The Chosen sdotc-1

by Ricardo Pinto

  As he came out from the shelter of the archway, he heard the muttering and looked over to where the column forest opened into the nave of the Encampment and a brilliant river streamed like a pouring of stars: the thronging Masters in their court robes.

  He shook his eyes free of the wonder and crept into the shadow pooling round a dark pavilion. In the breeze, its cloth walls trembled off a lily scent. He touched its jewelled brocade and bumped his finger along the tail tip of the serpent that doubled back and forth upon itself until its jaws spat out its tongue high above his head. As he came to the column that was the corner of the pavilion he heard voices. He looked round the column and saw guardsmen huddling round a brazier. Their faces carried the same cypher as the wall of the pavilion they guarded. He chanced it. As he walked out, they fell silent watching him. Carnelian ignored the seductive glimmer of the nave in the corner of his eye and breathed more easily once he was between the next pair of pavilions.

  Gradually he made his way across the Encampment, taking a route that avoided the brighter pavilions. He could not avoid them all. Quya came from one whose cloth wall was showing a gigantic shadow play. Others were more sinister, filled with subtle movement, as if they were chrysalises in which vast butterflies were dreaming.

  He was passing near some tyadra when they surged suddenly to their feet. They opened a flap, allowing Carnelian to see an interior like a jewel casket. Two Masters came out, crowned with subdued fire, in massive court robes. Their guardsmen's heads hardly reached their waists. Carnelian drew back, ducking his head so that the cowl would fall to hide the betraying mirror of his mask, pulling his hands up into his sleeves. He heard the lilt and exquisite enunciation of Quya syllables sounding among the footfalls of their men. He saw the golden dapples around his feet and dared to look up enough to see the Masters slipping past like smouldering trees. He waited some moments. He looked to see them framed by the shimmering nave, then continued on.

  When at last he reached the Sunhold's wall, he walked along it keeping in the shadows. Recessed into its barbican, the first postern gate had its portcullis down. Through it he could see another gate and a passage curving off. When he struck the bronze some Ichorians came from a side door. Their half-black faces peered out at him.

  'Ammonite?' said one.

  Carnelian opened his cowl so that their light could reflect off his mask.

  They bowed. 'Master.'

  'Open this,' Carnelian said.

  'We can't, Master.'

  'I'm the son of He-who-goes-before.'

  'We can't open this gate under any circumstance, Master,' they said and shook their heads as they retreated.

  He was in a cold sweat. What if all the doors should be closed against him? How could he appear in the nave before his father's door dressed as he was? He would humiliate his father and his House before the majesty of all the gathered Great. He leaned back against the Sunhold's wall cursing softly. His gaze wandered among the pavilions wondering if, with the election upon them, the Chosen ever slept.

  The commander of the Ichorians,' he muttered. The man might have the authority to let him in. If not, he would have to be coerced into going to get permission from He-who-goes-before. Carnelian grimaced imagining the consequent confrontation with his father.

  He skirted the next postern gate and came to a region where crowds of tyadra had gathered to stare into the nave.

  Carnelian kept as close as he could to the wall where there were some shadows. The wall swelled to form the bastion of the last gate. He slipped round it, had a glaring impression of the nave and then ducked in towards the gate. The Ichorians there would also not let him in. Putting as much authority as he could into his voice, Carnelian demanded that they go and fetch their commander.

  As he waited he looked out and saw the gapes on the tattooed faces. The guardsmen could have been staring at a city burning. Patches of glimmer slid everywhere, stretching and contracting, finding their faces in the gloom. There was such wonder in their eyes that Carnelian could not resist edging out to see what they were seeing. He was forced to squint against the dazzle. The nave was hung with suns beneath whose showering rays slipped vast shapes, angels sheathed in starlight. Some were jewelled sculptures. Others opened like exquisite mechanisms, spreading their arms to display sleeves like falls of sunlit water. White hands fluttered everywhere like doves. He searched and found their masks, faces carved high into the golden towers where each swelled into a huge crown.

  The grate of the portcullis lifting drew him back into its shadows.

  'You're the Master, Suth Carnelian?'

  It took a breath or two for Carnelian's eyes to adjust to see the grand-cohort commander standing there. Carnelian removed his blood-ring and offered it.

  Eagerly, the commander took it in his tattooed hand and held it up to the light. His whole frame visibly relaxed. He gave Carnelian back his ring. The Twins be thanked, Master. The Sun, our father's been searching for you.'

  Carnelian almost groaned. 'When… how long ago?'

  'He found my Master gone when he took up residence in this place, yesterday, when the sun still shone through the Amber Window.'

  'I must go immediately to my chambers.'

  'I'll escort you, Master.'

  'Master. Oh, Master.'

  The desperate relief in his guardsmen's voices alarmed him. He was dirty, standing there in an ammonite robe, and he had to face his father. The commander was watching him.

  Thank you for your escort,' Carnelian said to him.

  The man bowed but seemed reluctant to go. 'Your father, Master.'

  Carnelian opened his arms so that the commander might clearly see his purple robe. 'Shall I go like this?'

  The man's eyes blinked brightly in his half-black face.

  'Once I'm properly attired I'll go to him.' He made a sign of dismissal. 'Now go, Ichorian.'

  Carnelian turned his back on the commander, waiting to hear him walk away before unmasking and surveying his guardsmen. 'What is it?' he said, not managing to control the irritation in his voice.

  They thumped to their knees in ones and twos, like fruit falling from a tree.

  ‘Stop grovelling,' he said dangerously. 'I'm in no mood for it.'

  His anger only caused them to fall flat on their faces. 'Gods' blood!' he spat, throwing his hands up in exasperation. 'I know the Master's been here. What did you tell him?'

  When none of them spoke up, he jabbed one of them with his toe. 'Get up, man. Tell me.'

  The guardsman looked up, his face twitching. 'Craving your pardon, Master, but… we had to tell him… he is the Master.' 'And…?'

  'He demanded to know where you were, Master. We told him we didn't rightly know… we had to tell how long you'd been away… that you'd gone away before.' The man cowered.

  'And he was very angry?' Carnelian asked.

  The man looked up, tearful. 'He's going to crucify us all.'

  Carnelian felt the blood draining from his face.

  The man must have seen this because his eyes darted out of sight like a snail's.

  Carnelian squatted down. Touched their heads, saying gently, 'Now look at me.' He waited until he had their eyes. 'I won't allow even one of you to be put upon a cross.' He nodded into each face. 'Not one of you.' He stood up. 'Now get me some people. I need to be dressed, and quickly.'

  They stood up, and one of them ran off.

  'Master?'

  He looked at the man expectantly.

  'Master, the other Masters of our House…?'

  Carnelian frowned. The other lineages?'

  The man nodded. They've sent word that they're here and want to meet you, my Master.'

  'I've no time for them,' said Carnelian as he moved towards his chamber. Once inside, he let the ammonite cloak slip off his shoulders and hung his head. Now his father.

  The Master wishes to be formally attired?'

  Carnelian whisked round to see a servant, head bowed, others kneeling behind him. He was sure
that they were not part of the household he had left behind.

  'You've just come from the coomb?'

  That's so, my Master.'

  'Why?'

  'We were sent to bring the Master a court robe.' The servant indicated the golden suit standing against a wall. Carnelian walked over to it. It was similar to the suit he had worn before but it had different heraldry in the panel running down its front. He touched the chameleons writhing on a field of jades, emeralds and other green stones. Under his fingers their skins were a mottle of pearls. Their black opal eyes blinked. They looked more alive than geckos on a wall. It occurred to him that Fey had talked about sending him such a suit with the first household. He wondered why it had been so long in coming.

  'If the Master'll allow, I'll co-ordinate his dressing?'

  Carnelian turned to the new servant. 'As fast as you can.' He lifted his arms from his sides and they ran in to disrobe him. 'What news, co-ordinator’

  The return of the Master and his son is longed for,' said the man without the slightest movement of his chameleon tattoo.

  'Has the servant Tain arrived from the gates?' 'An unchameleoned boy, Master?' Carnelian grabbed the man's shoulders. 'You've seen him?'

  The co-ordinator went waxy soft in his hands, melting away as Carnelian released him. 'Y-yes, Master. He was there yesterday, being prepared to come here.'

  Carnelian smiled, longing to see his brother's face. He hardly noticed the cleaning, the putting on of the belt of hooks. He climbed onto the ranga and then they locked the court robe round him. They masked him. They built a crown upon his head. When they knotted a scarlet sash around his left wrist he remembered that all the Chosen were in mourning for the God Emperor. He allowed a few more adjustments then, feeling as large as a house, he strode from his chamber to face his father.

  YKORIANA

  Often I heard her speak

  With a voice of angels

  Words barbed and dripping poison

  (extract from 'The Voyage of the Suncutter')

  The grand-cohort commander was standing with other Ichorians at the entrance to the Sun in Splendour. He looked at the heraldry on Carnelian's court robe and let him pass. The hall was smouldering gold, its walls and pillars catching their light from somewhere round the dais. The pillars did not allow Carnelian to see the dais itself. He stopped, closed his eyes to find composure, then opened them and left the shelter of the columns. He moved in to the centre of the hall and turned to face the dais. On it and beside it were two Masters; three more faced them like frozen flames. These three rose slowly, pivoting round, the skirts of their robes slightly rising. Each face seemed transfused by a beam of light. They could have been angels caught in the act of forming from fire.

  Carnelian walked towards them, timing the placing of each ranga to the robe's heavy swing. He could feel their eyes watching him and was aware of the shining ovals of their faces, but his eyes were focused on the enthroned being rising behind them, haloed by a corona of flickering flames. The halo's hub was a Chosen face, his father's, alarmingly gaunt. The eyes were as sunk under the brows as if they were the heads of nails hammered deep into the skull. A hand, drifting up, lifted a sleeve that was a slab of mosaiced gold. Is that you?

  The question brought Carnelian to a halt. He watched the hand fall. His father glanced at the other Lords. Carnelian saw it was Aurum beside him and that Imago Jaspar was one of the three, standing with two Masters Carnelian did not know. Each nodded to him and he responded vaguely, his eyes already returning to his father's wary hope.

  'I am come, my Lord, at your summons,' his own voice said and almost choked on the words when he saw the bright relief fill his father's face.

  'Your father is glad to see you, my Lord son.'

  Carnelian remembered to unmask, and when the metal face was off they exchanged tiny smiles.

  Please wait for me there, his father's hand signed and pointed to a place near Aurum. Carnelian paced to the spot, turned to face the dais and sank to his knees as he saw the other Masters doing.

  'Excuse the disturbance, my Lords. Shall we continue?' his father said.

  The Masters all bowed and began to speak with hands. Carnelian made a point of ignoring Aurum. Jaspar's fixed, cold-eyed smile forced a twitch of recognition from Carnelian before he focused on his father's face. The hollow cheeks and recessed eyes appalled him. His father had become an aged man. His hands, when they were not signing, tended to stray to the staves that were planted on either side of him for support. Carnelian watched his father's bone fingers trace the carved lids of the staves' sun-rayed eyes that stared through the Masters down the hall, left hand and sun-eye both smeared with the bloody light that filtered down through the emberous pomegranate finial. Carnelian noticed some ammonites squatting on the floor. Three more were in the shadows before the dais, Aurum and himself. He watched them but they sat hunched, doing nothing.

  Once or twice his father glanced at him. Anticipation of the coming conflict was grinding in Carnelian's stomach. He tried to distract himself by following the Masters' talk but it was all of blood transactions, bride-prices and iron eyes. Carnelian gave up and let their talk flow over him while he lost himself in dreams of the Yden.

  Dapples of gold flickering round him made it seem he was among breeze-ruffled trees. Carnelian lifted his head and saw the crusted masses of the Masters grow taller and then turn towards the distant doors, like sails into a wind. One of them remained. The Ruling Lord Aurum. He raised his hand. There is now no need for you to go and see her?

  Carnelian looked at his father's eyes that seemed unaware of Aurum's signs.

  If you go, I want to go with you.

  Suth's hand stirred into motion. If I go, I will go alone.

  Aurum's face became stiff with anger. He stabbed Carnelian with his eyes before glimmering away.

  Carnelian felt the opening of the doors as a change of pressure in his ears. They let in a perfume wind and the roar of the throng. Carnelian watched his father. The doors came ponderously together and, with a clunk,

  Carnelian was left with his father in the glowing golden gloom.

  'Leave us,' said Suth.

  Carnelian's eyes were drawn downwards by a scurrying. The ammonites were creeping over the floor and slipping down into a hole over which a lid closed silendy. Something like tumbling fire jerked Carnelian's head up. His father's head had fallen forward. He looked like a golden puppet. Alarmed, Carnelian opened the angles of his knees and lurched towards the dais. The sunburst crown presented its teeth to him so that Carnelian could not see his father's face.

  'Father.' The word came strangled from his throat.

  The spiked halo rose, lifting the limestone of his father's face after it, sighing, 'Where have you been?'

  That close, Carnelian could not avoid seeing the sallow skin, the thinned lips, the eyes deep in their pits all shot with red. Those eyes were on him. He sought their familiar stormy grey but found only pale drizzle. 'Exploring,' he said.

  'For… five… days?'

  Carnelian could admit nothing without admitting it all.

  'You were alone saw no-one?'

  Carnelian blushed. There was someone with me.' He withstood the probing of his father's eyes.

  Surprise dawned in his father's face. 'So it is that way. The sybling Quenthas?'

  'A sybling but a divided one.' He watched his father's yellow forehead creasing. 'He wears a blood-ring.'

  'Does he?'

  Carnelian thought his father looked like a man walking on a rope. 'His House?'

  The Masks.' Carnelian watched the red eyes close.

  Sepia welled in the eye pits and round the corners of the mouth. Looking at that yellow mask, Carnelian could hardly believe to whom it belonged. 'You look tired, Father.'

  The eyes opened, brightened. His father gave a chuckle and his lips wore something like a smile. 'You could say that.'

  'Your wound?'

  His father gave the merest shrug with his
eyebrows. This is no time for convalescence.'

  'Does your wound still bleed?' Carnelian took a step forward.

  His father's face made the slightest movement side to side. The Wise know ways to preserve life, to hold corruption at bay, even to extend a creature's natural span of years.'

  'And strength?'

  'What I have comes from their potions.' He looked into Carnelian's face. 'Be not concerned. Once this matter is resolved… I will abdicate to Aurum the power that he craves, then I will have all the time I need to rest.'

  He went deathly sallow. They who were the mirror to divinity are no more. We are left to live through these broken mirror days. The Commonwealth must be given a new heart lest she should perish.'

  Carnelian remembered what the dead Emperor had once been to his father. The need to tell his father of the Yden was burning him but he kept silent.

  The gates in the Ringwall are open. The barbarians will be coming in, riddling the Commonwealth with their cancer.'

  'And the election?'

  'In five days.'

  'Goes it well?'

  'Very well.' His father smiled raggedly. The new Imago, our friend Jaspar, has brought his faction behind Aurum's. At every conclave I buy more votes with imperial blood and iron. The towers of the major blocks are all in place, we merely need to build the curtain walls between them. Barring some unforeseen intervention, Ykoriana and Molochite will be defeated.'

  'She is quite given to interventions, Father.'

  The cores of his father's eyes showed indomitably. Carnelian felt something of their usual power as they settled on him. That is why you must promise me that until the election you will not leave the Sunhold save with me.'

  Carnelian felt a yearning for Osidian. If he made this promise he would have no way of letting him know about it. He groaned, imagining that they would never again touch.

  His father's hand jumped to his shoulder like a grappling hook and drew him in. Carnelian stared into the yellow red-veined eyes. His father's words began with a hiss in which Carnelian could smell the illness and the sickly odour of the drugs sustaining him. The tighter she is caught in my trap… the more desperate will be her efforts