The Chosen

The woman bowed. 'Master, why are you come to Coomb Suth?'

Carnelian squared his shoulders. 'It's my coomb. I'm Suth Carnelian.' The colour left her face where Carnelian saw his father's eyes. 'You're… Fey.'

The woman flinched, nodded. 'Yes, Master, steward of this House, Master. Please… I don't understand. Forgive my confusion, Master, please…'

Carnelian gazed at those eyes. It was almost as if this woman had stolen them from his father. He paused a moment, thinking, and then reached back to release his mask.

Fey threw her hands up in horror. 'Master, would you blind us all?'

'But we're all of one House… I'm Suth Carnelian.' He realized that the woman might find his face no proof at all. Suddenly he made a fist and cried, 'Look.' He thrust out his hand so that the woman could see the Ruling Ring on his hand.

Fey leaned forward, choked a cry and crumpled into the pebbles. 'Master,' she said from Carnelian's feet, 'oh, Master.'

Carnelian crouched down and putting his hands round Fey's shoulders lifted her gently. It was only then he saw the tears striping her face.

'Are you so happy, Fey?'

'Of course happy, Master, but also I grieve for our Master, your father.'

Carnelian shook the woman. 'When did the news come? When did it come?'

'News… news?' spluttered Fey. The ring, Master, the ring.'

Carnelian let her go. He looked at the Ruling Ring on his finger. Would that finger soon be its proper place? He held his head at his stupidity. There had been no time for any news. 'I'm a fool,' he said aloud.

Fey was dabbing tears from her eyes. The guardsmen looked miserable. These strangers were also his people. He was forgetting his duty to them.

'I'm sorry, Fey. You misunderstood me.' He removed the Ruling Ring. 'I don't have the right to wear it. It's a long story. My father was ill when I parted from him in the Valley of the Gate. The Wise'll heal him and then we'll have him back here with us.'

His confidence visibly cheered the guardsmen. Fey looked uncertain.

'I hope I didn't hurt you? When I shook you? I forgot myself…'

Fey stared.

Carnelian put his hands up to his mask. 'Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to remove this thing.' 'Master, your will's our will.'

Carnelian removed the mask, rubbed at the grooves in his skin, smiling at Fey, allowing her to search his face. 'You see my father?'

Fey looked hard at him then nodded unconvincingly, giving a thin smile. 'Yes, Master.'

'I'd rather you cut that out, Fey. My name's Carnelian.'

Fey frowned, shook her head. 'It's forbidden me to soil a Master's name with my tongue.'

It was Carnelian's turn to frown. The thought of his next question made him grimmer still.

Fey spoke first. 'My Master, your robe's wet.'

'Never mind that. Where're the other Masters, my kin?'

'In the Eyries, Master.' Carnelian must have looked uncertain because Fey turned to point up the Sacred Wall.

Carnelian scanned the craggy heights. It took him a while before he saw what looked like scratches halfway up to the sky.

'More than fifty days ago our Masters went up there to avoid this heat. I'll make immediate preparations for you to join them, Master.'

Carnelian was still looking up. 'Perhaps tomorrow, Fey. Tonight I'd like to stay down here.'

Fey looked aghast. That's impossible, Master.'

'Why?'

These halls have become unsuitable for a Master. Workmen're everywhere… the Master must understand that we always carry out restoration work when the Masters go up to the Eyries… furniture's been stored away… Master, there's no accommodation suiting of your rank.'

'You'll find me easy to please, Fey.' He silenced any more of her protests with his hand and eventually, accepting that she was not going to change this strange young Master's mind, Fey led him off into the palace with the escort of the guardsmen, some of whom carried his soaking train.

Carnelian and the escort were a thread pulled by Fey's needle. There was a hall that was like a wood, its sultry air nuanced with odours. The day was only a glowing band in the distance. He felt more than saw the eyes in the mosaics. Murals had the colours of concealed jewels. Wisps of voices ribboned between the columns. A door closing seemed an echo still lingering from the day before. Floors rainbowed like oil on water. Sometimes he glimpsed courts whose colours were more vibrant than any dream. Awe infected him like a fever so that, when he saw the eye and dancing chameleon ward on the lintels of a door, he sighed his relief that they were leaving the echoing grandeur of the public chambers.

At Carnelian's request, they left the guardsmen behind. Against Fey's protests, Carnelian insisted on carrying his wet train in the crook of his arm. Steps took them down into a courtyard carpeted with the petals that were drizzling down from the trees. They kicked their way through the drifts, walking round the urns that held the trees. At the edge of the courtyard there rose a gate of white wood warded with eyes.

As they walked away from the gate Carnelian reached out to touch Fey's shoulder. The halls of a subsidiary lineage?'

The woman blushed. The halls of the first lineage.' 'But then why …?'

Fey bowed her head. They've long been occupied by the secondary lineage. There've been changes, Master.'

Carnelian looked up at the white doors. 'Have there?' he said, and not wanting to make trouble for her, he allowed her to lead him away.

Several more gates and courtyards brought them to a door in a wall. Fey pushed against it and Carnelian leaned over her to help. They walked into a small courtyard around which ran raised porticoes. Water slid round its edge in a shallow channel. In one place its lip had crumbled and water oozed down, greening the marble, running into a puddle. Some dull bronze troughs held dry, brown-leafed trees whose parched earth had pulled away from the sides. Dust greyed the precious inlay walls.

This quarter hasn't been used in a while,' said Carnelian, trying to hide his disappointment. He would not let Fey kneel.

Fey grimaced as she looked round her. These were some of the halls of the third lineage, Master. They now occupy the quarter traditionally belonging to the second, who-'

'Who now occupy my father's halls,' said Carnelian heavily.

Fey cringed a little, as if she were expecting a blow.

'As you said, Fey, there've been changes.'

Fey went over to one of the withered trees, touched its plug of soil, shook her head. This shouldn't have been allowed.' She looked back at Carnelian. 'You must believe that I did everything I could, Master.'

Carnelian walked up to Fey and put his arm round her shoulders. The woman went so stiff that Carnelian immediately pulled his arm away. 'I do believe you. Now come on, show me where I can wash away this paint.'

They walked together round several more courtyards till they came to an echoing suite of chambers whose lofty vermilion walls were mosaiced with slender waving lilies and soaring birds.

'For one night, perhaps, these chambers'll be adequate for the Master,' said Fey, opening tall blue rectangles of sky in a faraway wall.

Narrowing his eyes against the glare, Carnelian crossed the marble mirror floor. He stood beside Fey in the flooding sunlight. Below, a pebbled cove smeared its green into the azure of the Skymere. Further off was the fiery emerald vision of the Yden and the Pillar of Heaven towering up from its heart. Carnelian closed his eyes and drew in the perfume of Osrakum. 'Miraculous,' he sighed.

When he opened his eyes Fey was smiling at him. 'You are like your father, Master.'

Carnelian felt a twinge of guilt as he looked at the barrow of the Labyrinth mounding up from the Yden. How could he feel joy when his father might be there, somewhere, dead?

Fey saw his frown. To wash you'll need slaves, Master. I'll send them to attend you, and to clean up this mess. If the Master'd allow me to guide him…' She waited to see him move, then bustled out through another door.