The Chosen - Stone Dance of the Chameleon 01 (25 page)

'Is it not obvious that we are to ride, my Lord?' said Jaspar.

'Ride?' said Vennel. 'What of the decision that was made in the Legate's hall?'

Carnelian watched the saurians' dancer's walk and their heads floating high above their grooms.

Vennel looked around for an answer. 'And since when do the Chosen
ride?’

'Would my Lord prefer to walk to Osrakum?' said Jaspar.

'First the collarless barbarians and now this. I must insist that these changes be ratified in formal conclave.'

'Do you have any doubt, Vennel, that such a ratification would take place?' The tone of contempt in Jaspar's voice caused Vennel to look round at him.

'At the very least I must have time to contact my household to make—'

'If you do, then we must leave without you, my Lord,' said Aurum. 'Even as we speak the tide comes in. Soon it will submerge the road we must take.' He was watching the
Marula
move among the aquar.

'Wind made flesh,' muttered Carnelian, recalling something his father had once said.

Vennel turned his long mask towards him. 'Did you say something, my Lord?' He sounded livid.

Carnelian ignored him. He had no wish to speak to Vennel, no wish to speak to any of the Masters. Instead, he went down the steps towards the aquar, trailing Tain and the other boy after him.

Up close, t
he aquar had a dun surface, mottl
ed, mosaic-scaled, dull-gleaming. A groom held the reins. Carnelian followed these up to the swaying snake-scaled heron head, the narrow snout, the stone bit wedged into the angle of the jaws, the eyes' discs of green glass, as large as apples.

Plumes flared suddenly above the eyes like salmon-pink peacock fans. Its body lurched, giving off a strong animal odour. Reins tautened, straining. Carnelian stepped back. He was aware of the nervously clenching three-fingered hands, and of the scrape and thump of the clawed bird feet longer than his own leg. The groom wound his forearm into the reins, ran his hand along the sweating flank, made low whistling noises. As the creature calmed, Carnelian reached out. He expected its skin to be slimy cold, but instead it had a smooth-pebbled warmth. He was thrilled to feel the tremble of its heart.

'So beautiful,' he sighed.

The groom grinned like an idiot and made a bobbing bow. 'Master ride yes?'

The saddle-chair sat on the aquar's long back, held there by the girth that passed under its belly. Carnelian stretched up to the chair rim. He ran his hand along the cracked barrelling wood. He could not reach high enough to follow its curve right up. It narrowed to form a crude back. It was like a small round boat. Bone knobs and hoops bristled the sides. Some had broken off, frayed knots of rope clung to others. The whole chair was grained with dirt.

Carnelian looked round at other saddle-chairs. Each had its own shape. One had a wider back, another had long staples instead of hoops, from yet another tackle hung down like torn ship's rigging. All shared the same unkempt, patched and filthy look. They were hardly the seats of Masters.

'We're being called away.' It was Tain. Carnelian had forgotten him. His brother pushed something hard into his hand and walked off. Carnelian opened his fingers and saw that it was Ebeny's Little Mother. He shoved the stone into a pocket, tucking its thong in after.

The groom was still bobbing and grinning. 'Master ride yes?'

Carnelian saw that the other Masters were wandering among the aquar like shoppers at a fair. The aquar Carnelian was standing near looked to him as strong as any of the others. Its saddle-chair was no worse. He shrugged. He would take it though he could see no way to climb up.

He turned to the groom. 'Master ride yes.'

The groom showed a few stump teeth, then jerked the reins. The aquar shifted and adjusted its weight from one foot to the other a few times, then its legs hinged forward as it settled to the ground.

The saddle-chair now no higher than Carnelian's waist was a curved hollow padded with worn leather strips. Even through his nose filter, Carnelian detected something of the odour of its last owner. He conquered his disgust and gripped the chair rim. The groom gave an encouraging nod. Carnelian vaulted and fell untidily into the seat. He tried to slide into position even as the reins were being thrus
t into his hand. The groom whistl
ed. With a sudden lurch Carnelian was pushed upwards. It was the slide down the chair that choked off his cry. He panicked as he kept sliding. Then his buttocks slapped against something hard and he stopped dead.

Dazed, he saw the brown column of the creature's neck was there before him. His legs poked straight out on either side. The chair lurched as the aq
uar shifted. Its eye-plumes rustl
ed and quivered their pink just above him.

'Put your feet in the stirrups, my Lord.' It was his father's voice.

Carnelian managed to pull himself over in the direction of the voice. His father was hunched in a saddle-chair that was playing
gently
from side to side like a paper boat in a stream. He was guiding his aquar with small movements of his wrist. The stirrup,' he said, pointing.

Carnelian peered round his chair rim and saw the flattened wooden ring swinging. He stretched and managed to remove one ranga shoe. Then with some effort he managed to screw his bandaged foot into the stirrup. It was a tight fit but it gave him something to push against. He removed his other shoe and found the stirrup on the other side. With his feet secure he found it easy to push himself up the chair and settle into a sitting position.

'Once we get outside always breathe in through your nose pad. Do not forget, my Lord.' His father's voice was cold and remote. He moved away.

Carnelian
watched him go. He wanted to shout at him, how could you have turned Crail over to Aurum? His own remoteness was melting into tears. Grief sat like a stone on his chest. He concentrated on his breathing till the pressure lessened, then scoured around for a distraction. The ground seemed far below. Near one of the lanterns Aurum and his father were close together. The lantern's eyes gleamed in its bronze and peppered their speaking hands with light. Jaspar and Vennel were sitting apart, each a massing of shadow adjusting into a saddle-chair. Vennel, particularly, was having problems. Ranged behind them were the slim shapes of the
Marula
, holding their aquar steady with skilled hands.

Carnelian
looked for Tain. He found some other aquar, eye-plumes all aquiver, which instead of saddle-chairs had frames on their backs to which were tied many bundles. Sitting on top of each pile was a boy.
Carnelian
counted them. Five, one for each of the Masters. One of them was Tain, slumped staring at the ground.

A Master's voice gave a command and aquar began turning to point in the same direction.
Carnelian
watched them forming into a column that was heading off behind him. His aquar fidgeted. He would have to turn it to join the others. He pulled hard on the right-hand rein. The aquar's long head lunged up and round. A huge green eye milked over with a blink. Plumes burst their pink almost in his face. The world spun round, then slowed to rest.

When he had stopped feeling dizzy, Carnelian pulled more gently. This time the creature turned slowly. The chair rocked to the right, then to the left. He let both reins slack together. His aquar began to walk forwards. He rolled to one side then the other in a smooth liquid motion. The other aquar were moving through a gate. Carnelian passed under a lantern. He felt unease at its weight hanging above him. Its rays seemed to riddle him with holes. Then he was among the others. He went through the gate and felt the shadow of the tunnel beyond slide over him. Rock undulated by on either side. He was deafened by the echoing scrape and clatter of claws on stone. The riders ahead alternated bright then dim as slaves trotted by holding torches.

Carnelian felt the breeze cooling his hand. He pulled his cowl down. Hidden, he lifted his mask a little. It was a relief to breathe unfiltered air. One deep breath. Another. There was a tang of the sea. He dropped the mask back. Through its eyeslits he saw the tunnel brightening ahead.

Everyone stopped. The riders in front were like a line of skittles. Beyond them torches were bobbing off towards a huge portcullis. Carnelian became aware of the voices just down to his right. A man was reaching into the wall and cursing. Another brought a torch to cast its light into the recess. The man reached in and grimaced as he struggled with a counterweight. Carnelian saw the cable running off from it in a groove cut into the rock. A beam recessed into the floor was slid out from the niche to let its counterweight hang free. A grating sound made him look ahead. A few men were braced against the portcullis, pushing up. It was rising smoothly. As it did so the cables slid back along their grooves. There was a rattle and clink from the niches as the counterweights sank. More men rushed in to help lift the portcullis with poles. The whole mass of bronze-reinforced stone was heaved up until none of it could be seen. As the riders lurched into movement, Carnelian strained round to make sure the pack animals were close behind, then made his aquar follow.

The portcullis clunked closed behind them. They rode for a while along the passage and stopped for another gate. Its grating cut the sky into blue squares. After it had rumbled up they moved forwards and under it. One by one, the riders ahead showed stark against the sky, then disappeared. Eventually, it was Carnelian's turn and he rode out into the morning.

A vast sickle-blade of sand curved off into the west. Its inner edge was glinted by a creeping lip of sea. Its outer was defined by the cliffs into which, in the distance, a valley cut up from the beach. Carnelian's knuckles were colourless as his hands clamped to the chair. He was high up on a shoulder of rock that buttressed the Tower Crag. The rock jagged down to grey-laced pools. The sea was exploding white among the boulders.

Steps had been gouged into the rock. Aquar claws scrabbled and slipped as they were urged down. The stairway hugged the tower wall, its open side giving Carnelian too clear a view of the fall below.

The last step gave onto a path grooved along a winding ridge of rock. They moved along it, riding parallel to the shore. Lime-green knuckled fingers of seaweed grasped the edges of the road. Channels carved across it, streaming water back to the sea. They drew closer to the waves.

Carnelian could feel their thunder. Spume flecked the air. Sinking into the sand, the ridge grew flatter, allowing them to pick up speed. Carnelian was rolled around in the saddle-chair as his aquar took longer and longer strides. He found that if he pushed hard against the stirrups he could hold on more easily.

When they reached the rocks' pebble skirt, they began crunching across. The sea charged them, frothed over the pebbles, weakening visibly as it neared. It almost reached them, lingered frozen, then began to hiss back, at first slowly, then with an increasing rush and roar.

The pebble scree quietened into sand. The riders ahead filed off along the sea's margin, spurring their aquar into furious splashing speed. Carnelian did the same and the chair punched into his back. He gave a whoop of excitement as the wind whipped his black cloak up to flap around him like wings. The aquar's diamond head cut the air. Its muscle-shudder pistoned up through the saddle-chair. Together, they crashed along the trail pool-pocked into the darker sand. Incredible speed. A wave slipped its glass across their path. They were smashing through it. Then it whispered away wiping clean the printed sand. The salt air penetrated even the mask filter and Carnelian sucked at it as hard as he could. His eyes swam. The beach flowed a brown spate on either side. He noticed it brightening. Behind him, over the cliffs of Thuyakalrul, the sun was rising and spreading its glow over the sand. The aquar all broke into song. Their voices were like reeded flutes. Carnelian and his aquar's joined shadow cast forward like a spear as they pelted along the crystal margin of the sea, buffeted by their own speed's rushing wind.

The stream bled into the sea, darkening the water, making the waves froth pink. Its artery-red channels fanned out across a stretch of beach, bruising the sand purple.

With the others, Carnelian had slowed his aquar to a walk. In the east the Tower Crag lay black beneath a rind of sun. Westwards the sand stretched to the next bright headland. Carnelian looked upstream to where there was a wide gap in the cliff wall. Narrowing his eyes, he was sure that he could see the valley it gave into cutting upwards to the land above. Sunlight had not reached into it. A powdering of birds flew up and caught fire in the dawn.

The reek of rotting was forcing itself even through his filter. Carnelian looked out across the reddened delta, wondering at the gulls that mobbed it. He watched them land with several hops, wings snapping open and closed, fighting, screeching, dropping soft sodden lumps when retreating.

The party milled around him. Aurum was marshalling the Marula into formation. Feeling a desire to lose himself in the morning, Carnelian urged his aquar into a jog. Soon the red sand was all around him. The stench grew as if he were approaching a catch of fish left for days in the sun. He began feeling queasy as he came among the gulls and saw them tearing at hunks of flesh. Chunks clumped together, piling up into mounds like oozing gums around which the sluggish bloody waters flowed. Stained sand jiggled with sand-fleas. Mats of flies
rustled
up as his aquar's long shadow drove them from their feasts. Carnelian drew his cowl over his mask and fought the vomit down.