The Third God (81 page)

MURDEROUS GRIEF

Which mother can forgive the killing of her children?

(Quyan fragment)

CARNELIAN WOKE SUDDENLY AND, FOR A MOMENT, STRUGGLED IN THE
riptide of the wave that was about to engulf him. Breath in his ear made him aware of Fern, warm in his arms. Thin grey light leaking in under the eaves of the fallen standard allowed Carnelian to see him. He gazed in wonder, remembering the night’s frantic lovemaking. With his eyes closed, Fern was as beautiful as a child and Carnelian was loath to wake him. He lay back, adjusting his spine, feeling the ache from having lain all night upon the unforgiving earth, his shoulder numb under Fern, but he did not care about the discomfort, only the delicious weight pressing down on him.

He became aware of the barrelling python of the Black God’s lower lip curving its grimace away off towards the eaves. He could see the curling rim of the upper lip, the nostrils, a suggestion of the glaring eyes. On the outer surface of the roof, rain was drumming on the Green God’s copper face. Carnelian reached his hand up to touch the metal. Its delicate vibrations transferred through his arm to his back, setting off the first shivers of the feeling from the sound of rain.

Reality seeped into his thoughts. A harsh reality. Osidian had survived the battle. Such a victory could only serve to engorge his mad devotion to his god. There was no hiding from him, nor could he hope to hide from him what Fern and he had become. Not that he would have tried to do so. The rippling shivering down his back became trembling for a moment as he feared what Osidian might do to his beloved. Carnelian wished he was confident he could protect him. Crazed notions of flight flitted through his mind. He dismissed them all as fantasy. In all the wide world, there was no place he and Fern could hide. Osidian would have to be confronted. Carnelian ground his teeth, feeling how deeply anchored in him was his determination to protect his lover, or die trying.

He tensed. The rain had stopped and he was certain he could hear the scrabble of aquar claws on stone. Already? Of course it was obvious Osidian must pass here on his way to Osrakum. Fern was still asleep. It would be better not to wake him until he knew what was going on. Gently, Carnelian pulled his arm free. Fern sighed, but did not wake. Carnelian sat up, grimacing at the ache in his back, pulling his arm across his chest, rubbing some feeling into it. His legs ached too and barely supported him as he rose, then tottered towards the triangle of light. Nearing this, his skin became so bright it forced him to squint. He glanced back and saw Fern lying brown in the shadow of the eaves. There was nothing with which to cover their nakedness. Carnelian cocked an ear to listen. The sound of claws had ceased. Was that a mutter of voices? He wished he had had the foresight to bring some weapon. If the Law still held sway, his face unmasked might be weapon enough. He dismissed a pang of guilt at the deaths he might cause. So many had died already, what were a few more? Was he becoming callous? He quenched his doubt by telling himself that none now could claim to be innocent of killing.

Keeping close to the side of the road, which rose like a wall, he edged out into the rain. He was already drenched by the time he reached the ramp that climbed to the road. He paused to listen again. He could definitely hear voices speaking with the lilt of Vulgate. By their tone they could not be Masters. Auxiliaries, perhaps? Whoever they were, it was likely they would be terrified by the sudden appearance of a Master. He could not imagine they would dare disobey him. He could get an aquar from them, perhaps two, and something for him and Fern to wear.

Vaulting onto the ramp, he began climbing it. As he came up onto the road, he saw three aquar turned away from him, their riders gazing up at the Iron House. For a moment he too was lost regarding its vast bulk, black and ominous against a grey sky. Then he raised his voice. ‘Attend me.’

The aquar whirled round, but it was Carnelian who was surprised: the riders showed no fear, but simply stared at him. He resolved one face and was shocked to recognize his House tattoo. Before he could see anything more, the aquar began folding their legs. Their riders sprang out even before the creatures had fully sunk to the road. One of the saddle-chairs had two riders, the smaller of which came running towards him.

His heart leapt. ‘Poppy!’

She stopped short, in some confusion, no doubt because he was naked. Two men with chameleons across their faces approached. He spoke their names: ‘Tain, Keal.’ Looking at the three of them, he acknowledged to himself that there was more to family than blood.

His brothers were unfastening their cloaks and, as they neared him, held them up. He allowed them to wrap him in one, while all the time they talked excitedly, Carnie this and Carnie that, but he was too stunned by their sudden appearance to be able to listen to what they were saying. When he was clothed, Poppy ran at him and he embraced her, laughing as joy came upon him that he was indeed among family. All of them were talking at once. They were asking him if the plan they had kludged together with Fern had actually worked; describing how frantic they had been when he too had disappeared; telling Carnelian what they had witnessed of the terrible battle; of the shock of seeing the God’s chariot burn; about the desperate hope that had brought them out from the camp that morning to seek for him and Fern among the wounded and the dead. Unable to respond to this flood, Carnelian beamed at them, until his smile caught on their faces and they were all grinning at each other like idiots.

He noticed a figure standing outside their group. It was Krow, gazing at him with an uncertain smile on his face, wanting to come forward, but unsure if it was his place.

‘It’s good to see you, Krow.’

The lad beamed and Poppy turned to him, grinning. She offered him her hand. ‘What’re you doing over there?’

Krow allowed himself to be drawn towards Carnelian. ‘You’re family too,’ he said and smiled when Krow sank his head.

‘And Fern?’ said Poppy, anxiously.

Carnelian glanced down at the green roof of the fallen standard, for a moment mesmerized by the oblique grin of the God, then saw a figure coming up the ramp. Poppy had spotted him already and went to meet him, taking Tain’s cloak. Fern was glad to throw it round himself, then stooped to kiss her. When he straightened, his eyes found Carnelian’s and they grinned at each other, shyly, embarrassed by their arousal. Becoming aware the others were staring at them, Carnelian broke the link with Fern and laughed, and they all laughed with him.

The questioning resumed and Carnelian allowed Fern to answer them so that he could feast on their faces, his heart overbrimming with love for them all. Keal, who had wandered back to his aquar, was now returning with something glinting in his hand. He offered Carnelian the thing he was carrying. ‘Father thought you might need this.’

Carnelian took the mask, turning it to see its face. He frowned. It was with a strange sense of dislocation he recognized it as the face his father had worn during their exile. Though, of course, his father was not really his father. Anger rose in him. Such thoughts were a betrayal. He lifted the hollow face up. Out of loyalty and with a desire to prove his love for his father, almost he put it on, but then he let his hand fall. ‘I will not wear this.’

He saw with what sombre faces they were watching him. ‘I’ve no need of it. We’re all family here.’

His smile and words lit them all up. At that moment the rain, which had slackened to a drizzle, turned heavy once more. Carnelian became aware of a dull rumble of thunder, then realized he was feeling it through his feet and saw that the others could feel it too.

The monster appeared from behind the Iron House, Marula riders eddying around its feet. Even with rain driving into their eyes, Carnelian and Fern both recognized Heart-of-Thunder, his chimneys sputtering smoke.

‘Stand your ground,’ Carnelian said to his family as the monster came closer, its flame-pipes swinging towards them so they could look up into their throats. Each thunderous footfall rattled their teeth.

There was a determined look in Fern’s face. Carnelian knew Fern would not part from him, even if it cost him his life. Carnelian felt a fierce pride in him. When he grinned, Fern grinned back and they turned to face Osidian together.

One last shudder as the monster dropped a leg. Then the hawsers tightened on its upper horns and the monster lifted the prow of its beak and came to a halt, leaving them in its rain shadow. Carnelian looked up at the topmost tier of its tower. He was certain it was Osidian sitting there gazing down at them, but he was as hidden by the ivory screen as if masked.

‘His fires are out,’ said Fern.

Carnelian saw that smoke had stopped rising from Heart-of-Thunder’s chimneys. A familiar rattle made him glance round to see the brassman being lowered. A figure scurrying out to its end released the rope ladder. Even as this unwound, a larger shape was crossing the brassman and soon descending. As this Master reached the road, he raised his hand in a command and Carnelian saw the Marula around the trunks of Heart-of-Thunder’s legs retiring. He was glad so many had survived the battle. As the Master approached, Carnelian could feel his father’s mask in his hand. He resisted a compulsion to put it on, determined he would confront Osidian barefaced. ‘I shall try to talk to him in Vulgate, Fern.’

Osidian came so close Carnelian felt certain he was going to touch him. The desire seemed there in Osidian’s gloved hands. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’

‘You have,’ said Carnelian, still finding it hard to believe Osidian was his brother.

Osidian’s mask turned to Fern standing beside him. As it lingered, the menace of its imperious face seemed to intensify. Glancing at Fern, Carnelian saw his rising anger.

‘You’ve won, then,’ he said to Osidian.

The mask stayed fixed on Fern a moment longer, then turned to Carnelian. ‘You have no mask, my Lord?’

Carnelian felt the Quya like a threat. He raised his father’s mask so that Osidian could see it. ‘I no longer feel I want to hide behind a mask,’ he said in Vulgate.

‘But the Law . . .’ Osidian’s voice sounded softer in Vulgate so that Carnelian was certain he could hear some doubt in it.

‘You— we shattered the Law there upon that battlefield.’

Osidian half glanced round as if he could only bear to look upon it with a single eye.

‘Did you cause that carnage merely to restore things to the way they were?’

Osidian’s mask turned back, but he gave no answer.

‘You must make a new Law.’

Osidian regarded the Iron House. ‘I must know beyond doubt my victory is complete.’

‘Do you seek your brother’s body?’

‘We must recover all our Chosen dead.’

Carnelian remembered the Master he and Fern had seen lying dead on the battlefield, unmasked, sartlar staring down at him. ‘The commanders too?’

‘I have already set the Lesser Chosen that task.’

Carnelian glanced towards the battlefield, where he could see the ridges of the dead and, for a moment, he imagined the Lesser Chosen commanders seeking the Lords, dead in their towers. Gathering those bodies was not a task they could delegate to their minions.

Osidian was beckoning the Marula. Carnelian watched him. There was a disturbing stillness about him and no sign of the elation he had expected. ‘You wish to bind the Lesser Chosen to your cause by miring them with the blood of your victory?’ he said, wishing to probe behind Osidian’s impassive exterior.

‘And to keep them occupied while I negotiate with the Wise and the Great,’ said Osidian, who was gazing off towards the Iron House.

Carnelian could see the strategic sense of it. ‘What did you offer them yesterday to have them stand down?’

‘Blood from my own House.’

‘And they are to bring the dead they salvage here?’

Osidian gave a distracted nod. Carnelian saw his intention: Osidian would gather all the Powers here, so that he might negotiate terms with them within sight of his victory over them. Carnelian was reminded of Osidian standing astride the ravener he had slain and of the power that had given him over the Ochre – and how, ultimately, he had used that power.

Carnelian’s stream of thought was muddied by the approach of the summoned Marula. They were Oracles, among whom was Morunasa. There was malice in the glance the man gave him, but also fear. Clearly, Morunasa had never imagined he would see Carnelian again. Did he fear that Carnelian had told Osidian that it was Morunasa who had let them go? Osidian was telling Morunasa and the other Oracles that they must find a way into the Iron House. He was indicating where the drawbridge stair was slightly ajar and how they might enter that way.

‘Bring me all the bodies you find in there.’

As they watched Morunasa and the other Oracles moving away, Carnelian was frowning. ‘There will be a lot of bodies.’

Osidian turned on him. ‘How could you know that?’

‘Before the battle I was there with Molochite.’

Carnelian sensed Osidian wanted to know more. He frowned, haunted, imagining the interior of the Iron House. ‘All the children.’

‘Children?’ Osidian’s voice betrayed the first colourings of emotion.

Carnelian explained how Molochite had with him the children of the Great, presumably as hostages for the good behaviour of their fathers commanding in the battle. As he did so he saw a rigor taking over Osidian’s body.

‘You did not know?’

Osidian seemed lifeless.