The Chosen sdotc-1

by Ricardo Pinto

  'And what is the Privilege of the Three Powers?'

  'It is a law that allows each power the right to exclude either or both of the other two from any matter that it considers internal to its affairs, unless this exclusion should be precluded by another law of higher rank.'

  'And so you included the Legate as the representative of the God Emperor while excluding the quaestor who is a representative of the Wise because you intended to overrule a law?'

  Suth made a gesture of impatience. 'You ask too many questions, my Lord.'

  'Knowledge is the best armour,' said Carnelian with a flush of anger.

  Suth looked down at his son, recognizing his own words. There is something I must tell you.'

  The tone of his father's voice made Carnelian's stomach clench. At that moment there was an echoing sound of doors closing. Father and son turned to look down the hall. The other Masters were walking towards them, hands and feet pale as the dead's. Three of them, shrouded in the same black robes, coming as for an entombing.

  'What did you want to tell me, Father?' whispered Carnelian anxiously.

  Not now, his father signed.

  Carnelian was forced to stand silent at his father's side as they watched the Masters approach. Aurum moved out in front of the others. Carnelian and his father made way for him. The old Master moved between them to strike the door. Each blow was answered by a deep vibration. 'We are come because the Law must be obeyed,' Aurum boomed.

  Exhaling camphor, the door sighed open just a body's width. One by one they rustled through. A vapouring milky pool lay on the other side. Carnelian watched his father wade through, the hem of his black robe floating round him like a slick of oil. Already past the pool's white lip, Aurum was moving off leaving a glistening track.

  Vapours spread chill up into Carnelian's nose. He lowered his right foot into the liquid. Biting cold washed over it. He put in the left foot, then he dragged his train across. As he splashed out the other side, he saw that his father was ahead of him, talking with his hands to Jaspar. Carnelian turned to see Vennel walk across, his narrow hands hitching up the skirt of his robe, revealing long marble legs, so white they made the pool look yellow.

  Tall bronze lamps lit benches of stone, upon one of which Aurum had sat down. Sallow creatures appeared and fussed round him. Carnelian found a place beside his father. As he pulled up his soak-heavy robe it gave off a reek of camphor. Jaspar and Vennel were setding on other benches.

  'You who are Chosen shall now make ready to leave this place.' The words were spoken in Quya but did not have the rich timbre of a Master's voice. Carnelian located their source to be the quaestor in his purple samite. His face of polished silver had a mouth but only solid spirals for eyes. In his hands he held a cord like a necklace of beads.

  'You who are Chosen must take all precaution before crossing the Naralan and the Guarded Land,' said the quaestor, counting the beads through his fingers as if he were using them for prayer.

  Carnelian heard the other Masters answer him, 'As it has been done, so shall it be done, for ever, because it is commanded to be done by the Law-that-must-be-obeyed.'

  The covenant you made with Him, the Dark One honours. In the hidden land of Osrakum He will not incarnate though His anima share the inhabiting of the God Emperor with His brother. Beyond the Sacred Wall, all other earth unto the sea He has soaked with pestilence and plague. In these His domains you shall walk under the restriction of His Law as your fathers have done before you. This is His Law as it has been written in the Plain of Thrones.'

  Carnelian felt his father's warm hand stray over his own.

  The Chosen shall not stand within two fingers' breadth of unhallowed ground,' chanted the quaestor.

  All the Masters made the same response as before and Carnelian mumbled along with them. He turned his hand palm up to grasp his father's as one of the slaves knelt before him holding a casket. Bones pushed through tallow skin like blades. Another slave leant over to open the casket. Her torso was a basket of ribs. In place of an ear a hook-rimmed mechanism of brass snagged into her face. She drew out the ranga shoes and placed them in Carnelian's lap with more care than if they had been painted with poison. Each was of wood lacquered black: a long and narrow platform for the foot, securing straps and, set transversally on its underside, three supports a few fingers' width deep: one painted black, one red, one green, presumably in token of the Three Lands.

  'My shoes have been tampered with,' said Vennel sharply.

  Carnelian looked up. His father and the other Masters had also been given shoes. All were turned towards Vennel.

  The Master held up a shoe. The supports have been trimmed.' He displayed it for all to see.

  The modification was carried out at my command,' said Aurum.

  'One cannot-'

  The full height would encumber us on our journey, my Lord. Quaestor, do they still meet the requirement of the Law?'

  They do, Seraph,' said the silver mask. Aurum turned back to Vennel. 'Might we be allowed to proceed?'

  Vennel made an affirmative gesture shaded with anger.

  Carnelian felt his father's hand moving in his own. It escaped to sign, Copy me.

  Carnelian watched his father search the hem of his robe. When he found a single embroidered glyph like a beetle he pinched it up. He was offered a jar by a slave. With his free hand he broke its seal, ran the robe glyph round inside, then began to carefully anoint one of the shoes upon his lap with the pungent wax.

  Carnelian found that his robe had the same glyph. He could not read it. Everything he had seen his father do he did as well. Several times he looked up to find the eyeslits of his father's mask angled towards him. A nod came from it when Carnelian was finished.

  The Chosen shall not breathe unhallowed air,' the quaestor said.

  The Masters gave the response.

  Slaves with strange bright eyes came cradling bowls. They took tiny steps, afraid of spilling what they carried. As one came closer Carnelian saw fumes curling up from the bowl like smoke. He saw also the spiralled plaques that served the slave for eyes. Edge hooks gripped them into the man's flesh.

  Carnelian's father nudged him. He turned to see his father laying his mask face down along the hollow between his thighs. He reached out, took one of the linen pads draped over the bowl's rim, dipped it into the vaporous liquid, and pressed it over the mask's nostril holes. He swivelled little flanges to hold it in place.

  Carnelian began the procedure. As he leant forward the vapour from the bowl stung his eyes. He dipped a pad, squeezed it, poked it into his mask still smoking then secured it with the flanges.

  'It will protect you from the plague,' his father's voice rustled in his ear.

  Then the quaestor spoke one last time. The Chosen shall not be touched by unhallowed light even unto the skin of the smallest finger.' His hands dropped, the cord dangling in the left one.

  At that signal, Aurum rose up to all his imposing height holding his mask in one hand, his ranga shoes in the other. Walking off towards an archway, he disappeared through it.

  They waited. A blinded slave appeared in the archway. He looked small, fragile. Carnelian felt his father getting up. He watched his hand dart, As the youngest, you must follow last. Then he too crossed the chamber to the waiting arch.

  So it was that one by one the Masters were swallowed by the arch till Carnelian was left alone with the quaestor and his spiral eyes. He averted his face from the fumes rising from his mask and looked at the quaestor uneasily. The man was like something not alive.

  A muttering came from beyond the arch. Suddenly Carnelian saw the slave was there. He rose, walked to the arch and, after a moment's hesitation, passed under it.

  Almost night. Vague sinuous movements like windows reflecting on dark water. Nudges guided Carnelian through the gloom. Fingers plucked at the hooks down his back. The robe brushed away leaving him naked. Shapes solidified into men: yellow men, with dark whiteless eyes. Carnelian swallowed past t
he dry lump in his throat knowing he was wholly in their hands.

  His fingers were prised open and his shoes and mask removed. He shuddered at the first cold touch on his arm. A melting snowflake. Then another and another, till he was the centre of a blizzard of menthol swabbing.

  Cool hands lifted one of his feet. He felt the wetness lick between his toes. Then it oozed along the sole. A palm cupped his heel and guided his foot down. Before it reached the floor it hit something solid. One of the ranga shoes. When the other foot was cleansed Carnelian climbed onto the second shoe.

  He noticed the depression in the brass wall. It was as if a stiff-limbed man had detached from the wall leaving behind his impression in the metal. The concave surfaces within this mould were as ridged and whorled as finger ends. As he watched, one of the black-eyed men reached into the shoulder of the mould and running his fingers delicately round the hollow came back and transferred its designs to Carnelian's own shoulder. He squirmed at the tickle touch of the stylus. Others were reading the mould. Soon, ink was itching over every part of Carnelian's skin until only his face was left blank.

  That His servants might pass you by,' one whispered.

  Then Carnelian was glazed with sickly myrrh.

  That His breath might not corrupt your flesh.'

  Cloth bands darted through the air and spooled around his body.

  That His servants might be confounded.'

  The bandages stuck to the glaze, weaving into a tightening cocoon.

  That they might be lost in this labyrinth.'

  He grimaced as a bandage bound something hard and cold against his skin.

  'Charms to shield you from their malice.'

  So it went on. He was the axis of their strange dance. Round and round they went, their whispers in his ears, until he dizzied and almost swooned.

  When they stopped turning he fought the tightness round his chest and shoulder to raise his arms. His hands were there at the end of his cloth wrists. He let them fall and sighed with relief at the pressure release.

  A huge robe flapped over him.

  That they might be blinded by the night.'

  Hands flitted over the robe till it was hugging him. They shut him in behind his mask. His nostrils burned, then his lungs. His eyes watered. He did not even try to move until the burning had abated. Then he tottered out of the brass chamber by a doorway that appeared as a fuzzy glowing rectangle.

  'Here you are permitted to remove your mask,' his father said.

  Carnelian did so with some relief. His eyes still watered and he was sniffing.

  His father put a hand on his shoulder. Its whiteness was spotted with symbols. The astringency will soon diminish, then you will bear it easily enough.'

  'And the tightness?'

  The bandages will stretch.'

  Carnelian heard Aurum say something about an 'imminent departure'.

  Carnelian grimaced through his tears. The Three Lands at last.'

  His father smiled grimly. The Three Lands.'

  'I must make sure our people are ready: Keal, the tyadra, the baggage. How much time is there, my Lord, before we all leave?'

  His father's hand jabbed a sharp negation. 'Surely you had understood that they are not to come with us?'

  'My Lord?'

  They are an encumbrance we cannot risk. Their faces proclaim who we are.'

  Carnelian felt sick. 'But I gave assurances.'

  His father's eyes narrowed. 'Which you should not have given.'

  Carnelian opened his mouth to say more.

  His father's hand flew up, Enough! 'Whatever it is that you have said it is my will to overrule. You may take Tain because he does not yet bear our mark. What little state you are allowed, he will keep.'

  'Will he be safe?'

  His father looked at him, confused. 'What?' His hand made a vague gesture. 'As safe as you or I.'

  Jaspar came towards them, his ranga and bandaged legs lending him the gait of someone wading through water. He pursed his lips. 'One fears this journey will be exceedingly tedious.'

  Vennel raised his voice behind them. All four Masters turned to listen to him. 'I shall go to make sure my household have made the preparations I commanded.'

  There is no time for that, my Lord,' Aurum said quickly.

  Jaspar moved off towards them. 'We must hold a conclave ere we leave this tower, Vennel.'

  Suth turned to join them, but Carnelian reached up to touch his arm. His father turned back. 'What is it?'

  Carnelian could see the irritation in his face. 'Might I be permitted enough time to return to the household to bid them all farewell?'

  His father frowned.

  'And to ensure all arrangements properly made?' Carnelian added.

  The other Masters were now involved in some kind of argument.

  'If you must,' his father snapped. 'But do not dally. A guide will be there to bring our baggage to the gate. Let him lead you. I shall be going there immediately…' He looked over to the others.'… with the other Lords.'

  Carnelian walked as quickly as his ranga shoes would allow. Each step clattered echoes round the hall. When he reached their door the banners of House Suth no longer flanked it. He was wondering if he had come to the wrong one when he heard muffled voices. He flung his weight against the door. It gave way slowly, heavily. As he squeezed through the opening he trod on something and bent to pick it up. It was an iris, crushed, its bruised purple skin dusted with its own pollen.

  Running up towards him, Tain stopped to look him up and down, no doubt startled by the strange clothes and the ranga shoes. Thank the Gods you've come, Carnie.'

  He cast a quick, unhappy look around him. People were wrapping vases in the blue canopies. Someone cried, The Master.' People dropped to the ground. A cloth came loose and wriggled down to the floor. Among them a single figure was left standing. It was Keal, his look so intense that Carnelian almost dropped his gaze. He felt shamed.

  'You're not going,' he said in a thin voice. It was difficult to squeeze the words out; his throat seemed to have narrowed. People were looking up at him from their prostrations. Everywhere he saw their bewildered eyes. Anger surged in him. He lumbered forward and slapped a stack of boxes. They crunched to the floor. A bowl rolled and shattered. 'Why are you packing? You must all be stupid. You're not going, I tell you.'

  'We're being moved into the slave pens,' said Keal. 'When the arrangements have been made we'll be setting off after you along the road.'

  Carnelian noticed a man's back wearing the Legate's green. The stranger was the only one still prostrate. 'You!' he shouted. The man trembled. 'Yes, I'm talking to you.' The man looked up. The Legate's sign marred his face like a birthmark. Carnelian pointed at him. 'Get out and wait for me outside.' The man stumbled to his feet and cringed past Carnelian, who watched him slip out between the doors before turning back to his people.

  Keal's eyes, Tain's eyes, so many eyes.

  Carnelian removed his mask and bowed his head a little, giving in to its heaviness. 'I did what I could. I can't see what more you could expect of me.'

  Keal nodded, but did not stop looking at him with pain in his face and something like an accusation of betrayal.

  'Crail's gone,' said Tain.

  Carnelian turned on him. 'What do you mean he's gone?'

  The Master left a command that we were to hand him over to the other Master's men. The ones with the line tattoo,' said Keal, running his finger from his forehead down the bridge of his nose to his lips.

  Blood drained from Carnelian's face. His father had given Crail to Aurum. 'When?'

  They came for him just after you left with the Master.'

  Carnelian wrung his hands, stared blindly, chewed at his lower lip. He felt snared and bleeding in a trap. 'Maybe it's not too late,' he muttered. He strode over to Keal. A pain of love passed between them. They embraced hard. 'Look after them, brother,' said Carnelian.

  He felt Keal's nod against his chest. He disengaged, making su
re he did not look into his face. Sniffing, he turned to the others, all standing now. 'Don't fear that I'll forget you. Take care on the road. I'll be waiting for you in our coomb in the Mountain.'

  He looked at Tain and saw he was struggling to hold back tears. Carnelian made his decision. 'You're staying here.'

  Tain looked appalled. 'But I'm supposed to go with you.'

  Carnelian shook his head. 'It'll be too dangerous.'

  'Who's going to take care of you?'

  Keal wiped his eyes and pointed towards a heap of carefully bound parcels. 'Everything's ready. It would take ages to separate his things from yours.'

  Tain looked at Keal gratefully.

  'He'll look after you for us,' said Keal and there were several nods behind him.

  Carnelian saw the tearful determination in their faces. 'I've no time for this. Tain, come if you must.'

  Tain started scooping up the parcels. Another boy Carnelian did not know helped him. His face was also unmarked. Tain caught his brother looking at the boy. 'He's new.'

  'For the Master's care?' Carnelian asked.

  'Bought locally.'

  'Come on, then. Take one of those lanterns. We must hurry if we're going to have any chance to save Crail.'

  Once through the door, Carnelian tried to move fast, but the ranga resisted his efforts. He tripped and almost fell. He stopped to calm himself. The others stood nearby gaping at him. Carnelian bent down and undid the straps of the shoes. He stepped down off them, picked them up, then lurched off with long strides. Even through the bandages he could feel the floor's cold stone. The hall echoed with the irregular scuffles the others made as they struggled to keep up with him.

  When they had passed the door of the silver ammonites, Carnelian found three archways to choose from. He swung round to find the guide. The man was some way back, flustered, panting. His lantern wobbled its light across the floor and up and down the columns. Carnelian went back, tore it from his hand, then grabbed some of Tain's burden. He ignored his brother's protests at the impropriety and took some more boxes from the new boy, who stared with wide-eyed disbelief at the strange young Master.

  Carnelian turned to the guide. 'Which way?'