Carnelian leaned over Osidian to put the cakes down on the ground in front of him. 'One of us at least must work,' he whispered.
When Osidian gave no response, Carnelian rose. At least he had been spared having to face Whin. 'Lead the way,' he said, to the shadow that was Fern.
As he followed him down the Blooding rootstair, Carnelian's thoughts remained behind with Osidian. He only became aware he was chewing the cake when it began to flood his mouth with its peculiar, bitter taste.
A breeze was blowing from the indigo east when they reached the foot of the rootstair. A group of shadows were gathered in front of a wicker gate speaking in low tones with women's voices. The gate creaking open let enough light in under the arching cedars to allow the women to notice Carnelian; as he could tell by the raised tempo of their talk. Fern pushed through their midst so that Carnelian was forced to follow. He sensed their wonder as he moved through them.
Crossing the earthbridge with Fern, he was glad the women remained behind. The easterly was ruffling a swell into the ferngarden. Soon they were walking alongside a drainage ditch beneath the dark, overhanging masses of the magnolias. Laughter carrying towards them over the sighing of the ferns seemed to be the cause of Fern redoubling their pace. Carnelian followed him across another, smaller earthbridge over a forking of the ditch, the prongs of which enclosed a meadow dominated by a huge tree with leaves the colour of old blood. As they crossed this meadow, Carnelian snatched glimpses of Fern's face. Its grim expression did not invite conversation.
The meadow ended at a double wall of soaring magnolias between which ran one of the concentric ditches Carnelian had seen from the summit of the Crag. Taking them through the first line of trees, Fern found yet another bridge. As he stepped onto it, Carnelian could see that the roots of the magnolias buttressed the sides of the ditch so thickly they had forced it into a jagged course. Gazing off to the Koppie's outmost ditch, Carnelian was sure the trees defining its edges were not so ancient. It gave him something to ask Fern.
In response to his question, his friend came to a halt and turned. This is the Outditch which long ago defined the limits of the Koppie, before the Newditch was dug out there.'
Fern set off again, through the second line of magnolias into the wider expanse of the outer ferngardens. They were heading directly towards the Newditch, so that Carnelian began to believe they were making for the open plain. Again he wondered what it was he had agreed to.
Before they reached the Outditch, the drainage ditch they had been walking alongside split in two once again. The arms curved off to meet the Outditch, embracing another triangular fernmeadow, though larger than the first, but which had in it another russet tree. Something gigantic lay beneath its branches, from which wafted the sweet beginnings of decay. A wisp of laughter made Carnelian turn to see figures filtering across the earth- bridge they had just crossed. Carnelian turned back and caught up with Fern, who had almost reached the tree. The morning had become bright enough for Carnelian to see that what lay beneath it was a saurian which, with its horns and sweeping crest, was much like those he had seen pulling wagons along the roads of the Guarded Land.
'A huimur.'
'An earther,' corrected Fern, in Ochre.
One whole flank of the creature had been cut away, revealing the grimy architecture of its ribs. A stench was rising from the blood-soaked earth. Boulders as flat as tables were set about in an arc. Upon these, long flint knives lay in rows.
Fern was scowling. 'Well, here we are beneath the Bloodwood Tree.'
Carnelian stared at the tree and spoke his thought aloud. 'Bloodwood?'
For an answer, Fern lifted one of the flint knives, strode towards the trunk and swung a slash into it. The cut began to weep along its length. Drawing closer, Carnelian saw the tree appeared to be bleeding.
About three dozen women and a few girls gathered beneath the Bloodwood Tree. Under the pressure of their scrutiny, Carnelian did not know where to look. Fern hung his head. The girls chattered and pointed. The women laughed, nervously.
'Don't you all have work to do?'
Carnelian recognized the Elder, Ginkga. The crowd dispersed as she came through them. She clamped some bone pins in her lips. As she approached Carnelian and Fern, she twisted her hair into a tress, then wound it tightly around her head. She came to a halt in front of them and looked up into Carnelian's face. One at a time, she took the pins from her mouth and inserted them into her coil of salt-beaded hair. Carnelian tried to hold her gaze, but eventually he had to look away.
'You two will load the offal onto the drag-cradles,' she said, when her mouth was free. She pointed to where five cradles were laid out in a line well beyond the shade of the tree. It was Carnelian who led Fern off towards them. Carnelian could smell them before he was close enough to see they were caked with gore. Infants screaming drew his attention to the open ground where he saw them chasing each other among rows of frames, many of which were hung with ribbons of flesh adjusting heavily in the breeze.
Carnelian grimaced at the filthy drag-cradles. 'What're we supposed to do?' he asked Fern. His friend gave a shrug for an answer.
The women were painting each other's faces red. Those that were done went to stand around the boulder tables testing the edges of the flints. Some had to be knapped sharp. Blood-faced, two women were appraising the saurian corpse as if it were a house they were about to demolish. Soon they were in among its bones, hacking away with their knives. The hunks of meat they released were caught by other women who lugged them over to the boulders, where they were sheared into slices and then ribbons. Carnelian watched as the girls began knotting these into ropes which they wound around their arms like yarn. Bloody to the armpits, the girls carried the meat away from the tree and draped it over the frames as if it were washing being hung out to dry.
Ginkga's voice carried over to Carnelian and Fern. 'You two.'
They exchanged a look of resignation and went to her. She confronted them arms red to the elbows, face the colour of fresh blood.
'You should take off as much as you can.'
Fern pulled off his robe and, reluctantly, Carnelian followed his lead. They both endured the ribald comments the women made about their bodies.
Ginkga offered them a bowl that appeared to be filled with blood. 'You're here to do penance for your insult to the Mother. You must wear her colour as we do.'
Fern scowled, but took the bowl. He kneeled and put it on the ground and motioned Carnelian to join him. Facing each other, they dipped their fingers in the bowl and smeared the redness over their faces under Ginkga's grim supervision. When they were done, she led them to their work. Shouldering the slimy sag of a lung between them, they struggled to heave it back to the drag-cradles.
Sweltering, they laboured, their torsos and their heads itching with gore. Carnelian had tried to make a joke about their red faces but Fern was not much inclined to humour. The sun had brought with it a plague of flies that swarmed the growing mounds of offal. A constant procession of people came to stare. Worst of all for Carnelian was the mob of jeering children that had collected, who hung around him as he worked, coming as close as they dared. Already weary, past nausea from the stench, their baiting was almost more than he could bear.
Fern gave him a look of sympathy. 'At least their antics are driving away the flies.'
Carnelian frowned. 'I'd prefer the flies.'
Fern chuckled.
'I'm glad at least it amuses you.' Fern looked concerned. 'I didn't mean -' Carnelian cut off the apology with his hand. 'I know you didn't.'
'If I asked her, perhaps Mother Ginkga would send them away.'
Carnelian began to shake his head, then winced as it adhered to the bundle of tendons he was carrying over his shoulder. The children laughed, delighted, and he growled, scattering them.
The Standing Dead haunt their nightmares. To see one of them here, doing this work…' Fern shook his head, frowning, himself overcome by the wonder of it.
'It's not that I'm blaming them,' said Carnelian. 'I just wish they'd leave me alone.'
They'll tire of it.'
For some time after that Carnelian despaired they ever would, but gradually the gang began to thin until the last few children were wandering back across the earthbridge, making for the shade of their mother trees.
