There are paths here leading to various points in the library but none going to the chamber I want to go to.'
Carnelian deflated. Then one must know where the chamber lies in the library maze?'
Osidian lifted his hand in the affirmative. 'A labyrinth can be a better defence than the strongest gate. Still, we can go through the darkness like children.' He offered Carnelian his hand.
Carnelian looked at it, embarrassed, shook his head. 'It would be easier to use the lantern.'
Osidian took back his hand and frowned. 'As you will.' He strode off stiff-shouldered.
Cursing himself, Carnelian followed.
All that day Carnelian read the annals of God Emperors whose column sepulchres, Osidian told him, were some of the first put up in the Labyrinth. Carnelian came to realize that once the Labyrinth had been only a processional way. He was reading faster and hardly had to ask Osidian to help him.
Later, when he had grown weary of the interminable descriptions of conquest, he told the darkness that he wanted to leave. He found Osidian's hands as they fumbled with the lantern and gripped them. There is no need for light, no need for you to come. I will make my way back to the door myself.'
'And tomorrow?' said the darkness.
Carnelian felt as if he were in a dream haunted by the voice in the beads.
'We could try something different tomorrow, if you want.'
'Like what?'
'Well, there are chambers filled with the reels of the Law and its commentaries, with the 'Ilkaya' and other mystical works. There are technical treatises on just about any topic you could imagine. The records of the flesh tithe, tribute, taxation of the cities, censuses of the barbarian tribes. The Books of Blood-'
'Where the blood-taints of the Chosen are kept?'
'Every Chosen who has ever lived.'
The Books of Blood then,' whispered Carnelian, and, taking the unlit lantern, he strode off along the path of eyes.
The following day, Osidian was waiting for him. The walk through the library seemed longer than usual. They reached a chamber that smelled of freshly spilled blood. Uneasy, Carnelian lifted his lantern. It was a chamber larger than the others with many benches. All the bead-cord he could see was dull and black. The reels were only as thick as his wrist. He took the lantern close to one, ran his fingers over its beads, then smelled them. It was as he had suspected. 'Iron.'
These are the Books of Blood,' said Osidian.
Carnelian looked round, trying to calculate the value of such treasure.
'Look here,' said Osidian, touching the tip of a spindle.
Carnelian came to look. Carved into its top was the cypher of a Chosen House.
'Your reels will be over there somewhere, with the rest of the Great,' Osidian whispered near his ear.
Carnelian walked away in the direction indicated. Spindle by spindle they searched for the chameleon, moving from one bench to the next.
'Here,' hissed Osidian.
Carnelian joined him and saw the chameleon carved dancing into the spindle's tip above the six stacked reels. How many people of my House? he signed.
Osidian shrugged. 'Your House is as ancient as the Commonwealth.' The beads clinked like armour as he ran his fingers down the stack. The reels are fat. The blood-taint of maybe,' he shrugged again, 'eight twenties of generations.'
Carnelian took hold of the topmost reel. He could feel the beads shifting under his hands. He lifted the reel carefully off the chameleoned spindle. It was as heavy as a stone. Osidian pointed out a chair. Carnelian carried the reel against his chest and impaled it on the chair spike. He was glad when Osidian closed the lantern's shutter. For some reason, the reel's rusty blacks were reminding him of massacres.
The beads soon absorbed him. They were simple to learn. Most of the beadcord was made up of the numbers one to nineteen, with a bead like a berry for zero. It was strange to feel the first name he came to was his own. He ran the cold, rough beads through his fingers again and heard them say his name, Carnelian. The beads after that were his blood-taint: zero, zero, one, nineteen, zero, nine, fourteen, sixteen, nine, thirteen, fifteen. The next name along the beadcord was his mother's, Azurea, followed by the first few beads of her blood-taint: zero, zero, zero. He ran the beads through his fingers again. Three zeros. Blood-rank three. Such purity. It made him proud. He read the next numbers almost trying to feel something of his mother in them. Two, one, three, nineteen, nine, sixteen, seventeen, ten. There was nothing there but cold iron. Beyond the separator bead was Suth Sardian, his father, and the numbers: two zeros matching his and then a three, fifteen, nineteen, fifteen again, ten, three, two, ten.
He read on, finding Spinel's blood-taint and the others of his House's second lineage. Next came the third lineage. Then he found his grandfather's name, his grandmother Urquentha's, the parents of Spinel and so on, further and further back in time. His father's father's father. Numbers and strange names rolled through his head as he wound them up from the ancient past.
He released the beadcord, sat back bewildered, awed by the tale of years, feeling he was like the Pillar of Heaven holding up a skyful of ancestors.
'I've had enough,' he whispered. He had forgotten Osidian. Convinced suddenly that he was alone, Carnelian felt around. His hand found him.
'I am here, Carnelian. Where else do you think I would be?'
'Looking up your own bloodline.' There was a long silence. 'I know my blood,' Osidian said. 'I did not mean-'
'It does not matter,' whispered Osidian. 'Can you find your own way back?' 'Well, yes
'Farewell then,' said Osidian and with a waft of air was gone.
Later, in his chamber in the Sunhold, Carnelian was wondering for the hundredth time if he would ever see Osidian again. He had replayed those last few words endlessly in his mind. Each time he had felt a stabbing in his guts. Why had he so carelessly offended him? His stomach ached as the words circled round in his head like carrion crows.
He went to bed early and ate nothing. Sleep would not come. When it did, it brought dreams. All night he fumbled blindly over a stony beach seeking the pebble that would whisper to him its answer.
Carnelian awoke feeling tired. Sullenly, he determined he would not go to the moon-eyed door. He told himself that he did not want to. Eventually he had to confess he was reluctant to go in case Osidian should not be there. He turned his anger on himself until fear of never seeing Osidian again made him leap up. He rushed through his dressing, cursing. It was already morning.
He took less care going to the trapdoor than usual. Halfway down the steps he found that he was counting them, swore and stopped, though each footfall was like a bead slipping through his fingers. He thought he had prepared himself for the disappointment but when he reached the moon-eyed door he found its blank gaze withering. Osidian was not in his usual place. That was the end of it. Still, he could not bring himself to turn away. He heard the clink and saw it opening. Osidian walked out and Carnelian lurched a few steps towards him then stopped. 'Osidian.' Relief thinned his voice.
The boy's eyes were like summer sea. He twitched a smile. 'What shall it be today, my Lord?'
Carnelian tried to think through the blood pulsing in his head. He ran through what he remembered Osidian had said the day before. 'History?' he suggested.
Osidian showed surprise. 'I thought you did not like history.'
There is more to history than conquests.' He racked his mind for a topic. For some reason he recalled the Masters arguing theology that night on the watch-tower roof.
The beginning.'
The creation?'
The beginning of the Commonwealth. The Quyans. The Great Death. Does the library contain reels going that far back?'
Osidian's brow creased. 'I have never sought such antiquity. What you speak of is more religion than history. Still…'
Carnelian grew calm watching Osidian thinking. There was so much he wanted to know about this strange
