The Standing Dead - Stone Dance of the Chameleon 02 (34 page)

Fern
gave
him
a
look
of
sympathy.
'At
least
their
antics are
driving
away
the
flies.'

Carnelian
frowned.
'I'd
prefer
the
flies.'

Fern
chuckled.

'I'm
glad
at
least
it
amuses
you.' Fern
looked
concerned.
'I
didn't
mean
-' Carnelian
cut
off
the
apology
with
his
hand.
'I
know you
didn't.'

'If
I
asked
her,
perhaps
Mother
Ginkga
would
send them
away.'

Carnelian
began
to
shake
his
head,
then
winced
as
it adhered
to
the
bundle
of
tendons
he
was
carrying
over
his shoulder.
The
children
laughed,
delighted,
and
he growled,
scattering
them.

The
Standing
Dead
haunt
their
nightmares.
To
see
one of
them
here,
doing
this
work
...'
Fern
shook
his
head, frowning,
himself
overcome
by
the
wonder
of
it.

'It's
not
that
I'm
blaming
them,'
said
Carnelian.
'I
just wish
they'd
leave
me
alone.'

They'll
tire
of
it.'

For
some
time
after
that
Carnelian
despaired
they
ever would,
but
gradually
the
gang
began
to
thin
until
the
last few
children
were
wandering
back
across
the
earthbridge, making
for
the
shade
of
their
mother
trees.

The
blaze
of
the
sun
managed
to
enter
through Carnelian's
slitted
eyes
to
give
him
a
beating
headache. The
air
scorched
his
lungs.
The
sun
was
nearing
its greatest
height
when
Ginkga
called
for
a
break.
Panting, brushing
away
flies,
Carnelian
and
Fern
scrambled
for the
shade
of
the
Bloodwood
Tree
as
if
it
were
a
river
in which
they
might
swim.
As
shadow
slipped
over
them, Carnelian
put
his
head
back
and
groaned
with
pleasure. A
delicious
breeze
cooled
his
skin.
He
saw
two
girls ladling
water
out
from
a
jar
that
lay
against
the
trunk
of the
tree.
Fern
called
over
to
them
and
they
came
with slow,
reluctant
steps.
They
stood
uncertain,
staring
at Carnelian.

Fern
grew
angry.
'Come
on,
fetch
us
some
water.'

The
girls
ran
back
to
the
jar.

They
shun
me,'
said
Carnelian.

'Both
of
us.
Do
you
blame
them?'
Fern
opened
his
arms to
display
his
grimy
torso.

Carnelian
chuckled.
'I
suppose
not.
You
look
as
if you've
been
peeled.'
He
laughed
when
Fern
raised
an eyebrow.

'Red's
not
your
colour,
Carnie.'

The
girls
returned
with
a
bowl
of
water
and
some roasted
fernroot
which
they
carefully
put
on
the
ground
in front
of
them.
Fern
insisted
Carnelian
drink
first.
When they
had
quenched
their
thirst,
they
went
to
sit
with
their backs
against
the
tree.
As
they
munched
away
at
the fernroot,
they
gazed
across
the
sun-bleached
fernmeadow to
the
Newditch
and
into
the
wavering
mirage
of
the
plain beyond.

Carnelian
looked
round.
Fern's
red
face
was
crusted black
with
blood.
He
was
scratching
his
head,
where
the curls
were
stiff
with
brown
matter.
Glancing
round,
he saw
Carnelian
looking
at
him.
Carnelian
thought
his friend's
eyes
very
bright.

'Where
did
you
get
that
hair?'

Fern
frowned.

Carnelian
looked
away,
narrowing
his
eyes
against
the glare
of
the
world
beyond
the
shade.
'Perhaps
I
shouldn't have
asked.'

'My
mother
was
travelling
through
the
Leper
Valleys
on her
way
back
from
the
Mountain
when
she
became separated
from
the
other
tributaries.
She
was
raped.'

The
murmur
of
the
women's
talk
was
a
buzzing
of
bees. Carnelian
turned
his
head
to
look
at
Fern,
whose
chin
was resting
on
his
chest.
His
eyes
were
focusing
on
the
fern-root
in
his
hands
that
he
was
snapping
into
little
pieces.

'A
Maruli?'
asked
Carnelian.

Fern's
chin
dug
into
his
chest.
'Smeared
all
over
with ash,
yellow-eyed
with
a
ravener
grin.'

'It
must
have
been
hard
for
you
growing
up
here.'

'My
mother
protected
me.'

'And,
surely,
so
did
the
rest
of
your
hearth?'

Fern
turned
to
look
at
him.
'When
I
was
born,
Whin sided
with
those
who
urged
my
mother
to
expose
me
on the
summit
of
the
Crag.'

'But
you're
married
to
her
daughter.'

'My
mother
claims
Whin
agreed
to
that
because
she shared
her
passion
for
reuniting
their
two
matriarchal lines,
but
I
don't
believe
it.
As
is
our
custom,
I
had
tried to
find
a
wife
in
another
hearth.
Because
of
the
way
I
was fathered
none
would
have
me.
My
mother
must
have begged
Whin.'

Seeing
the
anguish
in
those
dark
eyes,
Carnelian fought
a
desire
to
embrace
him.