The Chosen

Suddenly the whole meshed mass of fingers were flying skywards. Carnelian's forearm followed, then his elbow, then his upper arm, all straightening like the links in some monumental chain. The whole mass of him unfolded up and up, faraway joints opening until he found himself standing.

'We should release each other's hand,' rumbled Osidian.

Carnelian struggled. Their flesh seemed wedded together at the hands. When they managed to wrestle their fingers apart, Carnelian was left feeling as if part of him had been cut away. It was all he could do to not flail the night to recover it.

Take some beadcord in your hands.'

Carnelian had to wait for the loss to fade before he ran a finger along the wooden wall of the bench. It had been smooth before. Now it was pitted, gnarled, scored with ruts. His finger ran into something that at first he though must be a skull. He felt the heat radiating from Osidian's fingers touching the other side of the curving ball of bone.

'Can you read it now?' asked Osidian.

Carnelian was startled when he realized he was only touching a bead. He allowed his fingers to explore its landscape. They found the ridges, the sensuous curves. Cool regions, warm strips his mind told him must be narrower than a hair. 'I do not recognize it,' he said.

'Let me.'

Osidian's fingers resumed contact. Carnelian felt as if his skin was drinking from Osidian's. He let his hand climb down from one bead to another until it was a safe distance away.

'Untouchables,' said Osidian.

Carnelian could feel the vibration in the cord. Something was coming down it. His hand escaped further down, bead by bead.

'Removing the Blood… no, the Liver,' said Osidian.

A whole earthful of flesh brushed past Carnelian and set his entire skin quivering like a bell's.

Osidian had moved to the next title cord. 'Preserving the Viscera in Canopic Jars.'

Through the floor, Carnelian could feel the quake as Osidian moved further along the bench.

'Hooking out the Cranial Organs.'

'What?' said Carnelian.

'Peh!' said Osidian. These are nothing but manuals of embalming.'

'Is it a secret art?' asked Carnelian, with a sour taste in his mouth.

'One of the most secret.'

'Not something I desire to learn,' said Carnelian, not bothering to hide his disappointment. 'Nor I.'

Carnelian felt suddenly very angry. 'Is that it then?' he asked loudly. A fleshy door closed over his mouth.

'Hush!' whispered Osidian and took his hand away.

'If these are the most secret books in the Library of the Wise,' whispered Carnelian, 'then, my Lord, I am grown weary of their tame marvels.'

A heavy silence fell. He listened for and found the breeze of Osidian's breathing. 'Does my Lord challenge me to find for him a diversion that is less tame?' the darkness said through a smile.

'Well, if-'

Tomorrow, come to the usual place but wear warm clothes and heavy outdoor paint. Tell your people not to expect your return for three days.'

THE LADDER

I touched with eye

Right hand speaking

But all the while The left

Was sowing the whirlwind

(from the poem The Bird in the Cage' by the Lady Akaya)

Carnelian looked through the robes Fey had sent him. They were all flimsy, delicate silks, clothing suitable for wearing in his chambers, not for whatever expedition Osidian had in mind. And what was that? He was plagued with speculations. Outdoor paint? Where could Osidian be planning to go that required outdoor paint? For three days? It had to be some region of the Halls of Thunder exposed to the sun. That must be it. No need to worry that he was going against his father's wishes. Still, he was nagged by the thought that it was wrong to go.

'I must,' he said. He knew no way to get a message to Osidian to tell him that he was not coming. How could he just not turn up? He smiled thinking about him. There was still the problem of the robe. He knuckled his forehead. At last, with a sigh, he went to pick up the only outdoor robe he had. He shook out its scarlet mourning brocade, laid it out, then went to the door to call a servant. When the man came he sent him off to fetch body paint.

'Body paint, Master?'

'Body paint.'

The man was soon back with a jar and pads. Carnelian put up with the timorous painting. Once the paint had dried, he put on the mourning robe and finally, his mask.

Outside his chamber, he told his guardsmen that he would be spending three days away from them. When they sneaked glances at each other, he gave them assurances that he would be all right. He had to ignore the pleas in their eyes. After all, he himself did not know where he was going. Their looks of fear made him swear a silent promise that, should it become necessary, he would put himself between them and the Master's wrath. This did not stop him, as he walked away, feeling selfish and hazardous of their care.

Osidian was waiting for him. His eyes widened as Carnelian came closer. 'Is that a mourning robe?'

'It was the only one I had.'

'It is hardly the best omen for our expedition.'

Carnelian did not like Osidian's unfocused stare. 'Where are we going, then?'

Osidian seemed to come awake. 'Down to the Yden.'

Carnelian stared at him in disbelief. The Yden? Down the Rainbow Stair?'

Osidian shook his head. There is another, more ancient way.'

'Another stair?'

Osidian's lips formed an enigmatic smile. 'More a ladder than a stair. The descent is harrowing. Do you feel you have the strength?'

The challenge fired Carnelian up. 'If I do not, then at least I shall have the long pleasure of falling into the Yden like a star.'

Osidian's brow darkened. This is not a children's game, Carnelian. You speak lightly of what you do not know.'

Carnelian was stung to anger but before he could say anything Osidian threw his hands up in appeasement. 'Forgive my tone.' He grinned. Carnelian could not help grinning back. Osidian lowered his head and looked enquiringly at Carnelian.

Carnelian forced solemnity into his face. 'I am certain I have the strength.'

'Well then, let us make haste. When night falls it will not bode well for us should it find us on the Ladder. First we must put on our disguises.'

'Disguises?'

'It would be unwise' – he smirked – 'to go deep into the chambers of the Wise as ourselves.'

Osidian slipped out of the lantern light and returned carrying two packs. As he offered one, Carnelian remembered the Tower in the Sea and his father's anger at him carrying burdens. He realized that Osidian was angry too.

'Does my Lord consider it shameful to bear a pack when I did not consider it so to bring them both here?'

'No, not at all.' Carnelian grabbed one and swung it round onto his shoulder. He was adjusting its straps when Osidian threw him a bundle. Carnelian turned the thick purple silk in his hand. Osidian had already unrolled his and flung it over his back, concealing the pack under it. Carnelian followed his lead, but worried about the hump the pack made. He shrugged when he saw Osidian was unconcerned and pulled the cloak round him, securing its bony hooks. Smoothing it, he touched beadcord. He looked down and saw the panels. He closed his eyes and began to read with his fingers, out loud. The Heart of Thunder is the locus of the rain-heavy sky. It translates along the ritual axis, from the sea. It can be-'

These cloaks are reserved for near-Sapient acolytes. They are a study aid,' said Osidian. 'Come.'