The odour of the stews dispelled that of blood. He had left the dream back there in the cave, but still it whispered to him. He moved into the encampment to drown the whisper in the bustle and domestic din. He glanced to the centre of the mass of Marula. The Oracles were lying there with Morunasa, communing with their god. Carnelian could not see Osidian among them and went searching for him.
A shadow appeared in front of him. It touched its chest. ‘Sthax.’
Carnelian edged round until light caught the man’s face. It was indeed Sthax.
‘Where we goes?’
Even though Poppy had told him about Sthax, Carnelian was stunned. He crouched, pulling the man down beside him. ‘You speak Vulgate?’
Sthax touched his ear. ‘I hear. I learn.’
Carnelian considered asking him whether the Oracles knew of this, but realized that, if they had, this man would not be here now talking to him. Sthax glanced round, then fixed him with eyes Carnelian could not see. ‘Where we goes?’
Sthax gave a grunt. ‘Where are we going?’ Gesturing, Carnelian explained as simply as he could their mission to the Landabove and Sthax nodded, or waved his hand when he wanted something put another way.
‘Master promise Oracle?’
Carnelian guessed Sthax must be referring to Morunasa. ‘Yes, he made promise to the Oracle to make ladder’ – he mimed the ladder with his hand – ‘down to your people.’ He made a gesture mimicking the winding course of the Lower Reach river, then touched Sthax on the chest of his corselet. The man ducked a bow, then rose and soon disappeared among the other Marula.
Carnelian got to his feet, wondering how this changed things. He remembered where he had been going. Even in the gloom at the back of the cavern, Osidian’s towering, narrow form was unmistakable. The Lepers around him barely reached his chest. It looked like a conference. Carnelian became immediately alarmed. He moved towards them, needing to know what was going on. Before he reached Osidian the Lepers began moving away towards where the food was being prepared. Carnelian recognized Lily by her gait and fell in beside her.
‘What were you talking about with the Master?’
‘Nothing much,’ she said, without turning her shrouded head.
Carnelian walked a little way with her, but when he realized she was not going to say anything more, he let her move off and was left feeling uneasy.
When he woke, his first thought was of Lily. The anxiety to find out what Osidian had said to her had long kept him from sleep. He rose and went to look for her. Across the cavern, people were packing up. Marula were filing down to the stream to fill waterskins. They had left the Oracles behind, still lost in their dreaming. Looking for the Lepers who were their guides, he saw a huddle of them by the cave entrance. They bowed slightly as he approached.
‘Lily?’
‘She’s gone, Master.’
‘Gone?’
‘West.’
‘When?’
‘Before daybreak, Master.’
Carnelian stared at them, hardly believing them. As he returned to gather his things he was angry with himself that he had not forced her to speak when he could. It was a while later that he realized he had lost the last person he could call a friend.
The gorge swallowed them into a narrow, vertical world ruled by the vast serpent of water that coursed past them, scouring great bowls with its coils, displaying its turbulent scales at rapids, frothing a furious white as it leapt falls. They crept across the mouths of vast bays gouged from the limestone, dank with shadows, heaped with slabs and scree, infested with pockets and wells all skinned with moss and struggling trees; but mostly the path wound beneath sheer cliffs from which a constant hail of stones kept them anxiously waiting for the next boulder that would fall like a skystone to smash the edge from the path then bound down to the river to be consumed. Much of the cliff was rotten with caverns and slits and cracks that gave into depths that spoke with strange echoes. Sometimes, to circumvent a buttress of the cliff, they were forced to follow their Leper guides into the noisome dark. Stumbling through malodorous dripping tunnels hand in hand, they welcomed the return to light as if it was a rebirth.
Every morning Lepers from the place where they had slept would take over, while those they replaced would be carried off by the flood in a flimsy coracle. Around dusk the new guides would bring them to the next staging post: another collection of caves and ledges within reach of the spray from the roaring water or having access to it down some rough-hewn, precipitous stair. By the river, in some natural pool, a few coracles would jiggle, just safe from its fury. In the caves the Oracles would occupy what space there was. The warriors would make do with any crannies they could find among the rocks. Whatever store of food was there would be distributed to all as a meagre meal.
Carnelian loathed the Oracles with their sweaty muttering, their blind white-in-white eyes as they listened to their Lord roaring to them from the midst of the flood. He was glad to leave them with Osidian as they babbled to him their dreams, though how could he possibly understand them when Morunasa, his sole interpreter, remained aloof keeping his nightmares to himself? Carnelian preferred to eat with Sthax and the other warriors. Covertly he taught Sthax more Vulgate while the other warriors, who deferred to him, kept watch. Carnelian took to sleeping among them in some spot as far away from the voice of the river as he could find. Dreams of bread awrithe with worms plagued his sleep. Often the bread was the world; sometimes his own body.
‘Behold Qunoth,’ said one of the Lepers.
The plain to whose edge their guides had led them terminated, at its further end, in a dark wall. Sheer, it butted on one side against the limestone cliff of the Guarded Land, was breached where the river poured in a foaming cataract, then rose lofty again on the other side, where it faded away into the Earthsky. It reminded Carnelian of the Backbone at the Upper Reach.
‘Where?’ said Osidian.
The Leper pointed to the top of the black wall. Squinting, Carnelian could see that the northern half of it had a pale upper edge.
‘A city wall?’ Morunasa said.
Gazing up at it Osidian shook his head. ‘The Ringwall leftway.’ He pointed to the southern half of the rock, which did not have the pale edge. ‘That will be the fortress.’
He glanced at the Leper, who gave a nod of confirmation.
‘And the Ladder?’
‘It’s further round. We can’t see it from here.’
Carnelian saw that the limestone cliff curved away and that its meeting with the city rock was out of sight.
Osidian was gazing up at the city. ‘It would be foolish to cross this plain in daylight.’
They returned to where they had left the Marula. Through Morunasa and the Oracles Osidian told the warriors to prepare for war. Carnelian and Sthax were careful to avoid each other’s eyes. They had ignored each other since the Oracles had emerged from their dreams some days before.
Carnelian ate sparingly, brooding on what the night might bring. He tried to dissipate anxiety by busying himself with the honing of his spear. When it was sharp he put it down and went among the clumps of warriors, stopping here and there to pat his belly with a quivering hand to show he shared their fear, smiling when they smiled, laughing with them though he did not understand their jests. With Sthax he exchanged the merest glance.