and, seeing this, Poppy led him away from the hubbub. It was a sense of duty that made him ask her to take him to see the Master.
Osidian had chosen an acacia away from the Tribe under which to make his camp. As Carnelian and Poppy approached, two shrouded figures came out to meet them.
'He will not see you, Master,' said one, who turned out to be Krow.
Carnelian looked beyond him but could see nothing in the brooding shadow beneath the tree.
'He mentioned me specifically?'
'Yes, you,' said the other figure, Ravan. He drew his uba from his face, revealing a sneer.
Carnelian considered his next words carefully. 'You should take care, Ravan; his feelings for you might not be what you believe them to be.'
Ravan smiled unpleasantly. 'You're just bitter you've lost him to me.'
The youth was distracted by the hubbub floating towards them on the breeze. His eyes, gazing off at the Tribe, were filled with longing.
'Why don't you all come and see what's happening?' offered Poppy, brightly.
Ravan gave her a filthy look, turned on his heel and strode back to the acacia. Ducking an apologetic smile, Krow followed him. As Carnelian walked away he was haunted by a feeling that he should have left Osidian on the mountain to die.
Carnelian stood among the Tribe watching the emissaries set off. Around him bull-roarers were producing a slow, undulating moan. Bone struck on bone: stone on stone. Everyone was jigging up and down in an oceanic surge. Through their midst, with barbaric pomp, rode the embassy of the Tribe, the truce staff carried before them. He saw Fern beside Akaisha and waved. Harth was there with Crowrane and Loskai. Carnelian spotted Ginkga, Galewing, Kyte. The Elders' saddle-chairs were the gaudiest; hung with feathers, tinkling trinkets, pieces of stolen brass that caught the light like mirrors. These wizened men and women with nodding crests, hung with their jewellery of salt, sat enthroned in their saddle-chairs, to the backs of which had been lashed feather- pennoned poles. Behind them came the riot of their warrior escort, dark skins agleam with sweat and vermilion designs.
When Sil announced she was going to gather herbs in the foothills, Poppy asked if she and Carnelian might go with her. Sil and Carnelian glanced at each other, embarrassed.
'I don't-' Carnelian began, but was interrupted by Whin.
'You should go, Carnie. Poppy will enjoy it and, though there's unlikely to be any danger, I would feel happier if my daughter had an escort that I trust.'
Carnelian and Sil both stared at Whin, surprised by her endorsement. The rest of the hearth reacted as if the matter had been decided and helped bundle them off, so that soon, Sil and Carnelian with Poppy on his lap were riding towards a far edge of the valley.
At first Carnelian and Sil could think of nothing to say to each other. It was Poppy who decided she and Sil should teach Carnelian songs. At first reluctant, Carnelian began to enjoy himself, even their teasing of his accent. They found a rash of berries the birds had overlooked and dismounted to pick them, putting as many in their mouths as in the baskets. When Sil caught her robe on some thorns, Carnelian helped her loose. They watched Poppy plucking berries, her mouth stained with their juice.
'She's a lovely girl,' said Sil.
Her eyes met Carnelian's and they saw each other's grief at what they were to lose to the tithe.
'You know Fern loves you?' Sil said, quietly.
Carnelian looked into her eyes again and nodded. 'I love him too.'
She smiled a little and looked at her berry-red fingers.
He reached out and took her hand. 'He may love us both, but you are his wife.'
She looked up solemn, beautiful. Poppy chose that moment to return. She beamed when she saw them holding hands.
On the day Carnelian noticed that the valley was losing its green vibrancy, the embassy returned. Children's shrieks of excitement pierced the lazy afternoon and soon people were streaming across the meadow to welcome back the riders. Carnelian was among them with Poppy and Sil, laughing as the noise deafened him, adding to it himself with a bellow or two.
The riders came to a halt, Akaisha at their head, unable to make any progress against the throng. From every throat came calls for news. Akaisha signalled the riders to make their aquar kneel. Seeing her lowered to the ground, Carnelian and Sil pushed through to help her out of her saddle-chair. They could feel in the tremble of her arms how tired she was. She was hiding some pain behind her smile. Fern appeared beside them. He waved people away while Akaisha leaned on Carnelian as he walked her towards the encampment.
'What news, my mother?' Sil asked.
She made a face. The usual. Marriages, talk of hunts, of fernroot yields.'
'What about the Gatherers, my mother?' Carnelian asked.
Akaisha's face sank. 'It's as we'd guessed: they came this year to every tribe.' She looked with concern at Carnelian, trying to read his expression.
'So what if they search for you? No one knows where you are.'
He leaned down and gave her wrinkled cheek a kiss. Sil put her hand on his arm. 'Leave her with me, Carnie, I'm sure you and Fern will want to talk.' She leaned close and kissed him on the lips and then she and Akaisha moved away.
Fern was looking at him with eyebrows raised.
'We've become friends,' said Carnelian, embarrassed.
Fern grinned. 'I knew you would.'
Carnelian noticed a nasty bruise on the side of his friend's head. 'How did that happen?'
Trucestaff, or no trucestaff, we had a run in with the Bluedancing.'
'A fight?'
'A brawl with some young hotheads wanting revenge for the beating we gave them earlier this year.' He grinned. 'We gave them another good hiding.'
HAND OF DARKNESS
And when, for her bride-price, she gouged out his eyes she held the thorn in her left hand.
The breeze could not disperse the palls of smoke that hid the dawn. The Tribe had fired the further reaches of the valley. The Withering had at last stretched up to find them, parching the blue out of the sky, scorching the green from the earth. Their stream had dwindled, choking dry. The fern meadow turned amber, dying.
Harth and others of the Elders had sniffed hope floating on the air. Several had gone out beyond the entrance to the valley to confirm it. When they returned they went among the Tribe claiming they had smelled the rain in the breeze blowing from the west. When the young looked sceptical, they were reassured it was not a matter of having a keen nose but of being blessed with the experience to recognize the subtle perfume of the Skyfather's approach. After that it had been all hurried packing.
'We must rush to meet the rain,' said Fern. 'Even now it rolls towards us across the Earthsky.'
Carnelian wondered at the certainty in his friend's voice. Carnelian could smell nothing in the air but burning. To reach if we'll have to cross a desert.'
'We still have water,' said Sil, Leaf strapped to her back.
Carnelian had seen how lightly loaded the drag-cradles were with waterskins.
Fern craned round. 'Would you have us stay here?'
Carnelian looked back at the wall of smoke clogging the sky. Aquar ambled on every side as the Tribe made
