The Third God (10 page)

‘This fire will bring Hookfork here,’ a voice accused.

Carnelian looked for its owner, but could not find him. ‘Would you prefer he went to an inhabited koppie? The Ochre dead on the summit of their Crag will confirm what Hookfork already guessed: that their koppie was the centre of the Master’s rebellion.’ He regarded Osidian with contempt. ‘For in that atrocity he will recognize the unmistakable handiwork of one of the Standing Dead.’ He scanned their faces. ‘Hookfork torched the Koppie of the Ochre as an object lesson. Tomorrow he’ll proceed to terrorize the neighbouring koppies.’

A man stood forward. ‘Though my tribe feels deep sympathy, how does that concern us? Our koppie’s far away and safe.’

Carnelian walked round the fire towards the man, who stepped back, fearful. ‘You’re sure of that?’

As the man stared back at him Carnelian leaned closer. ‘Tell me, have any veterans from your tribe fallen to Hookfork’s assaults?’

The man pushed out his chest. ‘We’ve fought as bravely as any here.’

‘I don’t question that. Did you recover their bodies?’

The man looked uncertain. ‘Most of them. Why?’

‘Most, but not all? Then Hookfork knows exactly where your koppie lies.’ He surveyed the gathering. ‘He knows where all your koppies lie.’

‘Who betrayed us?’ many voices cried out.

‘Your dead,’ Carnelian said, stoking up their consternation. He returned to the man he had been speaking to. ‘Give me your hand.’ When the man hesitated, Carnelian reached down and grabbed it. Twisting it open he strove to decipher the service tattoo on his palm. ‘The Fireferns.’

The man plucked his hand back, aghast. Carnelian moved round the line grabbing hands, calling out the name of the tribe inscribed on each. Terror spread as men stared at their palms.

Carnelian waited until they had begun to look up. ‘I believe I know a way in which you can save all your tribes.’

The hope that lit in many faces struck him in the heart. He could not bear quenching it, but he had to. ‘First you must understand something,’ he said, gently. A ripple of unease spread around the fire. ‘Things will have to return to the way they were.’ Fear haunted their eyes. ‘You’ll have to resume the sending of your children to the Mountain.’ He felt their anger rising. ‘Surely you must know in your hearts that the great hunts are over for ever? Surely you see that you must return to hunting as your fathers have done or else starve?’

There were some protests, but Carnelian chose to ignore them. ‘Your young men
must
return into service in the legions.’

Protest swelled, among which clearly could be heard the phrase: ‘Marula salt.’

‘I destroyed it all,’ Carnelian cried. His words released a gale of shock and disbelief that he bellowed over. ‘Even if it hadn’t caused strife among you, you must earn your salt in the legions. The Standing Dead would not permit anything else. Surely you can see that? But there’s another reason . . .’

As their noise abated, Carnelian pointed at Osidian, who might have been carved salt. ‘I couldn’t let
him
get his hands on it. With it he could do to other tribes what he’s done to you.’

Several men stepped forward. ‘We wouldn’t have let him.’

‘How could you stop him when he made sure to bring the dragons here to destroy you?’

They stared at Osidian, horror turning in some throats to howling rage. ‘Kill him,’ cried one and was echoed by many others.

Carnelian retreated to stand before Osidian, shielding him with his body. ‘This you must not do,’ he bellowed. ‘Hookfork must have him alive.’

Krow appeared from the crowd. ‘How will that help?’

The youth’s fury took Carnelian by surprise. Eyes flaming, Krow advanced on Osidian, listing his crimes, his betrayals, his lies. Osidian, smiling coldly, froze Krow to silence. The youth stared, shaking his head. ‘He can’t, he mustn’t escape our vengeance.’

Carnelian felt a strange kinship to the youth in his distress. ‘Krow,’ he said, to get his attention, ‘I promise you that, if the Master’s given to Hookfork, he will die. The Law of the Standing Dead demands it.’

Tears in Krow’s eyes had put out their fire. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Because he’s the reason Hookfork is here.’

Krow grimaced, unfocused, lost. Carnelian stood back. ‘He is the brother of the God in the Mountain, who hates him.’

Fernwood cracked and sparked in the flames as the Plainsmen gaped, blinking, at Osidian. Murmurous fear began moving among them. Some glanced around, seeking confirmation of Carnelian’s claims. Others, who tried to laugh it off, soon fell silent. Osidian’s white-faced lieutenants cowered. Carnelian saw they were, after all, only youths whom Osidian had corrupted and he felt sorry for them.

An old woman fixed Carnelian with bleak eyes. ‘Then we must give him up.’

‘And me with him, my mother,’ Carnelian said.

Poppy, gazing at him, looked miserable.

‘But that won’t be enough. You’ve rebelled against the Standing Dead. You’ve looked upon our faces. Either of these sins on their own would provide Hookfork with a pretext to destroy you all.’

He let the horror sink in before he spoke further. ‘There may still be a chance to avert total disaster.’ Their looks of hope made him pause to re-examine his plan. Could it possibly work? It had to. ‘We must draw Hookfork away into the north. Only then must you give us to him, as close as possible to the Leper Valleys.’

Their frowns demanded an explanation. ‘I believe Hookfork will be so greedy to return to the Mountain with his prize that he’ll not bother returning here.’

The old woman’s frown refused to smooth. ‘What if he leaves some of his dragons behind?’

Carnelian saw in his mind’s eye the broth Kor and her sartlar had made from the pygmies. ‘What is every man, aquar and dragon of a legion fed on? Render. Hookfork’s stretched an umbilical cord of its supply all the way from the Guarded Land. Cut that cord and all his forces must retreat. Further, by consuming the render ourselves we’ll have no need to deplete the migration djada of the tribes.’

‘And what of the Marula, Master?’ Morunasa asked.

Carnelian gazed at the Oracle. He and his fellows with their grey faces had sat so quietly he had forgotten them. He glanced at Fern. This part he had not cleared with him because he knew he must put the needs of the Plainsmen before his friend’s feelings.

Sthax came unbidden into his mind as he turned back to Morunasa and the other Oracles. Carnelian could think of no way to neutralize their threat except by returning Sthax and all the rest of the Marula warriors into their power. ‘You’ll take them back with you to the Upper Reach?’

Morunasa bared his ravener teeth. ‘You know perfectly well they’ll only serve the Master.’

‘Disband them. With salt you’ll be able to recruit enough Plainsmen to hold the Upper Reach.’

Krow pushed forward, grinning unpleasantly. ‘Oh no. They won’t be doing that. I cut down the ladder trees.’

Morunasa fixed the youth with such a staring look of horror that it stirred a commotion among the other Oracles.

Plainsmen were crying out. ‘Both ladders?’

Krow looked crazed. ‘I had the sartlar do it then dig the roots up so there would be no anchors for new ones.’

Carnelian sensed Osidian had deliberately chosen the Darkcloud to accompany Krow. Of all the tribes they had most reason to hate the Marula. ‘You did this at the Master’s command?’

Krow gave a gleeful nod. ‘Now my tribe, the Twostone, is avenged, Maruli,’ he said to Morunasa. He looked towards Fern and became only a sad boy. ‘The Ochre too.’

Fern sprang at Krow, who fell near enough to the fire to raise a jet of sparks. Fern stood over him. ‘Do you really imagine this will clean my kin’s blood from your filthy hands?’

Krow stared up at him, petrified. Only when Fern turned away from him did he roll over. As he rose, people moved out of his way as if he were a leper. Carnelian watched the youth slink off and felt regret he had not intervened.

Fern closed on Morunasa, thrusting his face towards him. ‘You and your kind murdered my people at the Master’s command,’ he snarled, close enough that his saliva sprayed Morunasa’s face. ‘Now it seems he’s repaid you as you deserve.’

Carnelian feared Morunasa would launch himself into Fern, but instead he seemed lost in thought. Fern’s rage was spreading to the other Plainsmen. As people realized the Marula were trapped in the Earthsky with no hope of reinforcement they began to list the killing they had carried out during Osidian’s conquest; the men they had tortured on their Isle of Flies. The Plainsmen were turning into a mob that looked to Fern to lead them. He was still glaring at Morunasa. ‘There’re ten of us to every one of you, Maruli.’

Though Morunasa did not react, the other Oracles moved around him, baring their teeth at the Plainsmen, hissing. Transfixed, Carnelian considered letting the Plainsmen destroy them. If the Marula had been dangerous before, desperate they were doubly so, but he remembered Sthax’s remorse and that most of the Marula had had little choice but to collaborate with Osidian. Pushing in between Fern and Morunasa, he rounded on the baying mob. ‘Turning upon each other will only make us easier prey for Hookfork. I’ve no more liking for these Marula than you but, deprived of the Upper Reach salt, their people will perish.’ He glanced at Fern. ‘That seems enough revenge for now.’

He became aware Morunasa was regarding him malevolently. Carnelian remembered the promise he had made to him that day. He gazed round at the Plainsmen. ‘Besides, if it hadn’t been for the Marula today the Master would’ve fallen into Hookfork’s hands and you and all your people would be doomed. In the coming days we’ll have need of all the strength we can muster.’

He turned back to Morunasa. ‘Will you throw in your lot with us?’

The man gave Carnelian an almost imperceptible nod. Carnelian knew he had merely postponed the confrontation between them. He pulled back. ‘He says yes.’

The Plainsmen confronted him with silence.

‘Who among you will follow me north?’

No one moved, no one spoke. A chill spread across Carnelian’s chest. He had nothing left to say that might persuade them. Lit by the embers, their faces had taken on the colour of the coming bloodbath.

Fern appeared at his side, arm outstretched. ‘All day I’ve had the murderer of my child, my wife, my mother, my kin, the destroyer of all my tribe, within my grasp.’ He closed his fingers into a fist. His hand opened again. ‘And yet he still lives. I’ve spared him because I have faith in this Master.

‘I don’t speak to you for my own sake, for all that I’ve loved is lost.’ Fern’s gaze lingered on Carnelian. ‘I speak because my mother, even as she was being strung up by that bastard’ – Fern stabbed his finger at Osidian, his face deadened with hatred – ‘sent me a plea that I should stay alive long enough to help you all survive what she feared was coming.’

Many shrank back from his baleful glare. ‘This even though, when she and my tribe sent you back your hostage children and begged you all to rise with them against the Master, you chose instead to stay at home like cowards.’ Few there were able to return Fern’s gaze. He indicated Carnelian. ‘Follow him or else prepare yourselves for the destruction of all you love.’

Bathed in red light the Plainsmen looked at each other and a few at first, then all, gave Carnelian and Fern reluctant nods of agreement.

Half-sleeping, tortured by dreams, Carnelian was woken by a murmur from the ferngardens below. Rising, he walked to the edge of the summit. A glimmering mass was funnelling into the western rim of the koppie: the Darkcloud tribe arriving at last. It was a relief to see them reaching safety. The torches they carried must have been a poor defence against the raveners prowling the night. He did not want to consider the losses they might have suffered. He reassured himself his decision to bring them here had been the right one. Even if the council had not agreed to his plan, coming to the koppie of the Bluedancing was the best chance the Darkcloud had of making their escape east to the mountains.

He returned to where Fern was crouched, gazing north. His friend had chosen to take the first watch. Carnelian wrapped his blanket more tightly round himself and sank down beside him. Fern’s back was ochred by the light of the embers. He looked round and their eyes met. Seeing Fern’s bleakness, Carnelian yearned to share his blanket with him as they had once done, but Fern turned away.

Carnelian tried to let the bitter night numb the pain. He sought solace in the stars, in the faint gleam in the east that presaged moon dawn. The rest of the earth was black. Aurum’s camp had dimmed so much it took him a while to locate it. The distance that lay between them was some comfort. He drew his blanket up to cover his ears and thought about the next day. His much-reviewed plan seemed stale, improbable. What was he going to do with the Marula? Curse Osidian for having sent Krow to cut down the anchor baobabs. He saw the sartlar chopping at them with their flint axes. That made him remember what he himself had said to Kor the day he had left the Upper Reach: cut the trees down in ten days’ time unless you hear from me. The cold night penetrated to his bones. He had been so focused on reaching the Koppie. Then the massacre and the burials had put it clean from his mind. If Osidian had not ordered it, most likely it would have happened anyway. Try as hard as he might to escape it, it always came down to this: he and Osidian were alike. He could no more be free of being a Master than the Plainsmen could escape their oppression.