The Standing Dead - Stone Dance of the Chameleon 02 (29 page)

Whin was possibly forty, though her weathered skin looked older. She regarded the Standing Dead with a severe face. To avoid her eyes, Carnelian looked at the boys, who were also staring, their cheeks flushed from the heat of the fire. He smiled and they smiled back. Sharply, Whin told them to resume stirring the earthenware pots sitting upon the embers.

Fern moved round the fire towards the woman, who lifted her hand. He touched his palm to hers and their fingers meshed.

'May our roots grow together,' both said.

Their hands fell.

'You are to be punished, Fern?'

Fern winced. 'For my sin against the Mother, I am to labour as a woman, Aunt Whin.' He sneaked a look at her face.

'You deserve wor
se,' she said, but her eyes warm
ed a little.

They grew cold when her gaze fell on the Standing Dead. 'Go, Fern, give our guests some bedding and let them choose hollows. I wish to speak to your mother alone.'

Fern seemed to be waiting for her to look back at him.

'Whin, has Ravan been here?' said Akaisha, anxiously.

'Ravan, your mother wants to see you,' cried Whin.

From the gloom gathering round the trunk of the cedar, Ravan emerged using his arm to shield his eyes from the glare. He came to a halt, looking at the ground.

'Son.'

Ravan glanced up at his mother and then saw the Standing Dead.

They're to stay with us a while,' she said.

Ravan's smile was dazzling as he gazed at Osidian. Carnelian noticed the momentary frown with which Akaisha observed this.

'It warms my heart to see you again, my son.'

Ravan disengaged his gaze from Osidian and looked at her.

Akaisha opened her arms. 'Will you not kiss me?'

Awkwardly, Ravan advanced into her embrace and planted a kiss on her cheek. Carnelian could see how unhappy they both were as they separated.

Whin looked over. 'Are you still here, Fern?'

Grunting something, Fern motioned for the Standing Dead to follow him. Ravan made to join them but Whin stopped him.

'You stay with us, dear.'

Uncomfortable, Carnelian followed Fern into the shadows, then up a hollow lying between two roots. Where the hollow narrowed into the trunk, it was packed with jars. Above their heads, ropes hugged packets and bundles to the bark. The shoulders of the branches were hung with coils of djada, with fernroot forming the rungs of ladders. Fern took hold of some loops of rope and pulled himself up into the tree. Carnelian watched him walk out along a branch and undo a bundle. He tugged two black blankets free, hesitated, tucked one back and pulled a russet one out instead.

'Catch,' he cried, then let them drop. Carnelian caught both. Fern landed on the ground beside them. Carnelian crushed the blankets with his chin so that he could look over them.

'Where do we sleep?'

Fern did not answer. Squinting, he was watching his mother and his Aunt Whin talking as they cooked. Ravan was sulking beside them.
Fern
looked at Carnelian.

'Eh?'

'Sleep. Where do we sleep?'

Fern looked puzzled and then brought Carnelian's face into focus. He took them round to the uphill side of the tree where the ends of the branches hung nearer to the ground. Fern swung his hand in an arc. Take whichever of the empty hollows you want.'

Carnelian watched him walk off towards the women. The Plainsman glanced back. 'Don't leave the shade of our mother tree.'

Carnelian nodded and turned to Osidian. 'What do you make of this?' he asked, in Quya.

Saying nothing, Osidian walked off up the slope. Hugging the blankets, Carnelian followed him. The roots faceting the ground defined hollows; in many of these blankets and other bundles were neatly stowed. Of the empty hollows, most were too short for a Master to He in. Higher up, they found a hollow large enough to accommodate them both.

Carnelian looked at Osidian. 'Will this do?'

Osidian gazed round with distaste. Their animal eyes will be on us wherever we go.'

Carnelian spotted the faces looking at them from the shade of the nearest tree. Turning slowly, he saw there were others staring. He thrust the black blanket onto Osidian and then pushed his nose into the russet one. He was disappointed. However much the blanket might look like one of Ebeny's, it did not have her smell. He shook
the blanket open and let it settl
e on the cedar needle floor, then laid himself down along the hollow with his head up-slope. The perfume of the needles rose around him.

'It's surprisingly comfortable,' he said.

Morose, Osidian looked down at him. Behind his head the needle-brush canopy was aflicker with blue specks of sky. Carnelian could not bear another argument.

They'll soon tire of staring.'

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply the warm, resinous air.

The air had cooled when Carnelian was woken by voices. He sat up in the hollow. Down the slope, among the deepening shadows, people were coming up the rootstair. Their trudging and the way many let their heads hang betrayed their weariness. For a moment Carnelian felt like lying back before they should see him, but he stayed where he was, knowing he would have to face them some time. A woman glancing up spotted him and was transfixed. Asked why she had stopped, she replied by pointing up at Carnelian and her companions found him with the
ir stares. He imagined how ghostl
y and terrifying he must appear to them.

The discovery was passed by cries out through the Grove and soon Carnelian was having to endure stares from other directions. He tried a smile, but this only seemed to intensify their horror. Elders among the hearths must have begun spreading the news of the decision they had made, for Carnelian could see and hear the r
eactions of disbelief. Reluctantl
y the Ochre tore themselves from their staring and continued up the hill to their hearths.

'What are you doing?' asked Osidian lying at his side. Carnelian looked down. For a moment Osidian seemed as strange a creature
to Carnelian as he himself must
appear to the Ochre. He shook himself free of the illusion.

'Nothing. Well, just watching the people returning for the night. We must prepare ourselves to meet Fern's kin.'

Frowning, Osidian closed his eyes. Carnelian fought the desire to shake him. He forced himself to look out again. A group of women and men were approaching up the rootstair, some walking hand in hand, others carrying infants. Shrieking with excitement, the children that had been playing near the hearth ran down to them. Carnelian watched with a kind of envy their joyous meeting. A man caught a little girl and threw her up with a whoop and, catching her, hugged her as she squealed with delight. He slung her over his shoulder and continued climbing. A woman bent to embrace a boy, kissing him, nodding as he began to pour out his day for her. Several of the children were already pointing up at the strange white giant.
Carnelian
saw Akaisha approaching the group. The women handed the children to their men and gathered round her. Carnelian could hear the mutter of their talk and felt the sharp glances they cast up at him. Most of the men were frowning. Carnelian rose to his feet, wondering if he should go down and brave them himself.

The group resumed their climb behind Akaisha, who now had a baby in her arms. The children clung to their parents' hands. As the group left the stair, they fanned out towards the sleeping hollows. Akaisha caught Carnelian's eye and beckoned him. Obeying her, he was forced to pass through the others. They moved from his path as if he were a leper.

'I can't speak the soldier tongue,' Akaisha said as he approached.

'If you don't speak fast, I'll understand your Ochre ... my mother,' he replied.

Her eyebrows raised. 'You really do speak our tongue.' She frowned. 'Walk with me.'

She led him towards the stair of roots and soon they were descending it side by side. Everywhere Carnelian glanced, he found eyes. He was glad it was necessary to fix his gaze on his feet, to find a way down the uneven steps.

'We call this stair the Blooding,' Akaisha said.

Carnelian could not help noticing some women undressing under a cedar, their skin smooth and brown in the deepening shade. There was a glint of water as they began to wash each other. A breeze from the east drifted a mist of cooking smoke across his path. Its smell reminded Carnelian's stomach of how hungry he was.

'We'll eat soon,' said Akaisha as if she had heard his thoughts.

'It was kind of you to ...' Carnelian could not find the next word.

'You're not the way we imagine you to be,' she said.

'We must be ... disappointing.'

She stopped to look up at him surprised. 'In what way?'

'You believe us angels ... and now see we're only men.'

Her eyebrows rose again, causing Carnelian to feel he had been caught saying something childishly conceited. She reached up and he allowed her to touch his cheek.

'You really are just a man,' she said. 'And, though your beauty is unsettling, your face is not the lightning which we believed you hid behind your masks.'

She resumed their journey down the winding stair. 'But it was not that which I meant. It is your manner that is unexpected. The other, he is what we expect of your kind. But you . . . you are almost like one of us.'

'I speak your tongue ... a little.'

'No, there is something else.'

'I grew up among Plainsmen.'

They had almost reached the foot of the slope so that they could gaze out from under the cedar canopy across the ferngardens, golden in the dying sun. The easterly caressing them was rich with the perfume of the magnolias. Carnelian felt an ache of joy that forced him to stop and close his eyes. It was as if he had come home after being a long time away.

He sighed. 'It is so peaceful here.'

Tell me of this servant woman who spoke our tongue,' Akaisha said.

Carnelian opened his eyes to look at her. Her upturned face had a tightness around the eyes and mouth that made it clear this was the reason for their walk. Seeing how vulnerable she was, Carnelian considered his words carefully. He began to relate everything he knew about Ebeny and of his childhood with her across the sea.

'So far away,' Akaisha breathed, staring
tl
as if she were seeing the island at the other side of the world.

She came back. This Ebeny spoke our tongue and she wove our patterns. Was there anything else she had from her people?'

Carnelian saw the yearning in Akaisha's eyes and, as desperately as she, he wanted to give her some proof. He closed his eyes and searched his memory. Suddenly, he grabbed her hand. 'She ... she ...' He calmed himself. 'Her mother...'

Akaisha gave an eager nod of encouragement while Carnelian tried to stitch the words together in his mind so that he could utter them in a piece. 'Her mother gave her a stone woman.' He showed the size of it in hi
s hands. 'She called it her Littl
e Mother.'

With her free hand Akaisha pulled something out from her robe. Carnelian made to take it but she snapped it into her fist and pulled away from him. Her eyes burned. 'You mustn't touch it. A man must never touch a sacred image of the Mother.'

Carnelian was glad he had not told her t
hat Ebeny had given him her Littl
e Mother to keep him safe on his journey to Osrakum.

'All Plainswomen have these from their mothers,' she said, slumping down onto a root.

Carnelian shared her bitter disappointment. 'I can think of nothing more.' He sat down beside her, resting his chin in his hand. Something occurred to him. This woman -'

'My sister.'

'Did you send other girls that year?'

Akaisha looked at him with hope. 'She was the only one. The other four were boys.'

Carnelian controlled his excitement. He showed her his palm. 'Do you remember her tattoo?' He almost groaned when he saw Akaisha's expression of strain.

'If I drew it for you?'

'Perhaps.'

Carnelian searched around for something to write on. 'Mud,' he said at last.

She understood and led him down to the path running alongside what she told him was the Homeditch.

'Wait here,' she said. She found a path down into the ditch and had soon disappeared into its gloomy depths. He waited and then she returned cradling a pool of muddy water in her hands. She found a piece of ground still bathed in the last red light of day. He cleared it of needles and she poured the water over it. Crouching, Carnelian smoothed the mud and carefully drew out the glyphs Ebeny had on her hand: Eight Nuhuron. He drew back to allow Akaisha to have a look. He chewed his lip as she peered at it. At last she turned to him, nodding, a look of almost girlish wonder on her face.

'It is the same.'

She looked away to the scarlet horizon. The east wind made her salt earrings clink. When she turned back she was frowning.