‘Nothing living?’ Osidian asked them.
‘Nothing, Master.’
As they ducked past him and away down the stair after the others, Osidian indicated to the Marula the recesses flanking the door in which they were to stand guard. Then he and Carnelian passed into the chamber beyond.
They emerged into a suite of rooms more humanly proportioned, graced with gilded furniture, with hangings of featherwork, walls pierced by ivory doors. Wandering, they came into a chamber in which bronze lecterns shaped like hands cradled books. Osidian took one, opened its jewelled cover and read. He looked at Carnelian.
‘An inferior edition,’ he said, stroking the binding.
There were tears running down his face. This sadness, that was also joy, made Osidian look young again. As they explored further together Carnelian watched him sidelong. Osidian professed disdain for such provincial architecture, aloofness towards the minor treasures that were all about them, but when he turned his gaze from something his fingers would linger on it a while as if he feared that, should he lose touch of it, it might disappear. Indeed, the polished stone in which they moved as shadows, the hanging silks that floated on the breeze like smoke, the narrow views some windows gave down into the hazy infinities of the land below, all these things seemed unreal, so that it was as if they moved together through a dream.
At last they came to a chamber in which water ran in channels in the walls. Here Osidian let his marumaga robe crumple to the floor and soon was standing in an iris-scented waterfall. He beckoned for Carnelian to join him. The eyes looking at him had something of the boy in the Yden, but now they were set in a face that had been hardened by pain. The water was making Osidian’s maggot wounds redder than his mouth. The mark of the rope was livid round his neck. His once flawless limbs had been weathered by the margins of garments into different shades so that he seemed assembled from unmatched pieces of ivory. Pity became an ache in Carnelian’s chest. He felt anew the agony of loss for what Osidian had been and sadness for what he had become. Undressing, he joined him in the waterfall. They stood together, sheathed in its warm pulsating embrace. Osidian’s eyes seemed emeralds lost in the sea. ‘Forgive me.’
Carnelian’s heart responded to the appeal. There was still a part of him that yearned for the way it had been between them, but he could not so easily forget the dead. ‘Forgiveness is not in my gift,’ he said and endured the hurt that came into Osidian’s face.
‘At least, stay with me.’
Compassion and the dregs of their love fought within Carnelian with what his heart felt he owed the dead. At last he yielded nothing more than a nod though even that felt like a betrayal.
A clanging brought them back to the outer door. Putting his ammonite mask over his face, Carnelian opened the door. Morunasa was on the landing. He moved aside to indicate a huddle of ammonites ringed by Marula. There was another ammonite laid out on the floor. Carnelian approached the prone figure, crouched, then, using one hand to hold his own mask, with the other he released the ammonite’s. Beneath was a sallow face marred with examination tattoos. Carnelian leaned closer. ‘He’s dead.’
Osidian had followed him. ‘It is the quaestor of this city.’
Carnelian turned to look up at him. ‘How can you tell?’
Osidian interpreted for him some of the markings on the corpse’s face. Then he turned on Morunasa. ‘Did I not tell you to bring all of them to me alive?’
The Oracle presented a stiff face. ‘We found him like that on the roof.’
Carnelian leaned closer to the corpse. ‘Look at how his tongue is swollen.’
Osidian crouched to see for himself. ‘Poison.’
Carnelian was about to ask how Osidian knew that, but then remembered that he had grown up at court where such things were not uncommon.
Osidian rose and stood statue still. Carnelian sensed he was pondering something and chose not to disturb him. Instead he addressed Morunasa. ‘On the roof, you say?’
‘Beside one of those sun machines.’
That was suggestive. Carnelian turned his mask on the huddle of ammonites. They drew away from him as he approached. ‘Have any heliograph messages been sent or received from here today or yesterday?’
He saw himself reflected in the silver of their faces. He raised his hands and signed the command: Unmask. They did so, hesitantly, glancing round at the Marula, their sallow tattooed faces sweaty with fear.
‘Answer me.’
One braver than the rest shook his head. ‘We do not know, Seraph. We have been forbidden the roof.’
‘By the quaestor?’
The ammonite’s eyes flicked to the corpse and back again. ‘That is so, Seraph.’
Without a word, Osidian turned to the stairs and began climbing them. Carnelian assured Morunasa that neither he nor his men had done any wrong, then, telling him to wait, Carnelian followed Osidian.
When they reached the roof the dizzying view drove everything else from Carnelian’s mind. He approached the edge. Laid out at his feet was the Earthsky, turned to copper by the setting sun. Osidian was squinting into the west. Carnelian joined him. Against the liquid gold horizon the limestone margin of the Guarded Land, scored and gouged by gullies, seemed gnawed and incised bone. Away from its rim, the rock became stained with earth like a crust of dried blood. Further inland, his eyes found the knife slash of the Ringwall. He followed this until he came to a thorn. Another watch-tower. He glanced back at the heliograph and saw that it was to that tower it was aligned. He made the inevitable deduction. ‘The quaestor sent a message to Osrakum, then killed himself.’
Osidian shook his head. ‘It seems more likely that he received a command to kill himself.’
‘From the Wise?’
Osidian turned to him. ‘Who else?’
‘But surely there wasn’t enough time for the signal to get here-’
Osidian turned back to gaze at the watch-tower. ‘No, there wasn’t.’
Carnelian felt suddenly exposed, as if at that very moment the Wise had lifted the roof off the world and were peering in at them. ‘How could they know we were coming?’
Osidian shook his head, a look of resignation on his face. ‘It is a fool who underestimates the Wise.’
Carnelian contemplated their situation. ‘But why would they want the quaestor dead?’
‘Perhaps they feared he would fall into my hands.’
Carnelian could not work it out. ‘What could he possibly reveal to us?’
Osidian shook his head again, dejection in his face and posture. ‘Their strategy, or some trap they have set for us.’
Carnelian realized how much he feared Osidian would fail. ‘What shall we do?’
Osidian gazed at him. ‘We proceed as before. What else can we do?’
Carnelian could think of nothing. As Osidian made his way back to the steps, Carnelian remained behind a while, gazing at the watch-tower, almost hoping to see it flash. If the Wise had them defeated he would rather find out there and then. Bleakly, he turned towards the steps.
Carnelian woke lying beside Osidian. Though he had agreed to sleep at his side he had not allowed anything more. Asleep, Osidian regained enough of his unsullied youth for Carnelian to see in him the boy he had loved. His heart ached as he gave in to the seduction of imagining they were still in Osrakum, still lovers. He stared at the ceiling, watching its gilded vault pulse with the pounding of his heart. That was a dream; the massacres were not.
He had to get away from him. He slipped from under the feather blankets. The floor seemed ice. The walls banded with dark stone oppressed him and made him shiver. He drew on his marumaga robe and went in search of light. The next chamber was lit by a faraway opening. Shafts of sunlight beckoned him onto a balcony. Blinded, he advanced into the morning not caring that the sun would taint his skin further. As he basked in its warmth, its wholesomeness, only slowly did his sight return and then he saw he was perched on the rim of the sky. Bleached green mottled with gol
d grew purple towards a far horizon. It seemed the whole Earthsky was there at his feet. He closed his eyes and breathed the scent that was on the wind. His heart jumped as the world he had known there came alive again. He was sure he could smell the musk of the fernland sweetened by magnolia. He felt in his heart how clean and simple his life had been there. He longed for the murmur of the mother trees. He ached for the touch of Akaisha’s warm hand, for the wise laughter in her eyes.
‘We must talk.’
Carnelian turned and saw Osidian the murderer. He watched him falter under his gaze and was glad of it. Osidian retreated into the shadows. Carnelian tried to return to his reverie, but Osidian had snuffed out the vision of the Earthsky. Only tragedy remained and a sickening regret. He leaned on the balustrade and looked down. Far below in the gorge the blue river frayed white as it tumbled over falls. He was sure he could hear a whisper of its roaring. He gazed downstream, where the gorge carved its curves west to the Leper Valleys. A yearning for Poppy and Fern flared in him, but he crushed it. Regret was an indulgence he could not afford. He straightened and returned to the cold grandeur of his new life.
It was Marula who brought them breakfast. Carnelian vaguely knew two of their faces but, again, there was no Sthax. Plates of white jade, bowls beaten from several colours of folded gold, all sat incongruously in their calloused hands. As they came nearer their stale sweat overpowered the perfume of the food. It was only when Osidian dismissed them that Carnelian found it possible to appreciate the saffron pungency of the porridge, the rosewater sweetness of the hri cakes.
Osidian frowned, gazing at the faraway doors closing behind the Marula. ‘They must be washed and those barbarian corselets disposed of. Their ebony necks would look handsome collared with gold; their limbs adorned with greens, with scarlets. At the very least they must be made to wear legionary cuirasses. If they are to join my household, they must look the part.’
Carnelian noticed that Osidian was studiously avoiding eye contact. He watched him begin to eat, then took a mouthful of the golden porridge. The flavour assaulted him. He ate more, greedily, but subsequent mouthfuls failed to match the first. Soon it seemed too rich. He thought of sharing what he was experiencing, but the distaste on Osidian’s face made him pause. Sensing he was being watched Osidian masked his previous expression. Whatever he was feeling he was clearly determined not to communicate it.
Nibbling one of the cakes, Carnelian looked around him. The magnificence left him homesick. That feeling centred him. He had been afraid the Masterly pleasures would seduce him. Having justifiable hope they would not made it easier to contemplate continuing to play the game. ‘What plans have you for the huimur, my Lord?’
Osidian looked at him coldly. Carnelian waited, then lost patience. ‘Though we may not be lovers we can still be allies.’
Osidian frowned. ‘Even granted the Wise may know we are here, I believe we still have time.’
‘Because you are convinced the Wise will dare use no one but Aurum against us?’
Osidian gave a nod. ‘If the Gods be with us, we shall be ready to deal with the Lord Aurum.’
There was something in his tone that made Carnelian realize Osidian still had hopes of bringing Aurum over to his side. This would be to renege on the promise he had made to the Lepers. Carnelian dismissed a build-up of outrage. Aurum’s defection was unlikely. He became aware Osidian was watching him. ‘And what then, my Lord? What do you envisage once we have defeated Aurum?’
Osidian scrutinized him a while before going on. ‘We shall turn the Powers against each other. My appearance will weaken my mother and my brother. The revelation of the role Aurum has played will weaken the Wise. Many of the Great will take my part. The Wise will be forced to negotiate with me.’
Carnelian almost asked him, To what end? But he knew that the lust in Osidian’s eyes could only be for the Masks. Carnelian focused on his own aims: the salvation of the Plainsmen, and of the Lepers too if that should prove possible. Even here at the periphery of the Commonwealth the Earthsky seemed already far away; the Plainsmen, inconsequential. There was hope in that, but it would be foolish to underestimate the appetite the Wise had for being thorough. Osidian’s attempt to reclaim the Masks must surely fail. Once the eddies of his rebellion had dissipated, the Wise would turn their minds to the Plainsmen and then there would be a reckoning. He frowned. It always came back to the Wise. He shook himself free of these musings. Though in playing any game of strategy it was important to look many moves ahead, it was also crucial that, in doing so, one did not fail to make sure one’s next move was sound. ‘Assure me we can count upon the commanders.’
‘Now that we have broken the link between them and the Wise what choice will they have but to obey me?’
Carnelian thought Osidian’s certainty sounded hollow. He shook his head. ‘This weapon we would wield does not yet feel firmly in our grasp. How might we be certain they would fight for us against Aurum?’
‘What does my Lord suggest?’ Osidian said, irritably.
Carnelian grasped at what he knew of the Masters. ‘Can we not bribe them?’
‘Iron? Access to impregnating women from my House?’
‘That is a payment your brother could more convincingly offer than we in our present circumstances.’
‘What then?’ snapped Osidian.
Carnelian pondered. Something occurred to him. ‘Why would they covet iron or access to the women of the House of the Masks?’
Osidian frowned to show that he was uninterested in playing this game.
‘Is it not because they wish to rise to being of the Great?’
Osidian sneered. ‘Shall I transfuse my blood into theirs to awake in them divine fire?’
Carnelian smiled. ‘Offer to enfranchise them.’
‘What?’
‘Tell them that, once you have regained what is rightfully yours, you will give their Houses the right to vote in elections; to participate in the division of the flesh tithe.’
Osidian looked aghast. ‘What you suggest threatens the Balance itself.’
Carnelian hardly heard him as the idea took flame within him. ‘Why stop with them? Why not enfranchise all the Lesser Chosen?’
Osidian stared at Carnelian as if he were mad. ‘So you would break the Balance altogether?’
‘What of it?’
Carnelian watched as Osidian’s eyes dulled. Was he considering the inconceivable?
‘At one stroke you would undermine any confidence the Wise have in the legions. It might sow havoc among them. It must surely weaken Aurum’s ability to resist you. Certainly it would give the commanders here a real reason to risk following you.’
He could feel Osidian’s resistance weakening. ‘This one act could bring the Masks within your grasp, without need of the Wise, or the Great. You would tear her most powerful weapon from your mother’s hand. You might even be able to wield all the power of the Chosen yourself.’
Osidian looked at him. ‘Except the Ichorian Legion.’
What of it? Carnelian signed. He made a gesture of encompassment. ‘In the last resort, you could lay siege to Osrakum herself.’
The moment he said that he realized he had gone too far. Osidian’s disbelief returned. Carnelian tried to retrieve the initiative. ‘It will not come to that, Osidian. The Wise will negotiate with you, but with their power diminished.’
Uncertainty returned to Osidian’s face. ‘Once broken the Balance might be impossible to rebuild.’
‘Why would you wish to resume the chains that have bound your House for millennia?’
Osidian spoke distractedly: ‘Not millennia. It has been only seven hundred years since my House lost the Civil War…’
Carnelian had only a vague awareness of this. It had happened so long ago.
Osidian began shaking his head. ‘Your scheme is flawed, Carnelian. The Lesser Chosen that are not beyond my reach within Osrakum are scattered among the cities of the Guarded Land.’
‘S
urely you can get messages to them by heliograph or by sending couriers along the leftways?’
Osidian shook his head. ‘Even if I had a seal, the watch-towers would not relay a message from me unless it was vouched for by the Wise.’
Carnelian sank into disappointment. It had all seemed so easy. He had made the mistake of underestimating the systems of the Wise.
‘The Lesser Chosen know their place. They shall bow down to me,’ Osidian said, frowning. ‘You and I must return to all the traditional usages. We must resume the wearing of masks. The more we run our power along the usual channels the stronger the grip we will maintain upon their loyalty.’
He looked around him at the chamber, at its furnishings, and seemed saddened by what he saw. ‘There is nothing to be gained by remaining here.’ His gaze fell on Carnelian. ‘It would be best if we were to relocate to somewhere closer to the cothon; that has now become the heart of our venture.’ He looked away. ‘We must begin to adhere to the Laws of Purity.’
Carnelian felt as if he was being threatened with imprisonment. ‘Do you mean the full ritual protection?’
‘I do, my Lord.’
‘I have experienced it and it was extremely uncomfortable.’
‘Nevertheless.’
‘But what is the point in it? For years we have been exposed to the outer world and we are still intact.’
Osidian scowled and touched the scar about his neck. ‘I do not think, my Lord, that we are wholly untouched by its filth and humiliations.’
Carnelian was in no mood to back down. ‘If you felt like this why then did you pollute the purity of this place?’
‘I desired to make the commanders share something of our degradation. There, does that please you, Carnelian?’
It was the pain in his eyes that made Carnelian falter. When he opened his mouth to say something more, Osidian chopped: Enough! ‘We are returned to the Commonwealth. Here none dare disobey her Laws.’
Twelve masks looked back at Carnelian and Osidian. They had been donated, at Osidian’s demand, by the Legate and his commanders. He picked one up and turned it into the light. His lips curled. ‘Surely this is the work of an apprentice maskmaker. Look how thick the bridge of the nose is, how crude the nostril flare. And as for the eyes.. .’ He shook his head and picked up another.
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