Ricardo Pinto - The Chosen

At first they were glad when they dropped down on the other side into the thorn forest. But the canopy was thin and brown. The thorns snagged their cloaks, trying to pluck them off and expose them to the sun's shrivelling glare. Each time a cloak snagged, it had to be worked free with tedious care. Imprisoned in their cloaks they broiled. At last they reached the shadow that the Pillar was casting towards the east. It was as deliciously cool as the sky-reflecting waters of a mountain lake.

Osidian drove Carnelian up the Ladder as if they were being hunted. Up and further up they climbed. Carnelian hardly dared to look out across Osrakum. When he did, he had to cling hard to the rock, feeling the wind trying to pluck him off, to send him soaring down into the turquoise world below. Each time, the Pillar's shadow had stretched further out over the Yden angling slowly towards the south. It was exhaustion that made him stop looking. When his hands had walked their way up to the next handhold, he pressed his cheek against the rock, one eye left free to make sure he was not falling. When they reached each rest cave, he would flop into it, his breath rasping, resentfully mute, waiting with increasing anger for Osidian's next demand that they press on.

They were sitting in such a cave when Carnelian refused to go any further.

'But we can make the next stop if we push on,' Osidian pleaded.

Looking out, Carnelian could see the tide of shadow was already close to flooding Osrakum's floor. He was weary. His limbs were trembling. He let his head hang forward. He would not go any further.

'What is wrong with you?' cried Osidian.

Carnelian looked up and saw disturbing flickerings in his eyes. 'Nightfall is near.'

Osidian snorted, saying haughtily, 'My Lord has quickly gained expertise in judging time.'

'If you wish to go on, my Lord, go. I am remaining here.'

They ate the fruit they had brought in sullen silence. The sharp, sweet pomegranate juice awoke in Carnelian memories of joy. He glanced at Osidian and felt his anger melting away. The stubble on his head made him seem less a Master. He tried to find a way to his side. 'Osidian?'

'What?' said Osidian, his voice, his face, his eyes, all granite.

Carnelian turned away thinking that perhaps the Yden had been nothing but a dream.

The morning sun found Carnelian's face with a single ray. He smiled in his dreams then woke with a start and edged away into a shadow. He could see an arch of sky bright enough to stab pain behind his eyes. Looking away, he found Osidian sleeping in the gloom. He crept close to him and looked into his face. Even in sleep he was frowning his birthmark. Carnelian leaned close, thinking to kiss him, but pulled back when he stirred.

'When do we continue the climb?' he asked, as he watched Osidian wake.

'When do you think?'

It was like a slap. Carnelian hid his hurt in silence. Sometimes he would catch Osidian looking at him, his lips parted, and he could see that the boy had something he needed to say. But the words would not come out and

Carnelian would lean his head back against the rock, close his eyes and try to make his mind as blank as a drizzling sky.

The moment they felt shadow come, they left the cave and teetered on the edge of the sky in a wind that came scorching up from the land. Above them, the Pillar's head still showed the halo of the sun passing behind it. They resumed the climb. The rock that at first had been almost too hot to touch cooled slowly. The wind grew turbulent. As they struggled on, Carnelian nursed his resentment, ignoring the little voice reminding him that Osidian had warned him how terrible the climb would be.

Even as the sky was darkening, they dragged themselves up into the throat of the Windmoat ravine. Once they had rested a while, they put on their robes, their shoes, their masks, covered themselves with the purple cloaks and climbed up to the ledge. Only a breeze ruffled their cloaks. The heart-stone screens of the ammonites were sieving light along the whole length of the ledge. In contrast, on the opposite side, only a handful of lit windows pricked the gloomy face of the forbidden house. Osidian went ahead, his shape defined by the light freckling through the screen. Through its holes, Carnelian glimpsed the long crowded galleries. Their hive mutter was more insistent than it had been those few days before.

The library swallowed them into its black silence. It seemed a refuge and Carnelian's heart sank as they reached the moon-eyed door and removed their masks. 'So we part here?' he said, wanting to make it a joint decision.

'No,' said Osidian. 'I will come with you at least some of the way.'

Carnelian was more cheered than he would admit to himself. He led Osidian off along the familiar path back to the Sunhold. After the perfumes of the Yden and the rushing air of the sky, the air was oppressively stale and lifeless. 'Like a tomb,' Carnelian muttered.

Osidian grabbed his shoulder and yanked him round. 'What do you mean by that, my Lord?'

Carnelian blinked at him. Osidian's eyes held bladed light. Carnelian felt rage building up inside him. 'I meant nothing at all. Do you not find this place grim in comparison with the Forbidden Garden?'

Without answering him, Osidian launched off into the blackness. Carnelian felt as if a knife point had been taken away from his throat. It made him feel violent.

They walked in silence until at last they reached the stair that led up to the Sunhold. They were more than halfway up when Osidian stopped. The narrow space was filled with their breathing.

'What are we waiting for?' Carnelian asked, exasperated.

'Hush!' hissed Osidian. 'Listen.'

'I hear nothing,' Carnelian whispered.

Osidian nodded vaguely, his eyes looking far off through the stone.

The feeling of being shut out made Carnelian's anger flare. 'Please let me pass. My Lord evidently has a need to be by himself.'

Osidian frowned and his eyes came back to focus on Carnelian. 'What?'

Now that Osidian was looking at him, Carnelian felt he was behaving like a petulant child. He was incapable of apology so he gave way to coldness. 'Let me pass.'

'Come on,' said Osidian, urging him to go down the stairs.

Carnelian stood his ground. 'Why?' Osidian's porcelain perfect face looked down at him. 'What are you waiting for?' 'Explanations.'

Osidian jerked his finger upwards. 'Your father is up there and the trapdoor is closed. Do you want to go and knock on it and then appear before him and whoever else might be there, dressed as you are?'

Carnelian thought about it. Why would his father have returned to the Sunhold? 'How do you know this?'

Osidian's head dropped as if he were dealing with a stupid child. He looked up again. The pulse of the Emperor's heart has stopped.'

Carnelian listened for it. Osidian was right. The pulse was gone. His hand came up to his head. The God Emperor was dead. His father was no longer Regent. The God Emperor was dead.

'Will you go down now?'

Carnelian let Osidian squeeze past and stood for some moments, dazed, as the light receded down the stairs. When he caught up with Osidian, he touched his shoulder. 'You knew before we came here?'

'Did you not know when you saw the processions of the Chosen moving along the Ydenrim?'

The election,' said Carnelian in sudden realization.

'Of course the election,' snapped Osidian.

They reached the bottom of the stairs.

'But how will I get back?' said Carnelian.

Follow, commanded Osidian's hand. He walked them to the edge of the nave and into the column forest beyond. As they walked along the back wall, Carnelian could hear Osidian sniffing the air. He lifted his nose and detected the tang of urine.

When the smell had grown very strong, Osidian lifted the lantern and showed Carnelian a narrow staircase. 'Up there. Sometimes, guardsmen of the Lesser Lords use this old construction stair when they have need to make water. It comes up into the Encampment.'