The Third God (6 page)

Morunasa nodded. ‘The Flatlanders now have one worse to fear than him.’

‘But they still follow him?’

‘He persuaded them they must delay the dragons to give their people a chance to get away.’

‘Away where?’

‘To the mountains.’

‘So early in the year? Madness!’ Though the heavener hunts Osidian had organized might have provided enough food for the journey, it was still impossible. ‘The raveners . . .’ he said, feeling revulsion at the idea of exposing so many people to the fernland before the predators had gone east. Day after day as naked prey. Night after night manning rings of fire against the monsters. ‘Madness,’ he said again. ‘They don’t even have the aquar they would need to pull the drag-cradles.’

‘The tribes will set off once their men return.’

Migration across a land still prowled by raveners with Aurum pursuing them. The image of the old Master torching ants caused dread to rise in Carnelian. Who could survive the coming holocaust? He forced himself to consider what else Morunasa had said. ‘Delay? How?’

The Oracle frowned. ‘We skirmish with them, encourage them to attempt envelopment, then break out before the dragons can come in to finish us.’

Carnelian began to understand their stooping, their dull eyes. How many times must they have come close to annihilation? The image of Akaisha and Ebeny burning. Cedars lit like torches. Holocaust. He strove to focus his mind. Despair was an indulgence he must not give way to. Aurum was not the only threat. Osidian would have a plan to have his power survive this debacle. What part might these migrations play in his schemes? Carnelian tried to find some hope in the possibility of the tribes fleeing to the mountains, but what was there to stop Aurum pursuing them with fire? The Withering perhaps? Even a legion could not hope to endure such waterless heat. Yes, the Withering might drive Aurum back to the Guarded Land. What then?

Carnelian focused on Morunasa. ‘Why’ve you come?’

‘When the salt arrives here from the Upper Reach, he’s commanded that you take it to the koppie of the Bluedancing.’

So that was it. Osidian wanted to safeguard the treasure with which he might recruit more Plainsmen. He would fight on until the Earthsky was a lifeless desert. He must be stopped.

Carnelian knew that in what was to come Morunasa could well be pivotal. ‘And what’s to happen to your people?’

The Oracle considered his answer. ‘Our warriors still follow the Master, but this land can no longer be saved.’

But the Upper Reach could be. Carnelian considered whether Morunasa might be hoping to persuade Osidian to retreat there with the Marula. Isolated in the Isle of Flies, Morunasa could hope to overthrow him. Then Morunasa would be free to re-establish the Oracles’ cruel dominion over the Lower Reach. Carnelian was not happy about that, but he had to do what he could, not attempt to save the whole world.

Morunasa dipped another bowl into the cistern. ‘I’ve done as he bade me.’ He drank another draught, then declared he must return to the Master.

‘How many days before the dragons reach here?’ Carnelian asked.

Morunasa shrugged. ‘Two at most. More easily might he seek to stop the Rains than their advance.’

They carried some of the precious water down to the aquar and the warriors. As they drank, greedily, they squinted at the incandescent plain. Most likely, the anxiety in their faces had less to do with returning to the withering heat than with returning to the battlefront.

Watching Morunasa, Carnelian strove to devise some way he might use an alliance with him to help the Plainsmen. Though he and Morunasa might conspire against Osidian, this would not protect the tribes from Aurum, who would soon be in their midst. Fern and Poppy might be saved. He reached out to touch Morunasa’s shoulder. The Oracle glanced at Carnelian’s hand in surprise.

‘Leave me some aquar.’

Morunasa raised an eyebrow. His gaze unfocused then sharpened again. ‘I’ll leave you one.’

‘Leave me two . . . please.’

Something like a smile played over Morunasa’s lips. ‘I can spare only one.’

He barked a command at one of the Marula warriors. The man glanced at Carnelian, then gave a nod. Morunasa and the rest climbed into their saddle-chairs. Their aquar rose and they began filing through the Northgate. One by one they sped away, pulsing bright and dark as they coursed through the magnolia shadows.

Carnelian regarded the man Morunasa had left behind. He peered along the Homing in the direction in which it was likely Fern and Poppy were working. He would have to go and talk to them. How would they react to the presence of one of the murderers of the Tribe? He had worse news for them. A holocaust was bearing down on them he could see no way to deflect and all he might suggest they could do was to destroy the salt. Beyond that, his only hope now, however thin, was that somehow he could restore the subjugation of the Plainsmen to the Masters.

The Maruli was sneaking glances up the hill at the hanging dead. He looked distressed. Perhaps it was unjust to hold him responsible for the massacre. What choice had he had, but to obey the Oracles and Osidian? Carnelian caught the man’s attention and, together, they set off with the aquar ambling after them.

Poppy stared down at the Maruli standing where Carnelian had left him on the Homing. Mattock in hand, Fern regarded the man with cold malice. Trying to head off a dangerous confrontation Carnelian spoke quickly. ‘Morunasa left him here because I asked for an aquar. Whatever he may have done, remember that he’s little more than the Master’s slave.’

Fern turned on Carnelian, raising the stone blade of his mattock, snarling. ‘If he comes anywhere near one of my people I’ll kill him.’

Carnelian was relieved Fern was venting his rage through words rather than action. ‘I’ve something to tell you.’

Fern climbed out of the grave he had been digging and advanced on Carnelian. ‘What? That Morunasa’s come with commands from the Master?’

Carnelian eyed the raised mattock then looked at Poppy. ‘Please, Poppy, go to the hearth. I need to talk to Fern alone.’

Holding him with a glare, the girl shook her grimy head. Carnelian saw the lump of ochre like clotted blood in her hand and how gore sheathed her arms. What was he trying to protect her from? He sat on the ground. ‘Let’s talk then.’

Poppy’s eyes softened and she too sank to the ground. Fern lowered the mattock, but remained standing. Carnelian began by admitting that Morunasa had come with instructions from Osidian ‘. . . to safeguard the salt Krow’s bringing from the Upper Reach.’

Poppy struck the ground with her ochre. ‘Even now he does whatever the Master tells him.’

Carnelian looked from her face to Fern’s. ‘The Master’s been defeated. He flees before the dragons. They’re coming here.’

He watched them pale beneath their masks of filth. With the back of her hand Poppy stirred the cedar needles she had ochred. Fern let his mattock slide to the earth, his gaze rising blind up into the canopy. Carnelian went on to explain what he thought Osidian wanted with the salt and felt guilty relief as he spilled his worry out. ‘And so we must do what we can to destroy it.’

Fern impaled him with his dark eyes. ‘What does that matter when the Standing Dead are going to turn everything to ash?’

‘What does Hookfork want with us?’ Poppy said, her childish distress making Carnelian feel he had been wrong after all to let her stay.

‘He wants the Master.’

‘Why?’

Carnelian could not deny the plea in her eyes. ‘Because Hookfork seeks to use the Master against the God in the Mountain.’

Fern’s face twisted and he let out a groan. ‘I don’t understand. How . . . ?’

Preparing to answer that, Carnelian felt how deep had been his betrayal of these people whom he loved. ‘Because he’s the brother of the God in the Mountain who, treacherously, set himself up in his place.’

The mattock toppled to the ground. Fern sank down open-mouthed. Poppy simply stared. Carnelian watched as the truth of it slowly sank in. Shock turned to agony as Fern realized the part he had played in bringing Osidian and Carnelian into the Earthsky. Carnelian could not let him bear this alone. He reached out, but did not feel he could touch him. ‘It was my fault. I kept this from you. I never imagined it would come to this. I was blind. I’ve always been blind.’ The enormity of his failure made his words run dry.

They sat like boulders until Poppy spoke. ‘So we must give Hookfork what he wants and then he’ll go away.’

As Carnelian nodded, a cold expression came over Fern’s face. ‘We’ll give him a mutilated corpse.’

Carnelian grimaced. ‘Dead, the Master’s a blunted weapon.’

He tried to explain the politics of Osrakum, but, sitting there amid the rotting dead, even to him it was all incomprehensible. He ended up assuring them that, if Osidian returned to Osrakum, he would be unable to escape the rituals requiring his death. ‘And this might turn the eyes of the Standing Dead away from the Earthsky.’

Silence fell again as they all stared blindly, tortured by guilt, by regrets, by grief. Carnelian, sickened, knew he must tell them the rest of it. He did not want to, but it was such weakness that had brought them there. He tried again to find a way round it, but the certainty of Aurum’s retribution was as solid as the massacre surrounding him. ‘Most likely this will not save the Master’s tribes.’

Poppy stabbed him with a look of pure horror. ‘Why not?’

Carnelian cast around for some way to make it clear. ‘Because Hookfork’s at least as cruel as the Master. He’ll see the defiance of the Plainsmen as an affront to his pride. He’ll feel . . .’ Corpse stench was the air they breathed. ‘As the Master did here he’ll feel the need to avenge the insult to the Standing Dead of your familiarity with him . . . with us.’

He bowed his head. He thought of telling them the Wise might yet restrict Aurum’s retribution, but he was sick of peddling false hope. He recoiled as Poppy touched his arm. The look of love in her face released his tears. ‘I don’t deserve . . .’

She gripped his arm. ‘They won’t leave you with us, will they?’

He wanted to tell her that Osidian would reveal to Aurum that he was here, that if he returned to Osrakum he could accuse Ykoriana and Molochite, that he would strive to curb Aurum’s holocaust, but, ultimately, all he did was shake his head. He wiped his eyes. ‘The most that can be done is to bring what’s left of the tribes back into submission to the Standing Dead.’

Poppy squeezed his arm. ‘Is that why you want to destroy the salt, Carnie?’

He nodded. ‘Otherwise who’d go into service in the legions?’

‘How do we take the Master alive?’

Carnelian looked at her, then at Fern who was scowling, kneading one foot. ‘With Morunasa’s help.’

Poppy’s mouth became a line and Fern’s scowl deepened. She gave a slight nod. ‘And the salt?’

‘Krow’s our best hope there.’

Poppy looked surprised. ‘You really think he’ll help us?’

‘I don’t know, but I believe his heart’s not the Master’s.’ Carnelian gazed at Fern, so still, so quiet. ‘Though it would be a grim and thankless task, you could play an important part in bringing the tribes back into submission.’

Fern raised his eyes. ‘You really believe they’d listen to me, who brought this plague among them?’

Carnelian felt Fern’s anguish like a knife. ‘You’ve atoned for whatever mistakes you might have made. None will gainsay this. Your voice will be free from tribal dependence and will carry weight because of your undeniable loss.’

A wind came from the east and stirred the mother trees to murmuring.

Poppy looked distraught. ‘Carnie, is there really no way at all you can see how we might avoid more deaths?’

Desolate, Carnelian shook his head. ‘No way at all.’

Hollow-eyed, they struggled to complete the burials. The Maruli stayed away from them. Carnelian noticed him, as did Poppy, but if Fern did he gave no sign. It would have made sense to have the man help them, but no one had forgotten Fern’s threat.

When darkness forced them to stop they returned, weary, to Akaisha’s hearth. It was Carnelian’s turn to make the stew. The evening was growing cold and they huddled round the fire for warmth. Stirring the pot, Carnelian had noticed the Maruli creep up the rootstair where he had been crouched for some time. He felt sorry for him. When the stew was done, Carnelian gave a bowl of it to Poppy and one to Fern, then rose with another cradled in his hands.

‘Where’re you going?’ demanded Fern.

Carnelian indicated the man sitting on the rootstair. ‘Since I’m sure he’s not welcome at our fire I’m going to give him something to warm him up.’

He did not wait for more, but took the bowl to the Maruli. The man looked up as he approached. His grin was bright as he accepted the bowl. He put it down carefully then turned back and ran his finger twice across his brow. Carnelian did not understand. The man repeated the action. The Maruli was making the sign for ten. Carnelian had daubed numbers on the foreheads of Marula to help train them to fight in hornwalls. He nodded, smiling, and struck himself on the chest. ‘Carnie.’ He pointed at the man with a questioning nod. The Maruli frowned, then grinned and, placing his hand on his beaded corselet, uttered a syllable.

‘Sthax,’ echoed Carnelian as best he could.

‘Carnie,’ the man said and both smiled.

Carnelian returned to the fire to find Fern gone, his bowl on the ground untouched.

Looking miserable, Poppy pointed up towards the Crag.

He found him on the summit: a man shaped from the same darkness as the night. Approaching, he became aware of the focus of Fern’s stillness. Carnelian looked out into the blackness. A sky alive with stars overlay the earth’s void. He watched, puzzled, but then there was a flicker along the northern horizon. Then another. Dragonfire!

He turned to peer at Fern. His profile was clear enough. Carnelian quelled an impulse to embrace him.

Fern shifted. ‘Tomorrow we have to finish.’

Carnelian lingered after Fern left, gazing north, brooding over what was coming their way.

Just before dawn, Carnelian and Fern went to gauge how much was left to be done. Fully three hearths remained. The stinking, rotting masses hanging seemed never to have been people. Both would have liked to walk away. The thought of touching them was unbearable. They returned to their hearth and discussed it with Poppy over breakfast.