have made him keep his distance from the boy.
Tomorrow, then,' Osidian said.
Tomorrow… Osidian.'
The boy went back through the door, and as he closed it behind him he healed the cut in the moon's eye.
The next morning, Osidian was waiting for Carnelian as he had promised. The boy said nothing as he led Carnelian into the Library of the Wise. The lantern light revealed the rich jewel seams of the beadcord as they moved through the chamber. At last they stopped at a beadcord chair. Again, Osidian urged him to sit down and going off came back with a reel that, in the dark, with his help, Carnelian began to read.
First they revised the syllabic beads but quickly moved on to more complex ones. Fluted spheres like coriander seeds. Glossy shapes like beetles. Beads with the texture of cold skin that Carnelian guessed were amber, others he knew were metal by the way they drew warmth from his fingers. Pumice, rough but floatingfy light. Wood, waxed and unwaxed. Each was a word, an idea. Fumbling them, Carnelian was reminded of learning his glyphs. Haltingly he whispered each bead's meaning. Whenever he stopped, Osidian's fingers would take the bead from him, and read it. Sometimes, Osidian would run his fingers back along the beadcord to find one they had read earlier and, squeezing it into Carnelian's fingers, would point out the similarities in shape or texture that reflected a similarity in their meanings. Thus, Carnelian discovered that each bead that represented a creature had a pimple head. That smooth curving often implied liquid; lightness, air; corners, something made by craft. The same shape with different temperatures often determined a spectrum of emotion.
Bead by bead, a story began to unspool in Carnelian's mind. Obsidian-faced, a God Emperor issued forth from Osrakum, riding in some fabled chariot of iron so huge it was honeycombed with chambers. With towered huimur They had gone southwards across the Guarded Land. Every being They saw They slew, being the incarnation of the Black One, the Plague Breathing, the Lord of Death.
'This is a story?' he whispered.
'History,' hissed Osidian. 'Read on.'
The annal continued. Somewhere along the southern edge of the Ringwall, the Gods descended with Their host. Down to a vast plain teeming with life. Carnelian could see herds shoaling like fish. Through this crowding flesh the Chosen host cut a swathe till the earth had been stained as red as the Guarded Land. Barbarian cities, rude, enclosed with wooden walls. The Gods' black tide lapped their ditches, igniting the palisades like the dawning sun. Carnelian bit his lip anxious for the next bead, impatient with himself when he could not find its meaning. As each squeezed like a pip through his fingers, he felt the earth shake, he was as blinded by the huimur flame-pipes as the barbarians. The beads let him look down from the vantage point of a huimur tower and watch the barbarians flee before their fire. Remembering the ants Aurum had torched on the road, Carnelian shuddered. Huts and children trampled by thunder. Their world turned to ash. The Gods swept, unsated, seeking new victims beyond the smoke-clogged horizon.
Osidian brought him other reels. More campaigns. They studied the dates. The days they spoke of were more than a thousand years dead.
'So much carnage,' Carnelian said at last. The beads were becoming shapeless, their voices muffled.
'Even barbarians cannot be brought under a yoke by persuasion,' said Osidian. 'Anciently, they were proud. We broke their will with terror. Once, through fear of the Twin Gods, all the world paid us tribute.'
'Of children?' Carnelian asked, bringing his knees up to his chest, hugging them, seeing Ebeny.
'Not just children, all the fruits of the Three Lands.'
'Is this necessary?'
'If beasts are allowed to come into a garden will they not trample it?'
Carnelian forced himself to consider this.
'Do you wish to read more?'
'No. My fingers can no longer hear the beads.'
'Perhaps it is best. My blood afflicts me.'
'It burns?' asked Carnelian.
'In my bones.'
Carnelian worried that he had never felt it. 'Rewind the cord.'
Carnelian slipped his feet down to the treadle. There was a rattle and a quivering in the chair and then silence. He waited. He could hear nothing. His eyes were making shapes in the dark.
'Come, I will take you back to the door.'
The voice speaking suddenly beside Carnelian made him start. He grew angry. 'How do you see in the dark?'
'See?'
'You find your way-'
The darkness chuckled. There was a fumbling. Sudden light daggered Carnelian's eyes and made him wince. 'You could have warned me.'
'Sssh!'
Carnelian saw Osidian's eyes were the purest jade.
Take off your shoes, he signed.
What? Carnelian chopped back.
'If my Lord pleases, his shoes…'
Grumbling, Carnelian stooped and took them off.
Osidian urged him off the chair. The light receded as he walked away, backwards, still hooking his finger at Carnelian to follow.
Carnelian did so, grinding his teeth, wanting to hit him.
And?
Carnelian opened his hands, not understanding.
Your feet. Do you feel nothing under your feet?
Carnelian became aware the floor was textured. He looked down, crouched. Bring the light closer, he signed. As the floor brightened, he saw it was carved. He touched the embossed surfaces. Osidian's white hand strayed across some patterns.
'All of these are paths,' he whispered. 'You follow them with your feet. North Door, South Door.' He stroked one pattern after another. 'East Door, West.' Still crouching, he rocked himself a little way off and pointed down. Carnelian followed his finger, touched the eye carved into the floor.
The path to the moon-eyed door.'
'Exactly.' Osidian stood up. 'Will my Lord care to try for himself, this seeing in the dark?'
Carnelian straightened, smiling even as the light went out. He found the eye with his toe. He took a step and after sliding his foot around a bit found another eye. He took another step.
'Like stepping stones,' he muttered, finding the measure of the stride that took him smoothly from one eye to the next.
He followed the path, at first certain that he was about to walk into a bench or a wall. After a while he grew more confident and soon was moving comfortably through the darkness.
He seemed to have been walking for ever when suddenly he stepped forward and there was no eye under his foot. He stopped and Osidian walked into him. Carnelian clutched him to avoid falling. The body under his fingers was like wood. He could smell Osidian's skin. 'My Lord, forgive me.' He stepped back.
'Hide your eyes,' Osidian said.
Light flared. Carnelian squinted till his eyes were able to see again. Looking round, he saw they were standing near the silver door. He began putting on his shoes.
'Will you come again?' Osidian asked.
Carnelian looked up at him, nodded.
As he walked back, Carnelian caught a scent coming off his shoulder that he recognized was Osidian's.
Carnelian smiled when he saw Osidian waiting for him.
'Will we be able to go together in darkness?' he asked.
Osidian shook his head. He pointed at the floor. 'Which path would you follow?'
Carnelian looked. The stone was as marked with trails as mud at a market.
