be tinder-dry.
Fern spoke again. 'If we burn them now, any fire that comes across the plain will find nothing here to consume and so turn aside.'
Carnelian gazed out over the plain and his breathing stilled as 'he contemplated how easily it could all turn to flame.
Every day after that, a ferngarden was set alight, beginning with the westernmost and moving progressively closer to the Grove. Soon, while at his work, Carnelian was able to watch the neighbouring field being sown with fire. Starting at its western margin, gradually retreating with the breeze at their backs, people wrapped in soaked blankets beat smoke from the flames as they steered the smoulder over the land.
The day that they burned the Eastgarden, Carnelian and Fern were spared their labours. From the safety of the Homeditch they stood and watched the Bloodwood Tree sifting clots of smoke through its branches. That evening and for many after, they had to quit the Grove, for the breeze carried the smoke in among the mother trees. Carnelian took his turn at moving along the eastern run of the Homewalk, his mouth and nose smothered beneath his soaked uba, his eyes stinging, making sure that, though serpents of blue smoke might be curling among their trunks, no spark would live long enough to harm the mother trees.
At last, men returning from the lagoon announced it had shrunk to brackish pools. What water they had managed to bring back they distributed direcdy among the hearths. Standing round with Akaisha, Whin and the others,
Carnelian saw their allowance was not even enough to fill their water jar halfway.
Akaisha tasted it and, grimacing, spat it out. This isn't good enough to drink.' She smiled grimly round at her hearthkin, then pointed at the jar. 'Wash yourselves as best you can with that. There'll be no more washing until we reach the mountains. I'm going to meet with the other Elders.'
Sil touched her emaciated arm. 'My mother, can we take water from the cistern to drink?' 'A little,' Akaisha said and walked away. Carnelian caught her up and fell in step. 'Migration?' 'A few days at most.' 'Why do we delay?'
'We daren't expose the Tribe to the plain until we are certain the raveners are gone.'
They walked on some more in silence. The charcoal reek of burning still persisted disturbingly in the Grove.
'I'm worried about Ravan, the others,' said Carnelian.
She stopped and looked him in the eye. 'Don't you think their mothers are too? Thirst will bring them in.'
She took leave of him and he watched her go. Peering out through the cedar canopy, he hoped she was right. He imagined Osidian and the others out there alone in what had become a desert. If he came in, it was certain the Elders would have him killed. They had waited long; had suffered enough humiliation. A turmoil of emotions churned Carnelian's stomach. It was a while before he remembered that Osidian's death might be closely followed by his own.
Next day, half the Tribe came down to the djada field to bale the dried meat and load it onto the drag- cradles that had been laid flat on the ground in neat rows. Night was falling when the job was done.
With Poppy, Carnelian proudly surveyed his stack of djada coils. 'It took longer than I thought.'
'It always does,' said Fern. 'Come on or we'll be late for the feast.'
'Feast?' Carnelian asked seeing how sad Fern had become.
His friend glanced at Poppy. Tonight is Skai's Tithing Feast. Tomorrow, he leaves for the Mountain.'
The girl took his hand and clung to it. Sharing the pain, Carnelian was relieved his friend's eyes held no blame.
Together they wandered up past the rows of drag-cradles.
There's a lot of djada, isn't there, Poppy?' Carnelian said. The girl gave the merest nod.
'It'll have to feed us all until we return, as well as the aquar on the journey,' said Fern.
'How long will we be away?'
Fern shrugged. 'Until the Rains come: between four and five moons.'
Carnelian squeezed Poppy's hand. 'It'll be quite an adventure, won't it?' She gave him a watery smile.
He and Fern continued making conversation about the migration as they passed under the Old Bloodwood Tree. The ferngarden on the other side of the Outditch was black and barren.
'I can't get used to the stench of burning.'
The Rains will wash it away,' said Fern.
His friend's blank expression made Carnelian certain Fern was thinking about his daughter. Carnelian walked the rest of the way brooding about whether he would survive to suffer the day of Poppy's Tithing Feast.
They did not hear the usual talk and laughter as they approached the hearth. Instead there was a murmur, as if people were afraid of making echoes. They formed two rows of shadows enclosing the fire glow. One rose; it was Akaisha coming to meet them.
'We've been waiting for you,' she whispered, then led them back towards the hearth.
As Carnelian came fully into the firelight, he made a smile for all the sad faces ruddy in its glow. There was one among them he had not expected to see.
'Ravan,' he gasped. 'Have the others returned with you…?'
Vestiges of hunting paint deepened the shadows around the youth's eyes. They choose to remain with the Master.'
Then why are you here?' said Fern.
'I've come as the Master's emissary.'
Fern snorted a laugh. ''Emissary?' Do you really believe you're going to impress anyone with those airs?'
Ravan reddened. 'I suppose you consider yourself fit to speak for the Tribe. I would've thought the past season hardly prepared you for anything better than carrying offal.'
Fern's murderous advance on Ravan was stopped by Akaisha's voice. 'Shut up, both of you! You shame me even more than you shame yourselves. Have you forgotten whose night this is?'
Fern paled and returned to his place. Ravan remained standing, not even looking at his mother, still glaring at his brother.
'Sit down,' Akaisha hissed through her teeth.
Ravan glanced at her, then shrugged before dropping insolently onto the bench. Separating from Poppy, Carnelian waited to see her in her place, then he walked round Ravan to sit beside Fern. Sil was watching her husband with concern. Akaisha was looking down at her lap. When she lifted her head sorrow was softening her face.
'Whin, dear, will you be first?'
As Whin rose, Carnelian saw Skai sitting where the rootbenches met; Akaisha's traditional place. Leaning over the pot, Whin ladled some of its contents into a bowl. She held it up to Skai and looked at him through her tears.
'My heart will ache for you for ever, my little one.'
Carnelian watched as one by one his hearthkin took the bowl, put a little more broth into it and pledged him their love. Then Akaisha told Carnelian it was his turn. He glanced at Whin, at the boy's parents. He was overcome that they should show no hatred for him on such a terrible day. It was all he could do to manage the ritual without spilling the bowl along with his tears.
Beneath the Crying Tree, the Tribe formed a ring around the five tithe children and the men and women who were to accompany them to the Mountain. Appraising the gathering with a Master's eye, Carnelian saw a crowd of unkempt savages standing around a brown-leafed tree among the ashes of a dying land. In their midst the tithe children seemed a beggarly tribute to pay the Lords of the Three Lands in Osrakum. Carnelian looked around him at the dark faces and saw their human pain. Shame crushed his false aloofness. It was in his blood, his bones, that he felt the value of what was being given up. These children were flesh torn living from the body of the Tribe. It only took the thought that the following year Poppy would be standing there for him to be suffering with them. He drew her closer to his side.
'Why is he here?' cried a woman's voice.
Harth, pointing at Carnelian, drew the eyes of the Tribe to him. He broke into a sweat. Akaisha clasped his
