Ricardo Pinto - The Chosen

'Where there are tyadra, surely there will be Chosen.'

They will be in the nave observing the Great selling their votes. You should be able to slip through unnoticed to one of the Sunhold's postern gates.'

'We part here, then?'

Osidian jerked a nod. Their eyes locked. Each could see that there were words the other wished to say.

'Goodbye then,' Carnelian managed at last.

'Goodbye,' said Osidian. He handed Carnelian the lantern and disappeared into the darkness.

In spite of covering his mask's nostrils with the edges of his cowl, Carnelian found the urine stench grew overpowering as he climbed the steps. He reached a landing whose walls were arched with stains. He hitched up the skirt of his cloak in disgust and walked towards a dim doorway. He stared. Pavilions had been put up everywhere. Perfect rows of them, each made by stretching jewelled cloths between columns. Some were dark but others were lit from within like paper lanterns and glowed the colours of their heraldry. A path narrowed off across to the faraway wall of the Sunhold. But this was no easy route. Along its length it was lit by many filtering pavilions and glimmering along it were Masters with their guardsmen. To left and right were the beginnings of many more such paths. He would have to trust to luck to find his way to the other side unseen.

As he came out from the shelter of the archway, he heard the muttering and looked over to where the column forest opened into the nave of the Encampment and a brilliant river streamed like a pouring of stars: the thronging Masters in their court robes.

He shook his eyes free of the wonder and crept into the shadow pooling round a dark pavilion. In the breeze, its cloth walls trembled off a lily scent. He touched its jewelled brocade and bumped his finger along the tail tip of the serpent that doubled back and forth upon itself until its jaws spat out its tongue high above his head. As he came to the column that was the corner of the pavilion he heard voices. He looked round the column and saw guardsmen huddling round a brazier. Their faces carried the same cypher as the wall of the pavilion they guarded. He chanced it. As he walked out, they fell silent watching him. Carnelian ignored the seductive glimmer of the nave in the corner of his eye and breathed more easily once he was between the next pair of pavilions.

Gradually he made his way across the Encampment, taking a route that avoided the brighter pavilions. He could not avoid them all. Quya came from one whose cloth wall was showing a gigantic shadow play. Others were more sinister, filled with subtle movement, as if they were chrysalises in which vast butterflies were dreaming.

He was passing near some tyadra when they surged suddenly to their feet. They opened a flap, allowing Carnelian to see an interior like a jewel casket. Two Masters came out, crowned with subdued fire, in massive court robes. Their guardsmen's heads hardly reached their waists. Carnelian drew back, ducking his head so that the cowl would fall to hide the betraying mirror of his mask, pulling his hands up into his sleeves. He heard the lilt and exquisite enunciation of Quya syllables sounding among the footfalls of their men. He saw the golden dapples around his feet and dared to look up enough to see the Masters slipping past like smouldering trees. He waited some moments. He looked to see them framed by the shimmering nave, then continued on.

When at last he reached the Sunhold's wall, he walked along it keeping in the shadows. Recessed into its barbican, the first postern gate had its portcullis down. Through it he could see another gate and a passage curving off. When he struck the bronze some Ichorians came from a side door. Their half-black faces peered out at him.

'Ammonite?' said one.

Carnelian opened his cowl so that their light could reflect off his mask.

They bowed. 'Master.'

'Open this,' Carnelian said.

'We can't, Master.'

'I'm the son of He-who-goes-before.'

'We can't open this gate under any circumstance, Master,' they said and shook their heads as they retreated.

He was in a cold sweat. What if all the doors should be closed against him? How could he appear in the nave before his father's door dressed as he was? He would humiliate his father and his House before the majesty of all the gathered Great. He leaned back against the Sunhold's wall cursing softly. His gaze wandered among the pavilions wondering if, with the election upon them, the Chosen ever slept.

The commander of the Ichorians,' he muttered. The man might have the authority to let him in. If not, he would have to be coerced into going to get permission from He-who-goes-before. Carnelian grimaced imagining the consequent confrontation with his father.

He skirted the next postern gate and came to a region where crowds of tyadra had gathered to stare into the nave.

Carnelian kept as close as he could to the wall where there were some shadows. The wall swelled to form the bastion of the last gate. He slipped round it, had a glaring impression of the nave and then ducked in towards the gate. The Ichorians there would also not let him in. Putting as much authority as he could into his voice, Carnelian demanded that they go and fetch their commander.

As he waited he looked out and saw the gapes on the tattooed faces. The guardsmen could have been staring at a city burning. Patches of glimmer slid everywhere, stretching and contracting, finding their faces in the gloom. There was such wonder in their eyes that Carnelian could not resist edging out to see what they were seeing. He was forced to squint against the dazzle. The nave was hung with suns beneath whose showering rays slipped vast shapes, angels sheathed in starlight. Some were jewelled sculptures. Others opened like exquisite mechanisms, spreading their arms to display sleeves like falls of sunlit water. White hands fluttered everywhere like doves. He searched and found their masks, faces carved high into the golden towers where each swelled into a huge crown.

The grate of the portcullis lifting drew him back into its shadows.

'You're the Master, Suth Carnelian?'

It took a breath or two for Carnelian's eyes to adjust to see the grand-cohort commander standing there. Carnelian removed his blood-ring and offered it.

Eagerly, the commander took it in his tattooed hand and held it up to the light. His whole frame visibly relaxed. He gave Carnelian back his ring. The Twins be thanked, Master. The Sun, our father's been searching for you.'

Carnelian almost groaned. 'When… how long ago?'

'He found my Master gone when he took up residence in this place, yesterday, when the sun still shone through the Amber Window.'

'I must go immediately to my chambers.'

'I'll escort you, Master.'

'Master. Oh, Master.'

The desperate relief in his guardsmen's voices alarmed him. He was dirty, standing there in an ammonite robe, and he had to face his father. The commander was watching him.

Thank you for your escort,' Carnelian said to him.

The man bowed but seemed reluctant to go. 'Your father, Master.'

Carnelian opened his arms so that the commander might clearly see his purple robe. 'Shall I go like this?'

The man's eyes blinked brightly in his half-black face.

'Once I'm properly attired I'll go to him.' He made a sign of dismissal. 'Now go, Ichorian.'

Carnelian turned his back on the commander, waiting to hear him walk away before unmasking and surveying his guardsmen. 'What is it?' he said, not managing to control the irritation in his voice.

They thumped to their knees in ones and twos, like fruit falling from a tree.

‘Stop grovelling,' he said dangerously. 'I'm in no mood for it.'

His anger only caused them to fall flat on their faces. 'Gods' blood!' he spat, throwing his hands up in exasperation. 'I know the Master's been here. What did you tell him?'