away.
Carnelian saw Fern and Ravan had untied the corpses and went to help lift them out of their saddle-chairs. Struggling with the noisome burdens, they laid them against the rock at some distance from the camp.
As Fern stood over his father's body, Carnelian could not tell if there were tears mixing with the rain running down his face. He took hold of Fern's shoulder.
'You have my gratitude for defending us back there.'
Fern looked into Carnelian's eyes. 'You know our speech, don't you?' he said using the barbarian tongue.
Carnelian's first instinct was to pretend not to understand, but he saw no threat in Fern's eyes. 'How did you find out?'
'At the kraal, you answered Ranegale when he threatened you in our tongue,' said Fern, shifting to Vulgate.
Carnelian thought back, then nodded, remembering it.
'Is this something all Masters can do?'
'No.' Carnelian saw Fern was waiting for more. 'Many in my household were chosen from the flesh tithe your people give… are forced to send to the Mountain.'
Fern frowned. 'How many Plainsman tongues do you know?'
'Plainsman?' said Carnelian, echoing the unfamiliar word.
Fern touched his chest then indicated the other raiders. 'It is what we all are.' He spread his hands as if smoothing a cloth over a table. 'Our tribes cover the Earthsky. How many of our tongues do you know?'
Carnelian shrugged. The one you speak. What others are there?'
Fern regarded him with frowning disbelief. 'Our tongue is peculiar to our tribe.'
'Surely the languages spoken by other tribes will be similar to your own.'
Fern frowned. 'We have such difficulty understanding one another we often resort to the Vulgate which the veterans bring back with them from the legions.'
Carnelian stared at him. Could Ebeny have come from the Ochre tribe?
'It's a strange coincidence,' he said.
'Very strange,' said Fern, clearly troubled.
Carnelian ran his hand down the blanket covering his leg. It was hard to believe it was not Ebeny's work.
That is a woman's weave,' said Fern.
Carnelian looked up. The colour?'
Fern nodded. 'Women wear the earth's hues: men, the colour of the angry sky.'
'Still, I will wear it. It reminds me of my… Plainsman mother.'
'Why have you been pretending not to understand our tongue?'
'It is a weapon I might have need of.' They stood for some moments regarding each other. It was Carnelian who spoke first. 'Will you tell the others?'
Fern chewed his lip. 'I don't know yet.'
Carnelian could see he would just have to trust him. 'If you'll help me, we can move my brother away from the others. I'll stay with him and not bother you.'
Fern shook his head. 'I want you to sit with us. The decisions we'll be making will concern you.' He must have sensed Carnelian's reluctance. 'If Cloud and Ranegale decide you are to die, I’ll stand with you against them.'
Carrielian stared in disbelief, but the fierce determination in the Plainsman's face did not invite discussion and so he nodded his assent.
They carried Osidian between them. Carnelian was certain he had been much heavier. Ranegale and Loskai made angry protests as Fern urged the youths away from the rock to allow Osidian to be laid out in what shelter the overhang provided. Ignoring the stares, Carnelian took a sodden blanket, crouched and smoothed it over him. He looked for life in the discoloured face but it might as well have been wax. Sick at heart, he rose and turned to face the Plainsmen. Though only the men looked directly at him, he could feel the general resentment Carnelian could not imagine what had possessed him. Even if Osidian were to live, would he thank him for having brought them into the wilderness among barbarians?
Fern indicated a place beside him. Carnelian hesitated, but then sat beside the Plainsman, hunching to alleviate the ache in his back. A nudge made him lift his head to find Fern offering him what appeared to be a bale of rope and a flint knife. Carnelian took one in each hand. The rope was heavier than he had expected. He brought it closer and curled his nose up at its odour.
'Djada,' Fern whispered into his ear.
Carnelian saw the youth beside him waiting expectantly. He pulled a length of the slimy rope through his fingers and cut off a piece then offered the rope and knife. The youth showed him he had his own blade, but took the rope. Carnelian turned to hand the flint to Fern, but the Plainsman was staring at the ground, chewing. Carnelian put the knife down in front of him and, overcoming his disgust, he bit off a chunk from his djada. As he began to chew, he found it was, as he expected, the same dried meat he had been eating for days. It did not taste as bad as it smelled.
Continuing to soften the meat in his mouth, he watched the coil being handed round. Ranegale, his eye fixed balefully on Fern, lifted his finger in accusation but Cloud, looking at Carnelian, spoke first.
This one here read the name of my tribe from my hand.'
Ranegale turned his anger on Cloud. The hands of the corpses could've been cut off.' Fern glowered. They're my kin.' Ranegale flung his head back in exasperation. There was no time to cut anything,' said Cloud. 'But the sacrilege -'
'Whatever harm might come to us from that, perhaps we've suffered it already.' The Elder glanced sadly in the direction where he knew the three corpses lay.
'And the Standing Dead?' asked Ranegale, forming ears with his hands.
'Remember it was this one,' Fern indicated Carnelian with his chin, 'who warned me of the tattoos.'
Ranegale began a protest, but Fern waved him down, speaking quickly. 'Do none of you see any significance in the way they came to us?'
Carnelian shared the general incomprehension.
Fern looked each of the men in the eyes. 'We've never asked how it came about that we should find two of the Standing Dead as slaves among sartlar and painted black.'
'I don't follow you,' said Cloud. 'When are men's bodies made wholly black, my father?'
Cloud shrugged. 'When they are dead.' Fern's eyes caught a reflection of faraway lightning. 'Exactly.'
'But they weren't dead,' said Ravan. 'What are you trying to tell us, Fern?' Cloud asked softly.
Fern ran his hand down over his curls plastered flat by the rain. His eyebrows rose. 'I'm not really sure.'
Ranegale let his hands fall and gave a snort ‘I think he's trying to tell us he believes it was the Skyfather who sent the Standing Dead to us.'
A shiver ran up Carnelian's spine. Though the Masters used red for mourning and green for resurrection, their Black God in his many aspects was lord of the sky, but also, death.
'Is that what you mean?' Cloud asked Fern.
Fern seemed an uncertain child as he looked at Cloud. 'I suppose so, my father.'
'Because of the bitumen on their bodies?'
'And one of them bears a mark.' Fern stood up and walked through the youths to where Osidian was lying. As Cloud and then Ranegale and Loskai followed him, Carnelian resisted the temptation to join them. Instead, he craned round to watch them leaning over Osidian. Ravan had taken a few steps towards them.
'Look at his forehead,' Fern was saying.
Cloud straightened and looked at Fern. The mark is in his skin?'
'However hard I rubbed, it wouldn't come off.' 'It looks like an eye,' said Loskai. 'More like the mark that
