Ricardo Pinto - The Third God

He emerged from the waterfall, dripping, onto the icy jade floor. The whole chamber was carved from the mossy stone into the appearance of rushes. The fall frothed into a pool, that cascaded into another into which more water poured. By means of steps, he ascended to a chamber of mirrors. Obsidian polished to the consistency of a midnight pool. Panels of silver and of gold. All held his ghosts as if in other places, other seasons. Ridges of white jade around the walls supported jars hollowed from jewels, vessels carved from stone like swirling smoke, racks of strigils and brushes made of feather filaments.

Unnerved by the crowd of himself, he left. Back in the bedchamber he moved towards the outer portals. There, on the floor, were the robes Marula had brought in when he had forbidden entry to the slaves sent to tend him. The folded bundles had in places come apart. Exquisite fabrics interwoven with metal threads, subtly patterned like lichens, like ripples on water, like high, feathery clouds. He stooped because his fingers were drawn to touch them. As smooth as lips or the moist-skin texture of petals. Then he saw the parchment sitting incongruously on a boulder of cloth. He plucked the letter up and turned it into the light. It had been sealed with a blood-ring. The double face of the House of the Masks. He peered at the name glyph. ‘Nephron,’ he said, surprised. He counted the blood-taint zeros. ‘Four.’ He frowned, remembering the last time he had seen a letter sealed thus. That ill-fated day when he had persuaded Osidian to go down into the Yden. It made him suspicious. Osidian’s blood-ring had been taken from him during the kidnapping. Could there have been time to make another? It was more likely to be one of Ykoriana’s tricks. Still. He broke open the letter and read. Come, break your fast with me on sweet pomegranates as we did long ago.

Surely only Osidian possessed that knowledge? Carnelian turned the parchment to look upon the broken seal. It was Osidian’s ring so perhaps Ykoriana had sent it to him. Carnelian pondered the import of this. Surely such an act was to invite incrimination? So, done deliberately, it could be a sign of peace. There was hope in Ykoriana making herself so vulnerable. He sank his head, wondering if he dared believe in the proposals he had made the night before in the Pyramid Hollow, but still he could not wholly rid himself of the omen of his dream. He read the letter again, becoming uneasy at what expectations Osidian might be nurturing with that reference to their lovemaking in the Forbidden Garden.

Carnelian glanced at the seductive beauty of the robes. His skin longed for their touch, but he turned his back on them. Even if they had not been too complicated to put on without servants, they would encumber him on his journey. He wandered back to where he had left the green spiralled robe the ammonites had dressed him in. He slipped it on, put on his father’s mask and military cloak.

When he emerged from his chambers, his Marula guards rose, discarding the resplendent covers he had given them from his bed. Seeing him, their faces lit up as if he were come to save them. Their red eyes spoke of a fearful night. He saw one among them who had not been there the night before. Though he looked different with his head shaved, it was unmistakably Sthax. Carnelian was about to address him when a voice came rumbling from various directions at once. The Marula all jerked round to search the cavernous hall spreading off behind them. As the rumbling died away, though Carnelian knew it must be thunder sounding through the palace from the sky, he could not help fearing that the source of that voice was lurking somewhere close by. He was sure the Marula must feel – as he did – that they were intruders deep in the lair of some monstrosity that might at any time return.

He refocused on Sthax and was going to speak when the Maruli indicated a man half black, half white, kneeling, waiting. Carnelian approached him. ‘Have you come to guide me to the Jade Lord Nephron?’

‘I have, my Lord,’ said the Ichorian.

Carnelian saw that the questions he had for Sthax were going to have to wait. ‘Then lead on.’

Through immense spaces they wound their way. Rustling echoes made it seem they were being followed. Movements glimpsed from the corner of his eye, when looked at, revealed nothing but shadows looming in the penumbral gloom. Ghostly reflections accompanied them. Strange odours moistened the air. In some places they had to pass beneath the gaze of giants, whose faces could only be guessed at in the overarching darkness. Every surface was pierced with openings that gave shifting views of other, eerily lit worlds. Carnelian began to feel they were creeping through the carcass of some vast being that had been gnawed by the passage of massive worms.

At first, when he saw the procession approaching, he thought it nothing more than his own party reflected. But the Master who processed amidst a naked escort rose taller than did he. Besides, his robes were so massive they threatened to eclipse his mask of gold. Even as this apparition approached him, Carnelian knew by the heraldry of its crowns this must be Osidian.

The apparition brandished a pair of pale hands. ‘Ravenous, despairing that you would ever appear, my Lord, I came to meet you. I would eat before attending what is bound to be a dreary conclave with the Wise.’

Carnelian had to look up at him. Osidian’s new mask was the face of a beautiful boy, entranced. He wore ranga beneath his robes, the outer one of which seemed flowing naphtha. As he half turned away, its lustrous black sheened with iridescence. ‘I have brought a feast with me,’ Osidian said, pointing to the tail of his procession, where syblings bore a great variety of burdens. He made a vague gesture. ‘There is a spot not far from here where we might consume it in some comfort and seclusion.’

Carnelian regarded Osidian’s towering form with misgivings. He seemed a puppet being worked from a distance. Laughter coming from behind the puppet’s mask sounded forced. ‘Really, my Lord, you will have to get used to being Chosen again.’ He took in Carnelian’s green robe and rough military cloak with a mocking hand. ‘Why did you choose these rags in place of the gorgeous robes I sent you?’

Watching this performance, Carnelian became increasingly glad of the decision he had made. ‘Though you are kind to have thought of bringing breakfast, Celestial, time is pressing. The sooner I reach Coomb Suth, the sooner I can return.’

‘That would be inadvisable,’ said Osidian.

Carnelian could hear the tightness of anger in his voice. Almost he reminded Osidian of the oath he had sworn upon his blood, but first chose to give thought to what reasons Osidian might have for feeling angry. Beyond the emotional ones, Carnelian saw others more politic. ‘You fear my crossing the Skymere could antagonize the Great?’

‘Considering the coming revelations, it would be better, my Lord, were we to observe the accepted forms at least until I am invested with divine authority.’

With a sinking heart, Carnelian saw the logic in that. Nevertheless, he had to find a secure way to contact his father and was, besides, desperate to escape the Halls of Rebirth. He focused his mind on the politics and thought he could see a way out. ‘Be that as it may, Celestial, for reasons of safety it is incumbent upon us that we should maintain a separation between us.’

Osidian took some moments to answer. ‘I take your point, my Lord.’

‘Perhaps I could assume command of the huimur as they perform the functions that once were the Red Ichorians’.’ Carnelian paused here, realizing he was not entirely sure what those functions might be.

‘You are not even painted.’

Carnelian glanced at his hands. ‘I shall be careful to stay out of the sun.’ A solution to his other problem suggested itself. He took in Sthax and his escort. ‘With your leave, Celestial, I shall take these for my protection until some of my household tyadra have time to reach me from my coomb.’