'It was his brother who noticed the Ichorian,' Carnelian said, feeling as if he were trying to deflect some attack.
'An older brother?'
'A younger, Ravan.'
'I see.'
Carnelian had a feeling that the night was taking possession of Osidian. The Empress must be aware we still live.'
'Why should she?' the darkness said.
Carnelian explained their ride past the watch-tower. 'So you see -'
'Most likely, the Wise will have seen us but as to whether they shall reveal this to my mother or my holy brother, that is another matter altogether; and one which will be determined by the balance of power in Osrakum.'
A harrowing thought occurred to Carnelian. 'Will they search for us?'
The thought of the Wise is unfathomable,' said Osidian in a tone which was intended to terminate any further speculation.
'Please finish your account of how we came here.'
Carnelian did, sensing throughout how interested Osidian had become in Fern and Ravan. Carnelian concluded the tale with Osidian coming awake. He was reluctant to touch on the horror of the previous night.
Tell me what you have learned about these barbarians.'
Carnelian relayed what he knew, but after a while, Osidian interrupted.
'You seem strangely privy to much which passes between them.'
Carnelian hesitated a moment before answering. The tongue they speak is one I have known since I was a child.'
'You are telling me you comprehend their barbarian speech?'
Carnelian could hear Osidian's amazement. 'It was the tongue my wet nurse, Ebeny, spoke.'
That any wide assemblage of barbarians should speak a single tongue stands in vivid contrast to the belief the Wise hold that their languages are legion.'
The Wise are not in error. These people have told me their language is only one of many.'
'Which you just happen to have been taught by one of your household slaves?'
'I have told you before she was much more than a slave.'
'How can you explain such a singular coincidence?'
It was something Carnelian had been unable to resolve. He could see how this development only served to harden Osidian's belief that some force was guiding their destiny. Dread welled up in him.
'Do they know you speak their tongue?'
'Please, Osidian. No more questions. I am tired. I cannot -'
'Do they know?'
'Fern does.'
'And has not revealed this to any other or else they would all know.'
Carnelian thought this a rather patronizing assumption. He hoped Osidian would say nothing more.
'Who leads them?'
Osidian's voice seemed one with the night. Carnelian did not want to answer, but to seek the escape of sleep. Anticipation of Osidian repeating the question became almost painful until Carnelian felt compelled to say: 'Look for the man who has suffered almost as many mutilations as a Sapient.'
In the long, weary days that followed, they struggled through the swamp following Ranegale and Krow who had become his shadow. They tried to keep to the mounds and runs of higher ground but these were often so overgrown they were forced down into the quagmire where they sank up to their knees in the stinking mud. A leg had to be dragged out, swung forward, then allowed to be sucked back in again. Fatigue made each step seem their last. They had to make innumerable rest stops. If they were fortunate, they would find a knoll to climb: if they were not, they might have to clamber up into the branches of a tree. Talk was rare. People chewed djada and licked at a saltstone, staring with unfocused eyes. Osidian's emaciated body was sheened with sweat as he struggled to breathe. His gaunt face betrayed his exhaustion but his eyes were green embers. Miserable, Carnelian tried to peer into his heart through those eyes, without success. Osidian seemed focused on some problem. Sometimes his lips moved as if he were holding a conversation.
As the darkness thickened round them, Ranegale would call a halt. Sometimes, Carnelian would be so grateful that tears would squeeze from his eyes even as his muscles went into their usual spasm. In the camps, only Osidian would not jump when an unhuman cry came filtering through the dusk. When they heard crashings near them, they would wait almost without breathing until they had passed. Osidian would sit as calmly as if he were reposing in a garden. More and more, Ravan was to be seen beside him. Once, coming awake, Carnelian heard two voices rustling in the dark. Though he could make out no words he knew it was Osidian whispering to Ravan. Something made him fear for the youth. He felt something else which, eventually, he was unable to deny. He was jealous of the one person Osidian did not treat as a stranger.
Rain began to fall incessantly day and night. Nothing ever got a chance to dry. The djada became slimy. Before they ate, they had to scrape off a fur of purple-black mould. Disgust and the bitter taste made it hard to keep down. The blankets were transformed into a sodden burden which at last they had to reluctantly discard. The leather of the Plainsmen's shoes swelled up and chafed their feet so that they were forced to take them off and walk barefoot with the two Standing Dead. Each morning brought an aching rise from unrestful sleep with nothing before them but another slogging, punishing day. As night approached they would drop into the mud not knowing whether they were closer to the Earthsky or even if they had been plodding around in circles.
'We're lost,' said Ravan.
Ranegale lifted his head and cupped a hand to listen. 'Lost,' shouted Ravan. Ranegale shrugged.
Osidian rose. Carnelian thought that, though still painfully thin, there was something in the way Osidian moved that made him look more like himself. As he watched him look round at the Plainsmen slumped here and there against the fern trunks, Carnelian wondered what he was up to.
'I know the way if you'll follow me.'
Carnelian came fully awake as Ravan translated Osidian's words for those youths who did not have Vulgate.
Ranegale sneered at him. 'Why are you bothering to spread his nonsense, boy?'
'Which of you wish to get home alive?' asked Osidian.
'How could you possibly know the way?' said Fern.
Osidian looked at him. The sorcery of the Masters is beyond your understanding, barbarian.'
Irritated, Fern glanced at Carnelian. Osidian saw their exchange of looks and frowned. He addressed the youths.
'Which of you will follow me?'
As Ravan relayed what Osidian had said, Carnelian saw hope perking them up.
Ranegale surged to his feet. 'How do you believe one of the Standing Dead could possibly know a way through this swamp when even we do not?'
The youths looked crestfallen. Ravan stood to face Ranegale. Fern, now also on his feet, made to move to his brother's side, but Loskai signed aggressively for him to stay where he was.
'Why don't you just face it, Ranegale,' said Ravan. 'Every decision you've made has been bad, and have you forgotten it was the Master who drove away the demon and not you? I say that's worth respecting. If he now says he can get us home, I for one would like to let him try.'
Ranegale drew close enough to Ravan that his threats sprayed spittle on his face. The youth pulled back saying something. Ranegale put a hand up to hear. When the youth mocked the gesture Ranegale knocked him to the ground.
Fern leapt forward but Osidian stood in his way. For a moment it seemed the Plainsman would throw himself on the Master. In conflict, Carnelian hesitated to take Osidian's part. Fern, unable to hold the Master's gaze, looked away. Osidian turned, taking in Ravan who was nursing his shoulder, Loskai getting ready for violence and then the staring youths.
'Does anyone here believe Ranegale will get you out of this mess?'
