Carnelian lifted Poppy down and crouched to say goodbye to her. He had forgotten the power her eyes had over him.
'You'll have to be going now, Poppy,' he said, his voice breaking.
Crying, she shook her head. 'You must come. You must.'
For a moment he contemplated running down to the aquar, carrying her off into safety.
He glanced up to find Akaisha standing over them. Reading his eyes, she edged closer.
'If the girl doesn't take her chance with the rest, those who will find out today they're to lose their children will kill her.'
Akaisha's face seemed carved from her mother tree.
Carnelian fought panic as she reached out for Poppy. He could feel her trembling against his chest. Her eyes looking up into his were those of an animal in a trap.
He kissed her, wanting to, needing to give her some comfort. Til be watching you,' he whispered in her ear. It was an impulse he instantly regretted. He cursed himself silendy. Turned to stone, he let Akaisha pull Poppy off him. He watched the little girl glancing round, catching the fear stiffening every face. When her gaze returned to him, he saw her hunger for confirmation of his promise and he could not deny her the nod she wanted. His stomach clenched as he saw the courage it gave her. She nodded back as he watched Akaisha walk away with her. Carnelian became aware Fern was looking at him with a strange burning in his eyes. Carnelian felt suddenly overwhelmed by the enormity of what was about to happen. He felt queasy imagining the pain, the humiliations Fern would suffer before his execution in faraway Makar.
Fern handed his child to his wife. 'I'll join you in a moment.'
Sil burst into tears and he embraced her, muttering into her neck. When he released her she glanced round at her mother, as if Whin might forbid Fern. Instead, her mother gathered her and Leaf into her arm and, leaning against each other, they made off after Akaisha who had turned to wait, Poppy hanging miserably from her arm. Whin's sisters followed, with their husbands, their daughters, their grandchildren coming after them.
Carnelian forgot them, seeing Fern's face. It had a pallor which appalled him. Such bloodless lips, but his eyes were burning.
'Please forgive my wife.'
'She has reason to hate me.'
'She doesn't hate you.' Fern examined Carnelian's face. 'Will you take care of her for me?'
'Gladly,' Carnelian replied. 'And Ravan?'
Carnelian felt sick. He wanted so much to confess the choice he had made to return to see Fern and Poppy and which had freed Osidian from his oath.
Fern misunderstood his hesitation. 'I know that recently he's been unbearable, but he has a good heart.'
‘I’ll do what I can.'
Fern nodded slowly, pondering. The Tribe might well turn against you and your brother.'
Carnelian could not bear hearing that lie. 'He's not my brother.'
Unaccountably, Fern smiled.
'You knew?'
'I'm not a fool.'
'You must know that I did it to -' Fern stopped him by putting his fingers to Carnelian's lips. 'I know.'
Carnelian bit his tongue against the further questions he wanted to ask.
'My mother will stand by you, but even she might not be able to save you.'
'I'll not allow her to stand alone against the Elders. She's done enough for us already.'
Fern's eyes flashed. 'You will accept every scrap of help offered you.'
Carnelian's heart was stilled by Fern's intensity.
Fern glanced round and Carnelian saw Akaisha and the others were already ascending the rootstair towards the Crag. Fern turned back.
'In the last hope, you must cling to our mother tree and beg for sanctuary. None then may touch you unless my mother allows it.'
Carnelian grew exasperated. 'Forget me, what about you?'
Fern took hold of Carnelian's arm and held it hard enough that it hurt. 'Did you hear what I told you?'
Angrily, Carnelian twisted his arm free. T heard, but today, I'm more concerned about you.'
Fern grew paler. 'Don't be, I'm already dead.'
'Run. What's to stop you taking an aquar, riding far away from here?'
Fern managed to find some laughter which, for a moment, made him seem carefree.
'I'd go with you,' Carnelian said, surprising himself.
Fern frowned and shook his head, looking at Carnelian hungrily. 'You're a strange man, Carnie. You know I can't go. If I did, they'd punish the Tribe instead of me.'
'We could ride out after you, after the Gatherer has taken you away from here. We could take you from him.'
Fern scowled. 'You're being stupid now. You must know that only when the Gatherer reaches his next koppie in safety will he give the Tribe the warrant which we'd need to protect us from the Standing Dead should anything happen to him.'
His brow smoothed. 'Stop fighting this, Carnie. I'm a dead man. I've been one since I deserted the legions. I've lived with this doom for more than a year until it's like a stench in my nostrils.'
His eyebrows raised. 'You know, it's almost a relief.' He grew sombre again. 'I'm only glad you at least won't have to witness what they'll do to me today. Let's say goodbye now.'
The terror Fern was repressing was squeezing tears out of the corners of his eyes however much he clenched his teeth to stop them. Carnelian took a step forward and enveloped Fern in his arms. He felt Fern's arms slipping round him. Carnelian squeezed the solid body, digging his chin into the shoulder. He felt Fern's lips against his neck; felt his warm tears and turned into them; found Fern's neck and kissed it. They clung together thus and
Carnelian felt an intensity of desire which made him cling all the harder, not knowing how to express it.
It was the metal screeching of trumpets that broke their embrace. It gave a voice to their pain. They could not look at each other. *Stay here…' growled Fern. 'For my sake.' He turned away and Carnelian watched him move to the rootstair, then climb it until he had disappeared behind the traceries of the branches of the mother tree.
As Carnelian sat morose with his back against the mother tree, the trumpets sounded again. Their sinister screams forced on him thoughts and feelings about the Masters, about Osrakum. Even after the fanfare had fallen silent, the memory of the sound lingered like a smell, making the shadows under the mother tree strange and menacing.
He could not help thinking about the way he and Osidian had parted. A conviction was rising within him that their destinies had separated. He had chosen the Tribe over Osidian. A time would come when he would have to pay for making that choice. He feared that others might also have to pay.
He clamped his head between his fists and made himself remember why he had defied Osidian. 'Fern and Poppy,' he said through clenched teeth and saw again that last look she had given him. Why had he made her that promise?
He rose, and stumbled among the many bowls still standing with their water to find the one he had used to wash Poppy. Her hair formed a sad pattern around the bowl. He hesitated, then spilled some of its water on a clear patch of earth and rubbed it in with his palms. The mud he made looked like blood. He cursed. It seemed an omen of death. He gouged some of the red stuff onto his fingers and smeared it over his face, round his neck, his lower legs and feet, the backs of his hands. He searched around for the largest blanket he could find and wrapped it round him.
Another fanfare made his heart jump up into his throat How much would he be endangering the Tribe? Though he told himself he was doing this for Poppy, perhaps he was only desiring to satisfy his curiosity to see the childgatherer that had haunted his childhood. Was it a craving for one last glimpse of the exquisite wonders of Osrakum? He felt a surge of self-loathing. He was a Master. He held his hands up. Nothing could hide the brightness that lay beneath the brown. Nothing could change that he was a Master. Osidian was right; his kind had
