The blaze of the sun managed to enter through Carnelian's slitted eyes to give him a beating headache. The air scorched his lungs. The sun was nearing its greatest height when Ginkga called for a break. Panting, brushing away flies, Carnelian and Fern scrambled for the shade of the Bloodwood Tree as if it were a river in which they might swim. As shadow slipped over them, Carnelian put his head back and groaned with pleasure. A delicious breeze cooled his skin. He saw two girls ladling water out from a jar that lay against the trunk of the tree. Fern called over to them and they came with slow, reluctant steps. They stood uncertain, staring at Carnelian.
Fern grew angry. 'Come on, fetch us some water.'
The girls ran back to the jar.
They shun me,' said Carnelian.
'Both of us. Do you blame them?' Fern opened his arms to display his grimy torso.
Carnelian chuckled. 'I suppose not. You look as if you've been peeled.' He laughed when Fern raised an eyebrow.
'Red's not your colour, Carnie.'
The girls returned with a bowl of water and some roasted fernroot which they carefully put on the ground in front of them. Fern insisted Carnelian drink first. When they had quenched their thirst, they went to sit with their backs against the tree. As they munched away at the fernroot, they gazed across the sun-bleached fernmeadow to the Newditch and into the wavering mirage of the plain beyond.
Carnelian looked round. Fern's red face was crusted black with blood. He was scratching his head, where the curls were stiff with brown matter. Glancing round, he saw Carnelian looking at him. Carnelian thought his friend's eyes very bright.
'Where did you get that hair?'
Fern frowned.
Carnelian looked away, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the world beyond the shade. 'Perhaps I shouldn't have asked.'
'My mother was travelling through the Leper Valleys on her way back from the Mountain when she became separated from the other tributaries. She was raped.'
The murmur of the women's talk was a buzzing of bees. Carnelian turned his head to look at Fern, whose chin was resting on his chest. His eyes were focusing on the fern-root in his hands that he was snapping into little pieces.
'A Maruli?' asked Carnelian.
Fern's chin dug into his chest. 'Smeared all over with ash, yellow-eyed with a ravener grin.'
'It must have been hard for you growing up here.'
'My mother protected me.'
'And, surely, so did the rest of your hearth?'
Fern turned to look at him. 'When I was born, Whin sided with those who urged my mother to expose me on the summit of the Crag.'
'But you're married to her daughter.'
'My mother claims Whin agreed to that because she shared her passion for reuniting their two matriarchal lines, but I don't believe it. As is our custom, I had tried to find a wife in another hearth. Because of the way I was fathered none would have me. My mother must have begged Whin.'
Seeing the anguish in those dark eyes, Carnelian fought a desire to embrace him.
'What's the matter with you?' Fern asked.
Carnelian did not know what to say. He could hear the women on the other side of the tree returning to work and used it as an excuse to rise.
'We'd better get on with it,' he said and, without even glancing at Fern, he strode off to the drag-cradles with their heaped, rotting entrails; their clouds of flies.
The Skyfather be praised,' Fern sighed, as Ginkga announced an end to the day's work.
With a grunt, Carnelian dislodged a quivering mass of membranes from his shoulder. They tumbled with a wet thud onto a drag-cradle, splashing him with mucus. He was past caring. Lifting his gaze to the west, he saw the sun was drowning in its own blood. At least the air had cooled.
'You worked well enough,' said a woman's voice. Turning, Carnelian saw it was Ginkga. He could see how hard it had been for the woman to make that admission.
Thank you, my mother,' he said in Ochre, and Fern echoed him.
The Elder came close. 'You may have bewitched Akaisha but don't imagine the rest of us will leave this as it is.'
Carnelian withered. Her eyes lingered on him a while longer before she went off to join the other women washing themselves beyond the margin of blood-stained earth.
Fern's eyes shone bright in his filthy face. 'My mother will protect you.'
'You're a mess,' Carnelian said, trying to make light of it all.
Fern grinned at him.
Carnelian suddenly itched everywhere. 'I'm desperate to get clean.'
'We'll have to wait our turn,' Fern said, indicating the women with his chin.
'I suppose it's forbidden for us to go up there,' he said, looking with longing at the cedars on the hill.
Fern gave him a heavy nod. The mother trees may only drink their daughters' blood.'
They waited, tormented by itching, until they saw the women plodding back towards the Grove. He and Fern ran to take their place. His friend indicated a patch of dry, clean earth on which he wanted Carnelian to stand, then he rushed to fetch water and pluck some leaves from the Bloodwood Tree.
When Fern returned, Carnelian scrunched the leaves into a ball as he saw his friend do, dipped them in the bucket and then used them to scrub away at his skin. When they had done as much as they could unaided, Fern began doing Carnelian's back. Carnelian submitted to this and, when his friend asked, tried to explain how the scars running down either side of his spine showed the blood-taints of his father and mother.
When Fern was finished he gave Carnelian the leaf-ball. Fern took Carnelian's hesitation for pride. Unwilling to explain his feelings, Carnelian turned Fern and began rubbing at his back. The only other man he had ever done this for was Osidian.
They said nothing to each other as they made the weary climb up through the Grove. Carnelian's heart warmed as his eyes fell on the spreading beauty of what he allowed himself, for the first time, to consider his mother tree. When they reached the edge of her earth, they removed their shoes which they had done their best to clean. Both groaned with pleasure as they sank their feet into the fragrant carpet of needles. Side by side they headed for the hearth, where they could see people already gathering for the evening meal.
When Carnelian came to a halt, Fern stopped too. 'What's the matter?'
'Osidian,' Carnelian said bleak with the realization that he had almost forgotten him. He peered up towards the sleeping hollows. Shapes were moving there, but none that could have been Osidian. He remembered Fern and squeezed his shoulder. 'You go on ahead, I'll join you as soon as I can.'
Without waiting for an answer, he began climbing the slope. His steps faltered as he neared their hollow. He recalled the day spent with Fern, the intimacy of their washing, and felt he had already betrayed Osidian. He took the final steps and looked down into the hollow.
Osidian was lying in it asleep. For several heartbeats, Carnelian regarded him, moaning as his mind touched on a yearning that Osidian should not be there at all. The sound made Osidian stir. As he opened his eyes, Carnelian fought the desire to hide.
'Are you well?' he said with a voice that did not seem his own.
Osidian turned his head to look at him. Carnelian was transfixed by the green-eyed stare. He managed to find his tongue. 'Have you eaten?'
'You eat their filthy food, I will not.'
Carnelian saw the two cakes he had left there that morning were still untouched. The confusion of his emotions fused to anger. 'If you will not eat, my Lord, then you shall die.'
'So be it,' Osidian answered in an eerie voice. His eyes narrowed, seeing something behind Carnelian, then they closed.
Turning, Carnelian saw it was Fern.
'My mother sent me to fetch you.'
