Ricardo Pinto - The Third God

As Carnelian saw with what cruel power the Obsidian Mask regarded them, he felt a sickening unease. This was not what he wanted. He had not brought them here so as to exploit their fear and awe to force them to do his bidding.

Osidian raised his arm and took in the stone around them. ‘Here you are within the very heart of the Law, but here, within its circle, as within the greater circle of the Sacred Wall, I tell you now that Law has been irrevocably broken.’

The elders half glanced up, frowning, licking their lips.

‘Do you know what has come to pass at the Gates?’

One wizened woman dared to speak. ‘If it pleases thee, Holy One, those of the outer world have risen again, as they did once before, and have come here seeking to destroy the Inner Land. But, as before, thou shalt not let them enter in and shalt hurl them back into the darkness.’

Carnelian stared at them, stupefied. Did they have some understanding of what even the Chosen had long forgotten? ‘Who is it you think they are?’

The woman turned to him. ‘Do you test us, Holy One?’

‘Answer him,’ boomed Osidian, his voice causing them to quiver like autumn leaves.

The elders ducked three bows in quick succession. ‘The Dead, Holy One, they are the Dead.’

Carnelian’s stare was deflected by an unexpected sound, Osidian laughing. This terrified the elders even more and they began slumping once more to the earth, but were drawn back up by Osidian’s commanding hand. ‘They are as much flesh and bone and blood as you or I, though you speak in part the truth: they do come to finish what they once began, but this time we shall not vanquish them.’

A moaning leaked from the elders, which found a bleak echo in their people behind them.

‘Soon they will break in and Osrakum will be laid waste, but there is still a chance for you and your people to escape this destruction, if you leave Osrakum in time.’

Again, the legs of the elders gave way beneath them and they collapsed to the ground, their staves wavering like saplings in a gale. The moaning was now broken by gasping so that Carnelian feared they might be expiring from the shock. ‘Did you not hear there is a way you can escape?’

Another of the elders lifted her head. ‘Why do you banish us, Holy Ones; how have we displeased you?’

Carnelian did not know what to say. He glanced round, sensing Osidian’s exasperation, fearing it. The Obsidian Mask let forth a long sigh. ‘Very well. Prepare yourselves.’

One of Osidian’s hands rose to cup the chin of the Mask. The other slipped back past his ear, into the shadow of his cowl. Carnelian’s heart leapt; Osidian was unmasking. He looked from him to the kharon. Whatever Carnelian’s feelings, it was nothing to their agony, as they writhed in the earth covering themselves in its rust. Their staves toppled as the elders covered their faces with their hands.

Osidian was regarding them with gloomy eyes, his wan face like worn ivory. ‘Look upon me,’ he commanded.

Carnelian could not very well remain masked when the God Emperor’s face was bare and so he too removed his mask.

‘We dare not, Holy One,’ panted one of the elders.

‘Do as I say,’ Osidian said, his voice softening. ‘Upon my blood I swear no harm will come to you from it.’

Slowly the elders uncurled. Carnelian watched as their faces came up, eyes and mouths twitching, anticipating what? He remembered what once he had expected: a blast of light that would make them blind.

Osidian threw back his hood. ‘Look well. See, I am as you are, made of the same stuff as are all men.’

These words sliced like a shard of ice through Carnelian’s heart. He saw Osidian’s quiet acceptance. A shadow of shame was upon his face, but also a clean sanity; and a remnant of the nobility of the boy he had once fallen in love with.

Osidian’s gaze ranged over them. ‘I could have commanded you, but this thing you must choose for yourselves. If you choose to follow him, my brother will lead you out.’ He looked with love upon Carnelian. ‘And you can take all the children with you.’

Carnelian’s heart could not reject him and he smiled.

‘Children, Holy One?’

They both turned and saw the old woman regarding them wide-eyed as if she beheld them in a vision.

‘The flesh-tithe children,’ Carnelian said. ‘We wish to return them to their mothers.’

As the elders frowned, Carnelian explained his plan to them. He watched with what difficulty the details sank into their minds. He slowed, answering their questions with care, trying to coax them past the inconceivability of it all, into some understanding. When he was done, he suggested they discuss it among themselves and they retreated into a huddle.

As they waited Carnelian gazed sidelong at Osidian, who was staring, frowning, at the mask of obsidian in his hand. His face was lined with suffering and the shadows around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth still showed the lingering effects of the maggot infestation. His eyes seemed chips of cloudy jade. The fire in them had gone out, but what if in his heart a spark still burned that could once more set him alight? Could he risk it? Compassion overcame wariness. ‘If they agree, why don’t you come with us?’

Osidian shook his head slowly, looked around the ring of stones, then up to the gleaming spire of the Pillar of Heaven. Carnelian looked too, as if he hoped to see through to the Halls of Thunder. Somewhere up there were the honeycomb hollows of the Library of the Wise where they had met. Carnelian glanced at Osidian and infinite sadness welled up in him.

Osidian gazed at Carnelian. ‘This is not your world, it never has been, but it is mine and I will die with it.’

Carnelian felt grief, but also deep relief; if Osidian had chosen to come he was sure to bring the poison of the Masters with him. The pain in Osidian’s eyes made Carnelian aware that his face had betrayed what he was feeling. He was going to say something, but Osidian reached out to touch his lips and smiled, shaking his head. Carnelian nodded. Things were as they were, however much either of them might desire them otherwise.

A youthful brightness had come into Osidian’s eyes. ‘I shall remain here and we shall see if I cannot find the means to make the end of the Chosen glorious.’ He smiled, letting his manufactured vision take him over. ‘I will muster the Great. We still have some huimur left at the Gates. We shall open those and let the sartlar in and fight them in a great battle in the Valley of the Gate and, who knows, perhaps we shall pull it off again?’ He smiled warmly at Carnelian. ‘It might even help to cover your escape.’

Then quickly he leaned in and kissed Carnelian. He pulled back, melancholy already returning. ‘We were magnificent, were we not, brother?’

Carnelian did not know whether he spoke of the two of them or of the Chosen as a whole, but he nodded nonetheless. There was no time for more talk: the kharon were coming back.

The ferrymen agreed to follow Carnelian and to take the children in their boats, but then, stealing glances at Osidian’s face, they pleaded that they might return. Carnelian examined their faces, certain nothing in their hearts had changed. In spite of the evidence of their eyes, they still believed Osidian a god. He felt compassion for them. ‘You may not want to try to save yourselves, but please consider letting your children come with me.’

The elders nodded, though he did not believe they would consider it at all. ‘Meantime, Holy One, we shall go and ready our boats and be at the Quays of the Dead by morning.’

Carnelian told them that he would not be ready until the following evening and hoped to leave the morning after that. The kharon bowed and, with due decorum, left the Dance.