The Third God (15 page)

Her head gave a tiny shake against his chest. There was something in the smallness of that movement that made him probe further. He felt her hand upon his arm. Looking up at him she focused on first one of his eyes then the other.

‘It might have been my fault, Carnie.’

He must have looked confused for she added: ‘When I saw you riding away, I decided that, after all, I would prefer to go with you to the Mountain.’

Some figures were waiting for them on the half-collapsed earthbridge that led into the koppie. Carnelian was surprised to see they were sartlar. As he swept up they fell prostrate on the earth. He made his aquar kneel. Poppy climbed out, then he followed her. As he stood over the sartlar one glanced up. He knew the face. ‘Kor?’

The sartlar abased herself. He wondered at her being there, but was relieved. ‘Get up.’

The hag rose painfully to stand, head bowed.

‘I’m going to leave this girl in your care.’

The sartlar looked up at him. ‘Yes, Master.’

The skin of her branded forehead almost made her eyes disappear as she frowned. She was looking at his wrist. He raised it and saw the wound there. It was just a graze. Quick as a snake she reached out and touched him. The graze stung. He raised his hand to strike her, but she cowered back to her knees. Her fear of him made him ashamed of his anger. She raised her face through her lank hair. She had her finger in her mouth. She withdrew it. She indicated his graze. ‘Blood.’

Her face had resumed its passive mask. What was she after? The scar around his neck itched. He recalled another sartlar woman, on the road when he had been a slave. He ran his fingers over his scar and remembered the soothing salve she had put on it. Kor was wiping her finger on her rags. Carnelian was anxious to get back to the battle, but he became worried, imagining what might happen to Poppy if they should be defeated. He dismissed this fear. There was nothing else he could do.

Poppy tugged his hand. He could see in her face that she knew where he was going. He bent to kiss her.

‘Come back,’ she said.

He nodded, told Kor that she and the sartlar must protect Poppy with their lives then, mounting, rode back towards the battle.

He slowed his aquar when he saw riders approaching. Among the indigo of the Oracles, Osidian’s pale face seemed made of bone. Beyond them raveners prowled the battlefield. Carnelian felt sick. There was no sign of living Plainsmen nor Marula warriors. He could not believe them all perished. He would not. He waited as calmly as he could for Osidian to reach him.

The Master’s legs, arms and face were streaked with gore. His eyes burned. ‘Be joyous, Carnelian, we are victorious.’

Osidian was shivering. Carnelian could not tell if the agony he was suffering was from a wound or from the maggots. ‘The Plainsmen and the Marula?’

Osidian closed his eyes and sank back into his chair. Beside him, Morunasa fixed Carnelian with a baleful look. ‘They hunt what remains of the auxiliaries.’

‘And you don’t?’

Morunasa indicated Osidian. ‘The Kissed will soon give birth to the servants of our Lord.’

Carnelian saw with unease the reverence with which the Oracles were regarding Osidian. As Morunasa led them past him, Carnelian searched the horizon, then turned his aquar to follow them back to the koppie. His plan lay in ruins. He dared not consider how many men might have been slain. He no longer knew what was happening.

Carnelian stood guard on the gate waiting for Fern and Krow, counting the survivors. All day they came in, Plainsmen and Marula, exhausted and bloody, but with the stiff backs and raised chins of victors. He asked the Plainsmen for news of Fern. Many told him that, when they had last seen him, he had been dealing death to the auxiliaries.

Carnelian was sitting, morose, when another group came in. He rose and saw with joy that Fern was among them. He ran forward to greet him, but was warned off by the look in his eyes.

‘Many good men fell today.’

Carnelian nodded. ‘But most have survived.’

‘And Poppy?’ The speaker was so begrimed with blood that Carnelian did not at first realize it was Krow.

‘Safe and unhurt.’

‘And the Master?’ asked Fern.

‘He returned with Morunasa.’

‘What now?’

‘I don’t know.’

Scowling, Fern dismounted and, leaving his aquar in Krow’s care, he strode into the grove. Carnelian and the youth exchanged glances, then Carnelian followed Fern.

Ravener screeches carried through the night as the monsters feasted on the wounded and the dead. The Plainsmen cowered, sick with shame that they had abandoned their brethren to such a fate. Poppy whispered to Carnelian that it reminded her of the sounds coming from the Isle of Flies.

Morunasa and the Oracles clustered around Osidian as he groaned, like crows around a corpse. Nauseated, Carnelian watched them minister to Osidian like midwives. When the moon had set, pale maggots as thick as thumbs began wriggling out from the sticky mouths of his wounds. The Oracles cherished them as if they were babies.

BURNT OFFERINGS

Truly the Gods savour sacrifice
But swell not too much Their holocausts
Lest you wake Their greed
And They devour the world.

(Quyan fragment)

FIRST LIGHT FOUND CARNELIAN BLEARY
-
EYED. HE HAD HARDLY SLEPT. AT
first he had been haunted by the maggot births, then he became possessed by the fear that, at any moment, Aurum would fall on them with his dragons. He was exhausted from the continuous effort of listening for the first tremor of an attack. He rose, knuckled his forehead, rubbed his eyes. A gleam from Osidian’s body could just be seen through the huddle of the Oracles. Where he had failed to work out Aurum’s intentions, Osidian might succeed. As he approached, Morunasa rose to bar his way.

‘I must talk to him.’

The Oracle shook his head. ‘It’s our Lord who must wake him from within his dreams.’

‘But we’re still in danger. The dragons could be upon us at any time.’

Morunasa frowned. ‘What I fear is more terrible than dragons.’ He leaned close. ‘Can you not feel the presence of our Lord?’

The odour of the Isle of Flies was coming off his ashen skin. Carnelian shuddered, swayed by Morunasa’s certainty, finding it easy to sense the Darkness-under-the-Trees pulsing in the gloom. It drove the last fragment of fight out of him. He became too weary to withstand his doubts. The edifices he had constructed with his reason crumbled. An old fear returned. What if Osidian’s power revived? What if victory over the auxiliaries were to give him back ascendancy over the Plainsmen?

‘The men intend to return to their homes today.’ It was Fern approaching.

Carnelian glanced back towards where Osidian lay.

‘He can do nothing to stop it.’

‘You’re so sure?’

Fern gave a solid nod, but Carnelian thought he saw a glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes. Rising commotion and an impression of movement made him notice the whole hillside in motion. In the twilight it was hard to make out individuals.

‘First they’ll return to the battlefield,’ Fern said.

Carnelian nodded. It was good that they should save what they could of their dead.

‘I fear Hookfork will be waiting for them,’ said Fern.

‘I too,’ said Carnelian, glad to be able to share his fear with someone. ‘But that leaves us with the mystery of what caused the thunder in the night.’

Fern grimaced. ‘Could Hookfork have gone north, hoping to trap us?’

‘If so why has he allowed us to destroy his auxiliaries?’

‘Perhaps he felt it all-important to protect his render supply.’

Carnelian shook his head. ‘A few dragons would have sufficed for that.’

Fern’s eyes flashed. ‘What then?’

Carnelian had an answer, but dared not voice it until he was sure it was not desperation overthrowing reason. Fern’s pained frustration drew it out of him. ‘Perhaps he’s fled back to the Guarded Land.’

‘Why would he do that? You told us the Master’s the entire focus of his schemes.’

‘He is, but Hookfork might fear the Master reaching the Guarded Land before him.’

With effort, Carnelian strove to analyse matters as a Master might. Barbarians were unimportant; even the loss of so many auxiliaries. What mattered was how all this would be perceived in Osrakum. This war was merely the shadow cast by the game being played there between the Powers. The Wise had risked much in attempting to retrieve Osidian: Aurum had risked everything. If Osidian were to make his appearance unfettered, the alignments of the forces would be disrupted. The Wise might be able to regain control, but Aurum would be lucky to salvage anything at all.

Carnelian became aware of Fern’s exasperation. He sought to find an end to untie the knot of his analysis for him, then gave up the attempt. ‘Politics.’

Seeing Fern grow angry, Carnelian was about to retreat from his Chosen vantage point, when a thought occurred to him. Such an appearance by Osidian might disrupt the nexus of power in Osrakum enough to cause the whole business in the Earthsky, even the sins of the Plainsmen, to be forgotten. He was stunned, certain he was seeing a move in the game. He found himself trying to remember the few things his father had said about how it was played. Why had his father taught him so little?

He focused on Fern’s angry frustration. The desire to save him, to save Poppy and the Plainsmen, to atone for the annihilation of the Ochre, all this meant he must learn to play the Masters’ game.

He reached out to touch Fern. ‘I’m sorry.’

His friend’s face collapsed into an expression of confusion. He watched Carnelian’s hand withdrawing. ‘I’ve no wish to understand what the Standing Dead might mean by “politics”,’ he said, his mouth curling with disgust.

Carnelian marshalled his thoughts. ‘Nevertheless I’m now convinced Hookfork is leaving or has left the Earthsky.’ Though he could not really believe it, he still felt relieved. Something else occurred to him. ‘This could provide us with a way to rid the Earthsky of Morunasa and the Marula.’

Fern looked uncertain, but he was watching Carnelian with hope.

‘If the Plainsmen knew that Hookfork was gone would they continue to listen to the Master?’

Fern shook his head. ‘But why should they believe your conjectures?’

Carnelian saw how impossible it would be to explain his reasoning to the Plainsmen. If Fern was accepting this at all it was from some vestige of faith that he still had in him. Carnelian felt ashamed, humbled that any should still linger in his friend’s heart.

He waited for him to speak. Fern looked up. ‘You hope the Master will take the Marula with him in pursuit of Hookfork?’

Carnelian pondered this. It was a fair question. ‘I believe the faith he and Morunasa have in the Marula god could be enough to make them attempt it.’

Fern stared blindly. ‘Most likely they’d be going to their destruction.’ He regarded Carnelian. ‘And you’ll go with him?’

‘I must.’

‘Then I’ll go with you.’

Carnelian wondered what lay behind this decision. He wanted it to be because Fern still felt something for him. The look in Fern’s face suggested he might have bleaker motivations.

He smiled grimly. ‘And what if you don’t die in battle?’

‘I’m sure I’ll die some other way.’

Their gazes locked; Fern was first to break contact.

‘What about Poppy?’ Carnelian said, as much as anything else to cover up a feeling of embarrassment.

Fern chewed his lip. ‘I believe Krow would want to take care of her . . . be capable even . . .’

‘She wouldn’t go willingly,’ Carnelian said.

Fern shook his head. ‘We couldn’t force her.’

Carnelian smiled ruefully. ‘The last time I tried that she triggered a battle.’

Fern nodded. ‘She’s earned the right to choose for herself.’

They found Poppy and Krow together watching the Plainsmen stream down through the mother trees towards their aquar. Carnelian studied the two of them as Fern explained the conclusions they had come to. Krow had eyes only for Poppy’s face as she nodded, listening. When Fern was done she looked up at Carnelian. She indicated the deserting Plainsmen. ‘You’re going to tell me I have to leave with them.’

Carnelian exchanged a glance with Fern, whose look of encouragement prompted a shaking of Carnelian’s head.

Poppy looked from one to the other and frowned. ‘I don’t understand what’s going on here.’

Fern answered: ‘If you choose to go with us it’ll almost certainly be to your death.’

She blushed. ‘The Mother will protect us.’ She looked hard into Carnelian’s eyes. ‘I’m coming with you.’

‘Then I’m coming too,’ said Krow.

When they all looked at him his face too changed colour.

‘Many tribes would take you in,’ Carnelian said.

Krow glanced at Poppy, slowly shaking his head. ‘I’ll never again be a stranger in a strange tribe.’

Poppy looked at Fern then Carnelian. ‘He’s right. You’re my tribe now.’ She turned to Krow. ‘You too.’

Krow coloured again and Poppy smiled. ‘Well, that’s settled then.’

While Carnelian had been sitting on a rock waiting for Osidian to wake, the grove had emptied of Plainsmen. The sound of them riding away had echoed up through the cedars, then silence had fallen. Brooding mostly over Poppy’s decision, he had watched the sun chase shadows from under the trees.