Osidian was done. He gazed up expectantly at the Grand Sapient. The homunculus spoke. ‘I do not deny the signs, the portents, but they change nothing, Celestial.’
The change that came upon Osidian’s face Carnelian had had reason many times to fear. ‘We shall see if the rest of the Twelve shall be as intransigent as you, my Lord.’
‘How do you imagine, Celestial, that you will fare better with them who are free, than you have with me, who am your prisoner?’
Osidian’s eyes burned. ‘Then I shall march upon Osrakum.’
Legions lowered his head, causing his eyepits to flood with shadow that poured down to his lipless mouth. ‘You hope to overthrow the Commonwealth with a single legion?’
Osidian looked round as if for allies, but Carnelian was in no mood to give him support. Osidian looked up into the dark curves of the ceiling as if searching for something. Then his gaze returned to the Grand Sapient. ‘I will enfranchise the Lesser Chosen and they will follow me to the Three Gates.’
The leather of Legions’ face formed into an expression that might have been contempt. ‘And how do you imagine you will communicate with them?’
Osidian’s face reddened. ‘No doubt, my Lord, you did not come here without reconfiguring the watch-towers to your needs. It would profit you nothing to be here more blind, more mute than if you had remained in Osrakum.’
The horned-ring was lost in Legions’ frown. ‘After your message reached the first few legions, we would lock down the system. Isolated, the commanders would not dare rise.’
Legions loomed forward, his fingers digging instructions into the neck of the homunculus. ‘Do you really believe, child, that even with a dozen legions you could overcome our systems? You would dash yourself ineffectually upon the cliff of our defence. Why do you think we have named this the Guarded Land? However many legions you might gather to your rebellion, we would have more. The web of roads has been constructed to our specifications. Their walls dissect the Land and bind it. Our towers give us the vision of the Gods Themselves. Through them we speak with light, faster than the wind.
‘And even should you break through the host that we would muster against you, have you forgotten the Three Gates? A thousand years have we had to perfect them. No force in the Three Lands could hope to breach them.’
The evident truth of this overwhelmed Carnelian, who had seen the Gates with his own eyes. He had watched Osidian bend beneath the weight of the Grand Sapient’s statements. It seemed incredible that Osidian should find any more resistance, but he did. He looked up. ‘I could rule at my brother’s side.’
The Grand Sapient regarded them with his dead face, his fingers mute. Osidian’s gaze clung to that face. ‘Are we not twins like the Gods? Was I not marked for the Black God as Molochite was for the Green?’
The silence stretched, then, at last, the homunculus spoke. ‘Long ago were the Two made One. It is upon this foundation that the Balance of the Powers stands. You know this.’
Seeing Osidian defeated, so drained, Carnelian felt almost unable to breathe. So much death, so much pain; for what? So that their rebellion should simply run dry? He had to release some of his bile. ‘And what of you, my Lord Legions? Why should we not slay you?’
A languor came over the Grand Sapient that, strangely, made him seem more alive. ‘It would profit you nothing. My brethren would simply elect another to stand in my place.’
As Osidian began to move away, Carnelian stood for some moments gazing at the Grand Sapient. At that moment, Legions did not seem a monster, but only a mutilated man. Carnelian knew what tyranny the Wise were responsible for but, seeing Legions powerless, he could not help feeling pity, though even that seeped away. Empty of all feeling, he turned and, taking the light away with him, followed Osidian.
Behind him an unhuman voice spoke. ‘Ultimately, only the Commonwealth is immortal.’
Carnelian caught up with Osidian in Aurum’s bedchamber. Seeing his dull eyes, his face still flushed, Carnelian’s heart sank. If Osidian had lost his will to fight, it was all over. In spite of Sthax, Morunasa and the Marula were sure to become unmanageable. Worse, the Lesser Chosen commanders would desert. Poppy, Fern, Lily and the Lepers, all would be left exposed to the full wrath of the Masters. He could see the fire, could smell the blood and crucifixions. He stared at Osidian, realizing with shocked amazement how much he had come to rely on his relentless drive for revenge. It had become such a solid part of his world that, without knowing it, he had built all his strategies on it.
‘Things are not hopeless,’ his voice said.
Osidian’s eyes remained dull. Carnelian had to lead them back to solid ground. ‘We still have a legion. A city. In spite of anything the Grand Sapient said, it is we who have him in our power.’
Life came back into Osidian’s face, then an expression of exasperation. ‘Have you still not understood? This chamber, this fortress, the whole of the Guarded Land, all have been fashioned by the sort of mind down there.’ He began wringing his hands. ‘They were the basis of all my hope. They ratified my election.’ He glanced at Carnelian, looking child-like, frightened. ‘And it was obvious how much they were prepared to risk to unseat my mother.’
Carnelian searched around for something he could say that would reassure Osidian, but Legions’ logic seemed inescapable. That made him boil. ‘For all his wisdom, the Grand Sapient is still a man and, like all other men, he is prey to fear. He knows we have the power to do what we will with him. Cornered, is it any surprise he should have said the things he did?’
Osidian frowned, but gazed at Carnelian, hungry for more.
‘You left the watch-tower, my Lord, before receiving a reply from Osrakum. Surely the rest of the Twelve will be nervous. At any moment the other two Powers could discover what they have been up to. At this moment of crisis they can have, at the very best, an imperfect idea of what is going on here. They probably know they have lost a legion. Perhaps they know we hold Makar. But, worst of all, they will have lost contact with he who among them is the master of their defence. Perhaps they already fear we have him in our power. If they do not, you could confirm this.’
‘Wouldn’t they just elect a replacement?’ said Osidian, shifting into Vulgate.
‘Perhaps, but consider how reluctant they might be to do that. The Gods know how long he’s been the mind that’s shaped the defences of the Commonwealth, but I warrant it must have been a considerable time. Is it likely that in such a crisis they’d wish to put their trust in someone less experienced? For the moment at least they’re likely to hesitate and, surely, such hesitation is a weakness we can exploit?’
Carnelian could see the embers of belief he had rekindled in Osidian’s eyes. ‘With less leverage your mother managed to bend them to her will.’
Osidian observed him. ‘But dare I go to the watch-tower leaving Legions unwatched?’
Carnelian felt trapped. Every moment that passed exposed Fern to discovery by the Lesser Chosen commanders. Never mind the disaster that would ensue should Aurum return. Osidian had to return to the dragons immediately. Carnelian knew what this was going to take. He tried to keep dismay from his face and voice as he said: ‘I’ll deal with Legions.’
Osidian looked uncertain. ‘How?’ He gazed at the floor as if he were trying to see through it. ‘I know more about them than perhaps they suspect, but I’m not fool enough to imagine I know a fraction of their secrets. Who knows what powers Legions may have to wield against us?’
Carnelian put on a smile. ‘Much of the power of the Wise comes from the awe in which they are held. Can you think of anyone in the Three Lands who’s less likely to be impressed than I?’
Osidian regarded him with a frown, thin hope warring with doubt. At last he shook his head. ‘Have it your own way.’
As he masked, Carnelian copied him with relief. Behind his mask he could release his face into what he knew must be an expression of near despair.
As he opened the door leading to the
vault, Carnelian was overwhelmed by an odour that, for some reason, made him recall his wounded father. It was only myrrh. He could see its smoke creeping up the steps. He listened out for what might be happening below. Though he feared it might be sorcery he dared not give in to that fear. If anything, it was even more reason for him to confront it. He began a careful descent of the stair.
Smoke hung like mist in the vault, pierced by rays emanating from some lamp. Creeping towards the light he began to see a small figure hunched before Legions’ open capsule. Within its hollow stood the Grand Sapient, arms folded across his chest, ribbed bands across his abdomen, thighs and shins holding him fast. His face seemed a skull set above his cadaverous frame. Carnelian dared go no further. As he watched, the homunculus raised a bowl to the Grand Sapient’s groin from which liquid began emanating in a stream. For a moment Carnelian was startled by the thought that Legions was a woman. Then, with disgusted fascination, he recalled that the Wise were castrated. It had not occurred to him the mutilation might be so complete. Feeling he was observing something shameful and forbidden, he wished to retreat. Such delicacy was inappropriate. When the Grand Sapient ceased urinating the homunculus stooped to put the bowl down. One of his master’s arms unfolded and its four-fingered hand reached out, questing. Seeing it, the homunculus clambered up into the capsule, raising its chin to facilitate the coiling of its master’s fingers around its throat. Its gaze found Carnelian and it began murmuring. A shiver went up his spine as he felt that Legions was looking at him through the creature’s eyes. The murmuring ceased. The pale fingers moved. The homunculus spoke. ‘I have already been too long awake.’
Carnelian stared, not knowing what to say. The fingers released the homunculus and the arm folded back across the Grand Sapient’s chest. With a gloved hand, the homunculus reached into an array of amber beads set into the rim of the capsule. It plucked one out and, clambering up the capsule, it touched the bead to Legions’ lipless mouth, which opened to receive it.
As the homunculus climbed back down to the floor, Carnelian crept to its side. ‘How often does that drug need to be administered?’
Stooping to retrieve something from the shadows, the homunculus rose to regard him with its old man’s eyes. ‘Every day, Seraph.’ It raised the thing it had in its hands. A silver mask from whose single eye gleaming tears ran down the long tapering cheek. As the homunculus adjusted the mechanisms on its reverse, Carnelian peered at the creature, reassuring himself it was fully detached from its master. It seemed unnatural that it should be speaking on its own behalf. ‘You will do this every day for him?’
The homunculus shook its head and indicated the triangular space between the Grand Sapient’s legs. ‘Normally I sleep there, with my master. Ammonites administer the elixir, overseen by a Sapient of Immortality.’ The homunculus regarded the chamber with hooded eyes. ‘We dare not entrust my masters to the ammonites here.’ He made a gesture asking Carnelian for permission to disengage from their conversation. At Carnelian’s nod, the creature scaled the capsule again. He leaned in to peer at his master’s face. ‘He sleeps.’ He placed the mask carefully over the skull face, fitting the mechanisms into the cavities. He pressed the mask back, and its crowning lunar crescent gripped the central sphere of three that were set beneath the upper rim of the capsule and hung above Legions’ brow like planets.
Back on the floor, the homunculus closed the lid of the capsule. Legions formed a dark core in the ivory vessel. The homunculus raised a stick of wax and melted some to fall into a circular recess on the edge of the lid. Then he pressed a seal into it. Carnelian craned over the creature and saw the impression of a cross that had been left in the wax. The nearer of the other two capsules was similarly sealed. ‘Is that to protect him?’
The homunculus jumped, startled, and did not calm down until Carnelian had backed away. ‘It shows who was responsible for the last feeding, Seraph.’
‘You have sole responsibility for the Grand Sapient?’
‘And for his servants, Seraph.’
‘Who are they?’
‘His Seconds, Seraph.’
Carnelian did not understand what the creature meant. Something else sprang to mind. ‘Will they wake?’
‘Only when the effect of the elixir wears off, Seraph.’
‘How long will that be?’
The little man frowned. ‘Around midday tomorrow. I shall have to feed them then.’
Carnelian could not believe his luck. It seemed his problem of overseeing the Grand Sapient had solved itself. ‘You will come with me.’
The homunculus paled and his eyes widened. ‘Seraph, my master has bidden me guard his sleep.’
‘You can stand guard upstairs, but, henceforth, you will remain always at my side.’
Carnelian saw how fearful the creature was. He began walking back towards the stair. Not hearing footfalls following him he turned. ‘Obey me,’ he said, putting an edge into his voice that all not Chosen were right to fear. Reluctantly, the homunculus obeyed.
In the bedchamber, head bowed, its mask hanging from its hand, the homunculus seemed so like a child Carnelian found he was beginning to feel paternal towards it, but then it looked up. That wizened face was not a child’s, nor its ancient, rheumy eyes.
Carnelian looked away. Finally, he had time to think. His mind blanked. He tried to focus on the issues, but his attention kept slipping from them. Exhaustion washed over him. Feeling under observation by the homunculus, he yearned to be alone. He glanced towards the outer door. Dare he trust the creature to the care of Aurum’s household? He preferred to keep it where he could see it: the homunculus was the key that kept the Sapients locked in sleep, safe within their capsules.
He longed for the oblivion of sleep, but once he was asleep who was there to stop the creature creeping back to its master’s side? He imagined the Grand Sapient, woken, coming up the stairs to loom over him as he dreamed. He shuddered and looked around for some solution to the problem. In the end he dragged some feather blankets into the corner and made himself a bed in front of the door to the vault. He told the homunculus that it would have to find itself a place to sleep. The creature bowed low, then crept away into the gloomiest part of the chamber. Standing over his makeshift bed Carnelian watched it make a nest. This arrangement would have to do.
‘I am about to unmask,’ he announced. The homunculus immediately put on its blinding mask. Carnelian hesitated. The silver child face was staring at him across the room more intently than had the homunculus’ own. He turned his back on the creature and released his mask with a sigh of relief. It was a struggle to free himself from his robes. He did this all as quietly as he could. At one stage, he realized how ridiculous he must look and could not help laughing. The sound echoed around the chamber. When he was free he slipped under a blanket, his heart beating as he listened for any furtive sounds the homunculus might be making.
As silence settled he fell victim to misery. He was playing a game he did not believe he could win, for stakes he could not bear to lose. The Grand Sapient had made it clear what would happen should he and Osidian admit defeat. Only an outright victory over the Commonwealth would give him any chance of stopping the Wise meting out retribution upon his loved ones, upon all those others who were already victims of what he and Osidian had brought about – but could he hope for such an implausible outcome when even Osidian no longer believed it possible? And even were they to continue doing what they could to widen their rebellion, would this not serve only to bring more innocents under the shadow of inevitable punishment?
These arguments swung back and forth in his mind like the pendulums of Aurum’s clocks. Back and forth. Back and forth. Until he became a slave to the click of the escapements and, weary to his bones, he hung suspended in despair, denied the comfort of sleep.
Akaisha, bloated, her dear face ochred for burial. Earth, or is it dried blood, on his hands? ‘Eat me,’ she sighs, fire peeling her skin. Carnelian breaks off a charred curl and put
s it into his mouth. Too salty. Tears, perhaps? Flames in a black mirror find the contours of a face. A mask with green eyes. He fits his face into the hollow. Sees an emerald lagoon. Breathes with rapture its mossy air. Green water laps at white feet. He looks up. Osidian sitting on a throne. A black living face in his left hand, a green in his right. Osidian’s own, lifeless, eyeless. The pits well tears. Wet on his lips. Tasting the sea. Liquid-iron blood running down white legs into the ebb. Roaring makes him turn to see a cliff of it avalanching to drown them all.
Carnelian came awake, gulping, tasting iron in his mouth. He sat up, choking, and spat blood into his hands. He rolled his tongue, making sure he had not bitten it through, swallowed it.
‘Seraph?’ The homunculus was there with its metal child’s face. It called again from the other side of its blinding mask as if it were a door.
Carnelian reassured the creature. ‘Bit my tongue in my sleep.’ His voice was distorted by his swollen tongue.
In his mind’s eye, Osidian sat eyeless on a throne, the Masks of the God Emperor in his hands. Carnelian could not rid himself of the conviction that he had had such dreams before and had always ignored their warnings. Why were his dreams always awash with blood? He could still taste its metal in his mouth. Osidian enthroned, but eyeless like the Wise. Why had Akaisha wanted him to eat her? He had to think clearly. At any time, Osidian might lose his grip on the Lesser Chosen commanders. The memory of what had happened to the Ochre unmanned him. He could not bear making such a mistake again. He dared not act until he was certain.
He sought distraction in some books he found. The titles were uninspiring. It seemed that Aurum was interested in nothing but war and intrigue. Dry treatises on strategy and manuals written for the Lesser Chosen by the Wise on correct legionary operation were only marginally alleviated by memoirs of Lords of the Great that were all about the minutiae of Clave politics, blood-trading and the elegant exercise of power over minions.
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