. They had been struggling across the torrid land for days. Dawn found them plodding and so, too, the dusk. They had redistributed the djada and what little water
was left so as to free drag-cradles for the pregnant, the younger children, the old and those who had to take turns resting. It was being whispered that the wind-blown promise of rain had been false. People gazed accusingly at the Elders, so many of whom were not having to walk. Carnelian understood there was a need to blame someone. It was difficult not to despair. The land was beaten gold. The furnace air driving into their faces snatched all moisture from throat and eye. The sun glared relentlessly down. Carnelian choked on the ashen dust rolling hissing across a desert desolation. Whenever he lifted his itching eyes, the charcoaled plain stretched before him limitless and droughty to an umber horizon.
The water they carried dwindled day by day, as had the stream in the valley, and still the rain did not come. Every day, in the calm before the dawn, Carnelian saw Akaisha lift her head and dilate her nostrils like dark eyes. She shook her head and, when asked, she swore by the Mother that the Skyfather’s rain was hiding unseen in the hem of the sky. With the others, Carnelian wanted to believe her but as each day withered into a chill night, they had to camp again in an unwatered land.
Aquar began dying. The Elders had ordered they should be given less water to save what was left for the people. Carnelian and Poppy saw one creature reel, stumble and fall, tumbling its rider into the dust. The woman rose, wearily, now the colour of the ground. They watched her urge the aquar to rise; she stroked it, talked to it, begged and even struck the creature in desperate rage. It would not budge and, forlorn, she joined the column of people toiling on foot.
*
When rain came it came unseen. People were leaning forward, straining for each step, eyes closed, despairing faces hidden in the coils of their ubas. The scorching west wind flung a hail of sand against them. It was a distant flash that woke eyes all along the march. Carnelian squinted blearily and saw a darkening horizon. Thunder rumbled. Even as he stopped to stare, the separation between earth and sky was inking black.
‘A sandstorm?’ he gasped, but the only answer he received was Poppy grabbing hold of his hand.
‘Can you feel the Father in the air?’ Akaisha shrilled.
Then Carnelian heard the rushing. The front struck them screaming, tearing the uba from his face. Veils of darkness were flowing towards them, hissing. The sand before him pocked as if a thousand tiny feet were sprinting towards them. Then he smelled the water and it was upon them, running down his face, drowning the air.
The march of the Tribe dissolved into a riot. Carnelian danced with Poppy. People slipping down from aquar were throwing themselves on each other. Many ran about shouting, their faces turned up into the rain, their arms outstretched seeking to embrace the Skyfather’s gift of life.
The sky poured its water into the thirsty earth, washing the air clean of dust. Those next few days were a carnival. The rain raised the wilting necks of the aquar and the spirits of the people. Everyone seemed younger, renewed along with the world. Laughter was everywhere and singing. When they camped, children ran laughing, playing muddy games under thunderous skies.
Calm interspersed the storms: the clouds would open and allow the sun in to dazzle them. Now they smiled to feel its warmth upon their faces. Too soon the clouds would close and the rain resume its downpour. So much rain that the plain began softening into a marsh, in the midst of which lagoons were spreading. Soon every day had become a plodding, sodden slog through sucking mud.
Carnelian collapsed beside Fern. Akaisha had chosen a ginkgo for her hearth and had made them hang blankets in the branches, though these gave scant protection. They hung sodden, collecting the rain which spilled over in rivulets, splashing them, besieging them with puddles. All around them in the rumbling gloom the Tribe sheltered as best they could, but even the aquar drooped drenched.
Whin and Sil had nestled a fire between the roots of the tree.When the wind gusted, it forced the smoke towards them in choking, eye-stinging drifts. The lurid flicker sporadically lit Osidian’s face.
‘Will this curse never cease?’ he moaned.
‘It’ll not stop until after we reach the Koppie, Master,’ said Ravan.
‘As much as once I loved the rain, I loathe it now,’ Osidian said in Quya, addressing Carnelian as if the youth had not spoken.
Embarrassed by the sound of that tongue, Carnelian looked round apologetically.
‘It makes me remember,’ Osidian continued, relentlessly, his hand straying up to his neck scar. Fire flashed under the ceiling clouds some distance away. Carnelian waited for the thunder. It came rolling, heavy, stuttering, sonorous.
‘Hark, He speaks,’ said Osidian in an ominous tone and the rain fell with increasing ferocity.
Carnelian’s eyes snapped open. A scream. Questions cutting across each other. He sat up. The smouldering fires revealed black shapes scudding through the camp. For a moment one fire was blotted out by a vast hurtling shadow trailing a wild whoop. A battle-cry choked to gurgling by an arcing shape. Everywhere mounds of darkness were rising uttering fearful cries.
Someone pushed by him, crying in Quya, ‘The Two. The Two.’
Osidian was too fast for Carnelian. He saw with dismay Osidian’s bright naked body leaping towards their attackers. He was too visible. Cursing, Carnelian overthrew his immobility, rummaging violently among the piles of baggage. When the haft of an axe slipped into his hand, he flung himself round wielding it, crashing after the cold flicker of Osidian’s body. Kicking his way through obstructions, his foot caught and he was flung to the ground. He rose, groaning. Something whistled past his ear even as he was thrust back into the mud.
‘He almost had you,’ cried Fern in anger.
Carnelian could make out the mounted shape as it scooped up a piece of darkness that shrieked with a child’s voice, then it was coursing away. Fern helped him up as the cries receded into the darkness. Only a few fires still burned.
‘Are you hurt?’ said Fern, running his hands over Carnelian, searching for wounds.
Carnelian slipped away from him and stumbled through the dark, steering by the faint beacon of Osidian’s body. Everywhere, shapes were stirring, moaning. Some voices wailed while others rang out begging for light.
Carnelian approached Osidian’s long white back, glowing in the gloom. Ravan and Krow were already there, reluctant to touch him. Carnelian crept round to peer into Osidian’s face. Motionless marble. He gingerly reached out to touch the stone. Cold. Sticky. He jerked his hand back. Osidian seemed to be a corpse, standing. Carnelian licked his fingers and tasted salt.
‘Is he wounded?’ asked Ravan.
Nothing.
‘Well, are you?’ Carnelian demanded.
‘It is the other that is slain.’
Carnelian could not help drawing away from the eerie voice. He stumbled backwards over the body lying on the ground and fell. Dazed, he lay there feeling the rain falling on his face in a steady rhythm.
Poppy clung to Carnelian. Through the rain, he saw the camp, now a battlefield. All their makeshift shelters were leaning at crazy angles with their blankets trampled into the mud. Bales disembowelled their contents into puddles. People, moaning, were bending among the wreckage, searching. Some were pulling things together as if they had been merely blown down by a freak gust. Many just stood sightlessly staring out over the featureless land.
The Elders began moving among them, ordering things. Some were so weak they had to lean on the arms of their grandchildren, but, even so, they were listened to with the rest.
Akaisha pulled at Carnelian’s shoulder. ‘Carnie, don’t just stand there, dear. Help me clear up this mess.’ She noticed Poppy and they exchanged a glance. Both could see in the girl’s face that she was seeing the massacre of her people.
‘I’ll look after her,’ Akaisha said, softly.
Carnelian nodded and carefully transferred Poppy’s grip to Akaisha’s robe; then, kneeling, he kissed her before going off to help Sil tug a blanket from the clutches of the mud. When it came free, they scraped it as clean as they could and p
ut it on a drag-cradle that was propped up against a ginkgo. They were returning for another when a cry of anguish made them stop and turn. Osidian was standing among women shouting at him in anger.
Carnelian touched Sil’s hand. ‘I’d better …’
‘I’ll come too,’ she said.
Osidian saw them. ‘Carnelian, tell these savages I slew him and so he is mine.’
The women caught Carnelian in their crazed stares. Ginkga came to his rescue, ordering the women all back to work, growing angry when they resisted her. ‘First let’s get things back to normal. After that there’ll be plenty of time for retribution.’
As the women moved off they revealed the corpse lying at Osidian’s feet. He was not Ochre. He wore a black hunter face and his hands were painted blue.
There was a slap on Carnelian’s arm. He whisked round, angry. Seeing it was Ginkga who had struck him, Carnelian let go of his rage and went back to pulling blankets from the mud.
The Tribe assembled at the centre of the camp around the frame Osidian had made from two drag-cradles and from which the corpse hung, naked, dangling its blue hands. A livid cut across its shoulder was pulled open by the weight of its head. The sight of one of their attackers had awoken snarling hatred among the crowd.
Akaisha came to stand beside Osidian and called for silence. Grimly, she counted out for them their losses. Five mothers had had young children carried off. Two women had miscarried. One man had lost his wife; another had spilled his brains into the mud; five had sustained cruel gashes.
A young, pregnant woman spat out a chilling description of what she wanted to do to the body.
Akaisha shook her head. ‘Mutilating this dead man will not bring your son back, Ceda.’
‘What will then?’ the woman cried. She looked around her with narrowed eyes and every man she looked at averted his gaze. She gave a snort as she placed her hands on her swollen belly. ‘You’re all such men when it comes to making babies, but you’ll not bleed to keep them.’
The Standing Dead (The Stone Dance Of The Chameleon) Page 39