A spark could set the world aflame.
Carnelian stood with Osidian and Morunasa looking down into the chasm.
This is a disaster,' said Morunasa.
'A setback, certainly,' said Osidian.
Morunasa looked at him aghast. 'Without salt the Lower Reach…'
Though Osidian's face was showing concern, Carnelian sensed he was not wholly displeased with the turn of events.
The Ladder can be remade,' said Osidian.
Morunasa gazed down at the remains. 'It took years to make and that was before we had the cliff face smoothed.'
Osidian put his hand on Carnelian's shoulder. 'I'm sure my friend here will have it done before that.'
Carnelian tried to imagine the work involved. 'If we can salvage the old structure… perhaps.'
Osidian turned to Morunasa. 'You see?'
'At least the ladder down to the saltcaves has survived,' said Carnelian.
Osidian ignored him. Morunasa looked grim.
'My brethren will be unable to come up with pygmies.
It'll be perilous to leave the Darkness-under-the-Trees unfed.'
Morunasa lifted his head and Carnelian was horrified to see him gazing up towards the makeshift camp the Plainsmen were making on the escarpment above the knoll.
'I shall send enough captives to sate your god's appetite for blood,' said Osidian.
Morunasa fixed him with fevered eyes. 'And will the Master also provide the Upper Reach with fernroot?'
That and meat.'
'Where will these captives come from?' Carnelian demanded.
'Do you believe, Carnelian, the Plainsmen will accept my yoke willingly?'
Carnelian grew morose imagining the war Osidian was preparing to launch against the Earthsky. 'When will you leave?'
Tomorrow, at first light.'
Beyond the baobab wall, in the bleak encampment of the Plainsmen, Carnelian sat in the rain chewing djada with others of Akaisha's hearth. It was too dark to see but Carnelian could feel Poppy's hand in his and knew Fern was sitting near.
'Sweet Mother, what I wouldn't give for the shelter of a proper tree; a little fire,' groaned Hirane and was answered by a mutter of agreement.
'How's Mother Akaisha?' Carnelian asked.
'A little worse,' replied Fern.
Carnelian became concerned, suspecting Fern was hiding something. Later he would question Poppy, quiedy. 'Sil and Leaf?'
'Both well.'
Carnelian could hear some grief behind the words. The Tribe?'
It was Poppy who answered. 'Everyone's miserable, Carnie.'
The salt we brought back seemed to cheer them up quickly enough,' said Ravan.
Poppy's hand stirred in Carnelian's grip. 'We were happy to have our men back.'
Ravan spoke over her. 'If the people are unhappy it's because the old have been poisoning their contentment. The Tribe were happy enough with the power and wealth our victories brought them.'
'Power?' exploded Fern. 'Don't you mean slavery?'
Carnelian expected Ravan to fly into a rage but, instead, he fell silent. The main thing's that the Tribe's now safely back in the Koppie,' he said, longing for its homely comforts. *Safe,' said Ravan with a snort. 'How can they be safe when all our strength is here save for a few feeble old men?'
'Who'd dare attack the Koppie?' said Hirane. 'We're the Ochre, first of all the Master's tribes.'
'And is he going to feed our people?'
'He did last year.'
'And who's going to fetch water? Who's going to protect our women from raveners when they work in the ditches?'
'You mean the Bluedancing?' said Carnelian.
'Shows how much you know.'
Carnelian was horrified. 'Did their water run out?'
Fern's hand gripped his arm. 'When we returned, we found them well enough, but the Master commanded that they should be sent off to the koppie of the Tallgreen.'
'Why?'
'He didn't say.'
No doubt Osidian intended they should dig a killing field in the home of the Tallgreen with which to slaughter another heavener herd.
As if that thought had summoned him, Carnelian felt his presence.
'How pleasing,' drawled Osidian in Quya, 'my Lord must find the company of savages.'
Carnelian could just make him out, an immense shadow in the night accompanied by his guards.
'I came to hear news of the Ochre,' Carnelian said.
'I. could have provided you with all the news you seek, Carnelian.'
As the clear voice faded, Carnelian became aware that across the escarpment he could hear nothing but the pattering of rain.
'You shall be left to rule this place in my stead.'
'What about the Oracles?'
They will keep to their island: the rest is yours.'
The rain began falling more heavily.
The sartlar must continue to cut salt.'
'What of the Ladder?'
'Make sure you understand, my Lord, the production of salt must be your paramount concern.'
'But you still wish to have the Ladder repaired?'
'With whatever labour you have left. Besides, it is best to wait until the rain stops. Currently, the cables will be sodden and heavy.'
Carnelian considered his next question carefully. 'Who will be left here, my Lord, to oversee the sartlar?'
'I will leave you Plainsmen.'
'Ochre?'
'Oh no, my Lord…'
Carnelian could hear the smile in Osidian's voice.
The Ochre will all be coming with me.'
Carnelian knew more harm than good was likely to come from arguing. Clearly, Fern and the rest of the Ochre would be hostages to ensure his good behaviour.
'I trust we understand each other, my Lord?' 'I understand,' Carnelian said, resigned. Waiting for more, it was a while before he realized Osidian was gone.
'What did he say?' Poppy whispered.
That tomorrow you all leave with him.'
'And you?' asked Fern, the resigned tone of his voice suggesting he already knew the answer.
‘I am to remain behind again.'
Then I'm staying with you,' said Poppy.
'No,' said Carnelian, outraged at the thought.
'Surely he intends to leave some of us here with you?' said Fern.
'No Ochre.'
Their talk was spreading murmurs across the encampment.
'Why are none of us to stay here?' said Hirane. 'Doesn't he trust us?'
'Have you forgotten the riches beneath our feet?' said Ravan. 'Did he mention Krow?'
'He mentioned no one by name.'
'Are we returning to the Koppie?' Ravan demanded, rancour loud in his voice.
'I have told you everything he said, Ravan.'
'I'm sure,' the youth said, bitterly.
Carnelian felt Poppy stroking his hand. 'Why can't I stay with you, Carnie? Please, let me stay. I've been so unhappy.'
He reached out for her, found her head wrapped in soaked cloth and leaned his cheek on her. 'You know I'd have you here if I could. It'll make things much easier for me if I know you're safely at home.'
Beneath a frowning sky, a vast tree caged a darkness Carnelian was terrified to enter. A yearning drew him in to search for his loved ones. It was only when he tried to cry out their names he realized he had forgotten them. Pulsing anguish, he could not even see their faces in his mind. He wandered, a blind betrayer, within the caverns of the tree that were hung with overripe fruit. Feeling a warm hand slip into his own, he saw Poppy looking up at him. Her eyes were an anchor in his despair. Hunted, they fled away across raw, red earth.
He awoke and saw her leaning over him, alarmed.
'Carnie, you're frightening me.'
He struggled to sit up against the sodden pull of the blanket. Poppy's hair clung in feathers to her skull. He registered the look in her eyes.
'You were moaning in your sleep,' she said.
Carnelian frowned. 'A dream.'
He became aware of the commotion around them, men everywhere saddling their aquar, stowing away their dripping blankets, plodding through the mud, hanging their heads in the downpour, squinting against the water pouring down their faces.
A hand slipped into his. 'Please, please, let me stay, Carnie.'
Her pleading eyes made his heart resonate to the haunting rhythm of his dream. He gripped her hand, so small in his. His nod was rewarded by her dazzling delight.
Carnelian and Poppy watched the aquar churn their way up through the mud of the escarpment. Nearby, miserable and downcast, stood the Plainsmen who were staying behind. The colour of wet wood, Carnelian's Marula warriors loped up in a mass after the shrouded Oracles. Among them Osidian rode with Krow and Morunasa, the forbidding heart of the march.
Carnelian was remembering Fern's morose face when they had said goodbye. Everything seemed so hopeless. A movement at the edge of his vision made him glance round and see a sartlar creeping towards him. It was Kor, her spade feet bringing her steadily up the slope, her mane plastered over the angles of her ruined face. He felt Poppy edging round him and, glancing down, saw she was trying to hide.
'It's only Kor, Poppy. There's nothing to fear.' The sartlar woman knelt in the mud. 'Get up, Kor,' Carnelian said, 'I'd like you to meet Poppy.'
The woman rose, reddened by the mud that smeared her rags and legs. Carnelian coaxed Poppy out in front of him and held her there by gripping her shoulders. Though she was of a height with the sartlar, Kor's bulk made Poppy appear as fragile as a leaf stalk. Woman and girl nodded at each other.
The Ladder, Master?' asked Kor.
'Not until the rain stops,' Carnelian answered.
'Salt then?'
Carnelian nodded.
He sensed Kor was waiting for him to accompany her. Carnelian turned to look for the departing host, but they had already faded away into the rainy murk.
Later, Poppy told him how things had been in the mountains after the Master had taken their men away. How the Tribe had tried to carry on as normal without success. How when Harth and others had tried to give orders again, the people were too afraid to listen. Fading, Akaisha moved little, spoke less, so that Whin had become hearthmother in all but name. When the men had returned, the Tribe's joy was soured by news of what had happened in the koppie of the Darkcloud and the discovery of the Upper Reach. Carnelian saw how haunted Poppy still was and sensed how all this had reopened the horror of the massacre of her tribe. It was Fern who had taken the time to help her through those first few days, though Sil and he were constantly arguing. Carnelian wondered about this but he decided that to ask Poppy for details would be prying.
Day after dreary day, the rain fell unabated. High in the baobab they were sharing, Carnelian and Poppy tried to amuse themselves by telling each other stories; gossiping about the people they knew; sharing their hopes and dreams. Mostly, the monotonous hiss of the rain would wear their speech away to silence and then they would sit at the opening of the hollow and gaze out. The amount of earth left upon the escarpment showed the passage of time. Streams coursed down so filled with red earth they could have been blood. The knoll had become an island in the midst of a sea of stone. Streams gushed past on every side so that Carnelian feared that at any time the trees that rose from the knoll would lose their grip and the whole mass would slide down into the chasm.
Carnelian had divided what food there was among the Plainsmen and the sartlar. The sartlar had carried their portion down into their caves. The Plainsmen had followed his lead and carried theirs up into the dryness of other baobab hollows. Each day Carnelian had to force Poppy to chew gnarled fernroot. They were careful with it, but still, their store was running low.
Everyone dreaded the coming of night. In the darkness the roar of the falls seemed to become a deep and rumbling voice. Poppy became obsessed with the notion it was speaking to her, though she could not tell what it said. Carnelian could no more than her discern words, but the sound poured its malice into his dreams.
Sometimes a morning would bring with it a pause in the rain. The ceiling of clouds might even thin enough for the sun to peer in. In that light, the scoured and bony escarpment would not appear so bleak.
On one such morning, the lookout Carnelian had posted let out a cry that had them all scrambling down from their trees and searching in the direction he was pointing.
Poppy saw them first and cried out with excitement. A line of aquar and drag-cradles winding down towards them from the Earthsky.
She tugged on his arm. 'Let's go and meet them, Carnie.'
Carnelian shook his head, needing time to prepare himself. Desperate for, but dreading, the news the visitors might bring.
'You go,' he said, 'I'll wait here.'
For a few moments Poppy hesitated, wanting to be in both places at once, but then, whooping, she ran after the other Plainsmen. Carnelian watched her, smiling and then began to work out his questions.
They were all young; some in the first flowering of their manhood, many still boys. Everyone had his face painted white in imitation of the Master. One uncovered his drag-cradle with a flourish, pleased at the cries of delight greeting the sight of the bales of djada, the neatly stowed fernroot and some luxuries besides.
Carnelian had been watching from a distance. As he approached them, the visitors all at once fell onto one knee. Carnelian registered Poppy's surprise at this deference, unease even, before, angrily, he told them to get up.
'I'm not the Master.'
Their reverence just served to make him fear even more the news they brought.
'Which of you is the leader here?'
A youth stepped forward and Carnelian beckoned him to approach. The youth bowed his head and came to stand before Carnelian with his eyes downcast. He has made slaves of you, Carnelian thought.
'What's your name?'
'Woading Skaifether,' said the youth, his Vulgate thick with the accent of another koppie.
'Come, Skaifether, walk with me.'
Carnelian began climbing the knoll, shortening his stride so that the youth could keep up.
The supplies you brought; where did they come from?'
'We took them, Master,' Skaifether said, in a rush of pride.
'From which tribe?'
The Lagooning.'
'Didn't they resist you?'
'Oh yes, but the Master broke them in a great battle.' 'Was there much slaughter?'
The youth shrugged. 'Not much. The Master is the father of battles.'
Carnelian nodded grimly. 'And what did he do to the Lagooning once he conquered them?' 'He took their men into his army…' Carnelian waited, knowing there would be more. 'And their children that were marked for the tithe.' Took them where?'
'Back to the koppie of the Ochre. They'll be kept there until it's time for my tribe… the allied tribes' – the youth looked proud – 'until it's time for us to send our tribute to the Mountain -'
'He's promised you Lagooning children to send instead of your own?'
The youth smiled. 'Or those from the other tribes that will be conquered.'
Carnelian could see how this policy might strengthen support among the 'ally' tribes but only at the expense of making the conquered tribes hate the Ochre.
‘Is there more?'
‘If the men from the conquered tribes fight well for us, then they'll be given salt and their children will be returned to them.'
To be replaced by those from the newly conquered?' The youth grinned and nodded. Carnelian turned away to hide his disgust. 'Have I offended you?' the youth asked, in a fearful tone.
Carnelian reassured him. 'Did the Master send any message for me?'
The youth was clearly still frightened. 'None came from him.'
'Came from…? Did you not come from him?' 'No, Master, our commander is Ochre Fern.' Carnelian regarded the youth with disbelief. 'He commands you?'
The youth gave a slow, fearful nod.
'Are there other commanders?'
Twostone.'
Twostone Krow?'
Skaifether nodded.
'And Ochre Ravan?'
The youth frowned, shaking his head as if he had never heard the name before.
'What did Ochre Fern bid you do?'
To bring the supplies here and to return with all the salt you have collected for us.'
'Nothing else?'
'Nothing, Master.'
Two days of brooding later, a cry brought Carnelian to the opening to his hollow. One of his Plainsmen, Cloudy, was shouting something up at him that was lost in the gusting rain. The man pointed east. There beneath the frowning wall of the Backbone, Carnelian saw shrouded Oracles riding down the escarpment, dragging behind their aquar a stumbling string of captives alongside which jogged Marula spearmen. Even through the rain, Carnelian could see the captives were Plainsmen and that the Marula were driving them towards the riverpath. When he saw many of his own men streaming down the knoll to intercept the party, he threw a blanket about his shoulders.
‘I’ll come with you,' said Poppy.
'No. Stay here. Wait for me.'
At first, startled by his tone, the girl was soon protesting, but he did not have the time to argue with her. He abandoned the dryness of their hollow and swung out to descend to the ground. Once there, Cloudy confronted him, soaked, looking sick.
'What shall we do, Master?'
'Whatever we can,' cried Carnelian and bounded down the slope, quickly leaving the man behind.
As he reached the open ground beyond the wooden wall, he saw the Marula had levelled their spears at the approaching Plainsmen. He coursed towards them bellowing, desperate to avoid bloodshed. Hearing him, his men turned, backing away from the Marula as they waited for him. Out of breath, he saw in their eyes their confidence that he would do something to save the captives. Carnelian moved in among them, glancing up at the Oracles sitting haughty in their saddle-chairs. Bound naked one to the other, the captives were mostly men past their prime. He saw how their ribcages were pumping for breath, how they hung their heads. Strangely, what shocked him most was their bloody feet. They had been forced against their most deeply held belief to run barefoot across the Earthsky.
His own Plainsmen began crying out to him. They made many pleas, demands. Though he could make none out clearly, he did not need to. He could see and feel their pity and their outrage that men should be treated thus. Many of the captives had lifted their heads and, as their eyes fell on Carnelian, they ignited with a hatred that struck him hard. He knew who it was they thought they saw or, as likely, they did not care. He was as much of the Standing Dead as the conqueror who had delivered them into misery.
Carnelian looked to either side of him and saw how numerous were his men; how few Manila the Oracles commanded. He was desperate to free the captives.
A voice carried through the hissing rain as one of the Oracles addressed him. Even had there been silence, Carnelian would have not understood a word. He considered approaching them, negotiating in Vulgate. The realization sank in that even if he could make himself understood to the Oracles there would be no pity in their hearts. One of them lifted an arm swathed in indigo cloth and pointed. Carnelian did not turn his head to look, always aware in which direction lay the malign presence of the Isle of Flies.
He turned to his own people. With the accent of the Ochre, he told them the captives had been condemned by the Master himself and that his commands none could gainsay without bringing his wrath down upon themselves and their kin. His speech was hardly finished before they erupted into rage. He caught their feeling and threw it back at them. He told them that if he could, he would set the captives free. He could see they did not believe him and had to resort to commanding them back to the knoll. They railed against him, they even dared to threaten him, but then their resolve cracked and, unable to look the captives in the face, they turned like punished children and began the slog back to the camp.
Carnelian remained behind to watch the Oracles resume their march. He threw away the sodden weight of the blanket and turned his face up towards the glowering sky and prayed the rain would wash him clean. When absolution did not come, he forced himself to stand there long enough to watch the captives being ferried across the swollen river in narrow boats.
When night fell, the screaming began. Carnelian had prayed the storm would drown it out. His first thought was to reassure Poppy, to comfort her, but the look of accusation in her eyes was a wall of thorns between them. He cursed the weakness that had made him keep her in the Upper Reach. He tried to hide away in sleep. The rain lessened. Exposed by the silence, the sounds of agony formed an infernal harmony with the roaring Thunderfalls. Poppy joined her whimpering to the nightmare until Carnelian could bear it no longer and crushed her in his arms. Rocking together, they tried as best they could to survive sane until the dawn.
For many nights, the horror was repeated. Then it stopped. The rainfall began to ease. Carnelian descended with Poppy and they found a salve for their nightmares in lighting fires upon the crown of the knoll. Huddling round them with Plainsmen, they exchanged stories of their peoples, yearning to return home.
Often, Carnelian would find Poppy staring at the Isle of Flies. He would try to draw her away, but the girl always returned as if she had some need to keep a watch upon that awful place. She was the first to observe the shapes slipping from the Isle of Flies into the flood. As he watched them tumble amidst white fury down into the chasm, Carnelian tried to pretend they were logs, but Poppy turned to him and bleakly said, 'No, Carnie, they're the corpses of our tortured dead.'
The sky cleared to an infinite blue. Rain, when it fell, was diamond bright from clouds as pale as wood smoke. As the Thunderfalls lost their fury, they became sheathed in rainbows. The days sank into a pregnant murmuring in which, stealthily, the world came back to life. Even the ridges of earth that were all that was left upon the scoured rock of the clearing began to uncurl ferns. With his back to the Isle of
Flies, in the clean sunlight, Carnelian found it hard to deny hope and a fragile joy. He summoned Kor and had her bring the sartlar blinking up from their caves and begin the vast ' labour of lifting the Ladder from the chasm floor. He and Kor together supervised the lowering of the first sartlar down into the chasm. Soon they were drawing the Ladder up from where it had fallen, unrolling it up the cliff face, pegging it with new posts they carved from the fallen baobabs.
The busy rhythm of their lives allowed them momentarily to forget the Isle of Flies. It was an illusory reprieve. Every twenty days or so, convoys of Plainsmen would appear with supplies. Carnelian's men would welcome them up onto the knoll and there the visitors would tell of the battles they had fought; of the tribes they had conquered. Carnelian would sit among them concealed, his back to the sun so as to hide his alien green eyes. The visitors would speak of the Master as if he were a god. The following day, they would leave with the slabs of salt the sartlar brought up from the caves. Sickly anticipation would come as a fever in the succeeding days. When the next batch of captives were spotted coming down from the Earthsky, people became busy with the tasks they had reserved for the occasion. None would look up in case they saw the new victims being ferried across to the Isle of Flies. Carnelian might have shared their cowardice, except that Poppy seemed compelled to witness the whole sickening business and he could not bear that she should do so alone. In the nights that would follow, unable to sleep, it became their habit to join the men around the fire trying to drown out the screaming with their talk.
Marula poured down the escarpment following a host of riders. The rumble, their slipping movement, recalled for Carnelian the night of the landslide. In their midst, any of the shrouded Oracles might have been the Master.
Carnelian turned to Poppy somewhere in the darkness behind him. 'Our people have returned.'
She gave no reply, though he knew she was there. He looked down again from their tree at where the massed aquar were sinking into their own dust. He would have to go and meet the host, however reluctant he might be to see Osidian.
'I'll return as soon as I can,' he said over his shoulder and then descended to the ground.
His appearance among his Plainsmen produced a clamour as they asked him what they should do. He shook his head, watching the black tide breaking against the baobab wall. One of the shrouded figures broke through, pulling behind him a ragged entourage. Carnelian recognized it was Osidian by his rangy stride, and had to move sideways to keep him in sight as he wove up through the trees.
'My Lord,' Carnelian said when Osidian was almost upon him.
'Carnelian,' said Osidian, his face wholly concealed in the shadow of his uba.
Carnelian noticed for the first time the tall man coming up behind him. The curled hair told him it was Fern, though it was difficult to see him in the man looking at him with a white face. As their eyes met, Carnelian became almost distraught enough to ask Fern if that covering of ash meant that he had become a disciple of the Master.
'I would speak to you, my Lord,' Osidian said.
Confronted with the menace of his voice, his great height, the Master drove thoughts of Fern from Carnelian's mind.
'Here?'
'Anywhere else but here.'
Carnelian looked up at his tree and remembered Poppy. He feared the consequences for her if she and Osidian should meet.
Osidian cut through Carnelian's indecision. 'We'll walk together in the baobab forest.'
He turned to Fern. 'Make sure no one follows us.'
Carnelian sensed that Fern was making an effort not to look at him. His friend bowed his head.
'As you command, Master.'
Carnelian and Osidian stood among the baobabs alone. Carnelian looked back the way they had come. Across the bare rock of the clearing, the knoll appeared to be a many-masted ship, becalmed. 'Come,' said Osidian.
His gentle tone made Carnelian feel more uneasy than if Osidian had used his customary, imperious manner.
'Are you not afraid to be with me alone?'
'I have made the Ochre the hated masters of more than thirty tribes. I do not believe you would threaten their only protector.'
Osidian's sadness produced in Carnelian something like shame. They walked on, Osidian looking blindly before him, Carnelian reluctantly crushing the reborn green spirals of the ferns beneath his feet. As they penetrated deeper into the forest, brooding baobabs rose ever more massive on either hand. Glancing up, Carnelian expected to see a face in the wood, but the trunk was smooth right up to the branches that held a bowl of blue sky.
Carnelian spoke to dispel the smothering silence. 'Why have you returned?'
Osidian sighed. 'My host is grown weary of conquests.'
'And bloodshed?'
Osidian glanced at him but made no answer, instead leading them into the cool shadow of a baobab.
Their edge is blunted, I will resharpen it by letting them return to their homes.'
'I see,' said Carnelian, unable to grasp the nature of Osidian's mood.
Unwinding his uba, Osidian revealed a face thinner than Carnelian remembered. The green eyes were seeing him but there was something distracting them, a haunting presence of pain.
'You are changed, my Lord.'
Osidian smiled bleakly. 'All the world is changed.'
Carnelian. registered Osidian's vulnerability with disbelief. 'I had thought everything was progressing as you would wish.'
'All moves according to my will, but…'
Carnelian waited, searching Osidian's face. In some ways it was a stranger's but in the eyes there stirred something of the boy in the Yden.
Osidian looked deep into Carnelian. 'I've lost faith in my destiny and without it I am empty.'
Carnelian's body began responding to the plea in Osidian's voice and eyes, but when Osidian made to embrace him, he recoiled. He expected rage but Osidian merely dropped his arms and sank to the ground. When he looked up his face was lined with misery.
'Will you at least stay beside me tonight?'
In spite of everything, Carnelian's heart could not refuse him.
They lay on their backs in a hollow between the roots of a baobab, watching clouds flow westwards. Osidian began to speak in Vulgate.
'My faith has grown weaker than Morunasa's, though I'm certain he worships the same god as I. Without faith there's no certainty; without certainty, one is enslaved by doubt.'
Carnelian propped himself up on his elbow. 'What is it that you doubt?'
Osidian frowned. That I can defeat the legions with a rabble of savages.'
Carnelian denied himself the hope of reprieve there was in that. 'Is that all?'
Osidian's frown deepened. 'I have been too long in the company of barbarians. My blood no longer burns.' He grew sad.*Sometimes, I feel pity.'
Shame made Osidian beautiful. Carnelian ached for him, but he would rather cut off his arm than reach out to him.
Osidian pierced Carnelian with his eyes. 'Have you felt how much the Maruli is with his god?'
Carnelian was struggling for an answer when he saw Osidian's eyes had gone opaque. Pain suffused into his face.
'I need that certainty. I must know what he knows. I must feel what he has felt. I must hear the Darkness-under-the-Trees speak.'
'What are you talking about?'
‘I intend to submit myself to the ritual of initiation of an Oracle.'
Carnelian jerked to his feet. He paced away, then came back to glare down at Osidian. 'Have you lost your mind?' 'Haven't you been listening?'
Carnelian dropped his head, exasperated. 'You came to tell me this?'
'I came to prepare you.'
'For what?'
'My possible death.'
Carnelian slumped to the earth. He had spent so much time desiring Osidian dead and now the thought filled him with nothing but dread. 'What does this initiation involve?'
Carnelian saw how pale Osidian had become. His head was shaking as if he were seeing something too horrible to describe. His eyes closed.
Carnelian could not help fearing for him. 'What is it you're going to allow them to do to you?'
Osidian's eyes widened like a child's. 'All you need know is that I may die.'
Carnelian resisted an urge to violence.
'If on the twelfth day, I've not returned, you must go back to Osrakum. It won't be safe for you here.'
'Oh, it's as simple as that, is it? You die and then I'll just saunter back to Osrakum.'
Osidian's shoulders slumped. He raised his eyebrows and gazed at the ground. 'I don't know why I'm surprised. If you insist on not returning, then you must survive here.'
He looked around with distaste. 'It might be possible for you to undo what I have done. When I'm gone, the Plainsmen will obey you. With care and skill, you might be able to coax them back into their old ways. Listen carefully. The hostage children the Ochre hold, you must send back to their tribes. Some might try to continue the great hunts as I have taught them but these will quickly show themselves to be unsustainable. The heaveners near enough to the killing fields will soon be exhausted. The lesser saurians would have to be herded in such numbers that the procedure will be uncontrollable with a single tribe's resources. Hunger would soon make the barbarians revert to their traditional hunts. With the re-adoption of their ancient ways, the old would regain their ascendancy.'
'And the Commonwealth?'
'Give my body to the Wise. They'll not care about you once they have proof that I am dead.' Osidian shrugged. 'No doubt they'll make reprisals throughout the Earthsky but these will be measured; the Wise will not wish to damage the Plainsmen's breeding populations.'
'What about the saltcaves? The Plainsmen will not forget them and having this source of salt here, they're unlikely to want to serve in the legions.'
'Cut down the anchor baobabs. There are no other suitable replacement trees and the landslide has ensured that other anchor points cannot be built with the primitive skills the Plainsmen or the Marula have at their disposal.'
Carnelian frowned. This will destroy the Oracles and the Lower Reach Marula.'
'You are free to dream up another way to save your precious Plainsmen.'
Carnelian would search for other possibilities but was not confident he would find any. He was sure the sartlar would cut down the anchor baobabs at his command. He wondered what would happen to Kor and her people. A thought occurred to him.
'Neither the Oracles nor the Marula will allow this to be done.'
'Show the Marula the Ladder intact and they'll flee back to their lands below. I've made sure their commanders fell in battle. Without me, they are a rabble in a foreign land; a land they fear.' He smiled coldly. 'As for the Oracles, without me, they will be too weak to oppose you.'
'And if you do not die?'
Osidian looked away to where a copper sun hung molten in the sky. 'You had better hope I do. If I do not it will be because I shall be possessed by the God and then I will finish what I have begun.'
Carnelian saw how weary, how fragile Osidian appeared, but he was not feeling tender. 'I could kill you now.'
Osidian chuckled opening his arms wide. 'Do it. I would welcome the release from the canker of doubt that eats at me.'
Seeing in Osidian that which he had once loved, Carnelian turned away, melancholic as he watched the sun layering the sky with crimson.
Carnelian awoke in a red dawn and saw Osidian was already up. They made their way back to the knoll in silence. Before they reached it, Osidian veered towards the Marula camp around the Ladder baobabs. The black men rose, staring as the two Masters walked among them. Looking over the edge, Carnelian and Osidian saw that the Ladder had been brought more than half of the way up from the chasm floor. Osidian announced himself satisfied and they turned to face the Thunderfalls. The Isle of Flies lay sombre in the morning light. As they walked along the chasm edge towards it, Carnelian saw Morunasa and some other Oracles were waiting beneath the impaling post. He had no wish to go any further and took his leave of Osidian.
'Remember: the twelfth day,' Osidian said, in Quya.
Carnelian nodded. Osidian gazed at Morunasa and the Oracles as if they were his executioners. As Carnelian watched him walk towards them, he wondered if he would ever see him alive again.
Carnelian found Fern in the camp. As he had climbed the knoll, his heart had told him that his friend could not possibly have gone over to Osidian, but seeing him there before him, all Carnelian could see was his painted face.
'How did he force you to do that?' he said.
Fern frowned. 'All the commanders wear ash as a symbol of the Master to show they act in his name.'
'So he pressured you to lead one of his armies?'
'It was I who asked for a command.'
Carnelian shook his head, feeling bleak, empty. 'I would never have believed…'
Fern narrowed his eyes. 'What, Master, what would you never have believed? 1
There was still a part of Carnelian that refused to accept that Fern would betray the Plainsmen; betray their friendship. 'You are collaborating with him.'
Fern's eyes flamed. 'Is that what you think?'
Seeing Fern's anger, Carnelian became confused.
Fern leaned forward baring his teeth. 'Did it never occur to you that I became a commander to protect my people? What has our resistance to the Master achieved? By joining him, I have at least some chance of softening the effects of his conquests.'
Carnelian saw the truth of it and was ashamed.
Fern's lip curled. 'Who are you to accuse me when, after everything he has done, you chose to spend the night with him?'
Carnelian was outraged. His pride spoke: 'What business is that of yours?'
They glared at each other. Carnelian could not find a way out of his anger. Fearing what he might say next, Carnelian desired only to end their meeting. The Master has gone to the Isle of Flies. While he is gone, I am to rule in his place.'
'What then are your commands, Master?'
Carnelian cast around for some instruction. 'Just make sure that you keep order here in the camp.'
Fern's curt nod and his 'You shall be obeyed, Master' made Carnelian wince. Turning, he walked away.
That night, Carnelian took Poppy with him when he went to look for Fern's fire to apologize. When they found Fern, his cold greeting left Carnelian unwilling to speak. At least Fern had washed his face. A growl made them both turn to see Poppy scowling, her hands on her hips.
'You're both behaving like children.'
Carnelian and Fern stared at her, startled. They looked at each other. Carnelian tried a smile. 'I should have trusted you.'
Fern looked pained. 'And I had no right to -'
'We just talked,' Carnelian said, quickly.
'Hug each other,' Poppy commanded.
Awkwardly, grinning, they obeyed her. As they released each other, Carnelian felt embarrassed by the look in Fern's eyes. 'Aren't you going to offer us some food?'
Fern became flustered and Carnelian and Poppy exchanged a secret smile. She threw herself at the Plainsman so that he was forced to catch her. She buried her face in his neck.
A scent of roasting fernroot rose from the fire.
'Where's Ravan?' Poppy asked.
Carnelian had forgotten about him. 'He's not here?'
Fern looked grim. 'He remained in the Koppie.'
Carnelian raised his eyebrows. 'Have things grown worse between him and the Master?'
Fern grew angry. 'It's not my brother's fault. At every opportunity, the Master humiliates him. Time and time again he has passed him over to give others a command. When I dared to intervene, the Master told me, curtly, that he needed my brother as an interpreter. I offered myself in that capacity but he turned me down, not that he needs one, so many of the army speak Vulgate. It's as if he is deliberately trying to grind him down.'
Carnelian gave Fern a suggestive look. Fern shook his head. 'I'd swear they've not been lovers for a long time.'
'You can tell?'
Fern looked Carnelian deep in the eyes, nodding. 'I can tell.'
Carnelian looked away. Another motive occurred to Carnelian that made him go cold. 'Was it Ravan himself who chose to return to the Koppie?'
'Can you blame him?'
'But the Master let him go?'
Fern's nod confirmed Carnelian's fear. He tried to conceal what he was feeling but saw how worried both of them had become.
'What is it?' Poppy asked, her eyes very round. Carnelian shook his head. 'Nothing,' he said, then busied himself with fishing a cooked root from the flames.
As the days passed no news came across the water from the Isle of Flies. Carnelian's dreams were haunted by his imaginings of what was being done to Osidian there. The conviction grew in him that Osidian was already dead. He became increasingly desperate to complete work on the Ladder and drove the sartlar harder than he had ever done before. He had told Fern everything and, in the time they spent together, they planned what they would do once Carnelian stood in Osidian's place.
One day, a pygmy appeared in the camp. It was Fern who brought him to Carnelian. The little man cowered then fell prostrate at his feet. Fern stooped to lift him but stayed his hand. The pygmy's back was smeared with blood. Crouching, then leaning closer, Carnelian saw disfiguring scars. He called for some water and, himself, carefully washed the brown skin as the little man shook with pain and fear. Carnelian sat back.
'What are you seeing?' Fern asked, his face screwed up in horror.
This man is a messenger sent to tell us the Master still lives.'
Fern frowned. 'But the pygmy has said nothing.' Carnelian pointed. 'It is these marks that speak.' Quyan glyphs cut into the little man's back read: 'My Father speaks to me.'
The next day, Fern found Carnelian with the sartlar. The Ladder cables had finally reached the edge of the chasm and Carnelian was overseeing their attachment to the anchor trees.
'I must speak to you,' Fern said.
'Not now.'
'A messenger's come from the Earthsky with news.'
Carnelian turned, exasperated, but his heart almost stopped when he saw how pale Fern looked. He told Kor to take over and led Fern away from the trees.
'What's happened?' Carnelian demanded.
The Tribe have risen against the Master.'
Carnelian grabbed Fern. 'Has this news been sent across to the Isle of Flies?'
'Who would dare?'
Carnelian clasped his head in despair. 'You knew, didn't you?' said Fern. 'I feared it.'
'How…?' Fern's face drained of blood. 'Ravan,' he breathed.
Carnelian's hands dropped to his side and he nodded heavily.
Fern's eyes widened with realization. The Master did it on purpose. The bastard did it on purpose. But why?'
The Ochre have witnessed his humiliation.' Carnelian massaged his forehead, thinking furiously.
'You can do what you want, Carnie, but I'm going home immediately.'
Carnelian stared at him in fear. 'And do what?'
Fern swung his head as if in pain. 'I don't know: stop it; perhaps raise the other tribes to join the revolt.'
'How hated have we become among the other tribes?'
'We killed their men; we took their children.'
Carnelian saw how hopeless it was. The Tribe has fallen into the Master's trap. Having removed themselves from his protection, there is nothing to stop the other tribes taking their revenge. Only the Master can save them now.'
'And if he chooses not to?'
Then I will fight with you against him.'
They looked at each other grimly.
'Will you wait for me, Fern?' 'Where are you going?'
For answer, Carnelian looked off towards the Isle of Flies.