it is commanded to be done by the Law-that-must-be-obeyed.'
The covenant you made with Him, the Dark One honours. In the hidden land of Osrakum He will not incarnate though His anima share the inhabiting of the God Emperor with His brother. Beyond the Sacred Wall, all other earth unto the sea He has soaked with pestilence and plague. In these His domains you shall walk under the restriction of His Law as your fathers have done before you. This is His Law as it has been written in the Plain of Thrones.'
Carnelian felt his father's warm hand stray over his own.
The Chosen shall not stand within two fingers' breadth of unhallowed ground,' chanted the quaestor.
All the Masters made the same response as before and Carnelian mumbled along with them. He turned his hand palm up to grasp his father's as one of the slaves knelt before him holding a casket. Bones pushed through tallow skin like blades. Another slave leant over to open the casket. Her torso was a basket of ribs. In place of an ear a hook-rimmed mechanism of brass snagged into her face. She drew out the ranga shoes and placed them in Carnelian's lap with more care than if they had been painted with poison. Each was of wood lacquered black: a long and narrow platform for the foot, securing straps and, set transversally on its underside, three supports a few fingers' width deep: one painted black, one red, one green, presumably in token of the Three Lands.
'My shoes have been tampered with,' said Vennel sharply.
Carnelian looked up. His father and the other Masters had also been given shoes. All were turned towards Vennel.
The Master held up a shoe. The supports have been trimmed.' He displayed it for all to see.
The modification was carried out at my command,' said Aurum.
'One cannot-'
The full height would encumber us on our journey, my Lord. Quaestor, do they still meet the requirement of the Law?'
They do, Seraph,' said the silver mask. Aurum turned back to Vennel. 'Might we be allowed to proceed?'
Vennel made an affirmative gesture shaded with anger.
Carnelian felt his father's hand moving in his own. It escaped to sign, Copy me.
Carnelian watched his father search the hem of his robe. When he found a single embroidered glyph like a beetle he pinched it up. He was offered a jar by a slave. With his free hand he broke its seal, ran the robe glyph round inside, then began to carefully anoint one of the shoes upon his lap with the pungent wax.
Carnelian found that his robe had the same glyph. He could not read it. Everything he had seen his father do he did as well. Several times he looked up to find the eyeslits of his father's mask angled towards him. A nod came from it when Carnelian was finished.
The Chosen shall not breathe unhallowed air,' the quaestor said.
The Masters gave the response.
Slaves with strange bright eyes came cradling bowls. They took tiny steps, afraid of spilling what they carried. As one came closer Carnelian saw fumes curling up from the bowl like smoke. He saw also the spiralled plaques that served the slave for eyes. Edge hooks gripped them into the man's flesh.
Carnelian's father nudged him. He turned to see his father laying his mask face down along the hollow between his thighs. He reached out, took one of the linen pads draped over the bowl's rim, dipped it into the vaporous liquid, and pressed it over the mask's nostril holes. He swivelled little flanges to hold it in place.
Carnelian began the procedure. As he leant forward the vapour from the bowl stung his eyes. He dipped a pad, squeezed it, poked it into his mask still smoking then secured it with the flanges.
'It will protect you from the plague,' his father's voice rustled in his ear.
Then the quaestor spoke one last time. The Chosen shall not be touched by unhallowed light even unto the skin of the smallest finger.' His hands dropped, the cord dangling in the left one.
At that signal, Aurum rose up to all his imposing height holding his mask in one hand, his ranga shoes in the other. Walking off towards an archway, he disappeared through it.
They waited. A blinded slave appeared in the archway. He looked small, fragile. Carnelian felt his father getting up. He watched his hand dart, As the youngest, you must follow last. Then he too crossed the chamber to the waiting arch.
So it was that one by one the Masters were swallowed by the arch till Carnelian was left alone with the quaestor and his spiral eyes. He averted his face from the fumes rising from his mask and looked at the quaestor uneasily. The man was like something not alive.
A muttering came from beyond the arch. Suddenly Carnelian saw the slave was there. He rose, walked to the arch and, after a moment's hesitation, passed under it.
Almost night. Vague sinuous movements like windows reflecting on dark water. Nudges guided Carnelian through the gloom. Fingers plucked at the hooks down his back. The robe brushed away leaving him naked. Shapes solidified into men: yellow men, with dark whiteless eyes. Carnelian swallowed past the dry lump in his throat knowing he was wholly in their hands.
His fingers were prised open and his shoes and mask removed. He shuddered at the first cold touch on his arm. A melting snowflake. Then another and another, till he was the centre of a blizzard of menthol swabbing.
Cool hands lifted one of his feet. He felt the wetness lick between his toes. Then it oozed along the sole. A palm cupped his heel and guided his foot down. Before it reached the floor it hit something solid. One of the ranga shoes. When the other foot was cleansed Carnelian climbed onto the second shoe.
He noticed the depression in the brass wall. It was as if a stiff-limbed man had detached from the wall leaving behind his impression in the metal. The concave surfaces within this mould were as ridged and whorled as finger ends. As he watched, one of the black-eyed men reached into the shoulder of the mould and running his fingers delicately round the hollow came back and transferred its designs to Carnelian's own shoulder. He squirmed at the tickle touch of the stylus. Others were reading the mould. Soon, ink was itching over every part of Carnelian's skin until only his face was left blank.
That His servants might pass you by,' one whispered.
Then Carnelian was glazed with sickly myrrh.
That His breath might not corrupt your flesh.'
Cloth bands darted through the air and spooled around his body.
That His servants might be confounded.'
The bandages stuck to the glaze, weaving into a tightening cocoon.
That they might be lost in this labyrinth.'
He grimaced as a bandage bound something hard and cold against his skin.
'Charms to shield you from their malice.'
So it went on. He was the axis of their strange dance. Round and round they went, their whispers in his ears, until he dizzied and almost swooned.
When they stopped turning he fought the tightness round his chest and shoulder to raise his arms. His hands were there at the end of his cloth wrists. He let them fall and sighed with relief at the pressure release.
A huge robe flapped over him.
That they might be blinded by the night.'
Hands flitted over the robe till it was hugging him. They shut him in behind his mask. His nostrils burned, then his lungs. His eyes watered. He did not even try to move until the burning had abated. Then he tottered out of the brass chamber by a doorway that appeared as a fuzzy glowing rectangle.
'Here you are permitted to remove your mask,' his father said.
Carnelian did so with some relief. His eyes still watered and he was sniffing.
His father put a hand on his shoulder. Its whiteness was spotted with symbols. The astringency will soon diminish, then you will bear it easily enough.'
'And the tightness?'
The bandages will stretch.'
Carnelian heard Aurum say something about an 'imminent departure'.
Carnelian grimaced through his tears. The Three Lands at last.'
His father smiled grimly. The Three Lands.'
