The Third God (4 page)

With a mattock, Fern was clawing at the black earth of the hearth, revealing red beneath. Poppy was crouched over a corpse. She turned up a blank face as Carnelian approached. He saw who it was she was rouging with ochre: Akaisha, her wrinkles stretched smooth by her ballooning cheeks and forehead. Her face had already been painted the colour of fresh blood. Her belly had a green cast as if she were pregnant with jade. Whin, near her, looked fat, though in life she had been so thin. Fern’s wife Sil was there too, her beauty distorted in a net of purple-black veins, their daughter Leaf beside her, a discarded doll. All three had livid collars cut into the flesh of their necks and throats by the ubas that had been used to hang them. Carnelian’s hand strayed up to the scar the slavers’ ropes had left around his own neck. Osidian was similarly marked. That he might have chosen hanging because of what he himself had suffered numbed Carnelian with hatred.

He watched Fern gouging the earth. Each stroke tore a grunt from his throat. His eyes seemed stones. Carnelian knew where the mattocks were kept and fetched one. Returning, he leapt down into the hole with Fern and began to take out his rage on the earth. A shove threw him out of the hole onto the ground. Carnelian surged to his feet, but Fern’s hopeless face cooled his anger. He watched the man who had been his friend return to his digging. ‘These were my hearthmates too.’

Fern turned cold eyes on him. ‘You’re not the first to claim that.’

Carnelian struggled to understand what he meant. ‘Krow?’

Fern snorted sour laughter. ‘He came here claiming that my mother had sent me a message through him.’

Carnelian could make no sense of this.

‘I asked him how it could be that, coming here with the Master, he’d had time to talk to my mother.’

Carnelian could not help glancing towards dead Akaisha.

Another snort from Fern, ‘Yes, he helped murder her.’

‘He told you this?’

‘He didn’t need to. Guilt reeked off him.’

Carnelian gazed at Fern, not knowing what to say.

‘I told him that, once I’ve saved the souls of my kin, I’m going to kill him.’ Fern’s lips curled contemptuously. ‘He ran away.’ He raised his mattock, then brought it down murderously.

In the clear morning light, Carnelian remembered the hope he had had the night before. ‘We must save the souls not only of your kin, but of all the Ochre.’

Fern lost the rhythm of his strokes.

‘Please let me help.’

The mattock bit again into the red earth.

‘Me too,’ said Poppy.

Carnelian looked into her face and saw her need. His gaze caught on Akaisha’s face, disfigured by the way she had died. She had become merely a thing. He felt the pain of grief rising and forced it down. Anything she might have said to Krow now had more of her in it than her body.

He put his arm around Poppy and drew her away. They stumbled towards the stair. Morning was revealing the grotesquely laden trees. Lime flames were lit along the branches. Drawn to the nearest, he saw it was a fresh young cone. It gave off a green fragrance that cut through the charnel air. It kindled a little hope in his heart.

Poppy grabbed his arm to draw his attention to her. He looked down into her face so thinned with grief she seemed old. Misery threatened to imprison them. He stroked some of her hair from her mouth and asked her what Krow had said.

‘Something about forgiveness.’ She shook her head. ‘I didn’t hear it properly.’ She glanced back at Fern and watched the mattock rise and fall. ‘He didn’t really listen to him.’ Her eyes ignited. ‘Why should he? Krow’s clearly a murderer.’

Carnelian felt there was something unjust in her fierce anger. ‘Whatever he did, the Master was behind it.’

She turned her fury on him. ‘He could have said no. Even now he does the Master’s bidding.’ She must have sensed Carnelian’s confusion because she added: ‘He rides today to the Upper Reach.’

‘He told you that?’

‘He told Fern, when Fern threatened him.’

Carnelian felt suddenly an urgent need to hear what Akaisha had said. He glanced up at the sky. There might still be time to catch Krow.

Remembering his own expedition to the Upper Reach, Carnelian went to the Southgate. The Westgarden, still in the shadow of the Grove hill, had been turned into a camp. A smoky haze suggested that many fires had recently been dowsed. A few Marula warriors hunched here and there like boulders, but his gaze was drawn down the Southing to where another contingent of Marula were gathered at the Near Southbridge. Thinking this might have something to do with Krow, he set off towards them.

Several of the Marula came to meet him as he approached. He could feel their eyes on him, but any man he looked at turned away. At first he imagined it was that they thought him Osidian, whom they feared. Then he began to sense they were displaying not fear but shame. Their apparent leader was almost as tall as Carnelian, but more slender. The prominent ribs of his beaded corselet made him seem as if he were suffering from famine. His head was bowed. His fellows had drawn away from him. His fingers gripped his spear tighter. Carnelian stood for a moment, trying to work out his feelings towards the man. Pity perhaps. If that, why? Kinship? Carnelian’s head jerked back in surprise. He remembered how he had helped teach these warriors how to form a wall of spears that was proof against mounted attack. These men had come up from their Lower Reach to fight for Osidian in obedience to one of their princes. Carnelian could feel the Grove with its atrocities staring at his back. These warriors had murdered his people, but had they had any choice except to do Osidian’s bidding?

He regarded the man before him. ‘Maruli.’

The man’s handsome face came up. They looked at each other. Carnelian wanted to believe it was regret he could see in those bloodshot eyes. ‘Where is Krow?’ he asked in Vulgate.

The Maruli’s brow creased. Carnelian remembered that they spoke no tongue but their own, but he also remembered that Krow, as one of Osidian’s commanders, was known by the name of his tribe. ‘Twostone?’

The Maruli gave half a nod, then raised a hand to point towards the earthbridge. Carnelian saw a commotion there. Marula with lowered spears were confronting a mass of angry Plainsmen.

He pushed into the back of the Marula hornwall, shoving men from his path, slapping their spears up. As he appeared on the bridge, the Plainsmen began falling to their knees. ‘Keep that show of subservience for the Master.’

Confused, the Plainsmen rose and stumbled back across the bridge to let him cross. Looking into their faces he recognized they were Darkcloud; also, they were afraid of him. That cooled his anger, which really had been fear of more bloodshed. ‘Who will tell me what’s going on here?’

The Plainsmen looked at each other, then some youths stepped forward. Each had his face painted white to demonstrate his devotion to Osidian. ‘We’ve come as the Master commanded,’ said one, indicating the press of aquar and drag-cradles filling up the Southing almost to the Newditch. ‘Twostone claims we’re to set off immediately.’ He indicated Krow, who was there among the older men. ‘But we won’t go anywhere until we hear this from the Master himself.’ He pointed accusingly at the Marula. ‘And they won’t let us pass.’ An angry murmur of agreement rose from the Darkcloud behind him.

Carnelian saw the need for answers on every face except Krow’s. Their eyes met. Clearly the youth had told them nothing about the massacre. Carnelian wondered again what part Krow had played in that. Perhaps Krow had reason to fear their reaction. At the news they must surely experience the terror Osidian wanted them to, but also anger. They would not dare turn this against the Master. The Marula they hated already, but could do nothing about. But, if they suspected that one of their own had been involved, had turned against the people who had taken him in, who knew what they might do? Carnelian’s heart leapt to Krow’s defence.

He would satisfy the curiosity of the Plainsmen, but first there were some things he needed to know. ‘Where are the hostage children?’

Glances of fear flitted among them.

‘I only want to know they’re safe.’

The youth who had spoken before spoke again: ‘The Ochre gave them back, Master.’

It occurred to Carnelian that the Darkcloud, being an ‘ally’ tribe, had had no children hostage in the Koppie. ‘How do you know this?’

The youth looked at his hands.

‘They asked you to join their revolt, didn’t they?’

The youth grimaced. He glanced at his fellows, seeking permission, then gave a slow nod. Wide-eyed, he gazed at Carnelian. ‘But the Darkcloud sent them away. Every last one of us is loyal to the Master.’

Carnelian saw behind the youth how many heads were bowed. They were not telling the truth. He could well imagine the consternation the Ochre emissaries had produced. A desire for freedom would have set the old against the young, women against men. Ultimately, it would have been fear and uncertainty that had dictated their answer to the Ochre. How could they be sure the other tribes would rise with them and not leave them exposed to Osidian’s wrath? Then there were the hatreds his conquests had sown among them. As one of the resented Ally tribes the position of the Darkcloud would have been particularly perilous. Carnelian found it hard to blame them. Osidian had had good reason to be confident that, when he marched against the Ochre, no other tribe would come to their aid.

‘What does the smoke rising from every koppie across the Earthsky mean to you?’

The white-faced youth looked at Carnelian as if trying to find out what answer he wanted. He gave up. ‘Our old people claim, Master, it means the Standing Dead have invaded the Earthsky.’

Carnelian nodded heavily. It was confirmation of what he had hoped they would deny. No doubt this too had played a part in their decision not to join the Ochre. It was time to tell them about the massacre. As he described what had happened, he watched blood drain from their faces.

The youth’s eyes were popping. ‘All of them?’

‘All save Fern, Twostone Poppy . . . and Twostone Krow.’

Deliberately, Carnelian did not turn, but everyone else did, to stare at Krow.

After hearing his news, the Darkcloud were only too glad to flee the Koppie. Carnelian left them to make their preparations while he took Krow aside. The youth would not return his gaze. Carnelian felt no anger towards him, only sad disappointment. ‘Akaisha gave you words for Fern?’

Krow glanced up. ‘And for you.’

Carnelian heard that with a jolt.

‘She called you sister’s son.’

Carnelian squinted against tears.

‘She committed Fern into your care.’

Krow’s voice was as empty of emotion as his face. Carnelian felt the same confusion he had among the Marula. Anger rose in him that he was being denied the release of straightforward hatred. ‘What else did she say?’

Krow’s brows knitted. ‘What she could . . .’

Carnelian could hear in Krow’s voice how close to her death she must have been when she had spoken to him.

‘Tell me it as she told it to you.’

Krow regarded him, as if he was having difficulty remembering. ‘“Should you wish to atone for the part you’ve played in the destruction of the Tribe, then save my son, care for him, protect him from his bitterness, from his lust for revenge.”’

‘You told Fern this?’

Krow nodded.

Carnelian sensed that the youth had more to say. He waited. Krow seemed to consider something, then decide against it.

‘Was there more?’ Carnelian asked at last.

Krow shook his head.

Carnelian resisted his urge to judge him. Krow was not the first Plainsman Osidian had corrupted. Carnelian gazed out, seeking some solace in the emerald plain, in the vast blue dome of the sky. ‘Why do you go to the Upper Reach?’

‘To fetch the salt stored there from the sartlar.’

Their eyes met. Both had grim memories of the place. He thought of asking Krow why he still chose to serve the Master, but decided against it. That might provoke a confession Carnelian was in no position to handle well.

He took his leave, then walked back through the Darkcloud towards the Marula-guarded bridge. Krow’s mention of the sartlar had plunged him back into his render nightmare.

A smell like burning hair grew stronger as Carnelian approached the hearth. Poppy was standing with her back to him. When he had come close enough, he saw she was looking down into the graves Fern had dug. Women so red they seemed freshly peeled nestled among the snake roots of the mother tree. Fern was gently scooping earth over Koney as if he was washing her. Carnelian felt he was intruding on private intimacy. A thin current of smoke was curling up from a curve of horn charring in some embers: hornblack for the corpses of the men. He returned to watching Fern. He had to prepare him for the coming of the vassal tribes. ‘The Master’s levies are coming here on their way north.’

‘North?’ Poppy said.

Her expression of bafflement confused him, until he realized with shock he had not told them of the invasion. It was so deeply branded in his mind, he had assumed everyone knew. He explained to Poppy the meaning of the smoke columns they had seen as they rode towards the Koppie from the Upper Reach.

Poppy gaped. ‘Dragons, coming here?’

Carnelian wanted to confess to her this was the reason he had spared Osidian’s life, but his eyes were drawn to Fern, who was stroking earth over Koney’s face. She sank from sight like the pygmy in the render. Carnelian’s confusion became distress.

‘Why?’ Poppy said.

‘Aurum,’ said Carnelian, still trying to resolve his feelings.

He felt stupid gazing at Poppy’s incomprehension. He could not remember the name the Plainsmen gave him. He shaped the Master’s cypher with his hand. ‘Hookfork.’

Blood drained from Poppy’s face. ‘Hookfork?’

It had a cruel sound when she said it. She was seeing something in her mind. ‘I grew up fearing him.’ Her sight returned. She saw Carnelian. ‘Long ago it was he who came with fire to make us slaves. A ravener in a man’s shape.’

Grimly, Carnelian considered that. ‘As are all the Standing Dead, but still, he’s just a man like me.’