Surely only Osidian possessed that knowledge? Carnelian turned the parchment to look upon the broken seal. It was Osidian’s ring so perhaps Ykoriana had sent it to him. Carnelian pondered the import of this. Surely such an act was to invite incrimination? So, done deliberately, it could be a sign of peace. There was hope in Ykoriana making herself so vulnerable. He sank his head, wondering if he dared believe in the proposals he had made the night before in the Pyramid Hollow, but still he could not wholly rid himself of the omen of his dream. He read the letter again, becoming uneasy at what expectations Osidian might be nurturing with that reference to their lovemaking in the Forbidden Garden.
Carnelian glanced at the seductive beauty of the robes. His skin longed for their touch, but he turned his back on them. Even if they had not been too complicated to put on without servants, they would encumber him on his journey. He wandered back to where he had left the green spiralled robe the ammonites had dressed him in. He slipped it on, put on his father’s mask and military cloak.
When he emerged from his chambers, his Marula guards rose, discarding the resplendent covers he had given them from his bed. Seeing him, their faces lit up as if he were come to save them. Their red eyes spoke of a fearful night. He saw one among them who had not been there the night before. Though he looked different with his head shaved, it was unmistakably Sthax. Carnelian was about to address him when a voice came rumbling from various directions at once. The Marula all jerked round to search the cavernous hall spreading off behind them. As the rumbling died away, though Carnelian knew it must be thunder sounding through the palace from the sky, he could not help fearing that the source of that voice was lurking somewhere close by. He was sure the Marula must feel – as he did – that they were intruders deep in the lair of some monstrosity that might at any time return.
He refocused on Sthax and was going to speak when the Maruli indicated a man half black, half white, kneeling, waiting. Carnelian approached him. ‘Have you come to guide me to the Jade Lord Nephron?’
‘I have, my Lord,’ said the Ichorian.
Carnelian saw that the questions he had for Sthax were going to have to wait. ‘Then lead on.’
Through immense spaces they wound their way. Rustling echoes made it seem they were being followed. Movements glimpsed from the corner of his eye, when looked at, revealed nothing but shadows looming in the penumbral gloom. Ghostly reflections accompanied them. Strange odours moistened the air. In some places they had to pass beneath the gaze of giants, whose faces could only be guessed at in the overarching darkness. Every surface was pierced with openings that gave shifting views of other, eerily lit worlds. Carnelian began to feel they were creeping through the carcass of some vast being that had been gnawed by the passage of massive worms.
At first, when he saw the procession approaching, he thought it nothing more than his own party reflected. But the Master who processed amidst a naked escort rose taller than did he. Besides, his robes were so massive they threatened to eclipse his mask of gold. Even as this apparition approached him, Carnelian knew by the heraldry of its crowns this must be Osidian.
The apparition brandished a pair of pale hands. ‘Ravenous, despairing that you would ever appear, my Lord, I came to meet you. I would eat before attending what is bound to be a dreary conclave with the Wise.’
Carnelian had to look up at him. Osidian’s new mask was the face of a beautiful boy, entranced. He wore ranga beneath his robes, the outer one of which seemed flowing naphtha. As he half turned away, its lustrous black sheened with iridescence. ‘I have brought a feast with me,’ Osidian said, pointing to the tail of his procession, where syblings bore a great variety of burdens. He made a vague gesture. ‘There is a spot not far from here where we might consume it in some comfort and seclusion.’
Carnelian regarded Osidian’s towering form with misgivings. He seemed a puppet being worked from a distance. Laughter coming from behind the puppet’s mask sounded forced. ‘Really, my Lord, you will have to get used to being Chosen again.’ He took in Carnelian’s green robe and rough military cloak with a mocking hand. ‘Why did you choose these rags in place of the gorgeous robes I sent you?’
Watching this performance, Carnelian became increasingly glad of the decision he had made. ‘Though you are kind to have thought of bringing breakfast, Celestial, time is pressing. The sooner I reach Coomb Suth, the sooner I can return.’
‘That would be inadvisable,’ said Osidian.
Carnelian could hear the tightness of anger in his voice. Almost he reminded Osidian of the oath he had sworn upon his blood, but first chose to give thought to what reasons Osidian might have for feeling angry. Beyond the emotional ones, Carnelian saw others more politic. ‘You fear my crossing the Skymere could antagonize the Great?’
‘Considering the coming revelations, it would be better, my Lord, were we to observe the accepted forms at least until I am invested with divine authority.’
With a sinking heart, Carnelian saw the logic in that. Nevertheless, he had to find a secure way to contact his father and was, besides, desperate to escape the Halls of Rebirth. He focused his mind on the politics and thought he could see a way out. ‘Be that as it may, Celestial, for reasons of safety it is incumbent upon us that we should maintain a separation between us.’
Osidian took some moments to answer. ‘I take your point, my Lord.’
‘Perhaps I could assume command of the huimur as they perform the functions that once were the Red Ichorians’.’ Carnelian paused here, realizing he was not entirely sure what those functions might be.
‘You are not even painted.’
Carnelian glanced at his hands. ‘I shall be careful to stay out of the sun.’ A solution to his other problem suggested itself. He took in Sthax and his escort. ‘With your leave, Celestial, I shall take these for my protection until some of my household tyadra have time to reach me from my coomb.’
‘You are now of the Masks, Carnelian.’
Carnelian thought it best to say nothing to that.
‘Where will you sleep?’
Carnelian shrugged. ‘Somewhere in the Plain of Thrones, I imagine.’
There was a long pause. ‘You will attend my Apotheosis?’
‘Of course.’
‘I will send you notification of the day on which the ceremony shall be held.’ Osidian extended an open hand. Upon his palm lay an iron ring. ‘You may as well have this.’
Carnelian took the ring, noticing that Osidian wore one on his own hand. ‘Your mother sent them both to you?’
Osidian made a gesture of affirmation. ‘It seems she really does intend to keep our bargain.’
Carnelian examined the edge of his ring. It was indeed his, the same Aurum had brought to their island.
‘Of course, that ring is a lie. We shall have to get a new one made.’
Carnelian considered that. ‘But, for the moment, I shall wear this one.’ He put it on. Its weight upon his little finger brought back a time long past.
At the edge of some immense hall, where their shuffling produced the faintest echoes, Carnelian called a halt and drew Sthax into some shadows to talk to him. ‘Why did you appear this morning?’
‘Oracle trust I.’
‘Morunasa?’
Sthax nodded.
‘Why?’
Sthax opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind, looked to the floor as if he might find the words there. His face came up bright-eyed. He brandished his spear. ‘We is this for Oracle.’
Carnelian thought he understood. Like the Masters, the Oracles did not really see their subjects, did not imagine they had any volition of their own. He regarded Sthax. Of course, he could be playing some cunning double game of his own but, in his heart, Carnelian trusted him and believed Sthax sought nothing but the salvation of his people.