The Chosen - Stone Dance of the Chameleon 01 Page 5

  PILLAGE

  Ruins smoking on a hill

  They stole my hands' work

  My children

  And in their place

  With violence

  This child of hatred planted

  (extract from a barbarian lament)

  Carnelian woke. Each breath clouded the air. Wrapped in a blanket he went to the window to look out at his enemy. There the ship lay like a mouth in the sea. That sight of her fixed his resolve. He woke Tain. His brother sat up tousled and confused. 'It's the middle of the night.'

  'No, it's near daybreak and the household will be stirring. Today I must be painted as well as dressed.'

  Tain stood up grumbling. He stumbled off to get the jars and brushes while Carnelian fiddled with the fire. When Tain came back he was still grumbling.

  'I don't know what you're complaining about,' barked Carnelian. 'I'm the one who has to stand here naked.'

  'Do you really need to be painted?'

  'Would I ask you if I didn't?' Carnelian saw his brother flinch at his tone. 'I want to be free to go out into the open,' he said more softly.

  Starting at his sooty fingers, Tain began to wash him. 'How do you think you'll get past the guards this time?' he said humourlessly. 'I'd like to see you manage the ledge in your Master's robes.'

  'For your information, dear brother, I intend to use my Master's mask. I'll order them to let me pass and they will.'

  They might at that,' muttered Tain.

  When Carnelian was cleaned, Tain began the painting. He stirred the pigment in its jar with a brush and began to apply it to Carnelian's skin with long even strokes. The chill paint made the skin pimple. The pigment was a different tone of white from Carnelian's skin but even then, there was so little light that Tain had to keep turning him to see which bits he had done already.

  When it was finished Tain hurried the drying with a fan. Carnelian shivered with each gust. ‘I’ll bet you're enjoying this,' he said through rattling teeth.

  'Of course,' said Tain and they grinned at each other.

  When he was ready they put on all the robes. Carnelian decided he had no need of jewels. They tied his mask on, then went out together and were surprised to find no guards outside the door. They made off through the barracks. Everywhere was the same; the Hold seemed abandoned. Neither voiced his dread. When they came down into the stretch of the alleyway that ran between the Sword Court and the Long Court they began to hear a rhythmic thudding.

  In the Long Court the snow had been trampled grey. The mouths of doors and blind-eyed windows gaped all round its edge. Carnelian and Tain were scandalized to see the snow blowing into the rooms beyond. The thudding rang round the court. It grew louder as they passed along the arcade. The door to the Great Hall was ajar. They approached it as if it were the opening to a cave in whose depths some monster lay. The sounds grew sharper with each step they took. The chopping stopped suddenly. They peered round the jamb. Tain gasped. Carnelian froze, staring. There was a long stuttering eruption. One of the columns was falling, dragging down a canopy of ceiling. It butted another column with its carved head. They both shuddered as the falling one scraped down, trailing a smoke of plaster. It crashed into the floor. The impact shook up through their feet. They watched it bounce and rock still. The dust settled. Snow drove down through the ragged hole that had been ripped in the ceiling. Flurries danced among the columns still left standing.

  Carnelian strode into the hall in fury, trailing Tain after him. Three columns had already been cut down, felled like trees. He reached one of the stumps and touched its splinter teeth with tender disbelief. The chopping began again. He kicked his way towards it through the debris of the mosaics. Five strange creatures were hacking into the smooth skin of another column. Thin grey light filtered down with the snow. It revealed them to be as bony as old men's hands. Their skin was spotted with bruise-blue wave glyphs.

  Carnelian planted himself before them, bellowing, 'What in the names of the Gods do you think you're doing?'

  He saw the sailors' narrow faces look up, sweat-glazed, taut with effort. Eyes widened, they collapsed to the ground. An axe clattered to the floor. The blue glyphs had been branded, not tattooed. Joints knobbed their limbs. They reeked of bitumen and fear. Carnelian could see their shaking. Their terror and frailty rebuked him. He saw Tain wandering lost amongst the devastation.

  A voice cried out in anger, and a man burst into the light. He was taller than the sailors, but still much smaller than Carnelian. He scolded the bony creatures, jabbing at them with a stick. The man must have seen Carnelian looming there, for the next moment he fell to his knees, mumbling, 'Master.'

  Carnelian came further into the light. 'Has this been sanctioned by a Master?'

  'Yes, Master,' the man replied without looking up.

  'Why is it necessary?'

  'Long timbers are needed, Master, to repair the masts.'

  'And who're you?'

  'Ship's captain, Master.'

  'Look up when I speak to you.'

  The man lifted his face but not his eyes.

  'And my people who were here, where're they?'

  They've been moved elsewhere, Master.'

  'Show me.'

  'Instantly.'

  As the captain rose, Carnelian noticed the thick ring of brass circling his brown neck. It widened at his throat and there was inscribed with a wave glyph. To the right of the inscription the collar threaded a slider showing the number eight. To the left were other sliders. Carnelian knew this must be a legionary collar detailing the man's rank and recording his service to the Commonwealth. Only the Masters could make brass. Only they could put that collar about a man's neck, or take it off. Any man found wearing such a collar outside the bounds of his service faced crucifixion.

  Carnelian called over to Tain. He came, sullen, cowed. Carnelian reached out and squeezed some reassurance into his arm. Together, they followed the captain out of the hall. Behind them the axes had already resumed their chopping.

  As Carnelian accompanied the captain through his home, he found that it had become strange, unknown. Order had passed away. The passages were choked with people, with bundles, with rolled carpets. There was a clatter and echoes and the angry voices of his guardsmen as they herded the children and the women. These last were strangely silent. Thin chameleoned faces, fearful-eyed. When they saw him they looked up with hope. He tried to smile until he realized that all they could see was the disdainful fixed expression of his mask. They made way for him and, as he passed, hung their heads.

  The captain brought him to the training hall of the tyadra. Carnelian's people filled it like a colony of birds: jabbering, marking little territories with the salvage of their belongings. Weapon racks were ranged behind them on the walls. The target manikins had been shoved into a corner, with all their ropes and pulleys, their blunted swords and spears.

  The captain was standing head bowed, eyes averted, waiting. Carnelian dismissed him. Tain's face expressed incomprehension as he looked around him at the refugees. Carnelian thought his own face must look the same under the mask.

  The din quietened to silence. People stood still, their arms clutching their belongings, looking at Carnelian, expecting something, needing something. He felt a fraud. He had nothing to say to them, nothing that could make sense of what was happening. Outside more axes were chopping. There were other violent sounds of pillage. Carnelian could not bear their eyes. So many eyes. He could not resist the cowardice of lifting his hand, to command prostration. Then there were no more eyes, no chameleoned faces, just the backs of heads. Still he felt they were accusing him. These people were in his keeping. It was not only his father that had taught him that, but his own instinct. He turned his back on them and walked out into the Sword Court. His steps were measured enough but Carnelian did not deceive himself, he knew he was fleeing.

  Going out into the cold he felt as if a bucket of water had been thrown over him. He stared, not understanding wha
t he saw. Something moved beside him. He glanced down to see Tain looking queasy. The snow that had been swept from the cobbles had been piled in dirty mounds. In one part of the court Carnelian saw some of his people labouring in the mist of their own breath, stacking shutters, pieces of flooring, tables. A queue was filing in from the Long Court alleyway carrying more. Nearby some of the branded men from the ship were splitting these things into planks. Across the court, parchment was being cut from windows. Sleds were being banged together. One already made was creaking as it was loaded. Some more of his people were standing at its head, dejected, hands wedged into their armpits, puffing, stamping their feet. The ropes to pull the sled lay coiled at their feet. Here and there Carnelian could see the leather jerkin of a guardsman of his tyadra. Over against a wall a handful of Aurum's guardsmen were leaning on their forked spears. Their yellow tattoo-bisected faces showed the uncaring arrogance of conquerors.

  One of Carnelian's guardsmen came walking straight towards him. It was Grane, his nose and ears red, his hands rasping against each other. 'It is unseemly that you should be here, my Master.'

  'Perhaps I can be of some help, Grane.'

  His brother came closer, breathing heavy clouds of vapour. This isn't the place for you,' he said in a low voice.

  Carnelian grew angry. 'Do you really expect me just to sit back ... watch this happen ... do nothing?'

  Grane looked up at him, frowning. 'It's not only yourself you shame by coming here, it's all of us.'

  'Don't you talk to me of shame. I find enough shame in allowing this — this desecration. I'll go and see the Master and put a stop to it, now!'

  Grane looked down at Tain and jerked his head. 'You. Go and help load that sled.' Tain looked up at Carnelian, hoping that he would countermand the order, but Carnelian pretended not to notice him. As the boy stormed off, Grane leant close. 'Don't be a fool, Carnelian. From where do you think the orders came for this?'

  Carnelian looked away, knowing Grane spoke truth.

  'You can't do anything here.' Grane took a step back, bowed and moved away.

  Carnelian stood for a moment looking at nothing in particular. His mirror face made him a pale sun in the chaos of the court. Slowly he turned and walked off towards the barracks.

  All that day Carnelian hid in his room. Several times he slept. He tried to distract himself. In flickering firelight he played with his Great-Rings. He tried to conjure up those visions of Osrakum that had always been brighter to him than summer sky. But there was no brightness, only the lonely lightless room. All day he longed for Tain to come. But when finally he did, Carnelian had only pain to share and so pretended to be asleep.

  His brother was there, sleeping in his makeshift bed. His breathing sounded as fitful as the wind outside.

  Despair lurked in every corner of the room. Carnelian filled his mind with a vision of wide untainted blue sky and then he tried to melt into it like a bather into the sea.

  Next morning, Tain uncovered the glow of the embers to make some light. Carnelian's brow was creased. His lips twitched as if he were speaking to someone far away in his dreams. The boy leant forward and pulled the blanket up over him, then slipped away.

  Carnelian woke to find Tain kneeling beside him looking agitated. 'You must come, Carnie. I wanted to let you sleep but you've to come and make him move.'

  'Eh? Make who move?' Carnelian sat up bleary-eyed. 'Open the shutters, will you, Tain?'

  The morning flooded in. Carnelian hid his eyes, smiled with pleasure as the light fell on his face then, remembering, frowned.

  'Crail. Crail's refusing to move,' said Tain.

  Carnelian looked at him, confused. 'Move ... ?'

  'His room's to be pulled apart like the others and he refuses to move.'

  Carnelian stood up. 'And Grane, Keal?'

  They're down at the ship and can't come up.'

  Carnelian saw the pleading in his brother's face. He chewed his lip. 'OK. You'll have to get me dressed first.'

  They hurried through it, and when Carnelian was ready Tain sprang towards the door. Carnelian ignored him, went to the window and stood for some moments looking out at the ship. People swarmed over her hull, spilling onto the quayside. One of her masts was down. She had a skirt of boats and rafts bobbing in the swell around her. A carcass awrithe with maggots, he thought. He turned his back on her and walked over to join Tain.

  They had to cross the alleyway. It was loud with people. Things were scraping along the wall, feet scuffing and kicking. From either side came workshop sounds. Carnelian looked neither left nor right. He kept his head up and only relaxed once they had passed through a door on the other side.

  He faltered. His body had anticipated warmth. The floor was dusted white and chunked with plaster. Holes gaped on either side where doors had been ripped out. Even their frames had been torn away, leaving the walls ragged. He and Tain picked their way along the passage. In places where the ceiling had caved in, water had soaked into floor and walls. There was the derelict smell of wet plaster. Even a waft of cooking smells brought only resentment.

  The noise had been growing louder. Tearing, ripping, thuds and cracking. They came into the Little Court and Tain gave a yell. The courtyard had been ploughed to mud. The buildings that had hugged it were crumbling shells. They had played their games here as children. The older people had lived here because it had been the most sheltered part of the Hold. Amongst the rubble, strange creatures turned to stare. Chalk-faced, hair powdered white. Seeing Carnelian they began to kneel. Carnelian jerked his hand up, Rise. 'Continue your work,' he said, his voice too shrill. They turned away and stooped to fish bits and pieces out of the wreckage, passing them back hand to hand till they were dropped into the centre of the court.

  One building was still intact though its face leaned out. A slate scraped down from above and shattered on the cobbles. Carnelian pulled Tain after him as he ducked in. It was hard to see anything in the corridor. They found Crail's room. Carnelian pushed into the small space. Two women were there, bent over an old man crumpled in a chair.

  'Master,' one of them said.

  Thank the Gods,' said the other.

  Carnelian whipped off his mask and knelt before the chair. 'Crail, you must leave.' He looked into the old man's rheumy eyes. This had been the commander of the tyadra. Now he was wasted to a bony sag, his mind so faded that sometimes he did not even know his own name. He was also the Master's brother and so Carnelian's uncle.

  Crail shook his prune of a face. 'Won't.'

  Carnelian looked round, saw the cracks that had spread like branches up the walls. This is all falling down, Crail.'

  'And me with it. I'm too old for this.' He reached up a trembling arm and touched Carnelian's face. 'Just leave me be, child.'

  Carnelian was seeing him through tears. He snapped round. 'Get out,' he shouted. The women fled. He turned back. 'Come on, Crail, don't do this,' he sobbed. He reached his arm out to gather the old man up.

  Crail sank back. His soft face bunched itself into a well-used expression of stubbornness.

  'You will move, you old fool,' cried Carnelian, stepping back against someone. Tain. He had forgotten him. There he was, his hair dusted white in a mockery of the old man's. Two stripes had washed down from his eyes.

  Carnelian stood tall, put his mask before his face, pulled himself together. 'Crail, you will leave this place,' he said in the level tone his father used. 'For I command it.'

  The old man looked up, straining his eyes. 'Master... ?'

  Tain, help him up.'

  For a moment, Tain was startled by Carnelian's tone, then he bowed. 'As you command, my Master.' Soon he had the old man propped up and was manoeuvring him out of the room. Carnelian followed them out, helping as he could without being seen to do so.

  People had gathered outside. Carnelian went out to meet them. He pointed here and there into the crowd, affecting brusqueness. 'Help Tain take Crail away to some place of safety.' He watched the old man
being carried off. People started kneeling, in ones and twos. They surrounded him with their abasement so that he could only move out of their circle by treading on them.

  'Make way,' he said, controlling his voice, glad he had his mask to hide behind.

  No-one moved.

  'Master,' one said and then another, and then their voices rose all around him, breaking, almost wailing.

  He wanted to be a child, to run away, but there was nowhere left to hide. At last he lifted his hands for silence. He bent down. 'Mari, what's all this?'

  The woman he spoke to lifted up her face. Her eyes were red, sunken. 'Carnie ... Master ...'

  Carnelian removed his mask. 'Carnie will do fine,' he said gently.

  They're taking our food, Carnie.'

  There were murmurs of assent: He looked at them. They all wore the same face of hope. He felt his lip quiver. 'It's needed for the ship.'

  'But they're not leaving us enough,' someone said.

  Carnelian nodded. He was trying to hold in his tears but they could see by the way the paint was smeared around his eyes that he had been crying. 'It's the Masters who've demanded it, and their needs are greater than ours.' He felt the hollow betrayal in his words. Their heads sank as the fight went out of them. He almost let his pain out in a wail.

  'And you'll be leaving us too, Carnie?' asked Mari.

  He could not bear to look at her. 'Yes ... yes, I must go with them,' he looked up, said fiercely, 'but before I go I promise I'll do all I can.'

  He stood up and rehid his face behind the golden mask. They made way for him. It was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other.

  Carnelian went to the storerooms and saw that it was as they had said. Fish were being sealed into jars. Dried fowl were being baled in woven seaweed. The walls were blank with naked hooks, the shelves empty. He opened one of the stone flour bins and had to lean over to see its level. Behind him on the floor, stacked and packaged, was by far the greater part of what the room had held. The faces that had gathered at the door told the story. Children frightened by their mothers' looks. An old woman gnawing her hand. Even with rationing he knew she would not see another summer.