The Standing Dead - Stone Dance of the Chameleon 02 (110 page)

At last the black clouds came, piling in angry towers on the rising wall of advancing night. Around the fires voices hardly seemed able to pierce the sultry air. Carnelian drifted in and out of sleep until he could no longer bear the weight of the night pressing on his chest. He rose and saw the skyfire playing across the inky west and almost touched his eyes to confirm they were open. His throat was parched and when he swallowed there was a popping in his ears.

Morning was nothing more than a faint glowing opalescence in the sky. The storm curled like tar smoke, slow, rumbling. Sweat clothed Carnelian though he stood almost naked; it oiled the ebony limbs of his Manila. All day the sky pressed down as if it were collapsing. Carnelian stood with his back to a baobab, surveying the clouds from under his brows, running his finger along his scar, recalling the first night of his slavery. A flash, then the first thunderclap whiplashed him like an orgasm. The release was momentary, the air retightened its grip around his throat. He begged the sky to loose its water. Light was leaking through the heavens. Thunder hammered him to his knees. A torrid wind screamed through the encampment, whisking everything up into feverish flight. The baobabs groaned and shook their branches at the sky. Carnelian felt the first drop like an anointing. He turned his face up to catch another. More and more and more fell. Rain came hissing down, then roaring until he was sheathed in water, spluttering, blind and deaf, feeling the ground beneath him melt to mud, letting himself sink into it as the rain washed him clean of all thought, all feeling and of his sweating fear.

The sky rained down as if its angry darkness held the waters of the oceans just above their heads. Cool delight soon turned to misery. Osidian urged Carnelian to join him in the shelter of one of the granary baobabs overlooking the camp. The days of his captivity haunted Carnelian, driving him to hide from the rhythm of the rain upon his head. He chose a tree of his own. Brooding, he saw below him the Marula sitting like basalt boulders in a stream, sunk up to their haunches in the mud, their heads hanging, sometimes chewing at raw fernroot because it was impossible to kindle a fire.

From his eyrie
Carnelian
watched the level of the Blackwater rise. Three days after the downpour began, its waters had already risen high enough to swallow all its rocks and pools. The dark sliding water foamed in a rushing sheet which the Isle of Flies cut with its stony prow. The river became a flood. The murmur of the falls swelled to a roar that could be heard even above the tumult of the rain.

Day after day, with nothing to do but to watch the raging white cataracts, or the men miserable below,
Carnelian
began to feel that the rain that had washed away the days would soon wash away his mind and leave him only the emptiness he had known as a slave upon the road. He looked down upon the Marula and felt he had abandoned them. He descended from his tree. By the time he reached the mire between the roots, he was already drenched. He walked among the Marula, having to shout for them to notice he was there. Some lifted eyes that seemed dull against the varnished wood of their faces. The pressure of the downpour was making Carnelian stoop and, thinking he meant to sit down, some Marula made space for him. He could not deny their entreating eyes. He setded down into the mud holding a blanket over his head. Through the rain's grey veils the baobabs loomed like the sepulchres of the Labyrinth in faraway Osrakum.

Carnelian woke into the ending of the world. Beneath him, the earth was shaking apart. He fought to calm the gibbering bodies round him. Arms clung to him like chains. He could hear a rush and roaring rumble as if a herd of heaveners were stampeding around the knoll in the blackness. He squinted trying to see. The knoll and all its trees were turning slowly. No, it was the escarpment flowing past, a tide of earth pouring down into the chasm. He stared in horror. Moaning blew round him in a gale. The
movement slowed. The earth settl
ed, groaning. Some lonely voices broke raggedly, then fell silent. All he could hear was the gende hiss of the rain and the dull percussive roar of the cataracts.

Carnelian had to wait until light began to filter through the curtain of rain. He blinked away water and peered. The land around the knoll seemed gouged with immense wounds. He disengaged himself from the Marula waking all around him. He rose drunkenly, staggered over the ditch and began making his way down the slope. He had to look down at his feet so as not to get them snagged in the thickets of men's limbs.

When he reached the baobab wall he saw that under the pressure of the landslide, one of the trunks had hinged out like a door. Mud choked the gap. He clambered up the mound until he reached high enough to look out. What he saw made him gape. The ashy clearing was gone. Red sandstone showed raw through a film of mud and darkly foaming water. The earth that had once clothed it had been washed over the edge of the chasm. He remembered Kor's warning.

He became aware of the black bodies appearing around him, hunching, crossing their arms over their chests, their eyes wide with incomprehension.

He saw Krow among them, gaping.

'Keep them here.'

The youth looked alarmed. 'Where are you going, Master?'

Ignoring his cries, Carnelian slid down into the streams gushing over the exposed rock. Feeling he was treading on the earth's open wounds, he made his way carefully down towards the Ladder anchor trees. Amazingly, these had resisted the pouring mud which had piled against them. Carnelian climbed this mound. On its summit he saw what he had expected to see: the Ladder cables had snapped. Hugging the soaking hide of one of the baobabs, he inched around until his foot struck against a knot. Using the cable as a handrail, he edged towards the chasm one step at a time. Rivulets spluttered dark water out into space. Each time he slipped he would freeze, clinging to the cable. Each time he forced himself to go on, until, at last, he was close enough to be able to crane over the edge.

Far below, the Blackwater was swelling a lake behind the dam the landslide had dumped across the floor of the chasm. The Ladder had been ripped from the precipice and lay broken in the mud. The single anchor baobab for the ladder down to the saltcaves had deflected the mud. The sartlar were not marooned.

Back in the camp, Carnelian was overcome by a violent shaking as the full horror of what had happened soaked into him. In the faces of the Manila he saw fear that the downpour might wash away the rest of the world. A shout turned every eye to look up the scoured escarpment. Aquar were filing down, a march that wound away as far as Carnelian could see. He leapt to his feet.

'Plainsmen,' he cried, feeling a new rush of life. Marula jumped from his path as he ran down the knoll. He reached the baobab wall and clambered onto it. The riders were close enough for him to recognize Fern.

He slid down into the mud, then tore up the escarpment. The lead aquar knelt, allowing Fern to spring out of his saddle-chair and run towards him.

'It's you,' Carnelian gasped. They gazed at each other. Fern examined him with a look of concern.

'Are you all right?'

Carnelian nodded. 'How's your mother, Sil, Leaf, the others?'

'Well enough,' said Fern, nodding grimly. He looked out over the devastation. 'What happened?'

Carnelian saw Fern was hiding something, but knew this was not the time to probe for more. 'We felled the baobabs ... the rain -'

'Carnie,' cried a girl's voice.

Carnelian saw Poppy flying towards him and opened his arms. When he caught her, he squeezed her, lifted her and spun her round and round. She shrieked with excitement and threw her arms around his neck.

'Fern told me you wouldn't want me here, but you're glad to see me, aren't you, Carnie? Tell me you're glad to see me.'

'Of course I am ...' He sat her astride his hip, grinning at her through tears, then saw her face pale as she stared gaping over his shoulder. He spun round to confront the horror, but it was only some of his Marula spilling down the knoll. Marula. He pulled her head into his neck. How could he have forgotten she had witnessed the massacre of her people?

'Raveners. Raveners,' she said, against his skin. He ran his fingers through her hair and rocked her. They're only men, Poppy, only men.'

A spark could set the world aflame.

(Plainsman proverb)

Carnelian stood with Osidian and Morunasa looking down into the chasm.

This is a disaster,' said Morunasa.

'A setback, certainly,' said Osidian.

Morunasa looked at him aghast. 'Without salt the Lower Reach ...'

Though Osidian's face was showing concern,
Carnelian
sensed he was not wholly displeased with the turn of events.

The Ladder can be remade,' said Osidian.

Morunasa gazed down at the remains. 'It took years to make and that was before we had the cliff face smoothed.'

Osidian put his hand on Carnelian's shoulder. 'I'm sure my friend here will have it done before that.'

Carnelian
tried to imagine the work involved. 'If we can salvage the old structure ... perhaps.'

Osidian turned to Morunasa. 'You see?'

'At least the ladder down to the saltcaves has survived,' said
Carnelian
.

Osidian ignored him. Morunasa looked grim.

'My brethren will be unable to come up with pygmies.

It'll be perilous to leave the Darkness-under-the-Trees unfed.'

Morunasa lifted his head and Carnelian was horrified to see him gazing up towards the makeshift camp the Plainsmen were making on the escarpment above the knoll.

'I shall send enough capti
ves to sate your god's appetite for blood,' said Osidian.

Morunasa fixed him with fevered eyes. 'And will the Master also provide the Upper Reach with fernroot?'

That and meat.'

'Where will these captives come from?' Carnelian demanded.

'Do you believe, Carnelian, the Plainsmen will accept my yoke willingly?'

Carnelian grew morose imagining the war Osidian was preparing to launch against the Earthsky. 'When will you leave?'

Tomorrow, at first light.'

Beyond the baobab wall, in the bleak encampment of the Plainsmen, Carnelian sat in the rain chewing djada with others of Akaisha's hearth. It was too dark to see but Carnelian could feel Poppy's hand in his and knew Fern was sitting near.

'Sweet Mother, what I wouldn't give for the shelter of a proper tree; a
little
fire,' groaned Hirane and was answered by a mutter of agreement.

'How's Mother Akaisha?' Carnelian asked.

'A
little
worse,' replied Fern.

Carnelian became concerned, suspecting Fern was hiding something. Later he would question Poppy, quiedy. 'Sil and Leaf?'

'Both well.'

Carnelian could hear some grief behind the words. The Tribe?'

It was Poppy who answered. 'Everyone's miserable, Carnie.'

The salt we brought back seemed to cheer them up quickly enough,' said Ravan.

Poppy's hand stirred in Carnelian's grip. 'We were happy to have our men back.'

Ravan spoke over her. 'If the people are unhappy it's because the old have been poisoning their contentment. The Tribe were happy enough with the power and wealth our victories brought them.'

'Power?' exploded Fern. 'Don't you mean slavery?'

Carnelian expected Ravan to fly into a rage but, instead, he fell silent. The main thing's that the Tribe's now safely back in the Koppie,' he said, longing for its homely comforts.

*Safe,' said Ravan with a snort. 'How can they be safe when all our strength is here save for a few feeble old men?'

'Who'd dare attack the Koppie?' said Hirane. 'We're the Ochre, first of all the Master's tribes.'

'And is he going to feed our people?'

'He did last year.'

'And who's going to fetch water? Who's going to protect our women from raveners when they work in the ditches?'

'You mean the Bluedancing?' said Carnelian.

'Shows how much you know.'

Carnelian was horrified. 'Did their water run out?'

Fern's hand gripped his arm. 'When we returned, we found them well enough, but the Master commanded that they should be sent off to the koppie of the Tallgreen.'

'Why?'

'He didn't say.'

No doubt Osidian intended they should dig a killing field in the home of the Tallgreen with which to slaughter another heavener herd.

As if that thought had summoned him, Carnelian felt his presence.

'How pleasing,' drawled Osidian in Quya, 'my Lord must find the company of savages.'

Carnelian could just make him out, an immense shadow in the night accompanied by his guards.

'I came to hear news of the Ochre,' Carnelian said.

'I.could have provided you with all the news you seek, Carnelian.'

As the clear voice faded, Carnelian became aware that across the escarpment he could hear nothing but the pattering of rain.

'You shall be left to rule this place in my stead.'

'What about the Oracles?'

They will keep to their island: the rest is yours.'

The rain began falling more heavily.

The sartlar must continue to cut salt.'

'What of the Ladder?'

'Make sure you understand, my Lord, the production of salt must be your paramount concern.'

'But you still wish to have the Ladder repaired?'

'With whatever labour you have left. Besides, it is best to wait until the rain stops. Currently, the cables will be sodden and heavy.'

Carnelian considered his next question carefully. 'Who will be left here, my Lord, to oversee the sartlar?'

'I will leave you Plainsmen.'

'Ochre?'

'Oh no, my Lord ...'

Carnelian could hear the smile in Osidian's voice.

The Ochre will all be coming with me.'

Carnelian knew more harm than good was likely to come from arguing. Clearly, Fern and the rest of the Ochre would be hostages to ensure his good behaviour.

'I trust we understand each other, my Lord?' 'I understand,' Carnelian said, resigned. Waiting for more, it was a while before he realized Osidian was gone.

'What did he say?' Poppy whispered.

That tomorrow you all leave with him.'

'And you?' asked Fern, the resigned tone of his voice suggesting he already knew the answer.

‘I
am to remain behind again.'

Then I'm staying with you,' said Poppy.

'No,' said Carnelian, outraged at the thought.

'Surely he intends to leave some of us here with you?' said Fern.

'No Ochre.'

Their talk was spreading murmurs across the encampment.

'Why are none of us to stay here?' said Hirane. 'Doesn't he trust us?'

'Have you forgotten the riches beneath our feet?' said Ravan. 'Did he mention Krow?'

'He mentioned no one by name.'

'Are we returning to the Koppie?' Ravan demanded, rancour loud in his voice.

'I have told you everything he said, Ravan.'

'I'm sure,' the youth said, bitterly.

Carnelian felt Poppy stroking his hand. 'Why can't I stay with you, Carnie? Please, let me stay. I've been so unhappy.'

He reached out for her, found her head wrapped in soaked cloth and leaned his cheek on her. 'You know I'd have you here if I could. It'll make things much easier for me if I know you're safely at home.'

Beneath a frowning sky, a vast tree caged a darkness Carnelian was terrified to enter. A yearning drew him in to search for his loved ones. It was only when he tried to cry out their names he realized he had forgotten them. Pulsing anguish, he could not even see their faces in his mind. He wandered, a blind betrayer, within the caverns of the tree that were hung with overripe fruit. Feeling a warm hand slip into his own, he saw Poppy looking up at him. Her eyes were an anchor in his despair. Hunted, they fled away across raw, red earth.

He awoke and saw her leaning over him, alarmed.

'Carnie, you're frightening me.'

He struggled to sit up against the sodden pull of the blanket. Poppy's hair clung in feathers to her skull. He registered the look in her eyes.

'You were moaning in your sleep,' she said.

Carnelian frowned. 'A dream.'

He became aware of the commotion around them, men everywhere saddling their aquar, stowing away their dripping blankets, plodding through the mud, hanging their heads in the downpour, squinting against the water pouring down their faces.

A hand slipped into his. 'Please, please, let me stay,
Carnie
.'

Her pleading eyes made his heart resonate to the haunting rhythm of his dream. He gripped her hand, so small in his. His nod was rewarded by her dazzling delight.

Carnelian and Poppy watched the aquar churn their way up through the mud of the escarpment. Nearby, miserable and downcast, stood the Plainsmen who were staying behind. The colour of wet wood, Carnelian's Marula warriors loped up in a mass after the shrouded Oracles. Among them Osidian rode with Krow and Morunasa, the forbidding heart of the march.

Carnelian was remembering Fern's morose face when they had
said goodbye. Ever
ything seemed so hopeless. A movement at the edge of his vision made him glance round and see a sartlar creeping towards him. It was Kor, her spade feet bringing her steadily up the slope, her mane plastered over the angles of her ruined face. He felt Poppy edging round him and, glancing down, saw she was trying to hide.

'It's only Kor, Poppy. There's nothing to fear.' The sartlar woman knelt in the mud. 'Get up, Kor,' Carnelian said, 'I'd like you to meet Poppy.'

The woman rose, reddened by the mud that smeared her rags and legs. Carnelian coaxed Poppy out in front of him and held her there by gripping her shoulders. Though she was of a height with the sartlar, Kor's bulk made Poppy appear as fragile as a leaf stalk. Woman and girl nodded at each other.

The Ladder, Master?' asked Kor.

'Not until the rain stops,' Carnelian answered.

'Salt then?'

Carnelian nodded.

He sensed Kor was waiting for him to accompany her. Carnelian turned to look for the departing host, but they had already faded away into the rainy murk.

Later, Poppy told him how things had been in the mountains after the Master had taken their men away. How the Tribe had tried to carry on as normal without success. How when Harth and others had tried to give orders again, the people were too afraid to listen. Fading, Akaisha moved little, spoke less, so that Whin had become hearthmother in all but name. When the men had returned, the Tribe's joy was soured by news of what had happened in the koppie of the Darkcloud and the discovery of the Upper Reach. Carnelian saw how haunted Poppy still was and sensed how all this had reopened the horror of the massacre of her tribe. It was Fern who had taken the time to help her through those first few days, though Sil and he were constantly arguing. Carnelian wondered about this but he decided that to ask Poppy for details would be prying.

* * *

Day after dreary day, the rain fell unabated. High in the baobab they were sharing, Carnelian and Poppy tried to amuse themselves by telling each other stories; gossiping about the people they knew; shar
ing their hopes and dreams. Mostl
y, the monotonous hiss of the rain would wear their speech away to silence and then they would sit at the opening of the hollow and gaze out. The amount of earth left upon the escarpment showed the passage of time. Streams coursed down so filled with red earth they could have been blood. The knoll had become an island in the midst of a sea of stone. Streams gushed past on every side so that Carnelian feared that at any time the trees that rose from the knoll would lose their grip and the whole mass would slide down into the chasm.

Carnelian had divided what food there was among the Plainsmen and the sartlar. The sartlar had carried their portion down into their caves. The Plainsmen had followed his lead and carried theirs up into the dryness of other baobab hollows. Each day Carnelian had to force Poppy to chew gnarled fernroot. They were careful with it, but still, their store was running low.

Everyone dreaded the coming of night. In the darkness the roar of the falls seemed to become a deep and rumbling voice. Poppy became obsessed with the notion it was speaking to her, though she could not tell what it said. Carnelian could no more than her discern words, but the sound poured its malice into his dreams.

Sometimes a morning would bring with it a pause in the rain. The ceiling of clouds might even thin enough for the sun to peer in. In that light, the scoured and bony escarpment would not appear so bleak.

On one such morning, the lookout Carnelian had posted let out a cry that had them all scrambling down from their trees and searching in the direction he was pointing.

Poppy saw them first and cried out with excitement. A line of aquar and drag-cradles winding down towards them from the Earthsky.