The Third God (41 page)

At last he began hearing a sound like distant sea. Straining, he managed to distinguish in the hubbub countless voices ghosted by echoes. As a hush descended he was able to hear the snuffling of aquar. His heart pounding, he put an eye to the grille. All there was to see was a wall of bronze that had to be one leaf of an open cothon gate. He could no longer bear to travel blind and tapped on the palanquin wall. As it settled to the ground he put on his mask and readied himself to confront whatever might lie outside.

Sliding open the door, he saw his bearers kneeling. Two ammonites placed his ranga on the cobbles, then, gathering his robe, he climbed out onto them. Cries shrilled around him as the ammonites gave commands. Rising to his full height, he turned. A shrouded crowd confronted him. Lepers. Though these were the visitors he had expected, he was still shocked. He had been so convinced he would never see them again. A forbidding bulk looming behind their tide turned his shock to alarm. A dragon, the bright, uneven cross of her horns turned on the Lepers. Earth-is-Strong, like a ship upon a grey sea. Almost he surged forward, shouting frantic commands to her crew that they must not open fire. The realization that her pipes were unlit brought a debilitating relief. The ammonites were still shrilling, motioning marumaga to advance on the Lepers. Tentatively, the legionaries approached the crowd who were, it seemed, determined to stand their ground.

‘They
must
abase themselves before the Master,’ one of the ammonites called out.

The legionaries menaced the Lepers, but their shrouded mass seemed uncowed. Fearing bloodshed Carnelian strode forward, commanding the legionaries to desist, making gestures towards the ammonites that silenced their haranguing. As the legionaries retreated, he saw it was only the first few ranks of the Lepers that had confronted them; the rest and major part of the crowd were mostly turned to face Earth-is-Strong – many of them still mounted. He glanced up to make sure the dragon’s pipes were still not lit. Then he noticed, with pleasure and relief, Sthax and the rest of his Marula to one side. He decided it was better not to get them involved, so located among the legionaries those whose stance emanated authority. ‘Attend me,’ he said, motioning them to approach. He scanned their collars and found the one he had hoped among them. ‘Quartermaster, send a command to that dragon that she is to withdraw to the other side of the cothon.’

‘As you command, Master.’ The Quartermaster bowed and sent one of his men hurrying away to do Carnelian’s bidding, then approached him, eyes cast down. Carnelian sensed he was about to be petitioned to make a decision as to what to do with this invasion. Uncertain, he turned away from the man and approached the Lepers, who recoiled from him. He put his hands up to stay them. ‘I would speak with your leaders.’

He could see no faces in their cowls, but sensed their fear. A few glanced back towards Earth-is-Strong. ‘I’ve given instructions that the dragon is to retreat. She’ll not harm you.’

The people before him stayed as they were, uneasy, afraid of the dragon, afraid of him. He wished he could remove his mask, climb down from his ranga, walk among them. There must be some there who would know him. Of course, such actions would be madness. Any who saw his naked face the Law would have destroyed.

It was only once Earth-is-Strong started moving away that the whole crowd began turning towards him. He noticed an eddying in their midst as someone came through them. The front ranks parted and two figures emerged. Carnelian’s heart leapt into his throat. Even shrouded as a Leper, he could tell by her size, by her gait, that one of them was Poppy. Both seemed very small as they came to stand before him. Carnelian gazed down at Poppy. When she looked up, her face appeared in the shadow of her cowl. He yearned for a smile of recognition, but her mouth was a line in a face tight with fear. It took a moment for him to realize it was not his face she was seeing, but an unhuman one wrought from gold. He felt trapped behind it. Everyone was waiting for him but, anxious about what effect his voice might have on Poppy, he was reluctant to speak. He turned his mask enough to see, on either side, ammonites, keepers of a merciless Law, as well as marumaga legionaries with cruelly hooked poles. The Lepers greatly outnumbered them, but they were, effectively, unarmed. Besides, if there were a riot, he might lose control of Earth-is-Strong. Still, he had to say something. ‘Why have you come?’

Poppy’s eyes widened as she stared up at him but, thankfully, she showed no other sign that she had recognized his voice.

It was the shrouded figure beside her who spoke. ‘We’ve come to honour the agreement we made with the Master Osidian.’ It was Lily.

‘I had understood that agreement fulfilled.’

‘There are things you don’t know.’

Her tone convinced Carnelian she knew to whom she was talking. Its lack of reverence was causing agitation among the legionaries. Carnelian glanced round and saw, anxiously, how closely the silver masks of the ammonites were watching Lily and Poppy.

‘You must leave the way you came.’

‘We must honour our agreement.’

Even through her shroud Carnelian could see the stubborn angle of Lily’s head and it made him angry. He had trusted her to protect Poppy. ‘What possessed you to agree to anything that would bring you and all these others into the jaws of your enemies?’

When Poppy took a step forward and fixed burning eyes on his mask, marumaga moved to intercept her, but Carnelian jerked his hand in a gesture of command that made them retreat.

‘We’re free people,’ said Poppy. ‘Free to decide what risks we take.’

Lily’s bandaged hand clasped Poppy’s shoulder. Carnelian was glad when he saw Poppy accepting its restraint.

‘Everyone here’ – Lily swept her free hand round to take in the crowd – ‘has suffered terrible loss. All are here moved by an implacable hatred of the one who has inflicted those losses upon us.’

Carnelian saw how resolutely the Lepers stood, while the legionaries, who had less to fear from him, cowered in his presence. He could not help feeling proud of these outcasts. If there were to be any hope of reversing this disaster he must know what further agreement they had made with Osidian, but this was neither the time nor the place to ask such questions. There was one question, however, his heart would not be denied. ‘And the Ochre?’

Carnelian followed Poppy’s gaze back into the crowd to where a Leper stood taller than the rest. Seeing him, Carnelian’s heart beat faster.

‘He’s become a commander among us,’ said Lily.

Carnelian regarded Fern’s shrouded form, rejoicing, though wondering how he had so quickly recovered from his burns. Poppy was looking away, a frown on her face. He knew her well enough to tell what passion and anger that bland expression concealed. Had he really believed he could persuade them to merely ride away? How could he have imagined Osidian had not bound them to him with chains not easily broken? He calmed himself. They were here now and if there was nothing else left to him he must do what he could to keep them safe. He thrust from his mind any consideration of the immensity of the forces ranged against them all. He knew there was no place for him here, though he yearned to be with them. To return to Osidian’s side would be to abandon them to the ammonites and the Law. His heart sank as he faced up to his only option. He must return to Aurum’s tower, for it was from there that he could best protect them.

Having made his decision he wanted to tell Poppy and Lily about it. He glanced up, his gaze lingering on Fern’s form among the Lepers. How deeply he desired to approach him. Instead, he raised a hand and summoned the Quartermaster. The man came to kneel before him. ‘Take these people into the barracks of the auxiliaries. Settle them there. Give them food and water.’

Carnelian saw dusk was encroaching. ‘In the morning, equip them with armour, arm them, mount them.’

The legionary glanced round as if counting the Lepers. ‘We have nothing like enough, Master, for all of these.’

‘Then give them everything you have,’ Carnelian said, his voice edged with irritation.

The man punched the cobbles with his forehead. ‘As you command, Master.’

Carnelian turned to leave.

‘Carnie.’

He froze. It was Poppy addressing him. It was unthinkable to address a Master by name and such an intimate contraction betrayed a fatal familiarity. He looked to the ammonites and convinced himself they could not have heard her clearly. Weighing his words he addressed one of them. ‘Make these creatures join the others, silently. Any harm that comes to them shall be visited on you all.’

The ammonites touched their foreheads to the cobbles. Carnelian did not wait to see his commands obeyed lest Poppy attempt to speak to him again. He strode back towards the palanquin. Only when he reached it did he dare to turn. The legionaries had closed ranks behind him and the Lepers were already being herded away. He looked for Poppy, for anyone he knew, but they were an unindividuated mass. The dregs of his hope draining away allowed his fears, his agony of doubt to sicken him so that he felt unable even to lift his head. He glimpsed the palanquin out of the corner of his eye and felt a sudden revulsion at the thought of climbing into its prison. He returned to the legionaries and demanded they bring him an aquar. While he waited he beckoned Sthax and the Marula to approach him and made them understand, remembering to use only gestures, that he wanted them to accompany him. When he was brought a mount, he climbed into its saddle-chair, then, glancing back only to make sure Sthax was following him, he tore out of the cothon with furious speed.

It seemed no time at all before they reached the sanctum bridge. In the failing sun, the gate into the sanctum seemed painted with blood. Carnelian was determined to take Sthax and his Marula through with him. Motioning them to follow, he rode his aquar across the bridge. Loosing a lance from its scabbard, he hefted it and struck against the bronze. As the door opened a crack he urged his aquar forward. It coiled its head back and its delicate hands retracted as if in surprise as its chest shoved the door open. He was forced to duck as they passed into the purgatory. Shrill cries issued from mirror faces that were reflecting the hazy light of flames. Carnelian held his breath against the wreathing smoke. A sinuous lash in his aquar’s neck, a shudder running through its body, made him fear that the narcotic smoke might make it collapse.

‘Open the inner doors,’ he bellowed.

Cries warned that that would breach the purity of the sanctum.

His head was already swimming, but anger kept his focus sharp. ‘Obey me!’

A paler rectangle opened ahead and he urged his aquar towards it. She stumbled, sending censers clattering across the floor, then they erupted into the light. Glancing round to make sure Sthax was still following him, he let his aquar carry him none too steadily down the limestone gully, across the second bridge and up the steps to Aurum’s tower. He felt her tread stabilizing even as his head cleared.

At the tower gate he had no need to issue commands for it opened before him as he approached. He sent his aquar through the gap and, soon, they were loping down the spine of Aurum’s hall of audience. Lanterns were lit here and there like stars. Their glow revealed guardsmen rushing to attend him. In the shadows, figures were rising, approaching him. He felt only loathing for their tattooed faces. He advanced on them and they fell prostrate so that there was a danger they would be trampled by his aquar. Rage rose in him and overflowed. ‘Get you from my sight!’

The way they tried to crawl away disgusted him. An instinct to send his Marula against them rose in his throat like vomit. Then one painted face caught the light and he saw it was only a child. A child in terror. He saw others: girls leading amethyst-eyed boys stumbling from his path. Appalled, he watched them fleeing.

He reined back his mount, ashamed that he was inflicting such terror on slaves. He made the aquar sink and stepped out onto the floor. ‘Stay where you are.’

Everyone fell as if scythed at the knees.

‘There will be no punishment. My wrath is done. You were not the cause of it, merely its victims.’

He approached a guardsman. ‘Are there any chambers here I could use other than those of your Master?’

The man mumbled something. Carnelian urged him to speak more clearly. The man dared to glance up, squinting against the glare of Carnelian’s mask. Carnelian turned his head so that the reflected light moved away from the man’s face.

‘There are none, Master.’

Carnelian nodded and glanced up the steps, resigned. He looked back at the guardsmen, then round at the cowering children. It was clear this was not the first time they had known terror. ‘Send to the purgatory for myrrh and censers. The sanctity of this place is breached. I must purify the chambers above.’

The guardsman punched his forehead into the floor. ‘As the Master commands.’

Carnelian gave a nod, then advanced towards the stairs, morose.

A wheel divided in two by a horizontal russet bar. Wide-rimmed, its ratcheted hub meshed with a long brass pawl that was rooted in a float within a vessel of jade carved in the form of meshing chameleons. As a child, he had discovered a water clock like this discarded, and had tried to make it work. He slid a finger lightly around the wheel rim, of gold with a delicately chased arabesque of flames. His had been gilded copper. He touched the rays of the sun-eye showing above the russet bar, which was a solid piece of precious iron, unoiled so that it would rust to the colour of earth. On his clock the land had been merely carnelian. The sun on Aurum’s clock had fallen beneath the iron horizon. The arc of rim following it represented the firmament of night. Squatting above this was a figure wrought from obsidian: the Black God, Lord of Mirrors. Carnelian reached up and caressed each of His four horns in turn, remembering Osidian and the legion they had stolen and the war they were making upon the Masters. His own clock had been crowned merely with a crude turtle shell. The God’s empty eyepits glared down at him. He sought distraction in the finer points of the mechanism. The reservoir of such thin jade made the liquid it held seem blood in a bruise. A scale ran up its side, numbered from zero to nineteen. The liquid was above fifteen. He glanced up at the hidden sun-eye. This clock seemed to be keeping time, but there was no sound of water dripping. Peering above the jade, he saw a siphon. No drops were falling from it, but there was a glint like spider thread stretching between the siphon and the jade. He put his finger out to break it and was amazed when dribbles of light flashed across his skin. Upon his finger pad there rested a tiny bead. He touched his fingernail to the lip of the jade and let the bead roll off. Standing back he admired the clock. The liquid silver made it seem sorcerous, as if it were measuring time with moonbeams. He had always assumed the clock he had found at home had once been his father’s. That was why he had repaired it, then taken it to him. Now he realized it had been no Master’s device. In comparison with Aurum’s it was less than a crude toy. His father had dismissed the gift saying he had no desire to measure time; it passed slowly enough already.