The Standing Dead - Stone Dance of the Chameleon 02 (40 page)

Carnelian
looked
away
ashamed
of
his
lie
and
saw Whin,
her
lips
pressing
tight
with
disapproval.
He
looked down
at
the
pots.

Take
as
much
as
you
need,'
Akaisha
said.

Those
not
prepared
to
work
should
not
expect
the Tribe
to
feed
them,'
said
Whin.

Carnelian
grimaced.

Akaisha
patted
Carnelian's
shoulder.
'Carnie
has
been working
hard
enough
for
the
both
of
them.
Go
on,
take him
some
broth.'

Carnelian
looked
for
a
ladle,
a
bowl.
It
was
Sil
who found
them
for
him.
She
began
to
take
food
from
a
pot.

'Not
so
much,'
he
said.
'He'll
not
eat
much
if
he
eats
at all.'

She
looked
up,
her
face
full
of
concern.
She
put
some
of the
broth
back,
wiped
the
rim
and
then
handed
Carnelian the
bowl.
He
looked
her
in
the
eyes,
thanked
her,
glad
they seemed
to
be
friends
again,
then
carried
the
bowl
away
as fast
as
he
could,
trying
to
avoid
spilling
it.

'Why
does
the
Master
refuse
to
eat?'
pleaded
Ravan, following
him.

Carnelian
kept
his
gaze
fixed
on
the
hollow.
'He doesn't
want
to
live
here.'

'I've
promised
him
everything
I
could
think
of,
but
he won't
even
talk
to
me.'

Carnelian
felt
the
youth
was
crowding
him,
threatening to
jostle
the
precious
broth
onto
the
ground.
'He's
one
of the
Standing
Dead
...
being
here
...
he
can't
...
it's hard
to
explain.'

Ravan's
face
darkened.
'It's
you,
you're
killing
him. I've
seen
the
way
you've
been
working
on
my
mother. How
desperate
you
must
be
that
you're
prepared
to humiliate
yourself
to
impress
her
by
working
with
Fern. The
Master
would
never
lower
himself
to
that
and
so you're
getting
rid
of
him.
If
he
dies
I'll
make
sure
you're thrown
out
of
the
Koppie.'

Stunned,
Carnelian
watched
Ravan
move
away.
The urgency
of
Osidian's
need
made
him
resume
his
journey to
the
hollow.
When
he
reached
it,
he
set
the
bowl
carefully
on
the
nearest
root,
climbed
over
and
sank
into
a crouch
beside
Osidian,
who
looked
no
better.
Carnelian dug
an
arm
under
him
and
struggled
to
make
him
sit. Osidian's
eyes
opened
as
Carnelian
propped
him
against the
root.
Carnelian
glanced
at
the
bowl
nervously,
worried he
might
knock
it
over.
He
retrieved
it,
balanced
it
on
his knee,
dipped
a
spoon
into
the
broth
then
held
it
up
to Osidian's
mouth. 'Eat,'
Carnelian
said.

Osidian's
nostrils
twitched
as
the
steam
rose
from
the broth.
His
eyes
focused
on
the
spoon.
Slowly,
wearily,
he shook
his
head.

'You
must
eat,'
Carnelian
pleaded.

Osidian
looked
into
Carnelian's
eyes.
'Let
me
die.
It's better
that
you
should
let
me
die.'

Carnelian
was
seeing
him
through
tears.
'I
won't
let you.'

Osidian
gazed
at
him.

'You
are
my
heart,'
Carnelian
whispered,
an
echo
of
the vows
of
love
they
had
made
to
each
other
on
that
terrible night
they
had
been
taken
in
the
Yden.
Again
he
offered Osidian
the
broth.

Osidian's
lips
smiled
a
little
.
'I
cannot
be
less
than
I am.'

Seeing
the
death
rings
around
Osidian's
eyes,
Carnelian's fear
for
him
heated
to
anger.
'And
what
is
that?
A
Master? One
of
the
Chosen?
A
Lord
of
the
Earth,
perhaps?
Such claims
sound
splendid
in
Osrakum,
but
looking
at
you
so easily
defeated,
they
are
revealed
to
be
nothing
more
than empty
boasts.
Any
man
can
be
a
god
behind
legions,
behind mountain
walls.
Are
you
brave
enough
to
be
simply
a
man?'

Irritation
sparked
in
Osidian's
eyes.
'You
bait
me
as
if
I were
a
child.'

'You
have
been
behaving
like
one.'

There
is
no
life
for
me
here.'

Then
make
one.'

'Labouring
like
a
slave;
living
as
a
savage?'

These
people
have
no
slaves,
and
though
they
are poor,
they
have
dignity.
If
you
were
to
open
your
heart, you
would
see
they
are
even
possessed
of
a
certain nobility.'

Osidian
looked
disgusted.
They
live
in
such
ghastly squalor.'

'Are
you
so
much
more
delicate
than
they?
Or
is
it
fear, Osidian?
Are
you
afraid
that
you
might
be
less
capable
of survival
here
than
are
these
barbarians?'

Anger
had
brought
Osidian
fully
back
to
life.
'What labour
do
you
perform?'

Carnelian
described
the
work
he
did.