The Third God

by Ricardo Pinto

  Grateful for Fern’s tiny nod, Carnelian found he was remembering how much Osidian hated him. Then there was the second agreement the Lepers had made with Osidian of which Carnelian knew nothing at all. ‘Do you know of any new reason why it might be dangerous for you to go and see the Master?’

  Fern’s expression did not change. ‘Should there be?’

  ‘You know perfectly well how he feels about you!’

  Fern scowled. ‘He and I are certainly not the best of friends.’

  Carnelian used the fear he felt for him to dowse his anger. He glanced into the dark corner, then, turning back, removed his mask. It was a risk, but he felt that if they did not talk man to man, they risked much more. ‘Tell me what you know about this second agreement the Lepers have made with the Master.’

  Fern’s defiance softened and that, for some reason, relit Carnelian’s anger. ‘How can I help them unless I know what’s going on?’

  ‘They’ve come up to fight Aurum.’

  ‘But the Master had already promised to give him to them.’

  The corners of Fern’s mouth tightened. ‘He persuaded them that he could not succeed without their help.’

  Carnelian felt there was more to it than that. ‘He promised them something else, didn’t he?’

  Fern’s gaze fell. ‘He’s promised them this city.’

  ‘Makar?’

  Fern looked at him again. ‘He intends to let them sack it. They need some compensation for their losses,’ Fern said, without much conviction.

  ‘Surely they can see that will only make matters worse.’ Carnelian was only too aware of the doom Legions had pronounced upon the Lepers.

  ‘They made an agreement and mean to honour it.’

  Carnelian recalled a meeting in one of the Leper caves between Osidian and Lily; how she had behaved at the time; her sudden disappearance.

  ‘Honour is one of the few things they have left.’ Fern must have sensed something of what Carnelian was feeling for he added: ‘I tried to explain to her what had happened to the Tribe, but it was already too late, they had already made the agreement.’

  Carnelian saw in Fern’s face something of the hurt he must have felt when he had awoken to find himself abandoned. ‘Are you fully healed?’

  ‘Well enough.’

  Silence fell between them as they shared understanding and sadness and, perhaps, some hopelessness too. Carnelian was reluctant to end that moment, which was the closest they had been for such a long time, but he knew he had to.

  He began describing the threat he had discovered in the vault.

  Fern’s forehead creased. ‘Legions?’

  ‘That is his title, his name.’

  Fern’s eyebrows rose. ‘And you say he’s more dangerous than Aurum?’

  As Carnelian nodded, Fern looked over to the dark corner of the chamber. He turned back. ‘And this is the message you want me to take to the Master?’

  Carnelian nodded and told him where Osidian was and how he could get there.

  ‘All right.’

  Carnelian felt pain that Fern asked nothing further. As Fern turned to leave, Carnelian moved forward, awkwardly, and touched his shoulder. ‘I chose you because there’s no one else I trust as much and no one else Osidian would believe.’

  Without turning, Fern gave the merest nod and then began the journey back to the outer doors. Carnelian bound on his mask and through its eyeslits he watched him moving away, creating eddies in the myrrh smoke. His heart felt as if it was growing colder. The door opened. Fern went through. The door closed. Carnelian tried to convince himself it was better this way. Whatever was going to happen, they could never again be close. The greater the distance he maintained between them, the safer Fern would be.

  He gazed back towards the corner with its tapestry and its secret stair down to the vault. It was hard to believe he would ever be able to prove the defiance he had thrown in the Grand Sapient’s face to be anything more than empty bravado.

  Carnelian came awake. His dream was a thorn. He shook his head, trying to dislodge it. He had only meant to lie down for a moment while he waited. Balancing on the edge of shadowy dream and waking, images from his nightmare uncurled in his memory as slowly as smoke. For some reason he was remembering the Marula in the Qunoth purgatory. Had he and Osidian not been there to calm them, they would have slain the ammonites.

  He sat up suddenly. The quaestor had claimed that on that first day in Makar the Marula had apparently returned tamely to the cothon leaving him in the hands of the ammonites. Carnelian realized he had never fully determined what had happened then. Why had he not asked Sthax? Almost he rushed off to ask him there and then, but he sensed he knew everything he needed to already. He could remember entering the purgatory. Then he had woken here, late the next day, with the same headache he had now. Unease rose in him like nausea. Here, above the Grand Sapient’s vault. Unease flared into a shocking realization. He had been entirely in Legions’ power. A shudder went down his spine. With his own hand, the Grand Sapient had read the taint scars on his back. Carnelian saw it all. Aurum’s ineffectual attack. The watch-towers signalling back to the city. He had been drugged. When Legions had discovered that it was not Osidian he had captured, he had made sure Carnelian would find him in the vault, calculating that he must then send for Osidian.

  Legions wanted Osidian to come so that he could capture him. Blind with panic, Carnelian fumbled for his mask and ran for the outer door.

  When, at last, he reached the gates of the purgatory, Carnelian asked Sthax to wait for him with the rest of the Marula they had brought with them from Aurum’s halls. As Sthax talked to his people, Carnelian pulled the doors open. Smoke belched out from the darkness. Cries assailed him. Warnings. Threats. Paying them no heed, he plunged into the gloom. Light streaming in from the gaping doorway behind him found the silver faces of ammonites, the legs of tripods, the curving brass of censers. He kept going, aware of ammonites flitting round him. A glance back showed him the Marula as silhouettes in the doorway. His vision gradually returning, he saw smoke forming blue scythes in the air. He could feel the drug seep into him. His vision was swimming. Was that a huge shrouded body stretched out upon the floor? Ammonites were huddled over it like crows over a corpse. As Carnelian lurched towards it, their masks came up and they backed away, shrilling. It was a body on the floor; a body swathed in Leper shrouds. At first Carnelian thought it must be Fern, but then he saw a sliver of a Master’s mask in the half-closed cowl. It had to be Osidian. Carnelian could feel the drug creeping into his mind. Soon it would overcome him. The smell of blood. A dark shape lay beached on the floor some distance away. What little light there was caught on the long-limbed form of a Marula warrior; a dark pool spreading over the floor from under him. Ammonites were forming a barrier between Carnelian and Osidian, swinging thick strokes of poisoned smoke towards him.

  ‘Murderers!’ he cried, shoving into their midst, hurling them aside like dolls. Censers clattered to the floor. He reached the shrouded body, reeling. Stooping, he dug his arms under it and, with a groan, swung it up and over his shoulder. Then he staggered towards the wavering incandescence of the door. Ammonites moved to stand in his path. Hysterical with alarm, they wove drugged smoke around him. With his free hand he scooped up a tripod and, swinging it, struck. A clang as a mask flew off. That cleared a path to the open air. Loping, now, he reached it. Light engulfed him. He managed several more steps then stumbled, crying out for fear of hurting Osidian. As he fell onto one knee, he felt the burden lifting off him. He was choking. The mask would not let him breathe. He had good reason to know the risk, but feared he might lose consciousness. So he tore his mask off and gulped fresh air.

  As his mind began to clear, he rose, turning. Ammonites streaming out from the purgatory collided with those who were standing motionless. Though they were masked, the stiffness of their poses betrayed their terror. Some had stains darkening the skirts of their robes. Through the eyeslits of their masks th
ey were gazing upon his naked face. Sthax and his Marula too were in breach of the Law. It was a choice between the ammonites and the warriors. He was struck momentarily by pity, but then he remembered the Maruli lying in his own blood. Frowning, he made a sign to Sthax and his men, one they could not help but understand, then pointed at the ammonites. As the Marula advanced on them with lowered lances, the ammonites began keening. Carnelian forced himself to watch their massacre.

  Osidian came awake, frowning.

  ‘Where’s Fern?’ Carnelian demanded. Waiting for Osidian to recover he, Sthax and the other Marula had had time to drag all the bodies they could find in the purgatory out into the open air. There had been more than twenty Marula with their throats cut, but no sign of Fern.

  Osidian’s frown deepened as he focused on Carnelian’s face. His eyes widened. ‘We’re unmasked!’

  ‘There are none left alive to see our faces save for the Marula and to them our faces are nothing new.’

  Osidian glowered. ‘Blood and iron, what is going on?’

  ‘Fern?’ Carnelian almost barked at him.

  As Osidian regarded him, Carnelian saw in his face that old familiar pain. ‘He is safe enough, Carnelian. I left him commanding Heart-of-Thunder in my place.’ He lifted his arms to show the dirty Leper shroud. ‘While I came here in his.’

  Carnelian found this news alarming. ‘Do the other commanders know you have left?’

  Osidian shrugged. ‘If things go badly they might find out.’

  Carnelian saw how precarious things were, but then what had he expected when he had sent his message to Osidian?

  ‘Tell me what has happened. Why am I lying here?’

  Carnelian told him about the drugged smoke; the destruction of the ammonites; Legions’ plot against them.

  ‘You are sure it is Legions himself?’

  Carnelian described the finial on his domain staff and Osidian’s face went pale, his eyes blinded by thought. He shook his head in wonder. ‘Only this morning I chose to reveal myself to the Wise by heliograph. I was awaiting their reply when Fern came with your message.’ He shook his head again. ‘It was hard to believe.’

  ‘But still you came.’

  Osidian focused on Carnelian. ‘So it is to you, once again, that I owe my salvation.’

  Carnelian spoke quickly to quench the light of love that was stirring in Osidian’s eyes. ‘The Grand Sapient tried to buy me. Had he promised to spare the barbarians, I would have given you to him.’

  Sadness returned to Osidian’s face. He lowered his gaze. ‘He would never promise you that. He could not.’ He looked up. ‘So you continue to fight at my side?’

  ‘As you said, did I not just save you from falling into his power?’

  ‘Don’t expect me to make war, Carnelian, without your precious barbarians suffering casualties.’

  ‘As long as you don’t deliberately cause them to be hurt.’

  Osidian held Carnelian’s gaze. ‘We understand each other?’

  Carnelian gave him a nod. ‘Release the Lepers from their agreement.’

  Osidian made a gesture of negation. ‘I cannot. We need them.’

  Carnelian saw there was no moving him. He had not expected to, but had had to try.

  ‘What did you tell him?’ Osidian said.

  Carnelian related what he could remember of his conversation with Legions.

  ‘Nothing more?’

  ‘I wasn’t feeling very chatty.’

  Osidian seemed blind again. Carnelian watched the muscles working in his jaw as he rehearsed what he would say to the Grand Sapient.

  The Grand Sapient was in the vault. In the lamplight he appeared to Carnelian exactly as he had before. Displayed upright in his capsule, seemingly no more alive than a mummy, his homunculus between his legs. As Osidian unmasked Carnelian did the same. Revealed, Osidian’s rapt expression was difficult to read. Wonder tinged with awe, but there was something else. Carnelian nursed an emerging impression, then realized, with shock, what it must be. Love.

  ‘It is you, Legions,’ said Osidian.

  The homunculus murmured behind its blinding mask. Legions’ fingers worked its neck and throat. ‘It is, Celestial.’

  ‘I feared we would never meet again, my Lord.’

  ‘We shared your fear.’

  Osidian gazed up at the Grand Sapient. ‘You searched for me with your childgatherers, but I made sure to remain well hidden, never guessing you would send a legion. That I had not imagined possible.’

  ‘We have often had to transcend the possible.’

  ‘But to send the Lord Aurum, surely that was a terrible risk?’

  They waited for Legions to take the sounds from the homunculus’ throat.

  ‘To use one of the Lesser Chosen would have been no less a risk, Celestial. Besides, we had used him before. He was an instrument who came easily to hand.’

  Carnelian wondered if he meant that it was the Wise who had been behind sending Aurum to fetch his father from exile.

  ‘My brother knows nothing of this?’ Osidian said.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘That you have come yourself, my Lord, suggests your mind was primary in this affair. It suggests also the Wise are desperate.’

  ‘It was Suth who kept from us the knowledge of your disappearance until it was too late. Our trust in him led us into error and left us exposed to your mother.’

  Though the voice of the homunculus was free from emotion, Carnelian sensed the menace in Legions’ words. So it was not only Ykoriana who had been his father’s enemy. Carnelian would have challenged the Grand Sapient, but Osidian, sensing this, stayed him by touching his arm. As the homunculus continued, Osidian gave Carnelian a look of reassurance.

  ‘She forced us to gift the City at the Gates to the Brotherhood of the Wheel.’

  ‘She dared parade her guilt before you thus?’

  Once he had understood that, Legions turned his eyepits on Carnelian. ‘Without evidence, we could not touch her. Suth’s sin had made her invulnerable. Though that brought him no gratitude from her.’

  Carnelian would no longer be restrained. ‘So you aided her against him?’

  ‘It was she who had the Clave impeach him. We merely did not raise a finger to defend him.’

  ‘Aurum was as much her enemy,’ said Osidian.

  ‘She commuted his deposal to exile, Celestial.’

  ‘Why, my Lord?’

  ‘Our thought combined has not yet been able to deduce a reason.’

  ‘My mother is given neither to whim nor mercy.’

  ‘Some factor is missing from our computations.’

  Osidian frowned at this. Either he was disturbed by this failing of the Wise, or else he sensed the Grand Sapient was keeping something from him. ‘And how did you persuade Aurum to do your bidding?’

  ‘It has been our experience’ – the eyepits glanced towards Carnelian again – ‘that those of the Great will do almost anything to regain entrance to Osrakum.’

  Osidian regarded Legions with a fixed concentration. ‘It seems, my Lord, we have the same enemies, the same goals.’

  Once the homunculus had echoed these words, they waited, but Legions’ fingers remained so still that the homunculus could have been wearing a collar carved from alabaster.

  Osidian looked up at Legions, uncertain. ‘Join with me, my Lord, give me back the Masks. Once I am They, I will rid you of my mother . . . and make you other concessions besides . . .’

  The alabaster fingers came alive. ‘Surely, child, you know that what you ask is beyond our power to grant. You have been too long in the wilderness, too long free. Even I am a slave to the Law-that-must-be-obeyed and what you ask you must surely know the Law forbids.’

  ‘But now that your scheme to take me captive has failed you cannot hope to keep your plotting concealed from her and, once she and Osrakum know of that, the power the Wise have to counter hers will be seriously diminished.’

  ‘I am curious: what cause
d my scheme to fail?’

  ‘Carnelian . . .’ Osidian turned, puzzled, to Carnelian. ‘How did you know . . . ?’

  Carnelian shrugged. ‘I was warned of it in a dream.’

  Osidian looked incredulous. ‘A dream?’

  ‘A dream?’ echoed the homunculus.

  Carnelian and Osidian turned back to the Grand Sapient. ‘Have there been other dreams of warning, Suth Carnelian?’

  Carnelian felt uneasy at having become the object of the Grand Sapient’s interest. His thought became tangled as he tried to work out what to say. In the end it seemed easier to simply state the truth. ‘There have been others.’

  ‘What does it matter? It did fail!’ cried Osidian. ‘And without me you are exposed to my mother.’

  The Grand Sapient seemed to have withered back to a corpse. Carnelian’s unease grew. He turned to Osidian for help, but was shaken by how young he looked, how helpless. Osidian’s face sagged into anguish. ‘It was I, not my brother, who was elected to wear the Masks. Surely my mother’s plot cannot be allowed to overturn the expressed will of the Chosen?’

  As the homunculus echoed Osidian’s words, Carnelian regarded Osidian with increasing horror. After everything he had done, after all his claims, he appeared now to be merely a child demanding fairness.

  ‘Once made, the Gods cannot be unmade,’ said the homunculus.

  Osidian seemed close to tears, exhausted. ‘I too was anointed with blood. The God came to me not once, but many times. He spoke to me. He acted through me. I am His instrument.’

  Carnelian felt his horror turning to contempt. He expected the Grand Sapient to swat Osidian with more relentless logic, but was disappointed when, instead, the homunculus began to question him, probing his claims. He watched the interrogation, incredulous that the Grand Sapient could be finding anything of interest in Osidian’s deranged beliefs. Then, as Osidian unwound their story, Carnelian became mesmerized with fear that Osidian was betraying the Plainsmen, then the Marula. Carnelian reassured himself, first that Legions knew most of this already, then that the Marula were most likely already lost and, finally that, come what may, the Grand Sapient was in their power; that whatever Legions was learning from Osidian they would make sure he would remain unable to communicate it back to his brethren in Osrakum.