'What for?'
Osidian took in the Marula with an elegant sweep of his hand. 'I had to buy them with something.'
Carnelian feared the Plainsmen would resist such work. 'Can you not use the Marula?'
They are warriors.'
'So are the Plainsmen,' said Carnelian. 'Nevertheless, it is my will that they should do it.' Carnelian saw a harshness in Osidian's eyes and knew that not only did he want to make it clear to the Plainsmen that he was now their master, but he also wanted to make Carnelian understand this was a punishment they would suffer on his behalf.
Carnelian looked for the Plainsmen and saw they had retreated to the knoll. As he pushed into the flow of pygmies, they moved from his path as if his touch were poison. He broke into open ground. Approaching the Plainsmen, he saw how bewildered they looked and lost the courage to reveal his errand. 'Carnie?' said Fern.
Carnelian could see how desperate his friend was to talk to him. He tried to communicate that this was impossible with a shake of his head. Aware they were all looking at him, Carnelian had to tell them.
'You are to go down to the saltcaves.'
Their looks of unease exasperated him. 'We have to give the quarried salt to the Manila.'
They stared at him. Fern opened his mouth to protest but then he looked to where, looming above the pygmy tide, the Master was in conversation with Morunasa, and his mouth closed. Carnelian met Fern's despondent gaze. Both knew they had failed. Many of the Plainsmen cast looks of desire up at their fortress on the hill, then lowered their heads to hide the anger and betrayal in their eyes. Led by Ravan, they leaned their spears against a baobab and made their way towards the sartlar ladder. Carnelian was tortured by the thought that the youth had been right all along. It was better not to accompany them. To share such menial work would only serve to anger Osidian and it would be the Plainsmen who would suffer retribution.
Pygmies were moving past him, returning empty-handed from where they were piling their baskets of fernroot at the foot of the knoll. An odour was rising from their bodies. It was the same aura of fear which slaves gave off in the presence of a Master, and which had to be masked with perfume. At first Carnelian thought it was Osidian the pygmies feared, but their glances were for the Oracles.
When Morunasa and the rest approached the crowd of little men, they crumpled into a juddering, urinating mass from which the ash-smeared arms of the Oracles plucked and pulled out one here, one there. Those selected tottered off to where they stood together in trembling misery. When the Oracles had finished, those that were left fled towards the Ladder, stumbling over each other in their desperation to escape.
The Oracles closed in on those they had chosen and herded them whimpering off to the idol and the impaled man. Carnelian was still watching as the first Plainsmen began coming up from the caves. The tiny men were being driven across the stepping stones and meandering currents, to be swallowed up by the Isle of Flies.
Sick at heart, Carnelian went to watch the loading of the salt. The Plainsmen were helping the sartlar hoist slabs up and over the lip of the chasm. They were carefully wrapped in oily cloth then bound to the backs of the pygmies. Once burdened, each began his descent back into the chasm. Manila stood by, observing everything with an arrogant gaze. When the last slab had been strapped to a pygmy, they casually prodded him down the Ladder with their spears and followed.
The Plainsmen looked miserable, even Krow. Seeing Kor among the sartlar, Carnelian wished he could decide what to do with her. A Maruli appeared beside them. The black giant waited until he had their eyes and then stabbed his spear towards the grotesque idol and made some sounds that might have been speech. He strode away then stopped, turning to beckon them, until, suUenly, Carnelian and the Plainsmen began to follow him.
Osidian was waiting for them beneath the impaled man. On his left stood Morunasa with those Oracles who had not crossed to the island. Manila warriors formed a barbaric backdrop with their bead corselets and their ebony limbs. Shuffling, uncertain, the Plainsmen stood before the Master. Carnelian saw with what cruel eyes he was surveying them. His gaze fell on Carnelian.
'Come, my Lord,' he said, indicating a place at his right hand.
Carnelian felt he was betraying the Plainsmen, but dared not refuse. Under their eyes, he walked to where Osidian had pointed. It made him uncomfortable to be joining Osidian in standing judgement on them.
Osidian turned to him. 'Is there any matter that you might wish to convey to me?' he asked in Quya, as if the two of them were alone.
Carnelian brought his mind into focus. 'Matter…?' He saw Fern's anxious face among the Plainsmen and found it hard not to glance at Ravan. He probed Osidian's eyes, wondering what he could possibly know or guess, and was terrified his face might betray him again.
At that moment a shriek tore the intolerably humid afternoon. An unhuman sound that set Carnelian's teeth to chattering. He turned just enough to catch a view of the Isle of Flies, whose brooding darkness seemed to be pulsing. He registered the terror of the Manila.
'My Lord?'
The elegant Quya wrenched Carnelian's eyes back. 'Did you not hear my -?'
Osidian was cut dead by another cry shrilling across the river. Carnelian felt something die in him.
They're murdering…' he said, lapsing into Vulgate.
'An offering of blood to the Darkness-under-the-Trees,' said Morunasa.
Carnelian was caught in the Maruli's amber eyes.
'Our Lord's hunger must be sated.'
'I grow impatient, Carnelian, for your answer.'
Carnelian regarded Osidian and Morunasa as if he were seeing them for the first time. The difference in their eyes made them brothers. Under no circumstances would he hand over any Plainsman or sartlar to their mercy.
'I have nothing to say to you.'
Carnelian had to withstand Osidian's emerald gaze for several moments before he turned it on the Plainsmen.
'Stand forward those among you who understand Vulgate.'
Fern, Ravan, Krow and others made it to the front. Many behind them were glancing towards the island in horror. Carnelian shared the agony of waiting for the next scream.
'No doubt you all wish to return to your tribes in the mountains.'
When all the interpreters save Fern nodded, Carnelian feared for him.
'You don't want to go, Fern?'
When his friend did not flinch, Carnelian was proud of him, but fearful.
'No, Master,' Fern answered.
'Have you then become so enamoured of this place?' Another animal cry bruised the air. Fern flinched with the other Plainsmen, then shook his head, slowly.
'Perhaps then, it's an attachment to myself that keeps you here? Or perhaps to another?' said Osidian and, as he spoke, he turned his head a little towards Carnelian, who pretended not to understand the implication, for Fern's sake.
'Well, savage?'
Carnelian could feel that his friend was struggling not to look at him.
'Since you will not speak, you shall leave with the others.'
As Fern let his gaze fall, Carnelian breathed his relief that it was not worse.
Krow took a step forward, anxious. 'Master, may I stay with you?'
As Osidian regarded him, the youth's face grew shiny with sweat. He ducked his thanks when the Master gave a nod.
Osidian surveyed the Plainsmen. 'You may return to the mountains to escort your tribes across the plain. Once they are safely in their koppies, I expect you back here. You understand me?'
The would-be interpreters all nodded.
Osidian made a loose gesture taking in the Plainsmen crowd. 'Make sure everyone understands. Any man who does not return here shall have me for an enemy.' He flung out a gesture of dismissal and was turning his back on them when a voice spoke out.
