The Third God sdotc-3

by Ricardo Pinto

  He emerged into a second cabin partially filled with trumpets the size of canoes. Climbing further he came up into the brightness of a third cabin. He clambered up onto the deck. He was pleased to find he did not need to stoop. The front wall was a delicately pierced screen that curved round to open up the front half of each side wall. A single chair faced this screen, upon which sat Osidian. Carnelian had to avoid some contraptions lying on the floor to the side of the chair as he approached the screen. His eyes adjusted to the glare enough for him to be able to see out through the web of fine rods.

  Below him the two flame-pipes pointed forwards. Beyond was the open cothon, piles of empty render sacs forming a ring around its hub. The hub itself was now only a scaffolding rack almost entirely denuded of the flame-pipes it had held. He could smell something burning. Gazing back into the cabin he almost expected to see it smouldering. A legionary had come after them and crept forward to kneel on one side of the chair. Another appeared through the floor and hesitated, a look of agony on his face. Carnelian realized he must be standing in the man’s place. He moved back to stand behind Osidian and the legionary rushed forward to kneel beside the chair, then lifted a tube from the floor and connected it to his helmet.

  ‘The pipes are ready for testing, Master,’ the other legionary announced. Tubes snaked from his helmet also.

  Carnelian noticed both legionaries were crouched over a kind of fork they held before them and from each of which two tubes hung. Osidian’s gloved hands closed on the armrests of the chair. ‘Target the render sacs.’

  The legionary at his right hand leaned down and murmured into one prong of his voice fork. Carnelian heard a sound and looked up to see the flame-pipes lifting.

  ‘Flame,’ said Osidian.

  The legionary spoke again into his voice fork. From the bowels of the tower there rose a choking and gurgling. Then a high whine that made Carnelian grit his teeth. Screaming arcs of sunlight erupted from the mouths of the flame-pipes. A mist of smoke. Then the sacs began detonating. Their fiery brilliance was almost immediately concealed behind a mass of black smoke that boiled into the sky. A wall of heat struck the cabin, carrying a stench as if from a funeral pyre.

  Night had fallen when Carnelian accompanied Osidian on a final inspection of all twenty-four dragons. Smoke obscured the stars. The incessant testing of flame-pipes had hung a pall over the fortress that had turned day to murky twilight. The fires of the Marula camp guttered across the cothon floor, where Osidian had insisted they must all spend the night. Carnelian had agreed to stay with him. He shared Osidian’s anxiety. Now the dragons were fully armed, he did not want them out of his sight. Lit by the torches attached to the piers, the bellies and legs of the monsters formed a continuous portico that could have been the edge of the Isle of Flies. Carnelian shuddered. He gazed up at one of the monsters. Though its upper horns were now bound to its tower with a hawser, its lower horns were still tethered to the cothon floor. The sickly pale tower with its pipes, chimneys, mast and rigging seemed a sinister ship in a fog. For some reason he was recalling the fear Ebeny had felt on that night, long ago in the Plain of Thrones, when she had been chosen from the flesh tithe.

  Carnelian awoke on Heart-of-Thunder’s pier. He and Osidian had slept there so that they could be free of their masks. Dawn was running blood down the mast of the monster’s tower. Osidian was gone. Carnelian put his mask on and rose to face the day.

  He found Osidian down on the cothon cobbles talking to Morunasa. Osidian was instructing the Oracle on how he and the Marula were to seed the fortress with naphtha sacs. Listening, Carnelian was struck by how thoroughly Osidian was planning his act of sabotage. He could not keep silent once Morunasa had gone. ‘Is it necessary to destroy this place so utterly?’

  Osidian’s mask turned its imperious glance on him. ‘This fortress must provide no succour to my Lord Aurum.’

  ‘Is it not rather that you wish to send a message to the Wise?’

  ‘My Lord, you will take your grand-cohort out immediately.’ Osidian indicated the dozens of lesser huimur chained one to the other, each bearing a fully laden render frame. ‘Take our supplies with you to safeguard them. When you reach open ground, deploy your huimur to cover my exit from the city. Do you understand?’

  Carnelian frowned behind his mask, angry at Osidian’s tone. ‘No news of Aurum?’

  Osidian made a gesture of negation, then indicated the brightening sky. ‘The smoke we have been releasing will be visible from a great distance.’

  ‘As far as Osrakum,’ Carnelian said, knowing it must be clearly visible to the nearest watch-towers.

  Indeed, signed Osidian.

  ‘And while I am screening the city, you will be here incinerating this place?’

  ‘I shall do nothing myself.’

  Carnelian could hear the smile in Osidian’s voice. ‘You will make the Lesser Chosen commanders do it so as to fully implicate them.’

  ‘There are more ways to bind others to one’s cause than love.’

  Carnelian would not allow himself to be stung by Osidian’s bitterness. ‘Which huimur is to be mine?’

  Osidian made a summoning gesture and two legionaries rose from among the rest. ‘These are your Righthand and Lefthand. They will guide you to your command, my Lord.’

  ‘Until later then.’ Carnelian indicated to his officers that they should lead and he set off with them across the cothon floor.

  As he approached the dragon Carnelian judged that, if it was less massive than Heart-of-Thunder, it could not be by much. Gazing up between the swelling arches of its eye-ridges, he found the scar glyphs of its name: Earth-is-Strong.

  Carnelian turned to his Lefthand. ‘Have you ridden him long?’

  ‘She, Master,’ the man said, then shrank away at his presumption.

  ‘You were right to correct me, legionary,’ Carnelian said, gazing back at the dragon. He had not thought they could be female.

  ‘Nine years,’ the man was saying when Carnelian’s chuckle interrupted him. He was amused to find he was detecting feminine curves in the monster’s horns, her beak, the sweep of her crest. Her lower right horn was just a stump, so she really only had three.

  Carnelian became aware of the legionaries’ confusion. ‘Come, let’s take her out.’

  He followed them to the rear of a pier, where they opened a door for him. He dismissed them and began to climb the stair alone. No doubt its form was intended to remind a commander of the Law. He used its spiralling path to compose his mind. He must be careful how he managed those under his command. When he reached the summit, he saw before him the bone pyramid of her tower upon her massive back. He could not help feeling a stab of elation that she was his.

  His officers were waiting, kneeling. He passed between them, then crossed the brassman into the tower. He surveyed the gloom through the slits of his mask. Men were kneeling before the furnaces, beside the flame-pipe counterweight chairs, between the spokes of the capstan. Carnelian noted the hawser that emerged from a hole in the deck, wound itself round the spindle of the capstan, then disappeared through another hole on the other side of the cabin. It was this hawser, attached to the upper horns of the dragon, that allowed her to be steered.

  He climbed to the next deck. Framed by the brass of the huge trumpets, this cabin had been turned into a storeroom and barracks. He continued up to the command deck, where he took his place upon its chair. His officers came up behind him, then knelt to either side and began connecting tubes to their helmets. His arms rested naturally along those of the chair. Its bone seemed polished ivory. He raised his gaze to look out through the latticework screen at the cothon. Below him were the gleaming spars of his flame-pipes. Further down still the slope of Earth-is-Strong’s head sweeping out into the scythe and stump of her lower horns, into the hook of her beak.

  He realized he did not know what to do next. He considered asking one of his officers, but decided it could not be that difficult. ‘Take her out.’


  His Lefthand put his mouth to his tubed voice fork and murmured something, then lifted his head. Nothing happened. Carnelian was beginning to feel they were waiting for him to give another command, when he noticed some movement down on the dragon’s lower horns. Men were now sitting astride the brass cuffs, to which were lashed the tether ropes. Responding to some signal, both simultaneously leaned over and released the ropes. Earth-is-Strong’s head came loose. Carnelian flinched as she swung it up. For a moment he imagined her bony frill would shatter the tower he was in to shards. She let forth a cry like tearing metal. The tower shuddered. Then it heeled over to one side, causing Carnelian to grip the arms of the chair. The tower surged forward. The impact of the monster’s footfall jarred up into Carnelian’s head. The tower began another surge, toppling in the opposite direction. To his relief, as Earth-is-Strong got into her stride, the movement gradually smoothed like a ship riding a swell.

  They were heading straight for the centre of the cothon. ‘The outer gate,’ he said, quickly.

  The Lefthand jerked a nod and muttered into his voice fork: ‘Starboard for two counts.’

  Carnelian felt the turn in his stomach. Ahead, the cothon was slipping right to left.

  ‘Shall I give the signal for the others to follow us, Master?’ the Lefthand asked.

  Carnelian managed only a nod.

  The legionary leaned to his voice fork and began murmuring instructions. Carnelian’s curiosity was piqued. ‘Who’re you talking to?’

  The Lefthand looked up, startled. When he saw it was a question and not a complaint, he pointed up. ‘Our mirrorman on the roof, Master.’

  Carnelian nodded, imagining something like a small heliograph up there. Earth-is-Strong was now pounding directly towards the outer gate of the cothon. As they approached, it opened before them. Soon its brass was glimmering past on either side. Then they began moving through the fortress towards the watch-tower that guarded its gate. Edifices slid past. Men scurried from their path. The fortress gate grated as it lifted into the retaining wall. Soon the shadow of the watch-tower fell over them.

  ‘Master, shall we give warning of our coming?’ said the Righthand.

  Carnelian released the arm of the chair and raised his hand in affirmation. They were exiting the fortress. He could see the mosaic of squares and lozenges made up by the roofs of the mudbrick tenements. A trumpet roared beneath Carnelian’s feet. He could feel its vibration through the deck. It blared again, its harsh, ragged voice echoing back off the buildings as Earth-is-Strong slid between them.

  Carnelian had grown tired of watching the city slip by. His focus was turned inwards as he brooded on what was to come. He was startled by a rumbling like thunder that came from somewhere far behind him. For a while he heard its echoes getting lost among the alleys below.

  ‘What was that?’ he asked his Lefthand.

  Staring, the man shook his head. Carnelian rose, swaying with the deck, searching the rear wall of the cabin for windows. There were portholes to either side of the mast. Finding his sea legs, he strode to one. Another explosion sounded as he fumbled at the bolt securing its cover. Then he had it open and was looking back along the road. Beyond the long line of dragons following his, a frowning black cloud was rising as it fed on wavering tentacles of smoke. As he watched, there was a flash as if the sun had been caught suddenly upon some vast mirror. Moments later he was hit by a detonation that made him recoil from the porthole. He returned to it and watched the smoke rising. Suddenly, the branches of the watch-tower were wreathed in flames. It looked like one of the mother trees in the Koppie burning.

  As Earth-is-Strong took them through the gate of Qunoth out onto the blinding expanse of the raised road, Carnelian brought her to a halt. Beyond the road there spread what appeared to be a vast midden. Carnelian leaned forward on his command chair. He could not imagine where so much rubbish could have come from. Then he noticed movement, as if the whole mouldering mass were writhing with maggots, and realized what he was looking at must be a suburb outside the city walls. Beyond these shanties he was sure he could see where their brown shaded into the red of the Guarded Land.

  ‘Take us west along the road.’

  The Lefthand murmured into his voice fork. Then the cabin lurched into movement as Earth-is-Strong swung westwards.

  They pounded along the road that poured its limestone west to vanish in the haze. The road was so wide it easily accommodated Earth-is-Strong without blocking the flow of other traffic. Having made sure that Aurum was nowhere in sight, Carnelian distracted himself by peering down at the patchwork of the crowds. Here and there it was dense, but mostly it barely skinned the stone. Many faces turned up in wonder to watch the dragons go by. Others were looking south to where black clouds were rising from the tip of Qunoth. Though he had been hoping to recapture something of the excitement he had felt on the Great Sea Road, it was hopeless. During that journey he had been down there among the bustle and the stench. He had been one of them. Now it took effort to see it as anything other than a roughly patterned tapestry.

  After they had left the shanties behind, he kept a look-out for a ramp. When they came to one, he ordered Earth-is-Strong off the road and had commands sent to the rest of his grand-cohort to follow. Descending the ramp, the dragon sat back a little on her haunches, so that, on the whole, the cabin remained level. Soon after she reached the earth, it seemed she was wading into a red sea. The billows of dust she churned up soon rose high enough to submerge her head.

  When a message was received that the last dragon had left the road, Carnelian sent one back commanding that each should heave to, facing west in line abreast. When Earth-is-Strong had completed her turn, the cabin stilled. He could hear the creaking of the tower, of its rigging, of its flexing mast. As the dust settled, her head emerged like a reef from an ebbing tide. Soon it was quiet enough for Carnelian to hear the breathing of his officers.

  Carnelian was drowsing when a remote murmuring brought him fully awake. The sound was coming from his Lefthand’s helmet.

  ‘What is it?’ Carnelian demanded.

  ‘A message from Heart-of-Thunder, Master.’

  ‘What does it say?’

  The man looked disconcerted. ‘Join me.’

  Carnelian returned to the porthole in the rear wall of the cabin. He had to move round to another to gain a view of the city they had left behind. Smoke, rooted in the fortress of Qunoth, had grown into a black tree under whose branches the city and the adjoining land lay in shadow. He searched for Osidian and his dragons upon the road, but could not find them. Then movement at the corner of his eye made him turn his mask slits away from the city. There they were, beneath the smoke, like a flotilla of ships ploughing a course directly through the midst of the shanties.

  HINTERLAND

  For more than one thousand years the Land has been dying. Decline began eight hundred years before that, when population pressure led to the Great Famine. At that time, forced to abandon fallowing, we began the development of irrigation. Consequently, most of the Land has come to yield two crops a year. However, the soil is subject to an ever-declining fertility. We have been able to compensate for this by a variety of methods. With the ongoing refinement of our systems we are confident we can postpone collapse for an indeterminate time.

  (extract from a beadcord manual of the Wise of the Domain Lands)

  Red land gave way to green. Through the bone screen Carnelian watched the rolling dust break upon the hri field, then Earth-is-Strong emerged as if they were coming ashore. Ahead of him the line of Osidian’s dragons stretched away into the monotonous grey-green distance patterned to the horizon with sartlar kraals. Several times he detected movement in their overseer towers. The sartlar themselves, who worked the Guarded Land in vast numbers, crawled everywhere like fleas.

  As they penetrated ever deeper into the hinterland his command chair rocked Carnelian in and out of sleep. Half awake, he imagined he was coasting along a shore. The pounding rhythm of th
e dragon’s footfalls seemed the sound of breakers.

  A voice woke him. Lifting his masked face, he saw his Lefthand raising his hands to him almost in prayer. ‘Master, a signal’s been passed down the line from Heart-of-Thunder commanding that we should form a laager for the night.’

  Outside, the long shadows cast by the overseer towers showed how late it was. ‘Give the commands.’

  The Lefthand touched his forehead to the deck before speaking into his voice fork. ‘Hard to port.’

  Earth-is-Strong began veering left. Gazing out through the port edge of the screen Carnelian watched the line of dragons sweeping round towards the sun. Far away the massive shape of Heart-of-Thunder was beginning to eclipse it. For moments his tower was a silhouette haloed with gold, then the sun slipped free, so bright Carnelian was forced to squint. Another dragon moved to obscure it. He watched the mesmerizing pulse of dragons passing until his own was moving into that part of the arc in which the sun was permanently obscured. He settled back into his chair feeling the slow pound of Earth-is-Strong’s footfalls as if it were his own heartbeat. Then, suddenly, the cabin was facing due west and he was blind in its radiance. Through his eyelids, he saw only red. Slowly the sun moved to his right until they were moving south and it was possible to reopen his eyes.

  At last the constant swaying of the cabin slowed but, at the end of each swing, the deck leaned at a more extreme angle than before, so that Carnelian had to grip the arms of his chair. A couple more swings and then the cabin settled upright.

  The Lefthand spoke into his voice fork. ‘Hard to starboard.’

  The tower rattled and shook as Earth-is-Strong turned into the sun, flooding the cabin with incandescent gold. The Righthand put his mouth to his voice fork and murmured something. Squinting, Carnelian noticed movement down at the dragon’s horns. Ropes were being cast to the ground. Men grabbing these ran with them to where others were hammering spikes into the earth. Earth-is-Strong’s head was being tethered.