Some nodded, confused, then in twos and threes they sped off until only the Oracles were left, and Sthax, who was hunched, uneasy in the presence of his masters. Carnelian gestured for him to follow, then sent his aquar like an arrow towards the oncoming Marula. Sthax was soon riding alongside, a crazed grimace on his face. Glancing back, Carnelian saw the Oracles chasing them. He and they were all flying on the wings of a rising gale that was bending the ferns towards Aurum’s approaching storm. Thunder grumbled in the earth. Another arc of fire flashed into life, wavering as it slid its flame across the fernland, setting it alight; then, even as its screaming reached them, it sputtered and vanished.
Soon the Marula fleeing towards them were close enough for Carnelian to see their rictus grins. He searched and found, at their heart, the ashen faces of more Oracles. Hurtling towards this core he was aware of the Marula warriors crashing past on either side.
‘Morunasa,’ he cried, but his voice was snatched away by the gale.
Morunasa’s Oracles were almost upon him. He slowed his aquar, spun her round, then made her run back the way he had come, letting Morunasa’s Oracles overtake him. Soon when he looked to either side he could see their ashen faces, their yellow eyes wide with terror. He sensed a shape close on his left shoulder. Glancing round, he expected to see Sthax, but it was Morunasa, ravener teeth lining his gape as he shouted something. Carnelian waited until Morunasa had pulled abreast, then leaned across. ‘The Master’s my prisoner.’
Morunasa shook his head, indicating his ears, then slowed his beast and Carnelian followed suit. They came to a halt together as Marula hurtled past them.
‘The Master’s my prisoner,’ Carnelian shouted. ‘Help me and I’ll help you get back your Upper Reach.’
Morunasa regarded him with wild eyes. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Take them into the Koppie.’
Morunasa jerked a nod then whipped his aquar off at furious speed. Carnelian looked for Sthax, but he was gone. He sent his aquar after Morunasa’s in swift pursuit. The sky was darkening, the ground shaking so violently dust was rising up from the earth. Suddenly his shadow was cast stark in front of him. He felt a burning at his back. He turned, squinting against the glare. A column of fire brighter than the sun was gaining on him. Its scream raped his ears as the fire shuddered away. He gaped slack-jawed as a monster emerged from the murk. It was bearing down on him like a great ship. Horns curved up like ivory figureheads. A leprous tower rose from its back, tapering in tiers, rigged, with a mast that thrust a standard like a sail up into the blackening sky. Another high whining scream shocked Carnelian out of his trance. His hand jerked up to shield his eyes from the fire-flash. Through his fingers he could see more arcing liquid-flame carve glowing curves across the ground. Then the scene was lost in sulphurous billows of smoke. Its black wave rolled over him. He was choking. Coughing, he wiped away stinging tears. His aquar lost the rhythm of her stride. He peered at where they were heading. The Newditch magnolias were rushing up. Riders were leaping the ditch like fish. He gritted his teeth. His aquar leapt. They were in the air, the ditch beneath them. Then she landed with a thump that rattled his skull and they were coursing across the ferngarden with the others. A whine chased him. Almost beyond hearing, its pitch slid down to a fearful shrieking. There was a whoosh, then roar. A wall of heat slammed into him. Turning his cheek into it, eyes welling, he saw the magnolias burning fiercely as they had in his dream.
COUNCIL OF WAR
Enough bees can kill a ravener.
(a precept of the Plainsmen)
As he tore across the ferngardens, leaping two more ditches, Carnelian was relieved to put the Grove between him and the dragons. He caught up with Morunasa in the Southgarden.
‘Where’s the Master?’ cried the Oracle.
‘Marshal your warriors. We’ll need them to punch a hole through the encirclement.’
Morunasa gauged Carnelian, then swung round in his saddle-chair spitting out instructions in his own language. His Oracles raced away, riding hard to overtake the Marula flight.
He turned back. ‘Where?’
Carnelian could feel no thunder in the ground. The dragons must be circling the Koppie to cut them off. He sent his aquar past Morunasa, heading for the Old Bloodwood Tree. They leapt another ditch and careered into a body of riders crammed around the tree. Carnelian urged his aquar towards Fern’s. Osidian was there, guarded by Darkcloud. His crazed eyes drilled past Carnelian. ‘Morunasa, destroy these unbelievers.’
Carnelian’s hand, reaching for his spear, relaxed when he saw Morunasa shaking his head. ‘No, Master. Now I must do what I can to save my people.’
Carnelian addressed Osidian. ‘It’s not in your interests to impede us further. Even now Aurum is throwing his forces around us to capture you.’
Osidian’s head dropped to his chest. Carnelian looked around him. Faces were tight with terror, but he was sure they would obey him. He managed a smile for Poppy sitting with Krow. ‘We must go.’
Fern shook his head. ‘I’m staying.’
Carnelian took in all the Darkcloud with a glare. ‘If the Master’s taken your tribe’ll be burned alive.’ Then to Morunasa: ‘Get them through the auxiliaries. Now go!’
Poppy began a protest, but Krow carried them both off after Morunasa and the others as they sped off down the Blooding.
Carnelian knew this delay might hazard his whole plan. He had to get away. ‘Fern, come with me. Your mother didn’t want you to throw your life away. Live for her.’
Fern’s face darkened. ‘How dare you quote my-’
At that moment a whining scream drew their eyes towards the Grove. Hissing, the mother trees were leafed with flames. Fern’s mouth fell open as he stared, frozen by horror. Carnelian freed his spear and with its haft struck Fern’s aquar into motion. Then kicking his own he took the lead and was relieved when the other followed him.
Hurtling down the Blooding Carnelian could see, on the plain, the horns of the auxiliaries’ encirclement coming together. Osidian’s Plainsmen were a fleeing rabble already beyond their grasp. The Marula looked in better order, but would soon be overtaken by the auxiliaries. He and Fern dodged through the slaughterhouse chaos of the Killing Field. As they reached open fernland, Carnelian was glad to see that Fern seemed more composed. Both saw the Marula slowing, even as the auxiliary encirclement closed ahead of them. Their ranks opened to absorb Osidian and the Darkcloud. Carnelian and Fern coaxed even more speed out of their aquar. Soon there were Marula all around them, every eye focused on the auxiliary line thickening ahead. When the Marula let forth a battlecry, Carnelian joined his voice to theirs. Aquar added their screeching to the tumult. Their charge struck the auxiliaries with a detonation that reverberated through the ground. Their intersection frothed like a breaking wave. Then the auxiliary wall broke and he and the Marula washed through. More auxiliaries crashed into their flanks as the enveloping curve melted into pursuit. Carnelian was losing hope of escape, when trumpets screamed from behind them. He looked round and saw the auxiliaries slowing, disengaging, veering away, but his cry of triumph caught in his throat as he saw that the Grove had become the roots of a tower of smoke that might have been the Marula god rising up in wrath from the earth.
Flattened ferns formed a road that led them to the Bluedancing’s outer ditch. Several earthbridges spanned it but of these all but one had collapsed. Carnelian rode across and found himself in a ferngarden similarly trampled. It was larger than any of the Ochre outer gardens. He grew uneasy at the eerie quiet, at how tall the ferns had grown, at the saplings sprung up everywhere. Glancing round, he saw the earthbridge was funnelling the Marula. He did not wait for them all to cross, but rode towards the next ditch with Osidian and his Darkcloud escort, Fern and Morunasa, Krow and Poppy and some Oracles in their wake.
The edges of the next ditch had crumbled. The earth on the other side had been gouged by many claws. Carnelian was reassured. Those fresh red wounds showed that many
aquar had crossed there today. At least some of the tribes must have come at his summons.
He jumped his aquar across then scrambled up the other side. A trail led off through another large ferngarden. At its further end rose the hill that was the koppie’s heart. Though it was not as lofty as the Ochre’s it was wider, its crags spreading as a cliff. What lay beneath surprised him. Though the grove canopy was patchy, it seemed that its mother trees had survived Osidian’s arson.
Figures were descending steps from the edge of the grove. He wanted to talk to them and to climb the crags to reassure himself Aurum was not pursuing them.
The steps turned out to be stones set into an earthbridge that curved up to the cedar hill. The ditch it crossed had been cut into the side of the slope and not at its foot. The figures coming down to meet them were Plainsmen.
‘Where’re your commanders?’ Carnelian asked.
They looked at each other, perhaps not understanding Vulgate. One turned to point up at the crags. Carnelian nodded. It made sense that their leaders were up there keeping a lookout. Dismounting, he kept a careful eye on the Plainsmen, who were staring at Osidian being helped out of his saddle-chair. It was reassuring to see the Darkcloud form a cordon round him. Even stooped, Osidian towered in their midst. Carnelian was thankful Osidian was so weakened by his infestation. Others were dismounting, including Morunasa, Krow and Poppy. He followed her glance of concern to Fern, who was still aloft.
‘Poppy?’
When she looked at him Carnelian made a gesture and she nodded. Approaching Fern’s aquar she stroked its neck to make it kneel, then coaxed Fern to climb out.
Carnelian spoke Osidian’s name and, when he raised his head to look, Carnelian indicated the steps with his spear. ‘If you would please go first, my Lord.’
Expressionless, Osidian advanced, the Darkcloud around him. The Plainsmen on the steps drew aside, fearfully, watching him ascend. Carnelian asked Morunasa to leave word that the Marula should make their camp before the steps, then followed Osidian.
Two ancient cedars stood guard upon the entrance to the grove. Both had been maimed by fire. Bark was charcoaled up to a great height, and in places had burned away deep enough to expose the heartwood. Some of these scars reached high enough that branches had withered. Those that survived bore needles, but in brushes that hung lopsidedly.
As they climbed a grand rootstair, Carnelian saw with what haunted eyes the Darkcloud and his Plainsman friends looked around them. Ferns had invaded the hearths where the Bluedancing had eaten and talked, had shared their lives. They swamped the hollows in which they had slept, made love. The canopy above was too ragged to keep out the sky. Mutilated, the mother trees could not reach each other to plug the gaps. Carnelian could feel their anguish and the wrath they were drawing up from the earth where their daughters lay. Peering along the rootstairs and paths that split off from the one they climbed, he saw how much bigger this grove was than that of the Ochre. It gave a measure to what had been done when the Bluedancing had been destroyed. Though driven to this crime by Osidian, it was the Ochre who had set the fires. Carnelian saw Fern taking in the destruction and wondered if his friend was feeling that it was for this sin that the Mother had allowed his tribe to suffer such terrible retribution.
The Ancestor House of the Bluedancing seemed a bone boat run aground upon the crags. The flight of steps that climbed to it divided and swept up on either side towards the summit. Carnelian bowed his head as he climbed, feeling the presence of the ancestors weighing down on him. As he passed their House he dared to peer at its ivory traceries, at the buttresses of femurs that anchored it to the rock.
It was a relief to come up into the sky. He breathed deep, seeking to free his heart from despair. Voices made him turn to see Plainsmen hurrying across the rock towards Osidian. Carnelian moved to intercept them. Their whitened faces betrayed them as Osidian’s acolytes. They were gaudy with the salt trinkets with which he had seduced them. Carnelian held his spear horizontal in front of him to bar their way. Craning round him to see Osidian, they spoke all at once. Carnelian gleaned enough of what they were saying to answer them. ‘It was I who summoned you.’
They fell silent, staring at him. ‘At the Master’s command?’ said one.
Carnelian shook his head slowly. More consternation broke out, but he ignored it. Smoke was rising in the north from the Koppie. Enraged, he silenced their clamour with a glare. Some started to kneel. ‘I’ll speak when all the tribes have assembled here and not before nightfall.’
Some were brave enough to threaten leaving. Seeing their fear of him, he felt compassion for them. That must have softened his expression for they relaxed a little.
‘All must combine their strength if that,’ he pointed to the Koppie, ‘is not to be the fate for all your homes.’
Defiance left them as they looked upon the Ochre pyre.
‘Please go now and set your men to gathering fernwood. We’ll meet in council here and will need a good fire to warm us against the coming night.’
Like everyone else Osidian sat upon the summit gazing at the Koppie burning. Carnelian searched his face, looking for satisfaction, anger, a glimpse of cunning, but found nothing. All he saw was Osidian’s beauty marred by defeat and the pain and sickness caused by the maggots burrowing in his flesh.
He rose and went to crouch beside Poppy. Grime from the burials grained her skin. She looked up at him. ‘Can you really save them from that?’
Though he wanted to take away the fear in her eyes, the most he could say was: ‘I hope so.’
She gave him a pale smile then turned her gaze back to the Koppie. Sitting near her, Krow shot him a grim look to which Carnelian responded with a nod before going off to sit beside Fern.
He had chosen a promontory away from the others. His gaze was fixed, sightless, on his burning home. The creases of grief in his face deepened Carnelian’s misery. He longed to comfort him, but did not know how. Touch would not reach Fern, nor words. At that moment Fern turned to look at him, tearful as he shook his head. Carnelian’s own grief welled up. He understood what Fern’s eyes were telling him. Whatever they had had, or could have had, was gone. The dead stood between them like a wall.
Carnelian walked around the rim of the summit on the lookout for more Plainsmen on the plain below, but could see none. He was having to pick his way around funerary trestles bearing bones so sun-bleached they resembled carved limestone. It seemed a sterile imitation of the stinking mess they had left behind in the Koppie. The Koppie. Its dying exerted a horrid fascination over him. He had stood watching past the point where he could bear it. Even now that he had managed to tear free he felt its pull. It was as if the heart of the world was failing.
He was sure he now knew how Osidian had intended to cover his flight with the Marula, picking the salt up on the way. Osidian had coaxed Aurum to the Koppie and offered it up with his Plainsmen as a sacrifice. Osidian had made certain Aurum was aware the Koppie was the centre of his power. From the tattooed hands of the Plainsman veterans he had killed, the old Master would have already learned the names of the tribes defying him. He would know he had now reached within striking distance of their homes. Torching the Koppie was a warning for all to see. Aurum would now make camp in their midst, send messengers with threats and rely on the Plainsmen to bring him Osidian alive. Such methods came naturally to all Masters.
Loathing for Osidian, for Aurum seeped into Carnelian, swelling into hatred of all the Masters, chief amongst them himself. He and they were responsible for this misery, these atrocities. The Masters were a curse, a cancer that had fed off the world for millennia. Desperate fantasies possessed him that he might find a way to cut out their disease.
Suddenly, Poppy leapt to her feet. Others joined her. Aurum’s legion was swarming out from the Koppie like ants fleeing a burning nest. Carnelian watched, heart pounding. Was his reasoning flawed? If Aurum came for them now, all was lost. Across the summit, people were turning to look at him.
It was Morunasa who spoke. ‘Do we flee?’
Carnelian knew he must hold firm. ‘Hookfork moves towards the lagoons. He intends to make a camp and will need water for his host.’
His words appeared to soothe many, but Morunasa, for one, did not seem convinced. As the legion crept across the plain, Carnelian watched, affecting unconcern. Shadows were stretching east when it became clear that Aurum was indeed heading for the lagoons. Carnelian’s relief was soured by the realization that Aurum’s camp would be sited on the shore where the Ochre had been accustomed to fetch their water.
Plainsman fires formed constellations in the ferngardens, but were a poor imitation of the stars. Carnelian was only intermittently aware of the scuffling and muted voices behind him as the representatives of the tribes came up onto the summit. What he intended to say to them might lead him back to Osrakum, back to his father and the rest of his lost family. It felt like a betrayal that, for so long, they should have been so far from his thoughts. The pattern of lights below resembled any one of so many of the stopping places he had seen from the watch-towers on his way to the election. He was reminded also of when he had stood with his father upon a spur of rock high in the Pillar of Heaven surveying the tributaries gathering on the Plain of Thrones. Both seemed more fairytale than memory.
He gazed north as if his sight might pierce the night all the way to Osrakum. It was the glimmering wheelmap of Aurum’s camp that caught his eye. Three concentric rings inscribed into the earth by the ditches Aurum’s dragons had ploughed into the fernland. The outer, bright with the fires of the auxiliaries, enclosed a dimmer ring where the dragons formed a wall around a flickering hub. That flicker showed where Aurum and his Lesser Chosen commanders no doubt were enjoying the exquisite pleasures they could not deprive themselves of even on campaign.
The citrine splendour of that camp contrasted with the murky smoulder of the Koppie that appeared, strangely, the same size, so that the two seemed to form a pair of unmatched eyes. The Koppie too was a wheelmap in form. Osidian had been right: in that design the Plainsmen aped the Chosen, but it seemed clear to Carnelian now that it was not a wheelmap, but rather military camps they copied. It saddened him that the Plainsmen had shaped their homes in imitation of the military mechanisms of their oppressors. The thought awoke his longing to free them, instead of which he was going to urge them to return to slavery.
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