Osidian shook his head slowly, looked around the ring of stones, then up to the gleaming spire of the Pillar of Heaven. Carnelian looked too, as if he hoped to see through to the Halls of Thunder. Somewhere up there were the honeycomb hollows of the Library of the Wise where they had met. Carnelian glanced at Osidian and infinite sadness welled up in him.
Osidian gazed at Carnelian. ‘This is not your world, it never has been, but it is mine and I will die with it.’
Carnelian felt grief, but also deep relief; if Osidian had chosen to come he was sure to bring the poison of the Masters with him. The pain in Osidian’s eyes made Carnelian aware that his face had betrayed what he was feeling. He was going to say something, but Osidian reached out to touch his lips and smiled, shaking his head. Carnelian nodded. Things were as they were, however much either of them might desire them otherwise.
A youthful brightness had come into Osidian’s eyes. ‘I shall remain here and we shall see if I cannot find the means to make the end of the Chosen glorious.’ He smiled, letting his manufactured vision take him over. ‘I will muster the Great. We still have some huimur left at the Gates. We shall open those and let the sartlar in and fight them in a great battle in the Valley of the Gate and, who knows, perhaps we shall pull it off again?’ He smiled warmly at Carnelian. ‘It might even help to cover your escape.’
Then quickly he leaned in and kissed Carnelian. He pulled back, melancholy already returning. ‘We were magnificent, were we not, brother?’
Carnelian did not know whether he spoke of the two of them or of the Chosen as a whole, but he nodded nonetheless. There was no time for more talk: the kharon were coming back.
The ferrymen agreed to follow Carnelian and to take the children in their boats, but then, stealing glances at Osidian’s face, they pleaded that they might return. Carnelian examined their faces, certain nothing in their hearts had changed. In spite of the evidence of their eyes, they still believed Osidian a god. He felt compassion for them. ‘You may not want to try to save yourselves, but please consider letting your children come with me.’
The elders nodded, though he did not believe they would consider it at all. ‘Meantime, Holy One, we shall go and ready our boats and be at the Quays of the Dead by morning.’
Carnelian told them that he would not be ready until the following evening and hoped to leave the morning after that. The kharon bowed and, with due decorum, left the Dance.
Carnelian turned to Osidian. ‘I shall go and begin preparing the children for the journey.’
Osidian gave him a sombre nod.
‘I will come back when I can.’
‘Very well,’ Osidian said and looked again at the hollow face in his hand.
Carnelian looked at his own mask. He turned it so that it was looking at him. The face his father had worn upon their island. It was a dead thing, no more than a discarded shell. He glanced round at the standing stones, stooped and laid the mask as a sort of offering on the red earth. As he was leaving the Dance, he looked back. Osidian was a shadow in the shape of a man and no more substantial than the sacrificial hollow in the red stone that rose behind him.
The Quenthas were waiting for him. ‘Your people are here, Celestial.’
He followed the sisters through the gloom and out into the morning. Joyfully, he saw it was Fern and Tain. He was about to greet them when he saw the anger on Fern’s face. ‘The boats are here as you asked.’
Fern’s anger sparked his own. Most of it was irritation at himself; he had forgotten he had asked them to come that morning.
Fern looked exasperated. ‘What did you expect us to think when you weren’t there to meet us?’
Carnelian’s anger drained away. This was love speaking. They had become fearful for him and why not? How daunting it must have been for them to come up here not knowing what might confront them. He asked Fern to relate everything that had happened. As Fern described their arrival and the discussion they’d had about what to do when Carnelian had not appeared, he grew gradually calmer as his body registered that everything was all right.
‘And the homunculus?’ asked Carnelian.
‘We left him down by the boats,’ said Tain. ‘He didn’t want to come up here.’
‘Why’s he important?’ asked Fern.
As Carnelian explained, they nodded.
‘Well, everything’s ready, Carnie,’ said Tain.
‘We’re not going just yet.’
‘Why not?’ asked Fern.
‘Because we need to get the flesh-tithe children ready.’
‘Ready?’ said Tain, frowning.
‘To come with us.’
Fern stared at him. ‘All of them?’
Carnelian smiled. ‘All of them.’ As he explained something of what he had in mind, he watched tears well in Fern’s eyes.
‘Surely it will be impossible… risky?’
‘A risk worth taking?’
Tain grinned broadly. Fern slowly nodded. Carnelian watched a frown deepening on his brow. Fern was seeing all the difficulties. Carnelian needed to talk to him alone.
‘Tain, can you return to the boats and bring everyone here?’
‘Here? Even the Marula?’
‘We need all the help we can get.’
Tain gave a nod and set off. Fern was still frowning. ‘How’re you expecting to get us all past the sartlar?’
‘We’ll manage it,’ Carnelian said, trying to cover up his own gaping uncertainty.
Fern nodded, though Carnelian could see he was not convinced. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘We will-’ Carnelian changed his mind. He glanced at the sisters to see that they understood, then back to Fern. ‘Go with the Quenthas. They’ll get you some Bloodguards to help you fetch the children from the cages. I’ve got matters to attend to here.’
Fern gave a curt nod and left with the syblings.
Fern and the Ichorians channelled a river of children back from the cages. Though Carnelian tried not to show it, their numbers stupefied him. They huddled together, so thin he thought their hanging heads must break their necks. He fought panic. Had his need for atonement led him into terrible folly? How could they hope to get these frail creatures halfway across the world through uncountable dangers? Fern came to stand beside him and they watched the Ichorians herding them to an area of the plain just beyond the encampment. They looked at each other.
‘Each one of them is going to have to carry his or her own food,’ Carnelian said. Then to stop Fern voicing his objections, ‘How long do you think it’ll take us to get to Makar?’
Fern grimaced. ‘On foot?’ When Carnelian nodded, Fern shrugged. ‘Fifty days.’
Carnelian’s heart sank, discouraged, even though he had known the answer himself. ‘The road will be entirely ours.’
‘They’re only children.’
They looked grimly at each other.
‘They’ll just have to manage,’ said Carnelian.
‘What about water?’
‘We’ll have to find enough on the way…’
Fern smiled wryly. ‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?’
Carnelian could not help smiling; that made them both feel better. This was a fight they were both prepared to take on.
‘One step at a time,’ said Fern.
‘Can you devise some packs for them?’
‘Out of what?’
Carnelian pointed at the abandoned ammonite camp. Fern sized it up and gave a nod.
‘Besides, it’ll get them to lift their heads… having something to do together.’
Fern gave him another smile and went off. Carnelian walked towards the pavilion and Osidian.
The Quenthas stood before the entrance into the heart of the Dance.
‘I want to see him.’
The sisters shook their heads. ‘The God Emperor has commanded that none may pass.’