The Third God (114 page)

The elders ducked three bows in quick succession. ‘The Dead, Holy One, they are the Dead.’

Carnelian’s stare was deflected by an unexpected sound, Osidian laughing. This terrified the elders even more and they began slumping once more to the earth, but were drawn back up by Osidian’s commanding hand. ‘They are as much flesh and bone and blood as you or I, though you speak in part the truth: they do come to finish what they once began, but this time we shall not vanquish them.’

A moaning leaked from the elders, which found a bleak echo in their people behind them.

‘Soon they will break in and Osrakum will be laid waste, but there is still a chance for you and your people to escape this destruction, if you leave Osrakum in time.’

Again, the legs of the elders gave way beneath them and they collapsed to the ground, their staves wavering like saplings in a gale. The moaning was now broken by gasping so that Carnelian feared they might be expiring from the shock. ‘Did you not hear there is a way you can escape?’

Another of the elders lifted her head. ‘Why do you banish us, Holy Ones; how have we displeased you?’

Carnelian did not know what to say. He glanced round, sensing Osidian’s exasperation, fearing it. The Obsidian Mask let forth a long sigh. ‘Very well. Prepare yourselves.’

One of Osidian’s hands rose to cup the chin of the Mask. The other slipped back past his ear, into the shadow of his cowl. Carnelian’s heart leapt; Osidian was unmasking. He looked from him to the kharon. Whatever Carnelian’s feelings, it was nothing to their agony, as they writhed in the earth covering themselves in its rust. Their staves toppled as the elders covered their faces with their hands.

Osidian was regarding them with gloomy eyes, his wan face like worn ivory. ‘Look upon me,’ he commanded.

Carnelian could not very well remain masked when the God Emperor’s face was bare and so he too removed his mask.

‘We dare not, Holy One,’ panted one of the elders.

‘Do as I say,’ Osidian said, his voice softening. ‘Upon my blood I swear no harm will come to you from it.’

Slowly the elders uncurled. Carnelian watched as their faces came up, eyes and mouths twitching, anticipating what? He remembered what once he had expected: a blast of light that would make them blind.

Osidian threw back his hood. ‘Look well. See, I am as you are, made of the same stuff as are all men.’

These words sliced like a shard of ice through Carnelian’s heart. He saw Osidian’s quiet acceptance. A shadow of shame was upon his face, but also a clean sanity; and a remnant of the nobility of the boy he had once fallen in love with.

Osidian’s gaze ranged over them. ‘I could have commanded you, but this thing you must choose for yourselves. If you choose to follow him, my brother will lead you out.’ He looked with love upon Carnelian. ‘And you can take all the children with you.’

Carnelian’s heart could not reject him and he smiled.

‘Children, Holy One?’

They both turned and saw the old woman regarding them wide-eyed as if she beheld them in a vision.

‘The flesh-tithe children,’ Carnelian said. ‘We wish to return them to their mothers.’

As the elders frowned, Carnelian explained his plan to them. He watched with what difficulty the details sank into their minds. He slowed, answering their questions with care, trying to coax them past the inconceivability of it all, into some understanding. When he was done, he suggested they discuss it among themselves and they retreated into a huddle.

As they waited Carnelian gazed sidelong at Osidian, who was staring, frowning, at the mask of obsidian in his hand. His face was lined with suffering and the shadows around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth still showed the lingering effects of the maggot infestation. His eyes seemed chips of cloudy jade. The fire in them had gone out, but what if in his heart a spark still burned that could once more set him alight? Could he risk it? Compassion overcame wariness. ‘If they agree, why don’t you come with us?’

Osidian shook his head slowly, looked around the ring of stones, then up to the gleaming spire of the Pillar of Heaven. Carnelian looked too, as if he hoped to see through to the Halls of Thunder. Somewhere up there were the honeycomb hollows of the Library of the Wise where they had met. Carnelian glanced at Osidian and infinite sadness welled up in him.

Osidian gazed at Carnelian. ‘This is not your world, it never has been, but it is mine and I will die with it.’

Carnelian felt grief, but also deep relief; if Osidian had chosen to come he was sure to bring the poison of the Masters with him. The pain in Osidian’s eyes made Carnelian aware that his face had betrayed what he was feeling. He was going to say something, but Osidian reached out to touch his lips and smiled, shaking his head. Carnelian nodded. Things were as they were, however much either of them might desire them otherwise.

A youthful brightness had come into Osidian’s eyes. ‘I shall remain here and we shall see if I cannot find the means to make the end of the Chosen glorious.’ He smiled, letting his manufactured vision take him over. ‘I will muster the Great. We still have some huimur left at the Gates. We shall open those and let the sartlar in and fight them in a great battle in the Valley of the Gate and, who knows, perhaps we shall pull it off again?’ He smiled warmly at Carnelian. ‘It might even help to cover your escape.’

Then quickly he leaned in and kissed Carnelian. He pulled back, melancholy already returning. ‘We were magnificent, were we not, brother?’

Carnelian did not know whether he spoke of the two of them or of the Chosen as a whole, but he nodded nonetheless. There was no time for more talk: the kharon were coming back.

The ferrymen agreed to follow Carnelian and to take the children in their boats, but then, stealing glances at Osidian’s face, they pleaded that they might return. Carnelian examined their faces, certain nothing in their hearts had changed. In spite of the evidence of their eyes, they still believed Osidian a god. He felt compassion for them. ‘You may not want to try to save yourselves, but please consider letting your children come with me.’

The elders nodded, though he did not believe they would consider it at all. ‘Meantime, Holy One, we shall go and ready our boats and be at the Quays of the Dead by morning.’

Carnelian told them that he would not be ready until the following evening and hoped to leave the morning after that. The kharon bowed and, with due decorum, left the Dance.

Carnelian turned to Osidian. ‘I shall go and begin preparing the children for the journey.’

Osidian gave him a sombre nod.

‘I will come back when I can.’

‘Very well,’ Osidian said and looked again at the hollow face in his hand.

Carnelian looked at his own mask. He turned it so that it was looking at him. The face his father had worn upon their island. It was a dead thing, no more than a discarded shell. He glanced round at the standing stones, stooped and laid the mask as a sort of offering on the red earth. As he was leaving the Dance, he looked back. Osidian was a shadow in the shape of a man and no more substantial than the sacrificial hollow in the red stone that rose behind him.

The Quenthas were waiting for him. ‘Your people are here, Celestial.’

He followed the sisters through the gloom and out into the morning. Joyfully, he saw it was Fern and Tain. He was about to greet them when he saw the anger on Fern’s face. ‘The boats are here as you asked.’

Fern’s anger sparked his own. Most of it was irritation at himself; he had forgotten he had asked them to come that morning.

Fern looked exasperated. ‘What did you expect us to think when you weren’t there to meet us?’

Carnelian’s anger drained away. This was love speaking. They had become fearful for him and why not? How daunting it must have been for them to come up here not knowing what might confront them. He asked Fern to relate everything that had happened. As Fern described their arrival and the discussion they’d had about what to do when Carnelian had not appeared, he grew gradually calmer as his body registered that everything was all right.

‘And the homunculus?’ asked Carnelian.

‘We left him down by the boats,’ said Tain. ‘He didn’t want to come up here.’

‘Why’s he important?’ asked Fern.

As Carnelian explained, they nodded.

‘Well, everything’s ready, Carnie,’ said Tain.

‘We’re not going just yet.’

‘Why not?’ asked Fern.

‘Because we need to get the flesh-tithe children ready.’

‘Ready?’ said Tain, frowning.

‘To come with us.’

Fern stared at him. ‘All of them?’

Carnelian smiled. ‘All of them.’ As he explained something of what he had in mind, he watched tears well in Fern’s eyes.

‘Surely it will be impossible . . . risky?’

‘A risk worth taking?’

Tain grinned broadly. Fern slowly nodded. Carnelian watched a frown deepening on his brow. Fern was seeing all the difficulties. Carnelian needed to talk to him alone.

‘Tain, can you return to the boats and bring everyone here?’

‘Here? Even the Marula?’

‘We need all the help we can get.’

Tain gave a nod and set off. Fern was still frowning. ‘How’re you expecting to get us all past the sartlar?’

‘We’ll manage it,’ Carnelian said, trying to cover up his own gaping uncertainty.

Fern nodded, though Carnelian could see he was not convinced. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘We will—’ Carnelian changed his mind. He glanced at the sisters to see that they understood, then back to Fern. ‘Go with the Quenthas. They’ll get you some Bloodguards to help you fetch the children from the cages. I’ve got matters to attend to here.’

Fern gave a curt nod and left with the syblings.

Fern and the Ichorians channelled a river of children back from the cages. Though Carnelian tried not to show it, their numbers stupefied him. They huddled together, so thin he thought their hanging heads must break their necks. He fought panic. Had his need for atonement led him into terrible folly? How could they hope to get these frail creatures halfway across the world through uncountable dangers? Fern came to stand beside him and they watched the Ichorians herding them to an area of the plain just beyond the encampment. They looked at each other.

‘Each one of them is going to have to carry his or her own food,’ Carnelian said. Then to stop Fern voicing his objections, ‘How long do you think it’ll take us to get to Makar?’

Fern grimaced. ‘On foot?’ When Carnelian nodded, Fern shrugged. ‘Fifty days.’

Carnelian’s heart sank, discouraged, even though he had known the answer himself. ‘The road will be entirely ours.’

‘They’re only children.’

They looked grimly at each other.

‘They’ll just have to manage,’ said Carnelian.

‘What about water?’

‘We’ll have to find enough on the way . . .’

Fern smiled wryly. ‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?’

Carnelian could not help smiling; that made them both feel better. This was a fight they were both prepared to take on.

‘One step at a time,’ said Fern.

‘Can you devise some packs for them?’

‘Out of what?’

Carnelian pointed at the abandoned ammonite camp. Fern sized it up and gave a nod.

‘Besides, it’ll get them to lift their heads . . . having something to do together.’

Fern gave him another smile and went off. Carnelian walked towards the pavilion and Osidian.

The Quenthas stood before the entrance into the heart of the Dance.

‘I want to see him.’

The sisters shook their heads. ‘The God Emperor has commanded that none may pass.’

Carnelian frowned. ‘Surely he’ll see me?’

‘Not even you, Celestial,’ said Right-Quentha.

Carnelian’s impulse was to push past. He calmed himself. He and Osidian had already said farewell. What more was there left to say? But Osidian had so long been at the centre of his life that it was wrenching, as if he were leaving behind a part of himself.

‘We shall stay with him until the end,’ Right-Quentha said, tears in her eyes.

‘Die with him,’ added her sister.

Carnelian regarded the look of determination in their faces. ‘You know there is a place for you both at my side?’

Both smiled. ‘This is our world.’

Carnelian knew he had to respect how they felt and accept this further loss. Tenderly, he kissed them both, then, glancing towards the entrance they guarded, he walked away.

Bonfires spangled a corner of the plain beyond Osidian’s camp. Carnelian sat with the heat of one full on his face. Fern was on his right, Poppy and Krow on his left. With the darkness all around, it was possible to believe they were already in the Earthsky. Children completed the circle round the fire. Mostly they were eating, ravenously, but there was also the sound of strange languages and even a little laughter. That even a spark of the natural joy of childhood had returned to some of their eyes strengthened Carnelian in his resolve. Making the knapsacks together had loosened the grip of the many days of fear they had endured. The adults had done what they could to communicate to the thousands of children what they planned to do. People who themselves had come from the flesh tithe had struggled to recall snatches of the tongues they had not spoken since they were the same age as these children, but finding other speakers among the throng had proved hopeless. The best results had been achieved by finding those among the children who knew Vulgate and asking them to pass the news on to whoever else they could. Still, many, perhaps the majority, had no idea what was going on, but were, it seemed, just glad to have been released from the cages.

Nearby, around one of the other fires, sat Sthax and the surviving Oracles with the infested children. They would have to be carried until they recovered. Movement caused Carnelian to glance at Poppy, who had a smile on her face as she leaned into Krow, her eyes narrowed against the dazzle. Carnelian looked into the incandescent heart of the fire, hunching his cloak up so that its hood came down a little more over his face. He could feel the night behind him and, massing in the blackness, all the fear of what they would soon have to confront in the outer world. What made him believe he could lead them to freedom? He lay down, curled up, blind and naked without the certainty of his dreams.