the tree in terror. The reek the creature gave off became the only air there was to breathe. A leg as large as a crag lifted from the ground, hung impossibly in the air, then came down again, punching a tremor into the earth that rattled his teeth. The bows of the creature's chest forged closer, its hide keel rising up to a neck which was leaning a faraway head into the branch-nest of their tree. Carnelian felt the wood shudder as the monster fed.
Fern was laughing with the rest, tears of joy running down his cheeks. Trusting the people round him, Carnelian allowed his fear to abate and began to share in their wonder. His eyes were unable to measure the immensity of the being before him. He became convinced he could feel its massive heart beating the air.
There was a tugging on his shoulder. It was Fern looking sidelong at him.
'A heavener,' the Plainsman breathed. 'Connecting earth and sky. Sacred. I've never seen one so close.' He shook his head in disbelief as he looked back at it. 'Isn't she just the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?' Mesmerized, Carnelian could only nod.
The sun grew stifling hot, forcing Carnelian and Osidian to swathe their heads with their ubas for fear of their skin burning. A breeze stirred a swell in the fern meadows, spreading infinite ripples towards the horizon. Across their path there lay the dazzle of a lagoon. The vast blue dome of the sky was marred only by a teasing of cloud. The euphoria of their encounter with the heavener sustained them for a while. Carnelian shared in their laughter and delight but this mood withered as the sun rose ever higher. Flies plagued him. He grew too weary to consistently lift his feet over the snares of the root-ridged earth and he tripped often. His view of the fernland contracted down to his feet, to his burning throat until at last he caught Fern by the shoulder and demanded some water. Frowning, his friend passed him a skin.
'One mouthful only,' he growled huskily, and when Carnelian protested and pointed out, indignandy, the flashing water that lay in front of them, Fern narrowed his eyes and shook his head.
'We dare not approach open water. The herds cluster along their margins and where they are, raveners will be too. If we are to reach the Twostone alive, we must avoid taking such risks.'
Carnelian looked at him aghast as he lifted the skin, which was less than half full. 'Do you really believe there's enough here to see us through?'
'We'll find caches at which we may refill it.'
Carnelian pushed the waterskin back into Fern's hands and resumed his march through the ferns. However unjustly, he could not help being angry with his friend.
As they made a wide detour around the lagoon, its mirror trembled in the corner of their vision as a throbbing headache. Narrowing his eyes against its glare, Carnetian saw the creeping shimmer at its edge that spoke of the leviathans drinking there. Envy consumed him. Distracted, he caught his foot and crashed to the ground. Carnelian growled at the youths who rushed to help him up, rose by himself nursing another bruise, stumbled on, head bent, grumbling against the heat, the flies, the whole, accursed Earthsky.
As their shadows narrowed away from them, Fern called to Osidian that he thought it better they should make a camp for the night. When Osidian agreed, everyone flopped down. Groaning with relief, Carnelian lay back against the rough fern leaves, feeling the thick stalks bend and snap under his weight. He lay with his eyes closed, listening to his breathing. As this grew more shallow he was able to hear the trilling, the snagging textures of insect flight, the gentle susurration of the breeze among the ferns and a delicate knock, knocking that made him open his eyes and see above him two curling crosier femheads butting against each other. Then he saw the sky's smooth fathomless blue depths and he smiled, contented.
When the Plainsmen began to stir he lifted himself on to one elbow, grunting as his bruises crushed and stretched. He saw how wearily the youths stood and, finding Fern still bent, grinned at him. His friend straightened, grimacing at the pain, and, catching each other's eyes, they both burst into laughter.
'Shall I hunt with you?' Carnelian asked him.
Fern shook his head. The Master wouldn't want us to starve, now would he?'
Carnelian ignited more laughter. Then the Master shall take it upon himself to gather dung to make a fire.'
'That would be kind of him,' said Fern with a grin. He gathered up some youths and they slipped in among the fern stalks, their spear blades the last part of them to vanish.
Carnelian felt Osidian's gaze and, turning, saw in his eyes a green anger. Carnelian felt as if Osidian were accusing him of something but was reluctant to imagine what. When Osidian's fingers strayed up to his rope scar it caused Carnelian to suffer an ache of guilt. He noticed Ravan watching them both with silent fascination. Carnelian turned his back, then chose Krow and a few others to go with him to gather dung.
Carnelian, Krow and the others flattened a clearing among the ferns and with their hands combed the dried matter in towards the centre upon which they built a dung fire. The hunters returned with a single, scrawny saurian.
'We'll just have to make do,' snapped Fern when one of the youths complained.
In the deepening dusk, weariness was turning to bad temper. As the heat of the day faded into a brooding night some quarrelling broke out among the youths, which Fern resolved with surprising patience. Even before they were finished eating, some of the youths had succumbed to sleep.
Each day was the same as the one before. Carnelian lost count of how many had passed since they had come up onto the Earthsky. The success of their evening hunts diminished with their strength. They drank whenever they found a brackish pool trapped between some roots or nestling in the crevice of a tree. Carnelian grew accustomed to his thirst sweetening even the filthiest water. His muscles hardened like drying fruit while weariness seemed to be softening his bones. The faces around him became cadaverous. With the others, he lost the will to speech so that the groans, the mumbling complaints, became the only human sounds he heard.
Each morning Osidian, Ravan and Krow would lead the way and, grumbling, everyone would stumble after them. Carnelian knew well with what growing resentment they followed Osidian because he felt it himself.
'How long shall we have to follow the Master before we accept that he leads us to our deaths?' said Loskai.
Night after night Loskai's complaints had become bolder, but this time there was a rebellious edge to his voice that made Carnelian sit up. All eyes were on Osidian, who sat as he always did, a marble idol, his sight tangled in the brilliance of the fire.
Loskai leapt to his feet and indicated Osidian with his head. 'Can't you see he's already a ravener?' he said in Ochre. 'When we can go no further, who will find us? Who will give us to the sky?'
When Osidian lifted his head to look at Loskai, the Plainsman grew pale. 'What're you babbling about?'
Loskai stared at him slack-mouthed.
Osidian smiled coldly. 'Do you want to lead, barbarian? Well then, I give them to you.' His gaze returned to the fire.
Loskai looked round for support.
Ravan leapt to his feet. 'I'll follow none but the Master.'
Krow joined him.
Fern frowned. 'Would you deny, Loskai, that the Backbone runs unbroken the length of the Earthsky?'
The Plainsman looked blank. Fern sighed. 'Going east we'll come across it eventually.'
'Eventually?' said Loskai snatching at the word as if it might bring him victory.
'If you've a better plan, let's hear it,' Ravan said.
Loskai said nothing.
'Well then, sit down, before you end up sharing Ranegale's fate.'
Loskai's face hardened. Carnelian watched him glance sidelong at Osidian. For some moments the Plainsman stood trapped in the fascinated stares of the youths, before he seated himself clumsily, a murderous light in his eyes.
Carnelian's head bobbed with each step he took. His eyes could see nothing but the endless weave of fernroot across which he was struggling to pick his way. The sun beat down upon his back so that he was breathing the moisture of his own sweat. His whole skin itched. His scar had become so tender he had to keep pulling the uba off it. He was aware of the sour taste in his mouth, his gummed-up eyes, the weakness he had to overcome for each step.
When shouting broke out around him, he looked up blearily, expecting to see a ravener or some other monster wading towards them through the ferns. He could see nothing. He narrowed his eyes to allow himself to
