Wife, you are the earth the giver of gifts the blessed mother of blood.
Come, sate my hunger.
(from a marriage ritual of the Plainsmen)
Carnelian was woken by Fern. 'Do you still want to come with me?'
It was too dark for Carnelian to see his friend's face.
'Yes,' he whispered, his heart still aching, wondering how long it was until dawn. As he made to rise, a hand reached up to pull him back.
'Where are you going?' asked Osidian.
Carnelian was glad of the gloom that hid his face. He explained the decision he had made to share Fern's punishment. Osidian withdrew his hand and turned away. Carnelian stared at his back, trapped between his promise to Fern and his feeling that he was deserting Osidian.
'I brought you some breakfast,' said Fern, pushing something into Carnelian's hand. He peered at the two crumbly discs.
'Rootflour cakes,' Fern said as he gave Carnelian two more. 'Give those to your brother.'
Carnelian leaned over Osidian to put the cakes down on the ground in front of him. 'One of us at least must work,' he whispered.
When Osidian gave no response, Carnelian rose. At least he had been spared having to face Whin. 'Lead the way,' he said, to the shadow that was Fern.
As he followed him down the Blooding rootstair, Carnelian's thoughts remained behind with Osidian. He only became aware he was chewing the cake when it began to flood his mouth with its peculiar, bitter taste.
A breeze was blowing from the indigo east when they reached the foot of the rootstair. A group of shadows were gathered in front of a wicker gate speaking in low tones with women's voices. The gate creaking open let enough light in under the arching cedars to allow the women to notice Carnelian; as he could tell by the raised tempo of their talk. Fern pushed through their midst so that Carnelian was forced to follow. He sensed their wonder as he moved through them.
Crossing the earthbridge with Fern, he was glad the women remained behind. The easterly was ruffling a swell into the ferngarden. Soon they were walking alongside a drainage ditch beneath the dark, overhanging masses of the magnolias. Laughter carrying towards them over the sighing of the ferns seemed to be the cause of Fern redoubling their pace. Carnelian followed him across another, smaller earthbridge over a forking of the ditch, the prongs of which enclosed a meadow dominated by a huge tree with leaves the colour of old blood. As they crossed this meadow, Carnelian snatched glimpses of Fern's face. Its grim expression did not invite conversation.
The meadow ended at a double wall of soaring magnolias between which ran one of the concentric ditches Carnelian had seen from the summit of the Crag. Taking them through the first line of trees, Fern found yet another bridge. As he stepped onto it, Carnelian could see that the roots of the magnolias buttressed the sides of the ditch so thickly they had forced it into a jagged course. Gazing off to the Koppie's outmost ditch, Carnelian was sure the trees defining its edges were not so ancient. It gave him something to ask Fern.
In response to his question, his friend came to a halt and turned. This is the Outditch which long ago defined the limits of the Koppie, before the Newditch was dug out there.'
Fern set off again, through the second line of magnolias into the wider expanse of the outer ferngardens. They were heading directly towards the Newditch, so that Carnelian began to believe they were making for the open plain. Again he wondered what it was he had agreed to.
Before they reached the Outditch, the drainage ditch they had been walking alongside split in two once again. The arms curved off to meet the Outditch, embracing another triangular fernmeadow, though larger than the first, but which had in it another russet tree. Something gigantic lay beneath its branches, from which wafted the sweet beginnings of decay. A wisp of laughter made Carnelian turn to see figures filtering across the earth-bridge they had just crossed. Carnelian turned back and caught up with Fern, who had almost reached the tree. The morning had become bright enough for Carnelian to see that what lay beneath it was a saurian which, with its horns and sweeping crest, was much like those he had seen pulling wagons along the roads of the Guarded Land.
'A huimur.'
'An earther,' corrected Fern, in Ochre.
One whole flank of the creature had been cut away, revealing the grimy architecture of its ribs. A stench was rising from the blood-soaked earth. Boulders as flat as tables were set about in an arc. Upon these, long flint knives lay in rows.
Fern was scowling. 'Well, here we are beneath the Bloodwood Tree.'
Carnelian stared at the tree and spoke his thought aloud. 'Bloodwood?'
For an answer, Fern lifted one of the flint knives, strode towards the trunk and swung a slash into it. The cut began to weep along its length. Drawing closer, Carnelian saw the tree appeared to be bleeding.
About three dozen women and a few girls gathered beneath the Bloodwood Tree. Under the pressure of their scrutiny, Carnelian did not know where to look. Fern hung his head. The girls chattered and pointed. The women laughed, nervously.
'Don't you all have work to do?'
Carnelian recognized the Elder, Ginkga. The crowd dispersed as she came through them. She clamped some bone pins in her lips. As she approached Carnelian and Fern, she twisted her hair into a tress, then wound it tightly around her head. She came to a halt in front of them and looked up into Carnelian's face. One at a time, she took the pins from her mouth and inserted them into her coil of salt-beaded hair. Carnelian tried to hold her gaze, but eventually he had to look away.
'You two will load the offal onto the drag-cradles,' she said, when her mouth was free. She pointed to where five cradles were laid out in a line well beyond the shade of the tree. It was Carnelian who led Fern off towards them. Carnelian could smell them before he was close enough to see they were caked with gore. Infants screaming drew his attention to the open ground where he saw them chasing each other among rows of frames, many of which were hung with ribbons of flesh adjusting heavily in the breeze.
Carnelian grimaced at the filthy drag-cradles. 'What're we supposed to do?' he asked Fern. His friend gave a shrug for an answer.
The women were painting each other's faces red. Those that were done went to stand around the boulder tables testing the edges of the flints. Some had to be knapped sharp. Blood-faced, two women were appraising the saurian corpse as if it were a house they were about to demolish. Soon they were in among its bones, hacking away with their knives. The hunks of meat they released were caught by other women who lugged them over to the boulders, where they were sheared into slices and then ribbons. Carnelian watched as the girls began knotting these into ropes which they wound around their arms like yarn. Bloody to the armpits, the girls carried the meat away from the tree and draped it over the frames as if it were washing being hung out to dry.
Ginkga's voice carried over to Carnelian and Fern. 'You two.'
They exchanged a look of resignation and went to her. She confronted them arms red to the elbows, face the colour of fresh blood.
'You should take off as much as you can.'
Fern pulled off his robe and, reluctantly, Carnelian followed his lead. They both endured the ribald comments the women made about their bodies.
Ginkga offered them a bowl that appeared to be filled with blood. 'You're here to do penance for your insult to the Mother. You must wear her colour as we do.'
Fern scowled, but took the bowl. He kneeled and put it on the ground and motioned Carnelian to join him. Facing each other, they dipped their fingers in the bowl and smeared the redness over their faces under Ginkga's grim supervision. When they were done, she led them to their work. Shouldering the slimy sag of a lung between them, they struggled to heave it back to the drag-cradles.
Sweltering, they laboured, their torsos and their heads itching with gore. Carnelian had tried to make a joke about their red faces but Fern was not much inclined to humour. The sun had brought with it a plague of flies that swarmed the growing mounds of offal. A constant procession of people came to stare. Worst of all for Carnelian was the mob of jeering children that had collected, who hung around him as he worked, coming as close as they dared. Already weary, past nausea from the stench, their baiting was almost more than he could bear.
Fern gave him a look of sympathy. 'At least their antics are driving away the flies.'
Carnelian frowned. 'I'd prefer the flies.'
Fern chuckled.
'I'm glad at least it amuses you.' Fern looked concerned. 'I didn't mean -' Carnelian cut off the apology with his hand. 'I know you didn't.'
'If I asked her, perhaps Mother Ginkga would send them away.'
Carnelian began to shake his head, then winced as it adhered to the bundle of tendons he was carrying over his shoulder. The children laughed, delighted, and he growled, scattering them.
The Standing Dead haunt their nightmares. To see one of them here, doing this work…' Fern shook his head, frowning, himself overcome by the wonder of it.
'It's not that I'm blaming them,' said Carnelian. 'I just wish they'd leave me alone.'
They'll tire of it.'
For some time after that Carnelian despaired they ever would, but gradually the gang began to thin until the last few children were wandering back across the earthbridge, making for the shade of their mother trees.
The blaze of the sun managed to enter through Carnelian's slitted eyes to give him a beating headache. The air scorched his lungs. The sun was nearing its greatest height when Ginkga called for a break. Panting, brushing away flies, Carnelian and Fern scrambled for the shade of the Bloodwood Tree as if it were a river in which they might swim. As shadow slipped over them, Carnelian put his head back and groaned with pleasure. A delicious breeze cooled his skin. He saw two girls ladling water out from a jar that lay against the trunk of the tree. Fern called over to them and they came with slow, reluctant steps. They stood uncertain, staring at Carnelian.
Fern grew angry. 'Come on, fetch us some water.'
The girls ran back to the jar.
They shun me,' said Carnelian.
'Both of us. Do you blame them?' Fern opened his arms to display his grimy torso.
Carnelian chuckled. 'I suppose not. You look as if you've been peeled.' He laughed when Fern raised an eyebrow.
'Red's not your colour, Carnie.'
The girls returned with a bowl of water and some roasted fernroot which they carefully put on the ground in front of them. Fern insisted Carnelian drink first. When they had quenched their thirst, they went to sit with their backs against the tree. As they munched away at the fernroot, they gazed across the sun-bleached fernmeadow to the Newditch and into the wavering mirage of the plain beyond.
Carnelian looked round. Fern's red face was crusted black with blood. He was scratching his head, where the curls were stiff with brown matter. Glancing round, he saw Carnelian looking at him. Carnelian thought his friend's eyes very bright.
'Where did you get that hair?'
Fern frowned.
Carnelian looked away, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the world beyond the shade. 'Perhaps I shouldn't have asked.'
'My mother was travelling through the Leper Valleys on her way back from the Mountain when she became separated from the other tributaries. She was raped.'
The murmur of the women's talk was a buzzing of bees. Carnelian turned his head to look at Fern, whose chin was resting on his chest. His eyes were focusing on the fern-root in his hands that he was snapping into little pieces.
'A Maruli?' asked Carnelian.
Fern's chin dug into his chest. 'Smeared all over with ash, yellow-eyed with a ravener grin.'
'It must have been hard for you growing up here.'
'My mother protected me.'
'And, surely, so did the rest of your hearth?'
Fern turned to look at him. 'When I was born, Whin sided with those who urged my mother to expose me on the summit of the Crag.'
'But you're married to her daughter.'
'My mother claims Whin agreed to that because she shared her passion for reuniting their two matriarchal lines, but I don't believe it. As is our custom, I had tried to find a wife in another hearth. Because of the way I was fathered none would have me. My mother must have begged Whin.'
Seeing the anguish in those dark eyes, Carnelian fought a desire to embrace him.
'What's the matter with you?' Fern asked.
Carnelian did not know what to say. He could hear the women on the other side of the tree returning to work and used it as an excuse to rise.
'We'd better get on with it,' he said and, without even glancing at Fern, he strode off to the drag-cradles with their heaped, rotting entrails; their clouds of flies.
The Skyfather be praised,' Fern sighed, as Ginkga announced an end to the day's work.
With a grunt, Carnelian dislodged a quivering mass of membranes from his shoulder. They tumbled with a wet thud onto a drag-cradle, splashing him with mucus. He was past caring. Lifting his gaze to the west, he saw the sun was drowning in its own blood. At least the air had cooled.
'You worked well enough,' said a woman's voice. Turning, Carnelian saw it was Ginkga. He could see how hard it had been for the woman to make that admission.
Thank you, my mother,' he said in Ochre, and Fern echoed him.
The Elder came close. 'You may have bewitched Akaisha but don't imagine the rest of us will leave this as it is.'
Carnelian withered. Her eyes lingered on him a while longer before she went off to join the other women washing themselves beyond the margin of blood-stained earth.
Fern's eyes shone bright in his filthy face. 'My mother will protect you.'
'You're a mess,' Carnelian said, trying to make light of it all.
Fern grinned at him.
Carnelian suddenly itched everywhere. 'I'm desperate to get clean.'
'We'll have to wait our turn,' Fern said, indicating the women with his chin.
'I suppose it's forbidden for us to go up there,' he said, looking with longing at the cedars on the hill.
Fern gave him a heavy nod. The mother trees may only drink their daughters' blood.'
They waited, tormented by itching, until they saw the women plodding back towards the Grove. He and Fern ran to take their place. His friend indicated a patch of dry, clean earth on which he wanted Carnelian to stand, then he rushed to fetch water and pluck some leaves from the Bloodwood Tree.
When Fern returned, Carnelian scrunched the leaves into a ball as he saw his friend do, dipped them in the bucket and then used them to scrub away at his skin. When they had done as much as they could unaided, Fern began doing Carnelian's back. Carnelian submitted to this and, when his friend asked, tried to explain how the scars running down either side of his spine showed the blood-taints of his father and mother.
When Fern was finished he gave Carnelian the leaf-ball. Fern took Carnelian's hesitation for pride. Unwilling to explain his feelings, Carnelian turned Fern and began rubbing at his back. The only other man he had ever done this for was Osidian.
They said nothing to each other as they made the weary climb up through the Grove. Carnelian's heart warmed as his eyes fell on the spreading beauty of what he allowed himself, for the first time, to consider his mother tree. When they reached the edge of her earth, they removed their shoes which they had done their best to clean. Both groaned with pleasure as they sank their feet into the fragrant carpet of needles. Side by side they headed for the hearth, where they could see people already gathering for the evening meal.
When Carnelian came to a halt, Fern stopped too. 'What's the matter?'
'Osidian,' Carnelian said bleak with the realization that he had almost forgotten him. He peered up towards the sleeping hollows. Shapes were moving there, but none that could have been Osidian. He remembered Fern and squeezed his shoulder. 'You go on ahead, I'll join you as soon as I can.'
Without waiting for an answer, he began climbing the slope. His steps faltered as he neared their hollow. He recalled the day spent with Fern, the intimacy of their washing, and felt he had already betrayed Osidian. He took the final steps and looked down into the hollow.
Osidian was lying in it asleep. For several heartbeats, Carnelian regarded him, moaning as his mind touched on a yearning that Osidian should not be there at all. The sound made Osidian stir. As he opened his eyes, Carnelian fought the desire to hide.
'Are you well?' he said with a voice that did not seem his own.
Osidian turned his head to look at him. Carnelian was transfixed by the green-eyed stare. He managed to find his tongue. 'Have you eaten?'
'You eat their filthy food, I will not.'
Carnelian saw the two cakes he had left there that morning were still untouched. The confusion of his emotions fused to anger. 'If you will not eat, my Lord, then you shall die.'
'So be it,' Osidian answered in an eerie voice. His eyes narrowed, seeing something behind Carnelian, then they closed.
Turning, Carnelian saw it was Fern.
'My mother sent me to fetch you.'
Carnelian turned back to Osidian. How much did his behaviour stem from jealousy? Carnelian felt wretched. 'Please come with us?'
Osidian seemed asleep. Carnelian tried to find an argument that might bring him back, but Fern's presence was making that impossible.
'What's the matter with your brother?' the Plainsman asked.
Carnelian turned on him. 'Nothing!'
Fern's shock at his tone upset Carnelian. Knowing Osidian was listening made Carnelian reluctant to apologize. He felt trapped between them. Unable to speak, he pushed past Fern and made off in the direction of the hearth.
Ignoring the stares, Carnelian marched up between the rootbenches towards the fire. There was a gap in the line of men and boys where he and Fern had sat the night before. Reaching it, he sat down and focused his gaze on his hands. Grime still clung to the fine cracks in his skin. He felt Fern brushing against him as he sat down. Carnelian busied himself prising rinds of dried blood from under his nails. The smell of iron evoked Osrakum; spilling into his mind the usual horror and yearning.
'Fern. Carnie.' His name was charming in Akaisha's accent. Carnelian raised his eyes and looked past Fern to the head of the hearth where she was smiling at them.
'We were told you worked hard today.'
Carnelian gave her a smile. Whin at her side was stony-faced.
'It's only the first day of many,' said Fern, gruffly.
Carnelian glanced round at him. A blush of ochre lingered on Fern's face. Their eyes locked. Carnelian was the first to disengage. He knew he could not explain his anger to him. A bad end to an otherwise promising day.
Across from him, Sil was regarding them both with a fixed concentration. Carnelian feared she was seeing how he felt towards her man. She looked weary. Traceries of red earth incised her arms and hands.
He tried a smile. 'You seem to have been working hard yourself.'
Sil stared for a moment, but her face softened to a lovely smile that made Carnelian warm to her. She gave a nod, then looked shyly down at her hands and then up at him. 'No doubt you'll find out yourself in time… Carnie.' She flashed a bright row of teeth. The repair of the ditches is a task the men share with us.'
Sil's friendliness smoothed some of the tension out of Carnelian's shoulders. He sank back into the domestic comfort of the hearth chatter as food was passed down the line. He saw again the thin Twostone girl and smiled at her.
When the girl had passed on, Carnelian leaned across to Sil. 'What's her name?'
Sil shrugged. 'She's not said a word since we found her living wild in her koppie.'
Fern interrupted them by putting the first bowl in Carnelian's hands. Turning, Carnelian offered it to Ravan. The youth scowled at him.
The Master's not eating?'
This was the last thing Carnelian wished to discuss. 'He's still recovering from his fever.'
'How's he going to get better if he doesn't eat?'
Carnelian offered the bowl again. 'Go on, take it.'
Ravan continued to scowl at him. Fern leaned out to look at his brother. Take the cursed thing. What's wrong with you?'
The youth turned his scowl on Fern.
'Ravan, do as your brother says,' Akaisha said, loudly. In response, her son snatched the bowl so violently it spilled half its contents over Carnelian. He jumped up, scalded. Fern leapt up.
'You stupid, little -'
'Sit down, all of you,' cried Akaisha.
Carnelian sat down and, glowering at each other, Ravan and Fern did so too. The passing of the bowls resumed. When Carnelian got his, he ate, wondering how long he could conceal Osidian's utter rejection of the Plainsmen.
Carnelian awoke gripped by fear. He struggled to order his thoughts. He had been dreaming he was with Fern watching Osidian die. Carnelian's hand found Osidian's body warm beside him. He listened for his breathing, but could hear only the sighing as the mother tree sifted the breeze through her needled canopy. Her voice was comforting. Through her roof there was a hint of dawn in the colour of the sky. He became aware of the sounds of the Tribe waking. He slipped out from under the blanket, being careful not to disturb Osidian. Carnelian sat for a moment with his arms crossed, rubbing his shoulders, peering at him lying in the hollow. He denied the memory of his dream. He assured himself Osidian would soon give up his fast. As he blew warmth into his hands, he smelled yesterday's blood. He had to go to work. He rose, his body aching all over, dressed, then padded towards the huddle of shapes around the hearth to share their warmth and to have breakfast.
It was Akaisha who led them down to the Bloodwood Tree with Whin at her side, with Sil and the others of their daughters and grand-daughters following on behind. Carnelian was further back with Fern. Three girls walked behind them, one of them carrying a baby. The little Twostone girl brought up the rear.
The earther lay beneath the tree, most of its bones now exposed.
Akaisha wrinkled her nose up at the stench. 'We'll have to finish her today.'
'We'd have to anyway,' said Whin. 'Crowrane's hunt is supposed to be bringing in another earther today.'
After everyone's face was painted, Akaisha asked Whin to marshal them to the boulder tables and to make sure the knives were sharp, then she turned to Fern and Carnelian. 'You two know what you have to do.'
Carnelian removed the new shoes Akaisha had given him before they set off and put on the makeshift ones already stained with gore.
Sil was standing nearby rocking her baby in her arms. She looked up. 'I'll help them, my mother.'
Akaisha put a hand on her arm. She shook her head. 'No, Sil. Fern must see this through to the end, alone.'
She registered Sil's glance at Carnelian and smiled at him. 'I never imagined that any man would choose to share Fern's punishment.'
Both women smiling at him made Carnelian embarrassed. 'I owe him.'
'I don't need your gratitude,' said Fern.
Those were the first words they had spoken to each other that morning.
'Nevertheless, I will work at your side until you are released.'
Fern shrugged. Carnelian yearned to re-establish the easy friendship of the previous day, but remembering his dream, he decided it might be better to leave matters as they were.
Just before midday, it was Sil who brought Fern and Carnelian food and water as they took their rest with everyone else. Carnelian saw she had the thin Twostone girl to help her. The waif walked behind Sil taking small steps, her whole being focused on the bowl of water she was carrying.
Fern made a lunge at his wife. 'Come here, let me kiss you.'
Sil eluded him, grinning. 'Look at the state you're in. I'm not letting you anywhere near me until you wash.'
Suddenly, water exploded everywhere. Carnelian, who had been watching the play between Fern and Sil with mixed feelings, saw the little girl staring appalled, the bowl lying empty on the earth near her feet. Carnelian went cold. The last time he had seen the expression the girl had on her face was on his brother Tain's face, when Jaspar had deliberately unmasked in front of him so as to ensnare him in a threat of blinding. He followed the girl's unblinking stare to Fern, his dark skin marbled with gore.
'What's the matter with her?' Fern demanded, clearly unsettled.
Sil crouched beside the girl. 'Why did you drop the bowl?'
The girl did not seem to be aware the woman was even there. Carnelian thought he understood. He looked Fern in the eye. 'Most likely she witnessed her people being butchered by Manila.'
Fern's face blanked with understanding. Pale, Sil had turned to look at him and now turned back to the little girl. She gently stroked some hair from the girl's temples. 'It's all right, little one,' she said gently, but the girl just kept on staring.
'Make her stop,' Fern said.
Carnelian approached the girl and knelt in front of her. She looked right through him. He moved aside to let her see Fern again. 'He's a friend. He's your friend. The blood comes from there.' He pointed at the earther corpse stretching out from behind the tree, and she turned to look at it, then back at Fern.
Her eyes, so unnaturally large in her thin face, put a lump in Carnelian's throat. He smiled at her. 'What's your name?'
The second time he asked the question he was rewarded by her focusing on him. He indicated himself. 'You see, I'm just as filthy as he is. You're safe.' He would have hugged her if he had not been cohered in blood.
To everyone's surprise, the little girl said something. Carnelian did not understand and glanced urgently at Sil, who shrugged.
'I believe she's telling you her name. Poppy.'
Carnelian turned his attention back to the girl. 'Is that right? Is your name Poppy?'
The girl stared so deep into his eyes, Carnelian felt she was looking at his soul. When she surfaced, she gave him the tiniest of nods.
When they returned to their labours, Poppy sat beneath the Bloodwood Tree and did not once take her eyes off Carnelian. Any time he paused to glance back, he would find her there, gazing at him. At first he found it unsettling, but as the day wore on, he realized, with surprise, that if he had found her interest in him gone, he would have been disappointed.
He and Fern had, over the day, disassembled the remains of the earther, dragging the bones like logs. All that was left was the immense beaked head with its flaring crest and horns: clearly too heavy for them to move.
'What do we do with that?' asked Carnelian.
Fern frowned at him. 'We wait until they bring in the next one.' With that, he turned to walk towards the shade of the tree. Carnelian caught up and walked at his side. Glancing at Fern's gory, resolute face, Carnelian knew he would get nothing more out of him.
Sil came to the edge of the tree shade to meet them. 'Mother Akaisha says you might as well wash while we wait for the new earther to come in.'
Her husband acknowledged what she said with a gruff nod and walked on past her. Carnelian saw with what concern she watched him move away.
'Why's he so morose?' he asked her.
'He can't be brave all the time,' she snapped and looked at him as if had said something callous.
Carnelian was taken aback. He had sensed that Fern had reconciled himself to his punishment. Seeing the pain that lay behind her anger, Carnelian did not feel he could ask and, instead, went off to wash with Fern. Poppy eyed him as he walked sighing with pleasure at the cool relief from the sun. He smiled when he heard her creeping after him. When he turned, she froze.
'Could you please fetch us water to wash with, Poppy?'
When the girl nodded, he jogged to catch Fern. They walked together in silence.
'Poppy's bringing us water,' Carnelian said.
Fern turned, frowning. 'You mustn't get too attached to her. She has the kind of prettiness the Gatherer likes.'
When Poppy brought them water, Carnelian's gratitude made her look at her feet as she handed it to him. She stood and watched him and Fern washing each other. When they were clean, they went to sit with their backs against the tree, surveying the dazzling plain beyond the Outditch. Poppy followed them and sat herself near Carnelian. Remembering Fern's warning, he tried to take no pleasure in having her there.
Later, a dozen aquar appeared in the gate that was flanked by earther horns and that opened from the fern-meadow onto the plain. They approached, crushing the ferns in a wide arc. Ropes hitched to their crossbeams pulled taut radiuses from a common centre. The riders kept looking back over their shoulders. When they had come closer, Carnelian was able to see the boulder of flesh and hide with which they were ploughing up the meadow: another vast earther. Riders trotted up to the head of the butchered one and, slinging ropes over its horns, they made their aquar tow it away. The drag-cradles with their heaped rotting gore were hitched up and pulled away too. Soon the new earther was being tugged into position on the rusty earth under the Bloodwood Tree. The riders showed it off to the women, proudly. Among them he saw Krow and they exchanged smiles. Someone beside the youth scolded him. Startled, Krow looked round at two riders who Carnelian realized were Loskai and Crowrane. Father and son fixed Carnelian with a look of hatred that chilled him to the bone.
Poppy trailed after Carnelian as he returned with Fern, Akaisha, Whin and the others to their hearth. As he came within sight of the mother tree, anticipation of seeing Osidian filled him with dread. He put his hand on Fern's shoulder.
Tm going to see my brother.'
Fern nodded and Carnelian glanced round at Poppy, who had stopped a few steps down the rootstair and was gazing up at them.
'Could you please take her with you?'
Fern shook his head disapprovingly, but smiled. Carnelian crouched and beckoned Poppy. The girl came slowly up the steps. Even crouching, Carnelian had to look down at her.
'Will you go with Fern, Poppy?'
The girl looked up at the Plainsman and then back at Carnelian, then gave a solemn nod. Fern offered her his hand. She would only take it when Carnelian gave her a nod of approval. He let them go ahead of him. He could not help smiling each time she glanced round to make sure he was following. He parted company with them when they reached the rootearth of their hearth. He gazed off at his sleeping hollow, hesitated and, then, reluctantly, began walking towards it.
Even though he had anticipated finding Osidian weakened, what Carnelian saw shocked him. The body lying long and pale in the hollow did not give the impression of someone sleeping, but rather seemed a corpse lying in a sarcophagus.
Leaping into the hollow, Carnelian bent over it. He sought a pulse on the neck; the bony wrist. Unsure he could detect any life, Carnelian began shaking Osidian with ever increasing violence, until, coughing, he came alive. His green eyes swam. Carnelian felt himself being examined. Osidian's forehead creased.
'It's you,' he sighed.
Carnelian was shocked by how quickly he had deteriorated. 'You must eat,' he said. He leaned close and looked into the glass of Osidian's eyes. 'You must eat.'
Carnelian stumbled to his feet and almost broke into a run so that he might not hear Osidian forbidding him. People were gathering for the evening meal. He saw Akaisha with Whin and others of the women talking among the steam and smoke rising from the pots.
'Akaisha,' he said as he approached. 'Mother.'
The women all looked at him. He could see his fear reflecting in their eyes. Akaisha reached up to touch his face. 'What is it, Carnie? Why do you stare so?'
Carnelian calmed himself. 'Osidian, my… my brother, he is dying.'
Whin's face became leather. 'He's been keeping to your sleeping place, lying between the roots like one already dead.'
Carnelian searched Akaisha's eyes. He did not want to believe she wanted him to die, though he understood how it would rid her of a burden.
'He's not eaten since we arrived and was already weakened by the fever. You will let me take some food for him?'
Whin spoke: 'No one has stopped him coming to eat with us.'
Carnelian did not want to explain why Osidian had not. 'He's not like me.'
Akaisha nodded slowly, her eyes seeming to search deep into him. 'Even though you are brothers.'
Carnelian looked away ashamed of his lie and saw Whin, her lips pressing tight with disapproval. He looked down at the pots.
Take as much as you need,' Akaisha said.
Those not prepared to work should not expect the Tribe to feed them,' said Whin.
Carnelian grimaced.
Akaisha patted Carnelian's shoulder. 'Carnie has been working hard enough for the both of them. Go on, take him some broth.'
Carnelian looked for a ladle, a bowl. It was Sil who found them for him. She began to take food from a pot.
'Not so much,' he said. 'He'll not eat much if he eats at all.'
She looked up, her face full of concern. She put some of the broth back, wiped the rim and then handed Carnelian the bowl. He looked her in the eyes, thanked her, glad they seemed to be friends again, then carried the bowl away as fast as he could, trying to avoid spilling it.
'Why does the Master refuse to eat?' pleaded Ravan, following him.
Carnelian kept his gaze fixed on the hollow. 'He doesn't want to live here.'
'I've promised him everything I could think of, but he won't even talk to me.'
Carnelian felt the youth was crowding him, threatening to jostle the precious broth onto the ground. 'He's one of the Standing Dead… being here… he can't… it's hard to explain.'
Ravan's face darkened. 'It's you, you're killing him. I've seen the way you've been working on my mother. How desperate you must be that you're prepared to humiliate yourself to impress her by working with Fern. The Master would never lower himself to that and so you're getting rid of him. If he dies I'll make sure you're thrown out of the Koppie.'
Stunned, Carnelian watched Ravan move away. The urgency of Osidian's need made him resume his journey to the hollow. When he reached it, he set the bowl carefully on the nearest root, climbed over and sank into a crouch beside Osidian, who looked no better. Carnelian dug an arm under him and struggled to make him sit. Osidian's eyes opened as Carnelian propped him against the root. Carnelian glanced at the bowl nervously, worried he might knock it over. He retrieved it, balanced it on his knee, dipped a spoon into the broth then held it up to Osidian's mouth. 'Eat,' Carnelian said.
Osidian's nostrils twitched as the steam rose from the broth. His eyes focused on the spoon. Slowly, wearily, he shook his head.
'You must eat,' Carnelian pleaded.
Osidian looked into Carnelian's eyes. 'Let me die. It's better that you should let me die.'
Carnelian was seeing him through tears. 'I won't let you.'
Osidian gazed at him.
'You are my heart,' Carnelian whispered, an echo of the vows of love they had made to each other on that terrible night they had been taken in the Yden. Again he offered Osidian the broth.
Osidian's lips smiled a little. 'I cannot be less than I am.'
Seeing the death rings around Osidian's eyes, Carnelian's fear for him heated to anger. 'And what is that? A Master? One of the Chosen? A Lord of the Earth, perhaps? Such claims sound splendid in Osrakum, but looking at you so easily defeated, they are revealed to be nothing more than empty boasts. Any man can be a god behind legions, behind mountain walls. Are you brave enough to be simply a man?'
Irritation sparked in Osidian's eyes. 'You bait me as if I were a child.'
'You have been behaving like one.'
There is no life for me here.'
Then make one.'
'Labouring like a slave; living as a savage?'
These people have no slaves, and though they are poor, they have dignity. If you were to open your heart, you would see they are even possessed of a certain nobility.'
Osidian looked disgusted. They live in such ghastly squalor.'
'Are you so much more delicate than they? Or is it fear, Osidian? Are you afraid that you might be less capable of survival here than are these barbarians?'
Anger had brought Osidian fully back to life. 'What labour do you perform?'
Carnelian described the work he did.
'And this you do out of some sense of debt to your savage?'
'Fern saved our lives.'
Carnelian watched Osidian frown, then lose his gaze in the sky. He dared not breathe. Osidian's eyes fell on him. 'I shall work with you.'
Carnelian imagined Osidian, weak as he was, labouring among the flies and heat. His head shook of its own accord.
'Akaisha will find you something else until you have regained your strength.'
'Strength is not in the body but flows from the will. I shall share this penance with you.'
Carnelian did not care to argue. At that moment there was only one victory he sought. He pushed the spoon to Osidian's lips. 'Eat then.'
Osidian's trembling hands took the spoon and bowl from him and began to eat. As he did so, Carnelian hurried to fetch water from the jar against the tree. When Osidian had drunk enough, he refused any help and lay back in the hollow. He was instantly asleep. Carnelian watched him for a while. Osidian, sleeping, seemed whole again. Carnelian stooped to kiss his forehead, then crept away.
At the hearth, he sat down in his usual place. When Poppy brought him a bowl, he made sure to thank her. It was Ravan who asked him the question everyone wanted to ask.
'How is he?'
Carnelian knew that Ravan would find out some time. 'He's decided to come and join me beneath the Bloodwood Tree.'
Ravan gaped. 'No! You're lying.'
Sil looked startled at the violence of Ravan's reaction.
'Of course he can join us tomorrow, Carnie,' said Akaisha.
Ravan turned his gape on his mother. 'You must forbid it.'
Akaisha raised her eyebrows as a mutter of unease went around the hearth.
Whin stood up. 'Ravan, have you forgotten who you're speaking to?'
Ravan scowled and looked around him as if he were being assaulted from every side. Jumping to his feet, he stormed off, knocking over one of the children's bowls as he went.
Akaisha called after him but he seemed not to hear her. Concern mixed with anger as she looked at Fern. 'What's the matter with your brother?'
Fern looked bitter. The Master has turned out to be a poorer replacement for his father than he had hoped.'