He saw how they would not look at him and felt a stab of shame that they were feeling let down. He wanted to take Poppy’s hand, to tell her that her belief in him had been justified, but he had nothing with which to back that up. He glanced at Fern, who was still impassive. He resisted an urge to tell them that very likely he was going to his death. That seemed a poor way to restore their faith in him. Besides, it might only serve to have them attempt to persuade him not to go and that he did not want. His heart ached with the need to save them. That at least was something that might be in his power.
Poppy looked up at him, her lips pursed. ‘Perhaps it’s for the best.’
‘Have you told the Master?’ asked Krow.
At Carnelian’s nod, the youth gazed up at the watch-tower with fearful eyes.
‘I want you all to come with me,’ Carnelian said.
Krow jerked back round to look at him. ‘Won’t he try to stop us?’
‘He might. That is why we must go immediately.’
Poppy fixed Carnelian with a stare, glanced at Fern, then back with her fingers tracing a chameleon over her face. He understood and said it for her, but looking towards Fern. ‘You’ll all have to join my household. I’m not making any promises, but I believe there’s a chance that you’ll survive this.’
Fern showed no reaction – not then, nor after first Poppy, then Krow declared they would follow Carnelian. All of them were now looking at Fern, waiting.
‘Fern,’ said Carnelian at last, ‘will you come with us?’
Fern only frowned and Carnelian felt for him. He was in an impossible position. Had he not already submitted to fighting under the command of the murderer of his people and this because he could at least tell himself he was fighting against the Masters who were the oppressors of all the world? Now he was being asked to abandon even that shaky cause, for what? To become, at best, a servant of the Masters in Osrakum?’
Poppy crouched at his side and, grasping his hand, begged him to come. ‘Because we love you. We all do,’ she said and turned round and got Krow and Carnelian’s nod. ‘We’re the only family you’ve got left.’
Carnelian wanted to say that this was not true. That Fern had cousins where they were going, but he bit his tongue. Fern’s head sank. ‘I’ll come.’
They crept up through the stables. Carnelian had decided they would attract less attention if they went on foot. He was sure they would soon catch up with the embassy. When they reached the cistern level, he remembered the homunculi. He had not seen them for days. He realized that, even if he could find them, they would hardly wish to return to their masters. They would just have to take their chances with Osidian.
As they came round the monolith onto the leftway, a shadow blocked their path. From his shape and sour odour, Carnelian knew it was Morunasa. Fearing the man had been sent by Osidian, he reached for his sword.
Morunasa’s sharpened teeth appeared in a grin. ‘And where would you all be going?’
Carnelian saw no point in lying. ‘We’re deserting.’
Morunasa’s smile widened as he moved aside to let them pass. Uneasy, Carnelian led them off north along the leftway, unhappy that he was leaving Sthax and the rest of the Marula warriors at the mercy of Osidian and the Oracles.
As they walked they listened out for any pursuit. None came and soon the glimmer of the camp was too dim to see and only the pinpricks of the naphtha flares showed where the watch-tower lay. On they walked, nothing but their footfalls disturbing the eerie silence. The stars filled the heavens with their frost. All around, the land lay black. Hardly a breeze stirred the night air. Far ahead a star lower than all the others suggested the position of the next watch-tower. Of the Wise and their embassy there was no sign. As they continued it seemed that, for all their walking, they were always lost in the same place. Carnelian began to regret his decision not to bring aquar.
The hem of the eastern sky was sucking up the first paleness of the dawn when they saw a watch-tower stark against the indigo like some monstrous baobab. This was the third tower they had come to. They had been walking all night. Having come within sight of the radiance that the embassy were carrying along the road, they had followed it, keeping their distance. They were weary and it was with some relief Carnelian saw a flickering spilling out from the watch-tower onto the leftway over which it loomed. ‘Thank the Mother, they’re making camp at last.’
Striding towards the cordon of Ichorians, Carnelian was relieved when they fell to their knees. ‘I have business with the Suth Lord who travels among you,’ he said, affecting a Master’s tone of command.
Though he had hoped they would obey him, he was made uneasy when their cordon opened without anyone even being sent back to get instructions. It gave him the unsettling impression he was expected. He hesitated only for a moment. There was no going back. Gesturing for the others to follow him, he moved into their camp.
The untattooed halves of Ichorian faces floated in the darkness like so many crescent moons, but Carnelian quickly lost interest in them. Just beyond the tower, the leftway disappeared. He could see the pale edge of the road catching the first light, but the leftway that should have flanked it was simply not there. He could see no disturbance in the earth, no rubble. It seemed just as if it had never existed. What he saw next made him forget everything else; halved by the road, a great disc lay to the north, spread out glimmering beneath the forbidding blackness of Osrakum’s Sacred Wall. It could be nothing but a military camp, but in comparison with those Carnelian had seen before it was a pomegranate to one of its seeds.
His brothers glanced up at him nervously as he entered the watch-tower atrium. He bade them rise from their knees and their faces lit up, knowing his voice. Uncertainty returned as they saw Carnelian’s companions walking in behind him.
‘Father?’
‘He sleeps,’ said a familiar gruff voice. When the speaker appeared from behind a pillar, Carnelian did not at first recognize him. He had changed so much and yet Carnelian saw the man he had known in the ruin that remained. It was Grane, his eldest brother, his eyes put out and replaced with stones. Carnelian did not feel comfortable staring at him, even though Grane could not be aware of it. Shocked, angry, Carnelian wanted to know how Grane had come to be blinded. He became aware of the pain in his other brothers’ eyes. ‘I’ll not disturb Father.’
Grane nodded, clearly relieved. Carnelian felt a pang of worry for his father’s condition.
‘Who’re these others?’ said Tain.
‘Are these your brothers, Carnie?’ Carnelian turned to Poppy. He could not help smiling behind his mask. She was standing her ground, stating her claim of intimacy with him by using his diminutive. Tain and Keal were staring at her, wondering who she was. Carnelian extended his arm to take in Fern and Krow as well as Poppy. ‘These’re as much my family as you are, Tain.’
Of his brothers, only Grane did not frown. Carnelian introduced Poppy and Krow. Then he indicated Fern. ‘This is Fern, your cousin.’
At that, even Grane looked shocked.
‘His mother was Ebeny’s elder sister.’
Tain and Keal gaped at Fern. Carnelian saw that even Fern’s moroseness was lightening a little with curiosity. He looked from one to the other, enjoying their interest in each other. He fancied he could even see a common resemblance. Then it occurred to him that Fern was more closely related to his brothers than was he. That made him feel sad, then angry.
‘Seraph?’
An ammonite had appeared at the foot of the ladder that led up into the tower. ‘My masters wish to converse with you, Seraph.’
Carnelian was about to object but twisting in the surface of the man’s silver mask were shadowy greens and blacks. He glanced at the Ichorians who had escorted them into the tower. The last thing he wanted was any bloodshed. Besides, he knew he would have to confront the Wise. Now was as good a time as any.
He looked towards his brothers. ‘Grane, please take care of my friends. I’ll return as soo
n as I can.’
His brother gave a solemn nod. Carnelian noticed that Krow had extended a protective arm around Poppy. Fern had regained his grim demeanour. Carnelian felt content they would sort things out among themselves.
As he approached the ammonite, the man moved aside. Reaching the ladder Carnelian glanced up into the tower and saw a complex pattern of light seeping in from the various levels. Even through his nosepads he could smell burning and myrrh. His heart fluttered at what lay up there, but he began to climb.
‘We have been expecting you, Suth Carnelian,’ said the homunculus.
Four capsules stood open against the walls. One was empty and its occupant was looming behind the homunculus that had spoken. The horns of the Grand Sapient’s silver mask were almost forking the ceiling. Carnelian recognized the emerald finial of the staff the homunculus was holding before him, which was carved into the form of a man.
‘Immortality.’
The homunculus murmured and a little later its master inclined its almost featureless face. In their capsules, the other Grand Sapients remained as motionless as the dead.
The myrrh-thick air had already made Carnelian queasy with anxiety. The unexpected presence of another Grand Sapient quickened his heart to fear. He felt in his bones that Immortality was there because of him. ‘My Lords, if you vow to reinstate my father in his House as you promised him, then-’
Another high homunculus voice broke in. ‘That depends on what you have to tell us.’
The staff it held proclaimed its master to be Law. ‘That was not what I had- I shall tell you what I know, but it might be less than you had hoped for.’
‘Perhaps you know more than you imagine.’ This was Lands’ homunculus.
‘You will submit to an examination,’ said Immortality.
Carnelian only became aware he was backing away when he felt the door of the cell against his back. ‘Examination?’
‘Disrobe.’ The face of the homunculus was impassive, but a sharpness in its voice seemed to convey the menace that was in its master’s mind.
Carnelian felt trapped. ‘I don’t understand. Why?’
‘You will find it more comfortable if you submit willingly.’
The voice seemed to be dissecting him. He took in the four homunculi. He did not believe they could easily overpower him. Immortality’s bones seemed as if they would snap under the merest impact. The other Grand Sapients did not appear to have enough strength even to leave their capsules. Carnelian felt the door at his back. He could turn, flee, except that the tower was filled with ammonites and surrounded by Ichorians. Besides, there was his father to think of, Fern and Poppy and Krow, his brothers.
He felt the thick silk of his military cloak, then pulled it off. It fell to the floor like a shadow. Carefully he released himself from his commander’s leathers. They fell away like discarded skin. The ritual bindings were stained beneath his arms, down his chest, his crotch, his inner thighs, his feet. The cloth gave off an odour of stale sweat that even the myrrh could not conceal.
‘Approach us.’
Carnelian gazed at Immortality’s mirror mask and obeyed. As he came close, the Grand Sapient released his hold on his homunculus and his pale hands opened to receive Carnelian, who shuddered as they floated towards him like colourless moths. One finger then another settled upon his chest. Quick as a serpent, the other hand stung his neck. Carnelian reached up instinctively, then fire poured into the roots of his veins. His flesh felt as if it was fraying apart; his bones melting to oil. He was on the floor. A tearing sound and the surface of his body seemed to be releasing its tension. Like a ripe fruit spilling its seeds.
‘Why did you summon the sartlar?’
The words formed a perfect calligraphy like smoke and could not be denied, yet Carnelian struggled to fight against their compulsion. It was his own voice that betrayed him, though not completely. ‘To use them against Molochite.’
In some remote chamber in his mind, Carnelian smiled. They would ask him about tactics, but he could give them only emptiness in reply.
‘Where did the notion come from?’
Carnelian rushed away, closing doors behind him so they could not follow. An arch of pain formed inside his shell like a trumpet blast, forcing a groan out against his will.
‘From where?’
He tried to hide, but then he was exposed naked in a coruscating flash of pain. His voice like an animal’s. ‘A dream.’
‘Describe this dream.’
Carnelian tried to choke his throat, but the words poured out like water between his fingers. He relived the dream through his own voice. The blood tide was pulling him out to sea, but he was caught, like a jelly fish impaled upon a stick. Questions probing his soft, exposed, transparent innards.
‘Calculation on the basis of the brothers’ cusp birth remain stubbornly inconclusive.’
‘Could this shed light?’
‘Confirm his birth date.’
‘No correlation.’
‘Can it be incidental?’
‘Something is missing.’
‘Shall we terminate him?’
‘Dare we? They will have Their price.’
‘There I could examine him more minutely.’
‘What could he reveal in Their hands?’
‘Is it conceivable They could extract more than we?’
‘Hatred blinds Them.’
‘But if he dies?’
‘Then he is not the missing factor.’
‘Besides, by intervening we might have sundered his connection to the crisis thread.’
‘Certainly perturbed its stream.’
‘Perhaps he is, after all, irrelevant.’
THE IRON HOUSE
Run, run from Iron House
Though he’ll always catch you
Turn him round and knock him down
You’re all locked up.
(a Chosen nursery rhyme)
Cramp twisting in his thighs forced Carnelian conscious. He clamped his teeth against the pain. The spasm releasing allowed him to open his eyes. His chin dug into his chest which felt as heavy as a plate of lead. Struggling against the weight he managed one breath. Then another. A smell of blood, perhaps his own. He lifted his head to remove its added burden from his chest. The movement was arrested by a tearing, rending in his shoulders. Blearily, he saw a flickering filigree of light giving form to shapes vaguely human in the gloom. Brightness was glowing from below. Carnelian became aware of his own skin and followed it down to his distended belly, his genitals in the fork of his splayed legs, his feet spreading on ledges of red flecked black. Iron. Rusty, precious iron. His ankles bound to the sky-metal with leather thongs. The iron was draining the heat from his flesh. He heaved his chest up for another breath. He groaned as he forced his head round against the agony. His white arm ran up along more iron to a bound wrist. His body betrayed him and his head fell, punching into his sternum. He struggled for more air even as his mind reeled, flailing as he tried to make sense of why he was bound naked upon an iron cross.
Myrrh and the fresh blood smell of the iron seeping with other rare scents in through his nostrils made him strive to lift again the boulder of his head. Balancing upon the blade of unbearable pain, his gaze flickered, searching for any understanding of where he was. In the gloom, a pattern of bright flecks spattering over human forms. In the corner of his eye he could see the screen through which the light was filtering. Achieving focus, he became able to distinguish the shapes of each face pushed up against it. Sinuous markings broke up their outlines, making it difficult to see where one ended and another began. Subtle jewel fire sparkled at ears, nostrils, glimmered around throats, over breasts. A woman eyed with stones that had dark fire at their cores had her ear turned, waiting, into the light. A beautiful boy, his head slick with feathers, regarded Carnelian with a smirk, eyes devouring him. Carnelian wanted to cross his arms over his body, hide, find shelter. All he could do was collapse his head, the first boulder in an a
valanche. His knees seemed as soft as warmed wax. His legs trembled, threatening to buckle. His guts and organs were swelling his abdomen so that he felt he was ripe, that at any moment he would spill his innards out upon the floor. His arms, two leashes of sinew, snapped taut, stopped him falling. Hanging on them he was sure they must tear.
A voice cut through his collapse; mellifluous, a pouring of honeyed Quya syllables. The peculiar pronouns it was using forced themselves through his pulsing agony. In the first person, declined in the divine mode, dual. Only the Twin Gods spoke thus, or their incarnation on Earth. A God Emperor speaking? Molochite!
Carnelian focused his attention like a needle through the raw pain.
‘… his rebellion pitiful. Though he managed to destroy the Red Ichorians, what does that demonstrate except the impiety of their sending? A folly in which the Wise and those of you who call yourselves the Great conspired, led by incompetent Imago, betrayed by perfidious Aurum, came inevitably to disaster. Are We surprised?’
As he listened, Carnelian’s gaze had been crawling across the contorted, writhing surfaces of the floor. He frowned, unable to understand what it was he was seeing.
‘So have We been forced to come out from the Hidden Land seeking with Our power to heal this wounded Commonwealth.’
Carnelian lost hold of the beautiful voice as his eyes tried to unravel the exquisite traceries of the pavement upon which his cross was set. He lifted his head enough to allow his gaze to scale the wall to where it emerged into the light. Ribbed stone? Through its peculiar, dark patina, he saw evidence it was assembled from fragments. Bonework? An Ancestor House? He squeezed the confusion drop by drop. This was no barbarian work. Besides, it was pocked all over with holes. The ribbing curved up from the floor. Was it possible he was in the hold of some immense bone boat?
The cross trembled under his skin to the rhythm of feet approaching. Shadowy forms swam into his vision, crablike, each with several arms and legs and double-headed. Hands, some pale, some so densely tattooed they seemed veined ebony, curled into the handles that grew from his cross. He knew these odd but graceful creatures. Syblings: the joined twins of the elite cohorts of the Sinistral Ichorians.
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