The Standing Dead

Carnelian could hear the smile in his friend's tone and, glancing up, saw him grinning. Carnelian was unable to stay angry and returned the grin.

'I suppose now that you're here already…'

'I thought you might see it my way,' said Fern, smugly.

The others?'

'I'm the only one stupid enough to risk it.'

Both laughed. Carnelian felt a surge of emotion as he realized how much he had missed his friendship. The netting shook again as Fern resumed his descent.

'Wait,' Carnelian cried up, remembering the netting ran out below him. Looking to his left, he saw a ledge. Cold sweat sheathed his skin as he judged the swing to reach it.

Fern's voice drifted down from above. 'What's going on?'

'Hold on,' Carnelian cried. He reminded himself that Osidian and Moranasa had done it. He moved to the edge of the netting and leaned his body into the cable to which it was attached.

'Here goes,' he muttered. Clambering astride the cable, he let go and fell onto the ledge. He sidled along it and with a sigh of relief found the mouth of a cave. He spent moments peering into its gloom before Fern's thin voice brought him back to look up at the ladder.

Fern's face was twisted with anxiety. Carnelian explained what he had done and then retreated back into the safety of the cave. He heard the rasp of the ladder as its rope rubbed against the rock and then, after a few agonizing moments, Fern slipped round the rock and Carnelian grabbed him. They clung to each other laughing. Their eyes met and they fell silent. They drew apart. Fern blew out and shook his head. That was no fun at all.'

They squinted into the cave, listening.

'Can you hear anything?' Fern whispered.

Leaning into the cave mouth, Carnelian cried out in a clear ringing voice. 'Attend me.'

The gloom swallowed his words, then the echoes. Nothing stirred in the depths.

'We're going to have to go in,' said Carnelian.

Fern looked incredulous. 'In there?'

'You stay here.'

Fern shook his head. 'Where you go, I go.'

They gathered their courage and advanced into the cave mouth. When they had gone only a little way it became difficult to see. Carnelian put his mouth to Fern's ear.

'Sartlar are monstrous, but harmless.' He felt Fern nodding.

They penetrated deeper, their hands sculling the damp air as they groped for the walls. On and on they crept. Carnelian thought of calling out, but did not dare. He was considering turning back when he saw some light dawning ahead.

Torchlight?' Fern whispered.

Carnelian shrugged.

The light flickered brighter and they found they were coming into a region lit by a brazier.

Carnelian jumped when Fern lurched. 'What is it?' he hissed.

Fern pointed to the vague shapes ahead, both more alive than shadows. As they drew closer, these apparitions grew larger.

'Our reflections,' whispered Carnelian. He leaned close to the wall. Following a hunch he licked his finger, rubbed it down the wall, tasted it, then stood back amazed. 'Salt.'

Fern gaped. 'Salt?' He gingerly stretched out his hand to touch it.

Taste it,' whispered Carnelian.

Fern did and his eyes grew enormous as he surveyed the cavern in which they stood. 'All salt,' he gasped.

'Who knows how much. Perhaps the whole cliff.' He let out a low whistle. 'No wonder he didn't want you Plainsmen to see this.'

Fern stared at him. The Master knows about this?'

'The Maruli brought him down here, remember.'

Fern gave a slow nod. There's enough here to make the Tribe rich.'

There may well be enough here to buy the whole of the Earthsky,' said Carnelian, grimly.

Fern's look of wonder soured. This is why the Master brought us here.'

Carnelian nodded. 'I knew there was something else. No wonder the Marula are desperate to regain this place.'

Fern reached out to touch the salt wall. 'If the men found out…'

They looked grimly at each other.

'We can't let him have so much power,' said Carnelian voicing their common thought.

The moment he returns, he dies.'

Carnelian was gripped by a rage against Osidian for driving them to murder. 'Come on.'

Deeper into the cavern, it narrowed into a cleft. Squeezing through, they came into a new cavern dimly lit in which an animal odour hung heavy in the air.

This – Carnelian began, but suddenly he tensed, sensing movement in the air, a rustling. Peering into the gloom, he saw the chamber before them was filling with shadows. Sartlar, menacing in their silence. Though their lank hair concealed their eyes, he could feel them watching him. Not for a long while had he felt so strongly the need for a mask. He straightened, and as he did the sartlar drew back moaning. He froze. When he lifted his hand a shudder moved through their mass.

'You terrify them,' whispered Fern.

Carnelian regarded the creatures with pity. He had good cause to know what cruel treatment they expected.

'I am a Master,' he said gently in Vulgate. They answered him with a muttering fear.

'We know… what you are,' a voice trembled from their midst.

The heads of the sartlar eddied as if a boat were cutting through them and a sartlar emerged. A creature the size of a child but with large, calloused hands and leathery feet like spades. As the creature shambled closer, Carnelian saw it was clothed in a matting of grey hair. It came close enough so he could smell its vinegar odour. He fought disgust. With a groan, it fell heavily to its knees. Pity, distaste, embarrassment even, all these emotions flowed through Carnelian as he looked down from his great height upon that pathetic bundle.

'Rise,' he said as kindly as he could manage.

The creature stumbled up onto its feet. It even dared to look up at him. The grey, greasy locks parted to show a gnarled leathery face, disfigured by the branding of the circular 'earth' glyph that proclaimed it a sartlar from the Guarded Land. He wondered what strange circumstances could have brought such a creature so far. He noticed the twin pockets of flesh sagging down the chest. Those dugs proved it was a female of its kind. Even though he could not see her eyes, he knew she was regarding him. Something about her manner made Carnelian recall the sartlar who had been kind to him when he himself had been a slave.

'She worships you,' hissed Fern.

Carnelian was wrenched free of his fascination. He spoke over his shoulder. 'How did we appear to you when you first looked upon us? To these creatures the Standing Dead must be like gods.'

'Our magic…' said the sartlar woman.

He looked down at her again and this time caught the glimmer of her dark eyes as they dared to search his face. Her scrutiny made him feel abused. From deep inside him rose a desire to have her taken away, disposed of.

'What?' he said, fighting the Masterly instinct.

'It can't work against you,' she said.

'I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about.'

'You want us to work…?'

'Repairing the Ladder.' For some reason he found he was pointing vaguely back the way they had come, as if they could see the ladder of which he spoke.

The sartlar woman greeted his comment with silence. Her fellow creatures shifted like aquar behind her.

'I hoped the other Master might have made arrangements with you. ..' He bit his lip, not understanding his discomfiture.

The woman struck her forehead off the floor with a crack that made Carnelian wince.

'As the Master commands, so shall it be done.'

Carnelian stood for some moments more before, following Fern, they quit that place; almost running, so desperate were they to cleanse their lungs with bright, fresh air.

The disgust produced among the Plainsmen by the sartlar as they poured up from the netting avoided any questions about the caves. Seeing the creatures huddling in a herd, Carnelian began to wonder if they would be any use in repairing the Ladder. The sartlar he had spoken to before stood, head hanging, close enough he could smell her rank odour.