The Standing Dead - Stone Dance of the Chameleon 02 (67 page)

'Sky-sickness,' he croaked. He knew it, having suffered from it on his first, over-rapid ascent of the Pillar of Heaven in Osrakum.

He marshalled his strength and, at last, groaning, managed to roll over. He stared for a long time at the deathly face peering from the blanket before he remembered who it was. Grief came like lightning. Carnelian fell onto Osidian and managed to scrape away the cloth so that his lips found the icy neck beneath. A pounding in his head made him blind. His lips could feel only the merest tremor of life in Osidian's body. Carnelian rolled back and saw nothing but blue. Osidian had not regained his former strength. It would be so easy to fall asleep, to die. Osidian would die with him and the Tribe would finally be rid of them both.

Carnelian made one last effort and turned his head. He saw Osidian's livid scar. The red mark of the rope. That colour made him dream his life again. Every scene was there. He wept for all the suffering but no tears came. He could not move his head and so was forced to watch Osidian die. Carnelian had taken his life from him once, he could not bear to do it again. He tried to sit up. He panicked when he found he had turned to stone. Anger swelled in him until he could hear it roaring in his ears. He pushed and pushed and forced himself to sit up. He shook back and forth, rocking, groaning with each folding of his belly until he felt life returning. Then he concentrated on Osidian; reaching under the blanket to rub his chest, his back, his arms, his legs until, slowly, he brought Osidian back from death.

They stumbled down towards the valley a few steps at a time, each half carrying the other. Reaching the first trees before nightfall, they collected twigs with trembling fingers. Carnelian almost cried when after much fumbling with their fire-drill he was unable to produce a single spark. Osidian tried. A spark lit hope and they fed this until there was a flame and then a fire.

That night was milder and, with the morning, they found enough strength to continue the descent. The sun was still low when Carnelian saw smoke rising.

'We'll be home soon,' he said, pointing.

Osidian did not turn to look at him but only gave a nod.

Drums were beating like hearts when Carnelian awoke. The air was warm and fragrant. Branches slipped the blue of the sky between their leaves. He made an effort to sit up and saw he was safe in the heart of the Tribe. He could see children winding a dance through a commotion of preparation. Their young joy gladdened him.

'Carnie,' a little voice cried, and before he knew it, Poppy had flung herself at him. He hugged her hard, kissed the nape of her neck and muttered: 'I'm glad to see you too.'

She pulled away from him and stared. 'You're better now?'

Carnelian was going to ask her what she meant, but then remembered and turned to look round to where the mountains rose purple to the clear sky. It came as a shock when he realized he could not remember reaching the camp.

Poppy saw his puzzlement. 'We spotted you wandering dazed with the Master.' 'We?'

'Fern, Sil, many others.' 'How long have I lain ... ?' Two days,' she said. 'And the Master?' 'Ravan is tending him.'

Carnelian's attention was drawn to the rhythm of the drums. 'What's happening?'

The Tribe are getting ready for the gatherings.' 'Gatherings?'

'All the tribes are up here in the mountains.'

Carnelian
started. 'Coming here.'

Poppy calmed him with a shake of her head. 'It's not our turn. We're sending people to other valleys.'

He reached out and took her hand. 'Have you been -looking after me?'

Poppy grew fierce. 'Fern wanted to but I wouldn't let him.'

He laughed and kissed her again, then threw back the blankets.

'Are you sure you're strong enough, Carnie?'

'Let's see,' he said and, rising, found he felt weak, but otherwise well enough. Poppy looked unconvinced as she brought him his robe and helped him wind on his uba.

'Are you going to see the Master?'

Carnelian felt he should but did not really want to. 'You said Ravan is looking after him?'

Poppy nodded. 'He and the other from my ... from the Twostone.'

'Krow.'

She gave a nod.

'Well, in that case, I think it better we should let him rest. Shall we go and see what's going on?'

Poppy beamed and grabbed his hand.

As they walked together, the excitement of the drums transferred itself to their hearts. Soon they were among the women who were singing as they worked. They watched them grind red earth in the hollows of saurian shoulder-blades. One girl poured the resulting powder into a jar which another was stirring. It looked like blood. Carnelian could see other jars holding the rich pigment and wondered what it was for.

'You're up,' a voice cried, and Carnelian saw it was Fern bounding towards him. He looked closely at Carnelian.

'You seem well enough.'

‘I
don't think he is,' Poppy piped up.

Fern gave her a look of concern. 'Do you think he should rest longer?'

Carnelian interrupted Poppy's reply. 'Would you like to be alone to discuss me?'

They all grinned. He made sure to hold each of their gazes. 'I'm fine. Really.'

He laughed when he saw Poppy and Fern exchange glances. 'Now will someone please tell me what's going on here?'

'What happened up there?' asked Fern.

Carnelian saw by the serious way they were both looking at him that he would have to give them some kind of answer. 'We got lost.'

Fern frowned. Poppy glanced up at him and then she frowned too.

For a moment, Carnelian was overwhelmed by the love he felt for them both. The easy flow of his feelings for Fern surprised him. With a shock, Carnelian realized he felt free of Osidian. He no longer felt that Osidian's darkness was a burden he had to share. Sadness at the love they had lost threatened to overwhelm him.

Poppy and Fern were watching him. Carnelian took his friend's arm and pointed. 'What're they doing there?'

Fern looked uncertain. Poppy shook her head, then shrugged. 'They're making ochre, Carnie.'

'For the women?'

'For everyone that's going,' said Fern. The gatherings are held under the protection of the Mother.'

He pointed to a pole set upright in the ground from which there hung a flag woven from scarlet feathers. 'A trucestaff inviting us to the valley of the Smallochre.'

'A kin tribe?' asked Carnelian.

Fern shook his head. 'One of those neighbouring the Koppie. All our neighbours will be there: the Woading, the Tallgreen, the Darkcloud, the Bluedancing.'

The Bluedancing?'

The trucestaff will ensure there'll be no trouble.'

Carnelian gave Poppy his hand and then put his other arm about Fern's shoulders. 'Come on, give me a tour.'

They watched mud gouged from the bank of the stream being piled upon a sled. They helped some boys drag it back to where the women threw handfuls of it into leather bowls. Fires were burning smokily where cubes of fat were being melted into oil. One bowl, brimming over, was lifted with a pole by two men. Children were scolded out of the way as it was carried to where women were kneading mud into balls. The women punched depressions into the balls into which the oil was carefully poured. They watched it cool. When it was just beginning to set, they began to fold the edges of the depression into it and then resumed their kneading.

Mud balls that were ready were rolled in ochre earths. The red dough produced was being worked into men's hair, which was then lifted up and moulded into crests. Several women worked on each, helped and pestered by children, using their palms to shape and smooth them up until each man had a curving fluted crest like a bellower's rising from his head.

Next the ochre dyes were brought. With these, patterns of concentric circles were painted on their skins using flexible lengths of cartilage or dabbed on with fingers. The men grinned and the women laughed and scolded them as they tried to evade the tickle of the painting.

A
little
further on, under an awning, Fern showed Carnelian the women that were to go on the embassy. Akaisha was there, grimacing as Whin worked wax and fat into her hair.

'Is he all right?' she asked Poppy.

Carnelian tapped his chest grinning. 'I'm here, my mother.'

She grinned. 'I know you are, dear.' She looked at her son. 'You should be getting ready, Fern.'

Fern looked embarrassed, but proud. 'I'm going too.'

'It's a great honour,' said Whin, pleased for him.

They hung around just long enough to watch as a cone of basket-weave was placed on Akaisha's head, around which her salt-beaded hair was wrapped to make a glossy horn. Whin gave them a nod as they took leave of her.

In the stream, aquar were being scoured clean. On the bank, others were having their hides layered with fine mud. On this smooth ground rings and spiral designs were being daubed. Feather-wreaths were being clasped around their necks. Their saddle-chairs were being prepared with bright standards and banners of tattered, scarlet saurian-leather.

Fern took Carnelian's shoulders. 'I really should go and get ready. Are you sure you're fine?'

'Yes, now get going.'

They grinned at each other and then Fern moved off into the crowd. Carnelian allowed Poppy to draw him into the children's dances and their games. Still not wholly recovered from the sky-sickness, he grew quickly weary and, seeing this, Poppy led him away from the hubbub. It was a sense of duty that made him ask her to take him to see the Master.

Osidian had chosen an acacia away from the Tribe under which to make his camp. As Carnelian and Poppy approached, two shrouded figures came out to meet them.

'He will not see you, Master,' said one, who turned out to be Krow.

Carnelian looked beyond him but could see nothing in the brooding shadow beneath the tree.

'He mentioned me specifically?'

'Yes, you,' said the other figure, Ravan. He drew his uba from his face, revealing a sneer.

Carnelian considered his next words carefully. 'You should take care, Ravan; his feelings for you might not be what you believe them to be.'

Ravan smiled
unpleasantl
y. 'You're just bitter you've lost him to me.'

The youth was distracted by the hubbub floating towards them on the breeze. His eyes, gazing off at the Tribe, were filled with longing.

'Why don't you all come and see what's happening?' offered Poppy,
brightl
y.

Ravan gave her a filthy look, turned on his heel and strode back to the acacia. Ducking an apologetic smile, Krow followed him. As Carnelian walked away he was haunted by a feeling that he should have left Osidian on the mountain to die.

Carnelian stood among the Tribe watching the emissaries set off. Around him bull-roarers were producing a slow, undulating moan. Bone struck on bone: stone on stone. Everyone was jigging up and down in an oceanic surge. Through their midst, with barbaric pomp, rode the embassy of the Tribe, the truce staff carried before them. He saw Fern beside Akaisha and waved. Harth was there with Crowrane and Loskai. Carnelian spotted Ginkga, Galewing, Kyte. The Elders' saddle-chairs were the gaudiest; hung with feathers, tinkling trinkets, pieces of stolen brass that caught the light like mirrors. These wizened men and women with nodding crests, hung with their jewellery of salt, sat enthroned in their saddle-chairs, to the backs of which had been lashed feather-pennoned poles. Behind them came the riot of their warrior escort, dark skins agleam with sweat and vermilion designs.

When Sil announced she was going to gather herbs in the foothills, Poppy asked if she and Carnelian might go with her. Sil and Carnelian glanced at each other, embarrassed.

'I don't-' Carnelian began, but was interrupted by Whin.

'You should go, Carnie. Poppy will enjoy it and, though there's unlikely to be any danger, I would feel happier if my daughter had an escort that I trust.'

Carnelian and Sil both stared at Whin, surprised by her endorsement. The rest of the hearth reacted as if the matter had been decided and helped bundle them off, so that soon, Sil and Carnelian with Poppy on his lap were riding towards a far edge of the valley.

At first Carnelian and Sil could think of nothing to say to each other. It was Poppy who decided she and Sil should teach Carnelian songs. At first reluctant, Carnelian began to enjoy himself, even their teasing of his accent. They found a rash of berries the birds had overlooked and dismounted to pick them, putting as many in their mouths as in the baskets. When Sil caught her robe on some thorns, Carnelian helped her loose. They watched Poppy plucking berries, her mouth stained with their juice.

'She's a lovely girl,' said Sil.

Her eyes met Carnelian's and they saw each other's grief at what they were to lose to the tithe.

'You know Fern loves you?' Sil said, quietly.

Carnelian looked into her eyes again and nodded. 'I love him too.'

She smiled a little and looked at her berry-red fingers.