The Third God (72 page)

The sky had darkened enough to reveal a moon that was the merest rind of ice. The fire that had rained violet sparks down through the grating had left only its shadow soot. Three capsules rose like pillars of salt. Before each stood two Sapients, their homunculi in front of them. Carnelian glanced at Osidian, who alone had refused the cleansing. Censers in a ring around them all were growing a hedge of myrrh smoke. Silently the Sapients raised pale hands to the capsules, whose ivory made their skin seem whiter than the nearly eclipsed moon. The Sapients pulled the lids back and knelt before their masters within. Three Grand Sapients, masked, their arms crossed upon their chests, their homunculi, also masked, standing in place between their legs. One of each pair of Sapients rose to hold a staff up before his master. Carnelian started as the homunculi within the capsules took hold of these staves. Each held a finial of ruby fire before the chest of its Grand Sapient as if it were his heart freshly gouged out for display. The pale spiders of the Grand Sapients’ fingers began to writhe. Pale petals opening and closing. Gestures that were bringing life back into sleep-frozen limbs. Until, at last, they reached down to sensuously strangle the throats of their homunculi.

‘We are Law,’ said the leftmost one.

‘Tribute,’ said the homunculus on the right.

‘Lands,’ sang the one in the centre.

‘What do you hope to gain, Celestial, by taking up arms against the Commonwealth?’ said Law, to which the other two Grand Sapient homunculi murmured an echo.

Osidian fixed the sightless masks of the Grand Sapients with an expression Carnelian could not read. ‘To put right a wrong.’

‘Though you have cause to be aggrieved, Celestial, what has been done cannot be undone. The moment the rituals were completed, your brother was made. They and your life became forfeit without hope of appeal. In your desperation to preserve yourself you have wilfully precipitated a calamity greatly disproportionate to your grievance. The Balance of the Powers is fractured. The Law so closely bound to it is in peril of dissolution. Have you forgotten that the Law is the foundation upon which stands the Commonwealth? Without Law, Chaos is lord. Your brother has escaped Osrakum. Even now, given time, we shall subdue Them with those pleasures that They have demonstrated They are slave to. Your apparent futile intention to challenge Them in battle will only serve to make Them more uncontrollable. All you will achieve is to further imperil the Balance.’

Osidian’s eyes were eagle sharp. ‘What do I care for your Balance? Do you imagine, my Lord, that I grieve with the jailors from whom my House has managed to break free? As for the foundation of the Commonwealth, that is terror. What we hold’ – Osidian extended his hands as if he held the world in them – ‘we hold through power and because to rule is our divine right. Raw power is the law that all must obey.’ His hands came apart in a gesture of disdain. He half turned away, snarling, then fixed the Grand Sapients with a baleful eye. ‘And I would advise my Lords not to make the error of assuming we are already defeated.’

The three homunculi mumbled on, then fell silent. Carnelian became aware of the oceanic murmur of the sartlar who inhabited the dark vastness of the land beneath.

‘It is true, Celestial, the Commonwealth has also for foundations terror.’ The homunculus who spoke was the one who had identified its master as Tribute. The Grand Sapient’s fingers were working at its throat. ‘But by your statement you must surely realize that the Commonwealth exists only in the minds of men. What power to coerce the Chosen possess is itself in the minds of their subjects. The Commonwealth is, in truth, only a dream given solidity by belief. We have made our dream the universal dream but, at the margins of the world, our dream competes with others. You must realize this who have dwelt among the barbarians. Did you not impose your dream upon those creatures, Celestial, in opposition to the Commonwealth?’

Carnelian saw the truth of it and, glancing round, saw Osidian’s certainty weakening.

‘Why do you think it is we bring them here to the centre of the world? Even now they are gathering in ever increasing numbers before the gates of Osrakum. Why do you think, Celestial, we seek to bring them into the very heart of the Hidden Land?’

The question hung bright in Carnelian’s mind. He saw the answer. ‘To show them the dream in all its terrible, beautiful reality.’

The homunculus continued as if Carnelian had not spoken. ‘Because monolithic power seen close up will tower over them. Far away, its terror fades. In its presence, it saturates their minds. Witnessing our grandeur, they are reduced to nothing. How can their petty dreams hope to withstand such glory, such wonder?’

The vision in Carnelian’s mind faded more slowly than the sonorous voice.

‘And yet, Celestial, at this very time, you intend to show that power, that glory, divided against itself. At the very moment we have designed for them to see the Commonwealth as immutable as the stars in the heavens, you would show them contention.’

Carnelian felt like a child, made aware of how petty were his notions, how foolish. Osidian, too, looked crushed. Carnelian felt panic seeping into him. Had they fooled themselves? Had he led them both into error?

Osidian’s voice shocked Carnelian. ‘They shall see the Gods Themselves and the seraphim making war.’ Osidian had returned from his depths possessed. ‘By this display of power they will be more cowed than all your subtle theatre could hope to achieve.’ Fury burned in his eyes. ‘What have we to fear from being observed quarrelling? Do the sun and moon fear the vermin that crawl upon the earth as they contend for mastery of the sky?’

Carnelian looked to the Grand Sapients to see if Osidian’s words had made any impact on them. Their three identical eyeless masks hung in the darkness, implacable, unyielding. Grand Sapient Lands’ fingers began to move. ‘You have interfered with my management of the Land. Because of you the harvests have not been gathered. The fields, unirrigated, turn to dust. Already it is too late to avoid a famine.’

‘You hope to appeal to my compassion?’ Osidian’s tone was incredulous, his lips twisted into a sneer. ‘What is it to me if a few barbarians starve?’

‘Not a few, Celestial, but most of the Commonwealth will suffer hunger.’

Osidian swung his arm in an arc to take in the land below. ‘Am I a child, Lands? Though the number of sartlar we have gathered is vast, I know that they are but a scoop from the ocean of those that remain upon the land.’

Once the murmuring of the homunculi ceased, Carnelian was aware of the Grand Sapient’s fingers faltering. They came alive again. ‘Even now the sartlar of several provinces are coming in response to your summons.’

The sneer grew thin on Osidian’s lips. He frowned. ‘Several provinces?’ The homunculi gave his words a ghostly echo. Osidian looked at Carnelian, the question an accusation in his eyes. Carnelian could make no sense of it himself. ‘I only put into action the same process that yearly brings sartlar to repair the roads.’

The murmurous homunculi became a background to Osidian’s questions, to which Carnelian provided the best answers he could.

Lands’ homunculus interrupted. ‘The summons was yours, Suth Carnelian?’

Wrathful, Osidian replied. ‘He told me he did it in response to a dream.’ He seemed to draw strength from his own anger and perhaps, Carnelian thought, from the feeling that the Grand Sapients had lost their stranglehold on the discussion. ‘A dream that promised me victory. The God has Himself promised me this.’

Lands choked his homunculus quiet before it had finished relaying Osidian’s words. ‘Do not delude yourself, Celestial: victory is impossible. Already twenty legions are ranged against you and more arrive each day. Return to the Southern Plain. There you can have a domain beyond the knowledge of the Chosen. If we have erred it is in having disrupted your empire among the barbarians. Return. We shall send you any luxuries that you desire.’

Osidian’s face was childish in its utter outrage. ‘Do you imagine my ambition so small? That I would be satisfied being a sovereign among vermin?’

Carnelian gazed in wonder at Osidian. It seemed that at any moment he was going to break into tears. Then he saw the rage rising. Osidian’s face hardened. ‘I will take back what is mine.’ His voice like extruding glass. ‘Though I was cast out of Osrakum, I shall enter her by force if need be. However mighty the host my brother brings against me, I will vanquish him and then, my Lords, you shall kneel to me.’

The Grand Sapients seemed as unstung by the venom as if already dead.

‘Then we have failed,’ said Lands. ‘You will be destroyed. In your fall will be encompassed much of what we have built, but we are patience incarnate. With time we shall rebuild everything as before.’

Rage was burning Osidian up. He bared his teeth. ‘What if I was to slay you here, now? What then for your reconstruction?’

The Grand Sapient actually shrugged in his capsule. An incongruous sight. ‘What you see before you is merely three branches. The tree remains beyond your reach. To stop us you would have to uproot us all.’

Osidian bowed his head and Carnelian watched the fight leach out of him.

‘We shall depart immediately,’ said the homunculus. ‘It would be better if instructions be given below that none are to impede us.’

Carnelian glanced at Osidian. ‘I will go, my Lord, and see to it.’

As he reached the edge of the platform, he looked back. Osidian was watching the Grand Sapients being sealed back into their capsules with an expression on his face of one betrayed.

Carnelian descended the tower against the flow of ammonites climbing it to begin the process of bringing down the Grand Sapients in their capsules. On the leftway, preparations were being made to leave. He saw that no Marula were entering the cordon of the Sinistral Ichorians and turned to gaze into the night, brooding over what Grand Sapient Lands had said. Light from the camp did not reach beyond the dragons to the sartlar, but their murmuring made him feel as if he stood upon a cliff looking out to sea. He tried to imagine the extent of several provinces of the Guarded Land. Could the sartlar over such a vast expanse really be moving in response to his summons? So much parched earth rising to clog the air. Hri yellowing, unwatered. The harvest meant to feed so many mouths left to rot in the Rains. Was he really responsible for bringing famine to the Commonwealth?

He became aware of a figure near him and turned to see an ammonite. The figure knelt. ‘Master.’

Carnelian regarded the man uneasily. Uncharacteristically, the ammonite had addressed him in Vulgate. ‘What do you want?’ he said in Quya.

‘Carnie, it’s me,’ the ammonite hissed.

Carnelian stepped back, alarmed, confused. He looked up and saw, close by, some Ichorians holding torches, but they were focused on the entrance to the tower. His Marula were within calling distance. Movement drew his attention back to the kneeling ammonite. There was a glint as it removed its silver mask and turned a little into the light. Expecting to see a face smothered in numerals, Carnelian began saying something. His tongue stilled. A chameleon tattoo. He stared at it, shocked. The cypher was achingly familiar and yet so very strange. It took him a while to notice the face smiling tentatively. His throat clenched as did his heart. ‘Tain?’

The young man beamed. It was Tain. It was his brother Tain. The boy become a young man. He fitted his face back into the mask, became an ammonite again, so that Carnelian was left almost feeling he had imagined it. Tain rose and beckoned Carnelian to follow him, who did, his thoughts frozen. Then he had enough to do dealing with getting through the Ichorian cordon, through ammonites, as Tain led him towards the first palanquin. They passed that, passed the second, continuing on, moving away from the tower and towards the rear of the procession. Carnelian’s mind thawed into an avalanche of speculation. He was reluctant to stop the purple-clad figure walking in front of him, though he wanted, needed answers.

At last they reached the seventh and final palanquin. It was quiet here, since most of the ammonites were clustering back near the tower, but one stood as if waiting for them. It indicated the palanquin with his head. ‘You don’t have much time.’

Carnelian stared. ‘Keal?’ It was the voice of his brother, whom he had not seen since he had left him on the coast so long ago.

The man gave a nod. ‘Hurry.’

Carnelian managed to wrench his gaze from his disguised brother to the palanquin. As he did so his heart beat faster. It was more desire than expectation prompting his hope of who might be inside. Unmasking, he reached out to take the handle and slid the panel open.

Peering into the gloom, he withered with disappointment. The old, wizened man inside the palanquin was unknown to him. A Master, unmasked, pale eyes in a sunken face.

The face lit up. ‘My son.’ Carnelian saw with shock it was indeed his father. Horror overwhelmed him. ‘What has happened to you, my Lord?’

Sardian was too preoccupied feasting his eyes on him to answer. He reached out to take Carnelian’s hands. ‘Son, it is a joy to see you.’

Carnelian glanced down at the bony hands gripping his, sapphire veins running over tendons and bones. He took hold of them, brought them up and bent to kiss them. ‘Oh, my father, what has happened to you?’ He looked up and, through tears, saw his father’s eyes sadden. He shrugged in a manner that tore at Carnelian’s heart for he had not seen that gesture for, it seemed, a lifetime. Sardian’s right hand pulled free of Carnelian’s grip and strayed back up his body to hover gingerly over his side.

‘The wound has never healed.’

Carnelian remembered the night his father had been stabbed by Ykoriana’s assassin.

‘The drug the Wise gave me has preserved me in the exact state I was in when I arrived for the election.’

Carnelian gave a shudder as rage rose in him, but his father raised a hand so thin it seemed translucent. ‘Immortality warned me what the drug would do, but I had no time to linger in a sick bed.’ His father smiled and Carnelian was warmed to see something of his beauty still there, though most had now fallen into ruin.