in these preparations. Osidian allowed him to unwind the uba from his head. Carnelian saw the rope scar. Osidian's hair was thick and Carnelian liked the feel of it, but he began to shear it off. He sensed Osidian examining him as he worked. The flints yanked at the hair but Osidian did not seem to feel any pain. After a while, Carnelian sat back. Osidian's head was covered with a thick uneven stubble. Carnelian smiled. 'You look somewhat bizarre.'
He went to scoop some water from the pool. It was ice in his hands but Osidian did not flinch when Carnelian trickled it over his head. He thumbed some of the paste from the pot and rubbed it between the palms of his hands. Seeing Osidian's raised eyebrows, he said: 'It is a kind of soap they make from ochre, ashes and fat which the women use. It will make the blades gbde.'
He lathered the red stuff over Osidian's head, disliking its look of blood. With care he began to scrape the stubble off with a flint, making sure he turned to a new edge before the previous one became blunt.
When he was done, he urged Osidian to go and wash. Osidian surprised him. He threw off his robe and slid naked into the pool. Carnelian cried out with joy as he watched him submerge.
When Osidian broke the surface, his face was white. He clambered out, dripping, and Carnelian got up and welcomed him into the blanket, wrapping it round him, kissing his reddened scalp.
Osidian embraced him hard through the blanket. 'Surely you don't imagine I'm prepared to suffer all this alone?'
Carnelian melted into the comfort of his arms, his Vulgate, his boyish smile. He shivered with delight as he allowed Osidian to shave him. His black hair fell around him onto the rock as Osidian's arms crossed and recrossed his line of sight. Carnelian had plenty of time to decide he liked the new honeyed tones of Osidian's skin.
When it was done, Osidian stood up and with mock imperiousness pointed at the pool. 'In there.'
Carnelian did as he was told, disrobing and leaping into the pool before Osidian could push him. He gasped as the iciness engulfed him. But then Osidian was there beside him and the smallness of the pool forced their bodies close. The touching of their skin led to passion. Lust took Carnelian by surprise. Its heat was almost violence. The release when it came left them both gasping. They enjoyed each other again, at first fiercely but then with increasing tenderness until they were left with hardly enough energy to creep into the blanket. They huddled together, getting warm. They grew quiet as a melancholy settled over the glade. The water rushed and foamed. The goose-pimples stood out on their skin as they used its sound to send shivers up and down their backs; ripple upon ripple sheathing them in the ecstasy that was the Chosen sacrament of the feeling from the sound of rain.
Carnelian felt tension returning to Osidian's body. He needed to talk to him before he retreated back into remoteness. He forced Osidian to turn his head and held it while he looked deep into his eyes.
'We've enough here for happiness.'
Osidian tried to shake his head from side to side.
'Let Osrakum go,' Carnelian pleaded. 'Let it all go. Only when you do will your heart begin to heal.'
Tears welled into Osidian's eyes and with them, anger. Carnelian was thrown away as Osidian surged to his feet, glaring.
'I will not let it go,' he bellowed in Quya.
He threw his head back and let the madness brighten in his eyes.
'I shall return to where I belong. I shall bring down vengeance on my enemies.' He bent to pick up his robe and threw it on.
Shocked, Carnelian rose to face him.
Osidian's eyes were haunted fire. 'You can come with me or remain behind with the savages if that is your desire.'
Naked to his heart, Carnelian shrugged. He stooped to pick up his robe and put it on, fighting back tears that came from the rage of defeat. He wound his uba round his head. He punched the blanket back into the pack. Saw Osidian waiting for his answer, shrugged again, turned away and, careless of the boulders, strode up the slope.
They climbed into the heights in angry silence. Carnelian maintained a furious pace until all he could hear was his own harsh breathing. The sun was setting the mountains aflame when they agreed to stop for the night. Carnelian gathered branches with which he made a fire. They sat with the flames between them, nibbling djada. As darkness brought with it bitter cold, the flames dwindled and there was no more fuel. Eventually they were driven into huddling together. Neither said anything. Pride would not allow Carnelian to speak first. Osidian's warm body awakened passion which Carnelian smothered with sleep.
The sky woke them with its flawless blue. Carnelian sat up and saw the sun had not yet risen above the mountains. He longed for its heat.
'Shall we go up or down?' Osidian asked.
Carnelian was sure if they climbed higher another night would kill them, but what was there to return to? Besides, he was not going to admit any fear to Osidian and so he shrugged.
Osidian's face turned to stone. Then we shall climb.'
Carnelian was thankful the effort of the ascent put life back into his aching limbs. When the first sun-rays fell on him, Carnelian called for a halt. Both basked like lizards on the rocks while they chewed djada. Then Osidian led them, climbing ever higher until the valley below had become merely a green wedge and the rest of the world spread turquoise and umber into the endless distance.
They made sure to gather enough wood to keep the fire going well into the night. Still, when he woke the next morning, Carnelian's body was ice and it was with difficulty he managed to move at all. He searched for signs of the Tribe but the land below was still in twilight and he could see nothing moving save for an eagle curving its flight.
Osidian asked him the same question he had asked the day before and, again, though it cost him, Carnelian gave another shrug. So it was they climbed even higher until Carnelian was rasping breath, the path welling in his vision. They had to stop often to get their breath back; to slow the hammering of their hearts.
One time Carnelian caught Osidian looking longingly down to the valley, but when he saw he was being observed, Osidian forced them on. That night neither of them could keep anything in their stomachs. They sipped the little water they could find. Even supposing they had had the strength to gather firewood, they had climbed above the trees and there was none to be had. Under a frost of stars, they clung to each other all night and hardly slept.
In the morning Carnelian could not move. He lay squinting at the sky feeling strangely elated, until a ray of sunlight found his face and woke thought in him.
'Sky-sickness,' he croaked. He knew it, having suffered from it on his first, over-rapid ascent of the Pillar of Heaven in Osrakum.
He marshalled his strength and, at last, groaning, managed to roll over. He stared for a long time at the deathly face peering from the blanket before he remembered who it was. Grief came like lightning. Carnelian fell onto Osidian and managed to scrape away the cloth so that his lips found the icy neck beneath. A pounding in his head made him blind. His lips could feel only the merest tremor of life in Osidian's body. Carnelian rolled back and saw nothing but blue. Osidian had not regained his former strength. It would be so easy to fall asleep, to die. Osidian would die with him and the Tribe would finally be rid of them both.
Carnelian made one last effort and turned his head. He saw Osidian's livid scar. The red mark of the rope. That colour made him dream his life again. Every scene was there. He wept for all the suffering but no tears came. He could not move his head and so was forced to watch Osidian die. Carnelian had taken his life from him once, he could not bear to do it again. He tried to sit up. He panicked when he found he had turned to stone. Anger swelled in him until he could hear it roaring in his ears. He pushed and pushed and forced himself to sit up. He shook back and forth, rocking, groaning with each folding of his belly until he felt life returning. Then he concentrated on Osidian; reaching under the blanket to rub his chest, his back, his arms, his legs until, slowly, he brought Osidian back from death.
They stumbled down towards the valley a few steps at a time, each half carrying the other. Reaching the first trees before nightfall, they collected twigs with trembling fingers. Carnelian almost cried when after much fumbling with their fire-drill he was unable to produce a single spark. Osidian tried. A spark lit hope and they fed this until there was a flame and then a fire.
That night was milder and, with the morning, they found enough strength to continue the descent. The sun
