Ricardo Pinto - The Standing Dead

Hastily they gathered enough fernwood to make a fire and were thankful they managed to light it before the sun had vanished from the world. Ravener cries seemed to carry further in the blackness. The stars seemed painfully bright. They ate djada and had several licks of Fern's saltstone. When Poppy asked Carnelian about what he had seen on the Isle of Flies he would only shake his head. They settled down and slept sharing the warmth of their bodies.

When Carnelian awoke he realized he had only dreamed escaping the Isle of Flies. In the darkness he could feel them spitting through the air. Squinting up confused, he saw the stars obscured as if by drifts of smoke. He moaned, desolate. Something clutched him and, crying out, he threw it off.

'Carnie. What's the matter?' Fern shouted over the hissing in the air.

'I told you not to come here,' said Carnelian. Poppy was crying with fear.

Carnelian curled up, not understanding, wanting to scream. The flies,' he said, shakily. The devouring flies.'

Strong hands grabbed hold of him. He was drawn towards a body and could feel a mouth speaking in his ear.

'Sporewind, Carnie. It's just the sporewind. Now lie down and I'll cover you and Poppy. Then I'll go and see to the aquar.'

Carnelian felt around for Poppy and drew her close, and Fern threw a blanket over them.

'It's not flies then, Carnie?' Poppy asked through her tears.

He stroked her hair. The sporewind striking the blanket was like someone throwing sand. 'Not flies,' he muttered. 'Not flies.'

Next morning, the dawn twilight never brightened to day. Wrapped up in blankets, they harnessed the aquar by touch.

'Will she be able to go on?' Carnelian cried.

'We'll go slowly and all ride her,' said Fern.

Being the heaviest, Carnelian sat in the saddle-chair. Fern rigged some ropes between the front and back crossbeams and lay across them on one side, after they had placed Poppy along the other. To make sure she did not slip out, but also to help counter Fern's weight, Carnelian leaned over to hold Poppy in place. When he asked the aquar to rise, she did so. The distribution of weight made her rock a little but with some adjustments, they managed to make it possible for her to walk.

They set off. The air swirled black all around them. It hissed and rattled constantly as it struck them. Mostly it drove like sleet from the east, in which the sun showed the dark ridge of the Backbone. Carnelian guided them towards it and, for the rest of the day, in its lee, they made what headway they could through the sporestorm.

Three more days they struggled on while the sporewind blew relentlessly. It was at night they suffered most. Their backs and limbs ached. Poppy's tears had run dry. Carnelian was plagued by nightmares of the Isle of Flies.

On the morning of the fourth day, the storm began to abate. The sun rose hazy but distinct Some of the sky's blue shone through and gave them hope. It became possible again for one of them to run while the other rode. It eased their ache of worry to pick up the pace.

As the day wore on, it became possible again to see into the far distance. Four separate columns of smoke were eddying in the breeze.

'I know where we are,' Fern said grimly. That smoke is rising from the Tallgreen, the Darkcloud, the Smallochre and the Woading.'

'Not from the Koppie?' asked Poppy.

Fern's eyes when they locked to Carnelian's, were like wounds. 'No, not from the Koppie.'

They crossed the Backbone a little to the south so as to avoid having to pass anywhere near the Darkcloud. Fern's route brought them within sight of the koppie of the Bluedancing. Even from a distance, they could all see the damage Osidian's fire had wrought there. They veered away from that desolate sight, northwards, towards the glistening run of lagoons beyond which lay their home.

Riding while Carnelian ran, Fern guided them through the gap between two lagoons. Bellowers roosted on islands. Earthers were strewn like boulders across the land. When they stopped to make a changeover, Carnelian searched for heaveners but could find none.

Once he was settled with Poppy into the saddle-chair, they pushed on.

Carnelian's heart jumped up into his throat and Poppy let out a squeal of delight when they saw the beloved shape of the Koppie rising up out of the plain. Both he and Fern allowed her chatter to pour over them as they scrutinized their home, nervously.

Carnelian pulled the aquar up. 'Shouldn't they have seen us by now?'

Grimacing, hands on knees as he leaned over panting, Fern nodded, never once taking his eyes off the silhouette.

Carnelian made the aquar kneel and dismounted. 'We might as well both walk.'

They marched on. Sensing their anxiety, Poppy asked: 'What's the matter?'

Carnelian glanced up at her. 'Nothing.'

When they came close enough to see the individual mother trees, Fern steered them towards the Horngate. As they drew nearer they began to smell the rot of blood. The ruins of vast creatures still partially walled with flesh spoke of a recent hunt. It seemed to Carnelian an evil omen.

'Couldn't we use another gate?'

Fern shook his head slowly, unable to free his gaze from the sight.

The fernland before the Newditch was scorched and black. They stopped when they reached the earthbridge and looked over it to the Killing Field. The carcasses were verminous with ravens and sky-saurians. Carnelian looked across at the Eastgarden and saw the drying racks like an abandoned military camp.

'Come on,' said Fern. Carnelian hoisted Poppy up with one arm and followed him.

Even though they pushed their ubas hard against their mouths and noses they could not shut out the overwhelming fetor of the Killing Field. Flies shimmered and rippled in mats over walls of brown mucused flesh that sagged rotting from the struts of bones. The ground was a churn of blood and mud and lumps of fat. They wound their way through towards the fallen Bloodwood Tree lying like a corpse amongst the carnage, its roots hung with entrails.

They found the bridge and won their way over to the Blooding, where they rubbed the filth off their shoes and opened their ubas to suck in the perfume of the easterly breeze. Ahead, the Grove looked as it always did and yet, it lacked something intangible. They could feel something was wrong as they marched up the Blooding.

Over the bridge, the gate had been torn down. They stopped to gaze through under the arching cedars, desperate to see a friendly Ochre face.

'Maybe everyone's gathered below the Ancestor House,' whispered Poppy.

'Maybe,' said Carnelian, exchanging a look of despair with Fern.

Carnelian put Poppy down. 'Will you stay here, Poppy?'

The girl shook her head slowly. Anger welled up in Carnelian but he controlled it. He offered Poppy his hand and, when she took it, he led her across the bridge.

Beneath the canopy of the mother trees rather than the usual sensuous coolness, the air felt cold. Even before Carnelian's eyes had adapted enough for him to see in the gloom, he recognized the smell and snatched Poppy up, crushing her against his chest, forcing her head back over his shoulder. As his sight returned, the branches of the mother trees were revealed hung with horrifying fruit.

Keening, Fern careered, stumbling, up the rootstair, leaving Carnelian panting, gaping, staring round, nauseous as he saw how many people were hanging from the trees. 'Carnie, you're hurting me,' Poppy whined in a tearful panic, but Carnelian could not release his hold on her and could only stare transfixed with horror. Osidian had done this. Carnelian could sense his presence as if he smelled him on the fetid air.

Carnelian became aware of Poppy shrieking, frantic in his arms. He slid her down his body and crushed her face to his chest, then fled back over the bridge into the fern-garden, into the bright clean day. When he had run far enough for the sun to burn the blackness from his eyes, he crouched to let Poppy go. She flew at him, screaming, beating him with her little fists and he gave himself over to her fury, which was nothing compared to the utter dread and desolation that now filled him.