The Third God sdotc-3

by Ricardo Pinto

  As the homunculus echoed Carnelian’s words, the leathery face rose out of the hollow in which it lay. ‘Does my Lord imagine we do not know it is Marula who do my Lord Nephron’s bidding now?’

  Carnelian felt panic rising.

  ‘Not only they, but the vermin recently come up from the land below…’

  Carnelian felt as if he were only now becoming aware of the web in which he was caught. He fought to calm himself. To struggle would only ensnare him more completely.

  The Grand Sapient creased the horned-ring branded into his forehead. ‘Though we have not yet determined why they would seek such futile and self-destructive defiance.’

  This doubt was the first vulnerability Carnelian had detected in his inquisitor. ‘Perhaps they seek revenge against the atrocities recently visited upon them by my Lord Aurum.’

  ‘So in this case you admit they defy us of their own will?’

  Carnelian recoiled. His resistance had served only to condemn the Lepers further. It seemed the ground around him was scattered with broken glass.

  More movement at the homunculus’ throat. ‘Though you may have found a way up into the Guarded Land unknown to us, be certain we shall find it, plug it and chastise those who showed it to you.

  ‘You may have obtained control of one of our legions, but do you imagine it will be enough to defeat us, who have more than forty we can wield against you? Do you really hope to prevail with your one where even Kakanxahe, with all the legions at his back, failed? Have no doubt, Suth Carnelian: your rebellion will end in failure. We seek merely to limit unnecessary destruction and bloodshed.’

  The Grand Sapient leaned forward enough that light welled into his eyepits, which were revealed to have a reddish hue. ‘Help me put this madness to an end, child.’

  Carnelian stared at the red pits.

  ‘Though Nephron has been wronged, what has been done cannot be undone. For him there is no hope. The moment his brother donned the Masks, Nephron’s life was forfeit. You, however, can still be saved. Though you have transgressed against the Law, there are loopholes in it that I could help you exploit.’

  Carnelian shook his head, mesmerized by the mummy face. He would not save himself if that meant leaving all those he loved to perish.

  Though eyeless, the Grand Sapient seemed to gaze at him. ‘The God Emperor might be grateful enough to gift you a bloodpure bride.’

  Carnelian’s expression must have been relayed to the Grand Sapient, for it receded up into the shadows of the capsule hollow. ‘I could see to it that you were given the ruling of your House.’

  Those words struck at Carnelian’s heart. ‘Would you have me supplant my own father?’

  ‘No need for that, he has been deposed.’

  ‘Deposed?’ Carnelian said, feeling pressure in his chest.

  ‘Ykoriana had the Clave depose him.’

  ‘In revenge for his opposing her-’ For a moment Carnelian felt relief, thinking that of all possible punishments, deposal was the lightest. Then he realized that, without him there, Spinel and the Second Lineage would have become masters of House Suth. Ykoriana’s revenge was typically cruel.

  ‘We know you have other reasons to hate the Empress.’

  Carnelian stared up at the shadowy mummy.

  ‘We know, though have been unable to prove, she was behind your kidnapping. She and the Brotherhood of the Wheel who captured you in the Yden.’

  The pain of the news about his father was combining in Carnelian with the anguish of that night that seemed now so long ago. Rage rose in him against the agent of all their woes. ‘The Hanuses admitted they were her instrument?’

  The Grand Sapient gave a slight nod. ‘There have been reasons to suspect their involvement. How did the Brotherhood remove you from Osrakum?’

  ‘In funerary urns.’

  The Grand Sapient released his hold on the homunculus, who half-turned, perhaps startled at the separation. Watching the pale hands return to coil about the creature’s throat Carnelian realized this was something the Grand Sapient had not known. Again the feeling of being ensnared. What else had he given away?

  The homunculus began to speak again. ‘You have good reason to feel grievance against her. She has taken much from you.’

  Carnelian gazed at the Grand Sapient, who presently became aware of his wariness. ‘It is she who has coarsened your skin, child. She who has given it the taint of the impure. You will never be free of that scar about your neck.’

  Instinctively, Carnelian’s hand rose to touch the scar, but his fingers struck bandages. His scar was concealed. Of course the ammonites of the purgatory had witnessed him naked. His unease flared to horror as he remembered the homunculus at the foot of his bed. Had the Grand Sapient examined him? That thought left him feeling violated.

  ‘Even now she swells powerful on your suffering. We too have cause to hate her, child. Though it is her son who wears the Masks, it is she who rules. This is why we have sought to bring Nephron to Osrakum alive. If he accuses her, we can pull her down.’

  ‘And then you would have him slain and use his blood to anoint his brother’s Masks.’

  ‘That is the Law.’

  ‘The Law.’

  ‘Without it, there would be chaos.’

  Carnelian sensed how the Grand Sapient lusted to have Osidian in his power. Though his heart misgave at what he must do, he could not pass up this chance to negotiate while he still could. ‘I will give him to you, but I have a price…’

  ‘Name it.’

  ‘Your vow that the Wise will take no vengeance on the barbarians who have been involved in this affair; not one of them is to be harmed.’

  The Grand Sapient leaned forward again as if peering at Carnelian, who endured the regard of those eyepits. The Grand Sapient’s silence was more terrible than his borrowed voice. He remained motionless for so long, hope began to well up in Carnelian that was almost enough to eclipse his ache at the thought of betraying Osidian.

  At last the fingers started moving at the homunculus’ throat. ‘You ask nothing for yourself?’

  Almost Carnelian answered: This is for myself, but his heart warned him against it. Instead he considered what might happen to him once he had given them Osidian. In the Three Lands, there was only one place he could live. He imagined returning to Osrakum. Hope lit in him that he could save his father. Mentally, he shook his head. It was already too complicated. Ykoriana’s fall would have to be enough upon which to build his father’s return to supremacy in their coomb.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said.

  The Grand Sapient seemed to regard him for an age. Carnelian felt that he could almost see the thoughts flitting through that mutilated head.

  ‘Of course I cannot accede to your request. The Commonwealth depends for her existence on terror. Without this, her fabric would unravel. Her subjects must know the Law to be absolute. They must have no doubt whatever that their transgressions will be punished mercilessly. To pardon even one of these barbarians their sins would be to put the Commonwealth into greater peril than that which you and the Lord Nephron pose.’

  Carnelian’s hope was quenched by flooding disappointment, but he felt also relief. ‘Then you leave me no choice, my Lord.’ He could not pretend to play the game further. ‘I will fight you, though I do not know how or to what end it will bring me.’

  The Grand Sapient’s fingers kneaded instructions into the homunculus’ neck. ‘Then Nephron’s fall shall encompass your own.’ The pale hands let go the creature’s throat and the Grand Sapient folded them over his chest.

  Carnelian stared. The Grand Sapient resembled nothing as much as he did a huskman. Certainly, he seemed no more alive. Carnelian backed away, then turned and made his way back to the stair. He was relieved that he did not have to betray Osidian, but the greatest comfort was the removal of doubt. At least now he knew exactly who to fight.

  ‘He has to come,’ Carnelian muttered to himself. He had persuaded Sthax to go and fetch Fern from
the cothon. The Maruli had wanted to know what was going on, but Carnelian could not even begin to explain. In the end he had told him that he did not know. He had not lied. The only thing he was certain of was that he could not handle Legions on his own. Osidian must be informed of his discovery. Carnelian had considered making the journey to see him, but he did not dare leave the Grand Sapient unattended. Were Legions to emerge from the vault Carnelian was not confident he could stop Aurum’s household obeying him. He could not trust the quaestor, who was the Grand Sapient’s creature, and to send Sthax with a letter would be to expose him to the scrutiny of Morunasa.

  He gazed anxiously towards the outer door. Fern had to come. There was no one else he could trust, no one who had such a good chance to get through to Osidian.

  He peered through the haze of myrrh smoke rising from censers into the corner of the chamber. Several times already he thought he had seen movement there. A smothered gleam that might have been a homunculus mask or the shadows coalescing into the sinister form of the Grand Sapient. Carnelian was frantic that Legions would escape. He wished he had had the presence of mind to look for other exits from the vault. He could go down there now, but he feared the Grand Sapient’s voice, his logic, his power of command. He had no illusions. He had managed to withstand the Grand Sapient’s arguments only because his mask of reasonableness had slipped momentarily to reveal the bleak mercilessness behind.

  He glanced again towards the outer door. What was taking Fern so long? His gaze was drawn, unwillingly, back to the dark corner. He remembered the capsules. Those could not be native to this fortress. A creeping horror rose in him as he contemplated how the Grand Sapient might have travelled here in one. And who were his two companions? And was it a coincidence that he should have ended up occupying a chamber directly above the vault? He shuddered as again he imagined the Grand Sapient standing over him as he slept. Shuddered as he imagined those pale fingers touching him while he dreamed dark dreams.

  When Fern entered, Carnelian could only stare. He seemed smaller than Carnelian remembered. A little older? He reminded himself that it was amazing Fern was there at all. The scars the fire had left on the side of his neck were like the baroquing on Ichorian armour. Carnelian wondered if it was the sartlar salve that had healed them so well. Though he could not see his shoulder and arm, Fern did not seem to him disfigured. Indeed, Carnelian was only too aware of how even the Leper shrouds could not conceal how well made he was.

  ‘Kneel, barbarian,’ an ammonite hissed.

  Carnelian had forgotten the ammonites who had entered before Fern. He must remember where he was; who he was. He dismissed them with a harsh hand. They turned their masks to him, hesitated, but then retreated, bowing. He held his breath until they had left and closed the doors behind them. It was only then he became aware Fern was staring at him. He felt his gaze like a blow. His entire body reacted. He wanted so much to approach him, to touch him. The grim intensity in Fern’s eyes would have been enough to stay him even had he not proceeded to reinforce the difference in their rank. ‘Master.’

  He did not even bow his head, so that the word had not a hint of subservience, but only a defiance that filled Carnelian with a wrenching fear for him. Brass glimmering at his throat was even worse. That collar proved Fern a deserter from the legions, which on its own rendered his life forfeit. Carnelian breathed deep, centring himself. The business he had summoned him for must be transacted as briskly as possible. ‘I need you to go to the Master and take him a message.’

  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 retur
ned 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.