Carnelian stood with Osidian in the shadow of one of the red stones of the Dance. He had slept in the pavilion a dreamless sleep and, when he had returned into the Dance, this time clothed, he had found it fresh and fragrant in the cool morning air, the corpses having been removed from their niches and everything cleaned up.
He glanced at Osidian, once more the God Emperor, his wasted face concealed beneath the mirror-black perfection of the Obsidian Mask. His huge form was shrouded by a vast cloak of samite blacker than the shadows, but worked through with murky green stones that could have been the eyes of lizards.
Movement across the red ground drew Carnelian’s gaze to the two green monoliths glowing in the sun. Figures were coming through between them, heads averted, arms hooked up to shield their eyes from the light. They wore the eye-mazing robes of the ferrymen, but, without their ivory masks or crowns, they seemed almost headless. Only their necks were painted white like their startled hands. Their narrow faces were sallow, stubbled, each with a narrowed left eye, but the right a staring orb like an egg. At first he thought their expressions haughty and proud, but quickly realized they were struggling to hide the terror that their trembling hands betrayed.
When perhaps a hundred of them had entered, they opened up a path in their midst along which women came, older than the ferrymen, wearing the same black and white designs, weighed down with gleaming pectorals that Carnelian could see were made from jade rings; the same, no doubt, the Masters gave them as payment for passage on their boats.
Once these women had taken their place in front of their men, the crowd parted again to allow not more than twenty ancients to hobble forward, each walking with a staff surmounted by a crescent that, for a moment, seemed to be in imitation of the Wise, until Carnelian saw these upturned curves were not silver but of ivory, and not representing the moon, but rather their boats. However, it was another detail that, for a moment, seemed to stop his heart. Each of these old men and women had a great mane of snowy hair whose dreadlocks threaded more of the jade rings so that they resembled the Elders of the Tribe.
A muttering arose among them. Some, bowing, pulled those beside them down as they became aware of the two Masters in the shadows. Osidian and Carnelian advanced until the Obsidian Mask emerged into the light. Behind the elders, the crowd, moaning, fell to the ground as if their legs had been scythed through. Shaking their heads, staring at the ground, the elders slid slowly to the red earth, their effort squeezing out groans. Once on their knees, they laid their staves flat, then all pushed their faces into the earth.
‘Rise,’ Osidian said, using a Quyan imperative.
Only the elders did, erecting their staves, pulling themselves up into standing position, heads bowed, visibly shaking.
‘We have something to ask of you,’ the black mask said.
‘Speak, Holy One, and we shall obey thee.’
As Carnelian saw with what cruel power the Obsidian Mask regarded them, he felt a sickening unease. This was not what he wanted. He had not brought them here so as to exploit their fear and awe to force them to do his bidding.
Osidian raised his arm and took in the stone around them. ‘Here you are within the very heart of the Law, but here, within its circle, as within the greater circle of the Sacred Wall, I tell you now that Law has been irrevocably broken.’
The elders half glanced up, frowning, licking their lips.
‘Do you know what has come to pass at the Gates?’
One wizened woman dared to speak. ‘If it pleases thee, Holy One, those of the outer world have risen again, as they did once before, and have come here seeking to destroy the Inner Land. But, as before, thou shalt not let them enter in and shalt hurl them back into the darkness.’
Carnelian stared at them, stupefied. Did they have some understanding of what even the Chosen had long forgotten? ‘Who is it you think they are?’
The woman turned to him. ‘Do you test us, Holy One?’
‘Answer him,’ boomed Osidian, his voice causing them to quiver like autumn leaves.
The elders ducked three bows in quick succession. ‘The Dead, Holy One, they are the Dead.’
Carnelian’s stare was deflected by an unexpected sound, Osidian laughing. This terrified the elders even more and they began slumping once more to the earth, but were drawn back up by Osidian’s commanding hand. ‘They are as much flesh and bone and blood as you or I, though you speak in part the truth: they do come to finish what they once began, but this time we shall not vanquish them.’
A moaning leaked from the elders, which found a bleak echo in their people behind them.
‘Soon they will break in and Osrakum will be laid waste, but there is still a chance for you and your people to escape this destruction, if you leave Osrakum in time.’
Again, the legs of the elders gave way beneath them and they collapsed to the ground, their staves wavering like saplings in a gale. The moaning was now broken by gasping so that Carnelian feared they might be expiring from the shock. ‘Did you not hear there is a way you can escape?’
Another of the elders lifted her head. ‘Why do you banish us, Holy Ones; how have we displeased you?’
Carnelian did not know what to say. He glanced round, sensing Osidian’s exasperation, fearing it. The Obsidian Mask let forth a long sigh. ‘Very well. Prepare yourselves.’
One of Osidian’s hands rose to cup the chin of the Mask. The other slipped back past his ear, into the shadow of his cowl. Carnelian’s heart leapt; Osidian was unmasking. He looked from him to the kharon. Whatever Carnelian’s feelings, it was nothing to their agony, as they writhed in the earth covering themselves in its rust. Their staves toppled as the elders covered their faces with their hands.
Osidian was regarding them with gloomy eyes, his wan face like worn ivory. ‘Look upon me,’ he commanded.
Carnelian could not very well remain masked when the God Emperor’s face was bare and so he too removed his mask.
‘We dare not, Holy One,’ panted one of the elders.
‘Do as I say,’ Osidian said, his voice softening. ‘Upon my blood I swear no harm will come to you from it.’
Slowly the elders uncurled. Carnelian watched as their faces came up, eyes and mouths twitching, anticipating what? He remembered what once he had expected: a blast of light that would make them blind.
Osidian threw back his hood. ‘Look well. See, I am as you are, made of the same stuff as are all men.’
These words sliced like a shard of ice through Carnelian’s heart. He saw Osidian’s quiet acceptance. A shadow of shame was upon his face, but also a clean sanity; and a remnant of the nobility of the boy he had once fallen in love with.
Osidian’s gaze ranged over them. ‘I could have commanded you, but this thing you must choose for yourselves. If you choose to follow him, my brother will lead you out.’ He looked with love upon Carnelian. ‘And you can take all the children with you.’
Carnelian’s heart could not reject him and he smiled.
‘Children, Holy One?’
They both turned and saw the old woman regarding them wide-eyed as if she beheld them in a vision.
‘The flesh-tithe children,’ Carnelian said. ‘We wish to return them to their mothers.’
As the elders frowned, Carnelian explained his plan to them. He watched with what difficulty the details sank into their minds. He slowed, answering their questions with care, trying to coax them past the inconceivability of it all, into some understanding. When he was done, he suggested they discuss it among themselves and they retreated into a huddle.
As they waited Carnelian gazed sidelong at Osidian, who was staring, frowning, at the mask of obsidian in his hand. His face was lined with suffering and the shadows around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth still showed the lingering effects of the maggot infestation. His eyes seemed chips of cloudy jade. The fire in them had gone out, but what if in his heart a spark still burned that could once more set him alight? Could he risk it? Compassion overcame wariness. ‘If they agree, why don’t you come with us?’