The terror from a weapon diminishes in proportion with its use.
They tended the dead one hearth at a time. Akaisha’s was first, then those that lay in the eastern, upwind part of the Grove, so that at least they might sleep free of the waft of putrefaction. Days merging one into another, they worked their way round the hearths that lined the Blooding and towards the Southing.
At each hearth, Fern cut down the women first, laying them out for Poppy to ochre as best she could. Carnelian dug graves among the roots. The men were next. They made hornblack overnight. While Poppy applied this, Carnelian and Fern would carry the corpse she had already blackened up to the Crag. Dead, the men were heavier than they had been living. They seemed huge waterskins that they had to wrestle with as they released foul gas or dribbled slime down their arms and chests and legs. Though lighter burdens, the boys were heavier on the heart. When the funerary trestles were piled high, they laid the corpses on naked rock. The place became submerged beneath the frenzied wings of scavengers. At first the dead were picked clean, but with so much carrion, only the choicest morsels were consumed. The summit became a brown mesh of bones and tendons, frayed-lipped smiles, skin turned to curling leather by the sun.
There was no spare water in the cistern with which to wash and Osidian had seen fit to maroon them without aquar to fetch more. Their skins became so grimed with putrid matter they began to look and smell like the corpses. The charnel stench tainted everything. They took to sleeping as far apart as possible.
Their work grew harder as the corpses began slipping off their skin. There came a time when Poppy had no need to make the women red. Later, all the dead turned greenish-black and they stopped making hornblack. Ritual faded. Laments ran dry in their throats. By the end, corpses with living eyes, they laboured mindless in a new Isle of Flies Osidian had consecrated for his Marula god with his holocaust.
Osidian’s face, burial black. Pits for eyes. The tree burning. Her screaming is the flames, is the branches piercing him like spears. He falls before the swelter of her approach. Ebeny aflame, wild-eyed, masked with blood. No, it is Akaisha mouthing words, her hair, flames beaded with iron. Bloated ochre face mouthing words he cannot, will not hear. Horror of her corpse breath. Her dead lips kiss him, suck him into her. Struggling against her fiery walls squeezing him to blood.
Carnelian woke transfixed by the moon. Osidian dead in the dream, the fire; both seemed omens of defeat. Plainsmen against dragons: he could hear again the mocking laughter of the men who had served in the legions. Such futile defiance would only provoke Aurum’s terrible retribution. Only the Wise could have given him a legion. Why else but because they wanted Osidian, alive so that he could accuse his mother. Carnelian was another witness to her crime. The bright stare of the moon possessed him. Cypher of the Wise. The same cool clarity that characterized their thought. Left to them, just enough would be done to restore order in the Earthsky and nothing more. Aurum was the real danger.
The moon was as colourless as the Marula salt Krow was bringing from the Upper Reach. If such a treasure were to fall into Plainsman hands they would cease to provide military service to the Masters. That the Wise would not allow. Greed for its possession would enflame the tribes to wars amongst themselves. It had to be destroyed. But what of the mine it came from?
As his nostrils filled with the reek of death, Carnelian felt his resolve fraying. Who was he to find a way through such a labyrinth? Merely another victim of the forces he had helped unleash.
The corpse they were lugging up to the summit of the Crag was so putrid they had had to wrap it in a blanket to keep it intact. The blanket was soaked through with the fluids weeping from the decomposing flesh. Carnelian and Fern struggled up the last step onto the summit and paused, panting through ubas wound several times over mouth and nose. The glare squeezed their eyes to slits. Ravens hopped, screeching, among the charnel heaps. Even through the layers of cloth the stench was overpowering. They dragged the corpse with a bandy-legged waddle to avoid treading in the dark trail it oozed over the brown-crusted rock. When they found a space they gripped the blanket edge then rolled the corpse free. They averted their eyes, but could still feel the sodden release of weight; were still enveloped in the aura released by its moist collapse. Carnelian let go the blanket as dry retching racked him like a cough. Ravens rushed in to fight over this new feast. Flies eddied like smoke. The dream had stripped his mind of the dullness that had protected him. Under the repeated stabbings of their beaks the corpse was releasing its rot-soft meat. Jet eyes blinked their beads at the root of gore-clotted plumage.
He tore free of that horrid fascination and sent his gaze soaring up into the clean sky. That blue so pure above the corruption of the world restored him to his centre. When he returned his gaze to earth he looked south and west, searching for Krow. That morning he had been doing that every time he came up to the summit. Fernland spread to incandescent lagoons. Acacias, spaced like the towers of the overseers in the Guarded Land, danced languidly in the haze. The only other movement was the slight creeping of the herds along the edge of the lagoons. He saw Fern was gazing northwards and sought the focus of his attention. Carnelian’s heart leapt. Riders. The omen of his dream, of his conjectures overwhelmed him with dread. ‘Plainsmen…’ he murmured.
‘Marula,’ said Fern in a flat tone, looking as if he was barely managing to stay on his feet.
Carnelian almost asked him how he knew, before seeing for himself that they lacked the easy grace of Plainsman riders. Too few to be a rout, they had to be bringing a message from Osidian. If this were verbal, then most likely it would be Morunasa who was the messenger. It was strange that the thought it might be this man he loathed should kindle hope. What would Fern do? Turning, Carnelian saw he was moving away, crouched, towards the steps, dragging the blanket after him. He followed him. Reaching the edge he watched him descend. When Fern reached the clearing below, he turned west. Carnelian sighed relief. They had just carried the last of Mossie’s hearth up and the next one they had meant to clear was further down the Westing. It seemed that Fern was intent on ignoring the visitors. If Poppy remained with him, Carnelian might have a chance to tackle Morunasa alone.
He quit the shade to cross the earthbridge. The withering heat was preferable to the region he had just come through. Being the furthest from Akaisha’s tree, they had left the Northing and Sorrowing hearths for last. The cedars there were still laden with dead. The air choked with flies.
Unwinding his uba he breathed deep, not caring about the scorch of the clean air, his gaze fixed on the riders ambling up the Northing in the shade of its magnolias. As they drew closer he could see by the indigo robes that most of them were Oracles. Their leader pulled the cloth down from his nose and mouth.
‘We must have water.’
The voice was so hoarse, the face so gaunt, that Carnelian did not at first recognize it was Morunasa.
Ribbons of light writhed up the Crag rock when they pulled back the cistern cover. Morunasa was the first to drink. He downed one bowl and then another, exposing his sharpened teeth in a grimace of relief. He handed the bowl to one of his fellows and looked off among the trees. ‘This place feels something like our sacred grove.’
As they had climbed the rootstair from where they had left the aquar and Morunasa’s warrior escort, Carnelian had noticed with what frowns of recognition the Oracles had regarded the corpses and the swarming flies.
Morunasa looked at him. ‘And you have the look… and odour of an offering to our Lord.’
Carnelian glanced down at his body encrusted with filth, but it was the awe in Morunasa’s face that made him feel most polluted.
‘Perhaps our God has followed us here,’ Morunasa said, voicing one of Carnelian’s fears.
Another Oracle, reaching awkwardly for the bowl, winced as his sleeves slid down his arms revealing seared flesh, crusted and weeping. Morunasa saw what Carnelian was looking at. ‘Dragonfire.’
Turning, Carnelian almost believed he could see flames reflecting in Morunasa’s eyes. Dread seeped into him. ‘Defeat then?’
‘Hookfork invited the Master to negotiate, then betrayed the truce. Many were lost to the firestorm as we covered his escape.’
Remote from Morunasa’s voice, Carnelian stood stunned by an outcome even worse than any he had feared. ‘How many dead?’
Morunasa’s eyes burned. ‘Among the Flatlanders?’
‘I know the Marula are mortal too.’
Morunasa’s glare softened. ‘The Flatlanders suffered worse.’
‘He’s protecting the Marula?’
Morunasa snorted. ‘Not from love.’
Carnelian understood. ‘He believes you are more fully under his control.’
Morunasa nodded. ‘The Flatlanders now have one worse to fear than him.’
‘But they still follow him?’
‘He persuaded them they must delay the dragons to give their people a chance to get away.’
‘Away where?’
‘To the mountains.’
‘So early in the year? Madness!’ Though the heavener hunts Osidian had organized might have provided enough food for the journey, it was still impossible. ‘The raveners…’ he said, feeling revulsion at the idea of exposing so many people to the fernland before the predators had gone east. Day after day as naked prey. Night after night manning rings of fire against the monsters. ‘Madness,’ he said again. ‘They don’t even have the aquar they would need to pull the drag-cradles.’
‘The tribes will set off once their men return.’
Migration across a land still prowled by raveners with Aurum pursuing them. The image of the old Master torching ants caused dread to rise in Carnelian. Who could survive the coming holocaust? He forced himself to consider what else Morunasa had said. ‘Delay? How?’
The Oracle frowned. ‘We skirmish with them, encourage them to attempt envelopment, then break out before the dragons can come in to finish us.’
Carnelian began to understand their stooping, their dull eyes. How many times must they have come close to annihilation? The image of Akaisha and Ebeny burning. Cedars lit like torches. Holocaust. He strove to focus his mind. Despair was an indulgence he must not give way to. Aurum was not the only threat. Osidian would have a plan to have his power survive this debacle. What part might these migrations play in his schemes? Carnelian tried to find some hope in the possibility of the tribes fleeing to the mountains, but what was there to stop Aurum pursuing them with fire? The Withering perhaps? Even a legion could not hope to endure such waterless heat. Yes, the Withering might drive Aurum back to the Guarded Land. What then?
Carnelian focused on Morunasa. ‘Why’ve you come?’
‘When the salt arrives here from the Upper Reach, he’s commanded that you take it to the koppie of the Bluedancing.’
So that was it. Osidian wanted to safeguard the treasure with which he might recruit more Plainsmen. He would fight on until the Earthsky was a lifeless desert. He must be stopped.
Carnelian knew that in what was to come Morunasa could well be pivotal. ‘And what’s to happen to your people?’
The Oracle considered his answer. ‘Our warriors still follow the Master, but this land can no longer be saved.’
But the Upper Reach could be. Carnelian considered whether Morunasa might be hoping to persuade Osidian to retreat there with the Marula. Isolated in the Isle of Flies, Morunasa could hope to overthrow him. Then Morunasa would be free to re-establish the Oracles’ cruel dominion over the Lower Reach. Carnelian was not happy about that, but he had to do what he could, not attempt to save the whole world.
Morunasa dipped another bowl into the cistern. ‘I’ve done as he bade me.’ He drank another draught, then declared he must return to the Master.
‘How many days before the dragons reach here?’ Carnelian asked.
Morunasa shrugged. ‘Two at most. More easily might he seek to stop the Rains than their advance.’
They carried some of the precious water down to the aquar and the warriors. As they drank, greedily, they squinted at the incandescent plain. Most likely, the anxiety in their faces had less to do with returning to the withering heat than with returning to the battlefront.
Watching Morunasa, Carnelian strove to devise some way he might use an alliance with him to help the Plainsmen. Though he and Morunasa might conspire against Osidian, this would not protect the tribes from Aurum, who would soon be in their midst. Fern and Poppy might be saved. He reached out to touch Morunasa’s shoulder. The Oracle glanced at Carnelian’s hand in surprise.
‘Leave me some aquar.’
Morunasa raised an eyebrow. His gaze unfocused then sharpened again. ‘I’ll leave you one.’
‘Leave me two… please.’
Something like a smile played over Morunasa’s lips. ‘I can spare only one.’
He barked a command at one of the Marula warriors. The man glanced at Carnelian, then gave a nod. Morunasa and the rest climbed into their saddle-chairs. Their aquar rose and they began filing through the Northgate. One by one they sped away, pulsing bright and dark as they coursed through the magnolia shadows.
Carnelian regarded the man Morunasa had left behind. He peered along the Homing in the direction in which it was likely Fern and Poppy were working. He would have to go and talk to them. How would they react to the presence of one of the murderers of the Tribe? He had worse news for them. A holocaust was bearing down on them he could see no way to deflect and all he might suggest they could do was to destroy the salt. Beyond that, his only hope now, however thin, was that somehow he could restore the subjugation of the Plainsmen to the Masters.
The Maruli was sneaking glances up the hill at the hanging dead. He looked distressed. Perhaps it was unjust to hold him responsible for the massacre. What choice had he had, but to obey the Oracles and Osidian? Carnelian caught the man’s attention and, together, they set off with the aquar ambling after them.
Poppy stared down at the Maruli standing where Carnelian had left him on the Homing. Mattock in hand, Fern regarded the man with cold malice. Trying to head off a dangerous confrontation Carnelian spoke quickly. ‘Morunasa left him here because I asked for an aquar. Whatever he may have done, remember that he’s little more than the Master’s slave.’
Fern turned on Carnelian, raising the stone blade of his mattock, snarling. ‘If he comes anywhere near one of my people I’ll kill him.’
Carnelian was relieved Fern was venting his rage through words rather than action. ‘I’ve something to tell you.’
Fern climbed out of the grave he had been digging and advanced on Carnelian. ‘What? That Morunasa’s come with commands from the Master?’
Carnelian eyed the raised mattock then looked at Poppy. ‘Please, Poppy, go to the hearth. I need to talk to Fern alone.’
Holding him with a glare, the girl shook her grimy head. Carnelian saw the lump of ochre like clotted blood in her hand and how gore sheathed her arms. What was he trying to protect her from? He sat on the ground. ‘Let’s talk then.’
Poppy’s eyes softened and she too sank to the ground. Fern lowered the mattock, but remained standing. Carnelian began by admitting that Morunasa had come with instructions from Osidian ‘… to safeguard the salt Krow’s bringing from the Upper Reach.’
Poppy struck the ground with her ochre. ‘Even now he does whatever the Master tells him.’
Carnelian looked from her face to Fern’s. ‘The Master’s been defeated. He flees before the dragons. They’re coming here.’
He watched them pale beneath their masks of filth. With the back of her hand Poppy stirred the cedar needles she had ochred. Fern let his mattock slide to the earth, his gaze rising blind up into the canopy. Carnelian went on to explain what he thought Osidian wanted with the salt and felt guilty relief as he spilled his worry out. ‘And so we must do what we can to destroy it.’
Fern impaled him with his dark eyes. ‘What does that matter when the Standing Dead are going to turn everything to ash?’
‘What does Hookfork want with us?’ Poppy said, her childish distress making Carnelian feel he had been wrong after all to let her stay.
‘He wants the Master.’
‘Why?’
Carnelian could not deny the plea in her eyes. ‘Because Hookfork seeks to use the Master against the God in the Mountain.’
Fern’s face twisted and he let out a groan. ‘I don’t understand. How…?’
Preparing to answer that, Carnelian felt how deep had been his betrayal of these people whom he loved. ‘Because he’s the brother of the God in the Mountain who, treacherously, set himself up in his place.’
The mattock toppled to the ground. Fern sank down open-mouthed. Poppy simply stared. Carnelian watched as the truth of it slowly sank in. Shock turned to agony as Fern realized the part he had played in bringing Osidian and Carnelian into the Earthsky. Carnelian could not let him bear this alone. He reached out, but did not feel he could touch him. ‘It was my fault. I kept this from you. I never imagined it would come to this. I was blind. I’ve always been blind.’ The enormity of his failure made his words run dry.
They sat like boulders until Poppy spoke. ‘So we must give Hookfork what he wants and then he’ll go away.’
As Carnelian nodded, a cold expression came over Fern’s face. ‘We’ll give him a mutilated corpse.’
Carnelian grimaced. ‘Dead, the Master’s a blunted weapon.’
He tried to explain the politics of Osrakum, but, sitting there amid the rotting dead, even to him it was all incomprehensible. He ended up assuring them that, if Osidian returned to Osrakum, he would be unable to escape the rituals requiring his death. ‘And this might turn the eyes of the Standing Dead away from the Earthsky.’
Silence fell again as they all stared blindly, tortured by guilt, by regrets, by grief. Carnelian, sickened, knew he must tell them the rest of it. He did not want to, but it was such weakness that had brought them there. He tried again to find a way round it, but the certainty of Aurum’s retribution was as solid as the massacre surrounding him. ‘Most likely this will not save the Master’s tribes.’
Poppy stabbed him with a look of pure horror. ‘Why not?’
Carnelian cast around for some way to make it clear. ‘Because Hookfork’s at least as cruel as the Master. He’ll see the defiance of the Plainsmen as an affront to his pride. He’ll feel…’ Corpse stench was the air they breathed. ‘As the Master did here he’ll feel the need to avenge the insult to the Standing Dead of your familiarity with him… with us.’
He bowed his head. He thought of telling them the Wise might yet restrict Aurum’s retribution, but he was sick of peddling false hope. He recoiled as Poppy touched his arm. The look of love in her face released his tears. ‘I don’t deserve…’
She gripped his arm. ‘They won’t leave you with us, will they?’
He wanted to tell her that Osidian would reveal to Aurum that he was here, that if he returned to Osrakum he could accuse Ykoriana and Molochite, that he would strive to curb Aurum’s holocaust, but, ultimately, all he did was shake his head. He wiped his eyes. ‘The most that can be done is to bring what’s left of the tribes back into submission to the Standing Dead.’
Poppy squeezed his arm. ‘Is that why you want to destroy the salt, Carnie?’
He nodded. ‘Otherwise who’d go into service in the legions?’
‘How do we take the Master alive?’
Carnelian looked at her, then at Fern who was scowling, kneading one foot. ‘With Morunasa’s help.’
Poppy’s mouth became a line and Fern’s scowl deepened. She gave a slight nod. ‘And the salt?’
‘Krow’s our best hope there.’
Poppy looked surprised. ‘You really think he’ll help us?’
‘I don’t know, but I believe his heart’s not the Master’s.’ Carnelian gazed at Fern, so still, so quiet. ‘Though it would be a grim and thankless task, you could play an important part in bringing the tribes back into submission.’
Fern raised his eyes. ‘You really believe they’d listen to me, who brought this plague among them?’
Carnelian felt Fern’s anguish like a knife. ‘You’ve atoned for whatever mistakes you might have made. None will gainsay this. Your voice will be free from tribal dependence and will carry weight because of your undeniable loss.’
A wind came from the east and stirred the mother trees to murmuring.
Poppy looked distraught. ‘Carnie, is there really no way at all you can see how we might avoid more deaths?’
Desolate, Carnelian shook his head. ‘No way at all.’
Hollow-eyed, they struggled to complete the burials. The Maruli stayed away from them. Carnelian noticed him, as did Poppy, but if Fern did he gave no sign. It would have made sense to have the man help them, but no one had forgotten Fern’s threat.
When darkness forced them to stop they returned, weary, to Akaisha’s hearth. It was Carnelian’s turn to make the stew. The evening was growing cold and they huddled round the fire for warmth. Stirring the pot, Carnelian had noticed the Maruli creep up the rootstair where he had been crouched for some time. He felt sorry for him. When the stew was done, Carnelian gave a bowl of it to Poppy and one to Fern, then rose with another cradled in his hands.
‘Where’re you going?’ demanded Fern.
Carnelian indicated the man sitting on the rootstair. ‘Since I’m sure he’s not welcome at our fire I’m going to give him something to warm him up.’
He did not wait for more, but took the bowl to the Maruli. The man looked up as he approached. His grin was bright as he accepted the bowl. He put it down carefully then turned back and ran his finger twice across his brow. Carnelian did not understand. The man repeated the action. The Maruli was making the sign for ten. Carnelian had daubed numbers on the foreheads of Marula to help train them to fight in hornwalls. He nodded, smiling, and struck himself on the chest. ‘Carnie.’ He pointed at the man with a questioning nod. The Maruli frowned, then grinned and, placing his hand on his beaded corselet, uttered a syllable.
‘Sthax,’ echoed Carnelian as best he could.
‘Carnie,’ the man said and both smiled.
Carnelian returned to the fire to find Fern gone, his bowl on the ground untouched.
Looking miserable, Poppy pointed up towards the Crag.
He found him on the summit: a man shaped from the same darkness as the night. Approaching, he became aware of the focus of Fern’s stillness. Carnelian looked out into the blackness. A sky alive with stars overlay the earth’s void. He watched, puzzled, but then there was a flicker along the northern horizon. Then another. Dragonfire!
He turned to peer at Fern. His profile was clear enough. Carnelian quelled an impulse to embrace him.
Fern shifted. ‘Tomorrow we have to finish.’
Carnelian lingered after Fern left, gazing north, brooding over what was coming their way.
Just before dawn, Carnelian and Fern went to gauge how much was left to be done. Fully three hearths remained. The stinking, rotting masses hanging seemed never to have been people. Both would have liked to walk away. The thought of touching them was unbearable. They returned to their hearth and discussed it with Poppy over breakfast.
‘We’ve never managed more than two hearths in one day,’ she said.
Grimly Fern nodded.
‘Will you allow the Maruli at least to dig?’ Carnelian asked. Both he and Poppy waited anxiously until Fern gave another nod.
As dusk fell what remained of the women of the last hearth lay beneath its earth. Its men laid out in a row had yet to be carried up to the Crag. Fern wanted to keep going, but Carnelian and Poppy would not let him, saying it would be better to finish the work the following morning once they were rested.
When Carnelian took food to Sthax Fern said nothing, but continued to eat his own. Later Carnelian, Fern and Poppy went up to the summit of the Crag. The north remained dark until the moon rose. They made their way to their hollows by its light.
The next day Poppy called down to them when they reached the Crag steps. Looking up, they saw her arms waving against the blue sky. For more than half the morning she had sat as a lookout among the ravens, the flies, the mouldering dead. Carnelian and Fern left the corpse they had been carrying, wrapped in its blanket, and ran up the steps.
Poppy greeted them, wide-eyed. ‘Dust.’
They followed her along the path they had cleared among the bones, hunched against the storm of ravens their rush disturbed into the air. She pointed. There, in the north, was a rolling front of dust.
‘Saurians?’ Carnelian asked.
Squinting, Fern did not answer. Carnelian and Poppy waited, then saw him slowly shake his head.
‘If it’s a herd it’s one larger than any I’ve ever seen before. Not even heaveners could raise so much dust. Besides, they’re coming straight at us.’
Carnelian looked again, his heart pounding. He was too inexperienced to see what Fern was seeing.
‘Dragons?’ asked Poppy breathlessly.
Fern shook his head again. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen dragons moving in the Earthsky.’
Carnelian bowed his head. The time to act had come. He looked at Fern. ‘How long before they get here?’
‘Well before dusk.’
Carnelian looked into the south-west as he had done every time he had come up to the summit that day.
‘Are you looking for Krow?’ Poppy asked.
Carnelian was about to answer, when he saw a slight disturbance to the west. He grabbed Fern and pulled him round. He stabbed his finger. ‘There.’
Fern shaded his eyes with his hand. Carnelian peered but, through the melting air, he could not really be sure there was anything there. ‘Well?’
Fern shrugged. ‘Could be.’
‘It’s in the direction of the Darkcloud koppie.’
‘Yes,’ said Fern. ‘It could be drag-cradles.’
Carnelian looked back north. That could only be Aurum and Osidian bringing a storm that would soon break upon the Koppie. West, it was not so clear, but if it was Krow Carnelian knew there was his best chance of stopping the salt from reaching the Koppie.
‘If I leave now I could get there and back before the dragons get here.’ This was more a question than a statement.
Fern looked horrified. ‘I can’t bring the rest of the dead up here by myself.’
Carnelian grimaced.
‘I could help,’ said Poppy, a determined look in her eye.
‘Even if you had the strength,’ said Fern, ‘it’s not woman’s work.’
Glancing west again Carnelian was more and more certain there were riders there. ‘Sthax can help you.’ Then, seeing Fern’s puzzlement: ‘The Maruli.’
Fern scowled.
‘At this moment I’m more concerned with the living than the dead. If you want to save these last few souls you’ll allow Sthax to help you.’
The need to get going overwhelmed Carnelian. Without waiting for an answer, he made for the steps.
The moment he reached the shade of the first mother tree Carnelian freed his face from his uba and breathed deep. After the summit the cedar perfume was so fresh it brought tears to his eyes. As he made his way down the Sorrowing he gazed about him as if he were seeing the Grove for the last time.
Sthax was sitting on a root step. When he heard Carnelian approach he rose, grinning. Carnelian pointed insistently back up towards the Crag. Carnelian watched him climb the rootstair, then ran down to the Childsgate where they had tethered the aquar.
She was there, sunk to the ground, snoozing in the shade. Climbing into her saddle-chair, he made her rise and rode her round to the Southgate. Soon they were coursing down the Southing. When they reached the Newditch, Carnelian glanced back to the Crag, then sent her speeding westwards across the open plain.
There were enough aquar pulling drag-cradles for them to have flattened a road through the ferns. The shape of their saddle-chairs was characteristically Darkcloud and it was Krow riding up in front. They raced forward to meet Carnelian, giving him no time to examine their convoy.
Krow gave a grim nod as he approached. ‘Master.’
The Darkcloud round him were less restrained in their greeting. Looking among them Carnelian was pleased to see men he knew and greeted those he did by name, lighting smiles among them.
Noses wrinkled, eyes registered the staining on Carnelian’s robes and skin. He had become so accustomed to being filthy he had not considered the impression he would give. Horror and disgust had spread to all their faces.
‘I’ve been working with Ochre Fern and Twostone Poppy to save the souls of the Ochre.’ Their looks of compassion made him feel a kinship with them, but there was no time to linger on that. ‘The Master’s been defeated.’
The Plainsmen gaped, staring, but it was Krow who erupted towards him. ‘You lie!’
Carnelian drew back in surprise. ‘I assure you, Krow, it’s true. Even now he flees before the dragons.’ He pointed north.
‘Our people have seen dragonfire on the horizon,’ said one of the Darkcloud. Several more declared they must return home immediately. Krow was gazing northwards, his face sagging with utter disbelief.
Carnelian raised himself up in his saddle-chair. ‘You’ll not save your people by hiding in your koppie.’
Their fear turned to anger and they challenged him. In answer he pointed at the drag-cradles. ‘First of all you must destroy that salt.’
Outrage turned them into a mob. He shouted them down. ‘Listen to me.’
One of their leaders swung his arm back to take in the cradles. ‘You’d have us destroy such a vast treasure?’
‘It belongs to us all,’ cried one.
‘We’ve bought it with our blood,’ said another.
Their leader bared his teeth. ‘We’ll take it as our reward for serving the Master.’
Carnelian fought his own rising anger. ‘To our shame we’ve all served the Master.’ He could not help glancing back at Krow, who had subsided into his chair. He looked as many of the Darkcloud in the eyes as he could. ‘I’m as guilty as any here, but now I say to you it’s over. Whatever ambitions the Master put in your hearts, let them go. It’s clear for all to see that everything he promised you is turning to dust. Your only hope now is to return to the way things were.’
‘To be slaves to the Standing Dead?’
Carnelian fixed the speaker with a glare. ‘Do you really believe you’ve ever been anything else?’
The contempt in his voice cooled their defiance. He pointed at the salt again. ‘If you keep that for yourselves, you will earn the envy and hatred of the other tribes. If you share it with them, you might avoid strife for a while, but, ask yourselves, would you or your sons then willingly go into the legions to earn the Gods’ salt? If not, how long do you think it would be before the Standing Dead came to find out why you no longer chose to serve them?’
Consternation broke out again, but Carnelian sensed their anger was really fear.
‘Let’s say we destroy the salt, what then? Would we be protected from those dragons?’ Their leader indicated the approaching dust-cloud.
Carnelian had no answer. Even if they managed to give up Osidian, alive, would Aurum return to the Guarded Land without inflicting retribution? Carnelian remembered how much Aurum liked to enforce the Law. All Osidian’s tribes had seen him and Carnelian without masks. Just for that the penalty was death.
His doubt was infecting the Plainsmen. He looked to Krow, but there was no help there. Before he knew it he was saying: ‘I have a plan that might save you all.’
Their faces lit with hope, but Carnelian, needing time to think, looked away down the convoy. ‘First I must see how much salt you’ve brought.’
He rode his aquar down the flank of the column. There were hundreds of drag-cradles, heavily laden. Overwhelming wealth. Notions of using it himself flitted through his mind. How else was he to make good on his promise to them? How could he save them from Aurum?
Coming to the end of the convoy, he saw its rump, creatures on foot. A mass of matted hair and misshapen bodies clad in verminous rags. Sartlar. Distaste rose in him like bile. His render dream came back to him as he recalled with disgust how they had turned pygmies into broth then fed on them.
He walked his aquar back up the column, the taste of the dream in his mouth. He eyed Aurum’s dust-cloud. They were running out of time. He almost cried out as an idea began forming in his mind. It was a narrow, dangerous path, but it might just be a way to salvation. There was no time to analyse it. The leaders of the Darkcloud were waiting for him, Krow among them.
‘First we must save the people who are fleeing with the Master before the dragons.’
His certainty stiffened spines. Even Krow became alert.
He gazed towards the Koppie. Osidian would not have told him to send the salt to the Bluedancing koppie unless he thought it safe from Aurum. He had an inkling why that might be true and, for the moment, he would have to build his own plan upon Osidian’s.
He looked back at the Darkcloud. ‘We’ll convene a council of war in the koppie of the Bluedancing.’
Men shifted uneasily, gauging each other’s reaction with sidelong glances.
‘Will you trust me?’
Many still looked unconvinced.
Krow rode forward, grim, haunted. ‘When this Master led you before didn’t he help you save your koppie from the Marula?’
They looked to their leaders, who looked at each other. First one then another began nodding. There was not time for Carnelian to feel triumphant. ‘The salt first. We need the drag-cradles cleared to evacuate your people from your koppie.’
Not giving them time to think further he rode back along the convoy and was relieved when they followed him. Everywhere Darkcloud were throwing off the protective blankets to reveal the sparkling white slabs stacked beneath. Carnelian could sense how great was their reluctance to destroy such wealth. ‘Unhitch the drag-cradles,’ he cried.
He allowed Krow to overtake him. ‘Thank you.’
Krow shrugged.
‘Will you ride with me?’
Krow nodded.
‘Well, then, choose forty of the bravest from among those who least fear the Master.’
Krow jerked a nod then rode away. Carnelian gave his attention to instilling confidence in the Darkcloud leaders. Soon they were bellowing orders. At first the Plainsmen lifted the slabs with care. After the first shattered among the meshing fernroots, more followed. Soon their work of destruction took on a fury of its own. Crystals flashed in the air so that the men in the midst of the destruction seemed to be splashing about in water as they ground shards to powder with their heels. Aquar, lifting heads crowned with startled eye-plumes, shied away from the mayhem.
Carnelian rode back towards the sartlar. As he approached they collapsed to the ground grovelling. This added to his disgust. ‘Kor?’
One of the shapeless mounds rose. The hag’s disfigured face slipped free of her mane. He had forgotten how fearfully ugly she was. ‘Will your people be able to keep up with the riders?’
She bowed her head. ‘Master.’
He took that for a yes. Pity overcame his loathing. He wondered why Krow had brought the sartlar from the Upper Reach. It seemed unlikely any would survive what was to come.
Hubbub rushed through the convoy towards him. Looking up, he saw everyone gazing towards the Koppie. Smoke was rising from the Crag. Fear clutched him. It was a signal from Fern. He sped back across a frost of salt to the Darkcloud leaders.
‘Send messengers to all the tribes. All must do what they can for their own protection, then send representatives to a council of war to be held tonight in the koppie of the Bluedancing. Get your own people there with all the djada and water they can gather. If they stay at home, they’ll be trapped between the Backbone and the dragons.’
When he was sure they understood, Carnelian joined Krow and the men he had picked and, with two riderless aquar, he led them at full pelt towards the Koppie.
Smoke rising from the Koppie made Carnelian recall the plague sign on his ride to Osrakum. Ravens disturbed by it swarmed the Crag like flies. He saw his dread mirrored on the faces of the Plainsmen round him. All could see these omens of death.
It was past midday when they reached the Newditch. Fern’s signal had frayed away on the breeze. The ravens had settled once more to their feasting. Carnelian led the Darkcloud up the Southing. When they neared the Southgate bridge they saw two figures, Fern and Poppy, waiting for them. Sthax gleamed behind them in the gloom under the cedars.
The Darkcloud regarded Fern as if he were a living corpse. One bowed his head. ‘May we set foot upon your earth, Ochre Fern?’
Fern gave his leave then turned troubled eyes on Carnelian. ‘Marula approach the Koppie, Plainsmen covering their retreat. Auxiliaries pursue them closely and… dragons.’
‘Any sign of the Master?’ Carnelian asked.
‘A small group is coming up the Sorrowing.’
Carnelian prayed this would be Osidian with his Oracles. Morunasa was sure to be with him and might be their best hope of taking Osidian without a fight. He turned in his saddle-chair and scanned the grim faces of the Darkcloud. ‘We must take the Master alive.’
Colour drained from their faces. Krow looked sick.
‘If he escapes, the dragons will lay waste to every koppie many days’ ride in all directions. If we manage to get his body, the same. Only if we have him living can we hope to survive. Will you help me?’
The Darkcloud looked to their leaders who, after exchanging glances, reluctantly gave Carnelian their support.
‘And you, Krow?’
Chewing his lip the youth gave a nod. Fern stood forward, eyes blazing. ‘I’ll have nothing to do with this murderer.’
Krow withered under Fern’s glare. Carnelian saw with what horror the Darkcloud turned to regard the youth. He had mixed feelings, but owed him a debt. ‘Krow, will you take Poppy with you down to the Old Bloodwood Tree and watch over her?’
Poppy began a protest that Carnelian silenced with a look. ‘Please, Krow.’
He felt a burst of relief as the youth rode up to Poppy, leaning to offer her his hand. Frowning she took hold of it and he swung her up to sit on his lap. Carnelian asked a couple of Darkcloud to go with them, then, after Fern and Sthax were mounted on the aquar he had brought for them, he led them and the remaining Darkcloud round the Homing to the Childsgate, where they all dismounted. As he directed them to conceal themselves in the shadows Carnelian noticed how the Darkcloud stole furtive glances up the hill, how they whispered to each other, how they trod the carpet of cedar needles as if they were afraid to wake the women lying among the roots of their mother trees.
Through the wicker of the Childsgate Carnelian could see riders coming towards them across the Poisoned Field. He drew back to join Fern and Sthax, then glanced round to make sure the Darkcloud were ready. The gate swung open, flooding light into the Grove that flashed and darkened as several aquar rode through. Quickly Carnelian recognized the leading rider by his frame to be Osidian, who was squinting, still blind in the gloom. Carnelian gestured for the Darkcloud to surround the riders, all Oracles. Stepping to block Osidian’s path he pulled his uba down from his mouth.
‘Carnelian?’ Osidian, wrinkling his nose, made Carnelian aware of how filthy he must look. ‘Has Krow arrived with the salt?’
‘Where’s Morunasa?’
‘With the Marula.’
Carnelian had counted on him being with Osidian. What now?
Osidian was frowning. ‘There’s no time for this. Aurum’s almost upon us.’ His eyes darted as he became aware of the encircling Darkcloud. He grew enraged. ‘Get back, Plainsmen, unless you want my wrath to fall upon your kin.’
Carnelian saw the Darkcloud were wavering but, before he could act, Fern was there, thrusting a spear point to within a hand’s breadth of Osidian’s face. Osidian started a little then turned upon Carnelian. ‘Call off your barbarian boy,’ he said in chilling Quya.
The spear point, finding Osidian’s throat, scratched blood when he swatted it away.
‘Another sound and you die, Master,’ hissed Fern through clenched teeth.
Sthax stepped forward with frantic eyes. Carnelian spoke to the Maruli in a soothing tone. When he was sure the man would not interfere, he turned back to Fern. He saw the lust in his face for Osidian’s death. ‘Fern, we need him alive.’ He made a hurried decision. Raising his hand he indicated three of the Darkcloud leaders to remain, then, in a low voice, he told the rest to mount up and take the Oracles back through the gate. The Oracles looked to Osidian for guidance, but Darkcloud spears herded them out of the Grove.
Carnelian was aware of Fern as he addressed Osidian. ‘I’ve destroyed the salt. It’s over.’
Osidian’s eyes became hooded. ‘More treachery, Carnelian?’
Carnelian mastered a burst of anger before he replied. ‘I’m only doing what I should’ve done long ago. If I had, perhaps the Tribe would still be living.’
He turned to Fern. ‘Please, Fern, think of what there is to lose.’
Fern clenched his spear tighter, but backed away enough to allow Carnelian to approach Osidian. Close up his skin looked sallow, moist.
‘Do you still have the worms in you?’ he asked in Quya.
When Osidian looked down at him, Carnelian saw that his eyes were rimmed with shadow. In spite of everything that had happened he did not like seeing him like that. Osidian grinned and his teeth seemed yellow. ‘It is not too high a price to speak to a god.’
Carnelian glanced at the three Darkcloud then at Fern. ‘I’m going to have to leave the Master in your care.’
As Fern’s face crumpled, Carnelian wondered if Osidian would be safe with his friend, but knew he had no choice. ‘Be certain, Osidian, that, if you vex him, Fern and these others will slay you.’
Osidian seemed not to have heard. His eyes had lost their fire and it was as if he was no longer there. Carnelian did not trust that. He reached up to Osidian’s aquar, ready to make it sink should he try to escape. He waited until Fern and the Darkcloud had mounted before signing Sthax to mount. Only then did he himself clamber into his saddle-chair.
‘Where’re you going?’ Fern demanded as Carnelian’s aquar rose.
‘To persuade Morunasa to save the Plainsmen.’
Fern grimaced. ‘What?’
Carnelian did not have time to explain. He made his aquar turn.
‘I’ll come with you,’ cried Fern.
Carnelian looked back. ‘I really need you to keep the Master safe.’
He saw Fern understood: even weakened as the Master was the Darkcloud might not be able to resist his power of command. When Sthax rode through the gate, Carnelian and his aquar slipped into the light after him.
Their aquar churned ash up from the Poisoned Field as they sped across it and down the Sorrowing. As he crossed the Near Sorrowbridge, he saw a wall of smoke ahead. Rising higher than the Koppie’s outer ring of trees, it was approaching like a sandstorm. His feet sent his aquar loping towards it. Soon he was riding parallel to Sthax, then with the Darkcloud, the Oracles in their midst. The faces he could see were stiff with fear. He rode on, watching the smoke fumbling towards them through the trees.
Acrid air caught at their throats as they crossed the last earthbridge out onto the fernland. Behind the billowing mass of smoke rolling towards them lurked mountainous shadows. Carnelian was shocked to find that Aurum had already arrived. Then he was startled when something resembling an arc of lightning came alive behind the veil. A screaming followed, like metal shearing; shrill, unbearable.
Squinting, he searched for Morunasa’s Marula. At the foot of the smoke wall a tide of them was mounding towards him in full flight. Just behind the Marula, partially obscured by haze, he saw Osidian’s Plainsmen. In close pursuit, a crescent of riders was extending its horns out on either flank: knowing Osidian had entered the Koppie, Aurum was attempting to encircle it with his auxiliaries.
Looking round, Carnelian saw the Darkcloud, wide-eyed, gaping. He shouted at them, but they seemed deaf. He rode his aquar into their midst, bellowing: ‘If you want your people to survive, reach the other tribes.’ He pointed at the Plainsmen hurtling towards them. ‘Get as many of them as you can to the Bluedancing.’
Some nodded, confused, then in twos and threes they sped off until only the Oracles were left, and Sthax, who was hunched, uneasy in the presence of his masters. Carnelian gestured for him to follow, then sent his aquar like an arrow towards the oncoming Marula. Sthax was soon riding alongside, a crazed grimace on his face. Glancing back, Carnelian saw the Oracles chasing them. He and they were all flying on the wings of a rising gale that was bending the ferns towards Aurum’s approaching storm. Thunder grumbled in the earth. Another arc of fire flashed into life, wavering as it slid its flame across the fernland, setting it alight; then, even as its screaming reached them, it sputtered and vanished.
Soon the Marula fleeing towards them were close enough for Carnelian to see their rictus grins. He searched and found, at their heart, the ashen faces of more Oracles. Hurtling towards this core he was aware of the Marula warriors crashing past on either side.
‘Morunasa,’ he cried, but his voice was snatched away by the gale.
Morunasa’s Oracles were almost upon him. He slowed his aquar, spun her round, then made her run back the way he had come, letting Morunasa’s Oracles overtake him. Soon when he looked to either side he could see their ashen faces, their yellow eyes wide with terror. He sensed a shape close on his left shoulder. Glancing round, he expected to see Sthax, but it was Morunasa, ravener teeth lining his gape as he shouted something. Carnelian waited until Morunasa had pulled abreast, then leaned across. ‘The Master’s my prisoner.’
Morunasa shook his head, indicating his ears, then slowed his beast and Carnelian followed suit. They came to a halt together as Marula hurtled past them.
‘The Master’s my prisoner,’ Carnelian shouted. ‘Help me and I’ll help you get back your Upper Reach.’
Morunasa regarded him with wild eyes. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Take them into the Koppie.’
Morunasa jerked a nod then whipped his aquar off at furious speed. Carnelian looked for Sthax, but he was gone. He sent his aquar after Morunasa’s in swift pursuit. The sky was darkening, the ground shaking so violently dust was rising up from the earth. Suddenly his shadow was cast stark in front of him. He felt a burning at his back. He turned, squinting against the glare. A column of fire brighter than the sun was gaining on him. Its scream raped his ears as the fire shuddered away. He gaped slack-jawed as a monster emerged from the murk. It was bearing down on him like a great ship. Horns curved up like ivory figureheads. A leprous tower rose from its back, tapering in tiers, rigged, with a mast that thrust a standard like a sail up into the blackening sky. Another high whining scream shocked Carnelian out of his trance. His hand jerked up to shield his eyes from the fire-flash. Through his fingers he could see more arcing liquid-flame carve glowing curves across the ground. Then the scene was lost in sulphurous billows of smoke. Its black wave rolled over him. He was choking. Coughing, he wiped away stinging tears. His aquar lost the rhythm of her stride. He peered at where they were heading. The Newditch magnolias were rushing up. Riders were leaping the ditch like fish. He gritted his teeth. His aquar leapt. They were in the air, the ditch beneath them. Then she landed with a thump that rattled his skull and they were coursing across the ferngarden with the others. A whine chased him. Almost beyond hearing, its pitch slid down to a fearful shrieking. There was a whoosh, then roar. A wall of heat slammed into him. Turning his cheek into it, eyes welling, he saw the magnolias burning fiercely as they had in his dream.