Ignoring Ginkga's glare, Ravan turned on his heel and, accompanied reluctantly by Krow, strode to his aquar.
'You come back here,' she bellowed, but Ravan was deaf to her as he unhitched his aquar from the sled.
'Child, I command you to return with me to the Ancestor House.'
Ravan vaulted into his saddle-chair, made his aquar rise and sent it striding away towards the Horngate. The other youths looked, some apologetic, some angry, but they too were unhitching their aquar. They ignored Ginkga, who was in their midst pulling at them, berating them. Carnelian moved forward with Fern, but neither was sure what to do.
Raising a choking cloud of red dust, the hunters flew after Ravan. The women pulled their ubas over their noses and mouths, all the time staring at the Elder. She was coughing, squinting at the veiled shapes of the riders as they rode out onto the plain. A movement above her drew her eye. Poppy and a boy were still astride the bull.
'Have you no respect? Get down from there!'
The children slithered to the ground and fled with the others back to the racks.
Ginkga turned on Carnelian. 'Are you satisfied, Master?' Then she rounded on the women.
'Well? Don't you think we'd better get on with it or shall we just stand here all day watching the poor bastard rot?'
News of Ravan's defiance spread quickly through the Koppie. Carnelian saw how keenly Akaisha and Fern felt the hearth's shame. At first rumours abounded of the punishment that would certainly be meted out upon the errant youths, but as time passed it became clear the Elders were not going to act. People looked at their old people and wondered at their powerlessness.
Ravan did not return, but the youths who returned periodically with their kills upon other sleds confirmed he was hunting with the Master.
One time, Krow came with others boasting of a brawl in which they had triumphed over some Bluedancing. Around the hearths it was difficult not to greet this news with approval. For as long as anyone could remember, the Bluedancing had been provoking the Ochre. It was high time those bullies were shown there were men prepared to stand up to them. Whin was clearly unimpressed by the assurances that the Master had remained concealed throughout the brawl. Carnelian and Akaisha exchanged glances, both wondering if Osidian was sending them a warning.
The increasing glamour of hunting with the Master made more and more of the Tribe's young men desert their hunts for his. Forced to defend them, their kin declared that all they were doing was risking their lives daily beyond the safety of the ditches for the good of the Tribe, for its pride. Others were not so forgiving. They were resentful so many of the young men should refuse to fetch water or to work in the ditches, but they did not feel they could protest too much in case people should believe they spoke out of envy at the evident success of the Master's hunt. These malcontents carried their anger to the Elders, who once more showed themselves unwilling or unable to act.
There were other concerns. The mother trees declared the beginning of the Withering by producing cones while, beneath a high pearlescent sky, the sun was burning the world to dust.
One day, struggling against smothering heat, Carnelian became aware that every fern frond he could see was brown. Gazing out past the Newditch, he saw the world beyond was sepia to the horizon.
'How can anyone possibly survive out there in that shadeless world?' he rasped through his parched throat.
Fern had a sombre look. The lagoons will soon dry up and then the herds will begin their migration to the mountains. We must follow them or else die.'
Carnelian smiled. 'At least we'll be free of this,' he said, lifting up his brown, blood-stained arms. He watched Fern return to his work miserable, frowning, and only then remembered it would also be time to send children to Osrakum.
'Smoke,' Carnelian cried, pointing at a mass of it rising well above the crowns of the magnolias, bending its back as it leaned towards the west.
Not hearing other cries joining to his own, he turned and saw that only a few people had even bothered to lift their heads. He pulled at Fern.
'Fire.'
His friend seemed infuriatingly unconcerned. There's fire spreading within the Newditch,' said Carnelian.
Fern gave a nod. 'We must burn the ferngardens now while they still have the memory of green life in them.'
Carnelian watched the edge of the pall fraying in the breeze and understood. Soon the ferngardens would be tinder-dry.
Fern spoke again. 'If we burn them now, any fire that comes across the plain will find nothing here to consume and so turn aside.'
Carnelian gazed out over the plain and his breathing stilled as "he contemplated how easily it could all turn to flame.
Every day after that, a ferngarden was set alight, beginning with the westernmost and moving progressively closer to the Grove. Soon, while at his work, Carnelian was able to watch the neighbouring field being sown with fire. Starting at its western margin, gradually retreating with the breeze at their backs, people wrapped in soaked blankets beat smoke from the flames as they steered the smoulder over the land.
The day that they burned the Eastgarden, Carnelian and Fern were spared their labours. From the safety of the Homeditch they stood and watched the Bloodwood Tree sifting clots of smoke through its branches. That evening and for many after, they had to quit the Grove, for the breeze carried the smoke in among the mother trees. Carnelian took his turn at moving along the eastern run of the Homewalk, his mouth and nose smothered beneath his soaked uba, his eyes stinging, making sure that, though serpents of blue smoke might be curling among their trunks, no spark would live long enough to harm the mother trees.
At last, men returning from the lagoon announced it had shrunk to brackish pools. What water they had managed to bring back they distributed direcdy among the hearths. Standing round with Akaisha, Whin and the others,
Carnelian saw their allowance was not even enough to fill their water jar halfway.
Akaisha tasted it and, grimacing, spat it out. This isn't good enough to drink.' She smiled grimly round at her hearthkin, then pointed at the jar. 'Wash yourselves as best you can with that. There'll be no more washing until we reach the mountains. I'm going to meet with the other Elders.'
Sil touched her emaciated arm. 'My mother, can we take water from the cistern to drink?' 'A little,' Akaisha said and walked away. Carnelian caught her up and fell in step. 'Migration?' 'A few days at most.' 'Why do we delay?'
'We daren't expose the Tribe to the plain until we are certain the raveners are gone.'
They walked on some more in silence. The charcoal reek of burning still persisted disturbingly in the Grove.
'I'm worried about Ravan, the others,' said Carnelian.
She stopped and looked him in the eye. 'Don't you think their mothers are too? Thirst will bring them in.'
She took leave of him and he watched her go. Peering out through the cedar canopy, he hoped she was right. He imagined Osidian and the others out there alone in what had become a desert. If he came in, it was certain the Elders would have him killed. They had waited long; had suffered enough humiliation. A turmoil of emotions churned Carnelian's stomach. It was a while before he remembered that Osidian's death might be closely followed by his own.
Next day, half the Tribe came down to the djada field to bale the dried meat and load it onto the drag-cradles that had been laid flat on the ground in neat rows. Night was falling when the job was done.
With Poppy, Carnelian proudly surveyed his stack of djada coils. 'It took longer than I thought.'
'It always does,' said Fern. 'Come on or we'll be late for the feast.'
'Feast?' Carnelian asked seeing how sad Fern had become.