Ricardo Pinto - The Chosen

'Wood will be needed, rope, sail parchment, tar,' said Aurum.

'I shall instruct my people to give you access to everything we have, my Lord,' said Suth, and as he spoke his eyes returned to linger on his son's tight, resolute face.

When his father left the hall with the other Masters, Carnelian stayed behind. He stared into the fire and tried to work out what he would say to Tain, his other brothers, his people. No-one must starve. He would not allow anyone to starve. Surely there was time enough to work something out.

He rose and left. Nothing would happen till the morning. He would sleep and rise early. He walked back through eerie quiet. The only sounds were the scuffling of his escort and the whining wind.

Misery was crowding in. He tried to turn his back on it by preparing himself for bed. When Tain appeared complaining that some strange men had come up from the ship, Carnelian told him not to worry.

Tain looked unhappy. 'But they're sticking their noses everywhere. The Master's given them leave to pass our wards.'

'I said things will be fine,' snapped Carnelian. 'Now either go back to your own room or get to bed.'

Tain's cheeks went as red as if he had been slapped.

Carnelian turned away to face the wall. For a long time he could not find sleep. Shadows trembled up the wall like wind-wafted leaves. He could almost feel the ship out there, a cold fist pushing hard against his back.

Carnelian woke. Each breath clouded the air. Wrapped in a blanket he went to the window to look out at his enemy. There the ship lay like a mouth in the sea. That sight of her fixed his resolve. He woke Tain. His brother sat up tousled and confused. 'It's the middle of the night.'

'No, it's near daybreak and the household will be stirring. Today I must be painted as well as dressed.'

Tain stood up grumbling. He stumbled off to get the jars and brushes while Carnelian fiddled with the fire. When Tain came back he was still grumbling.

'I don't know what you're complaining about,' barked Carnelian. 'I'm the one who has to stand here naked.'

'Do you really need to be painted?'

'Would I ask you if I didn't?' Carnelian saw his brother flinch at his tone. 'I want to be free to go out into the open,' he said more softly.

Starting at his sooty fingers, Tain began to wash him. 'How do you think you'll get past the guards this time?' he said humourlessly. 'I'd like to see you manage the ledge in your Master's robes.'

'For your information, dear brother, I intend to use my Master's mask. I'll order them to let me pass and they will.'

They might at that,' muttered Tain.

When Carnelian was cleaned, Tain began the painting. He stirred the pigment in its jar with a brush and began to apply it to Carnelian's skin with long even strokes. The chill paint made the skin pimple. The pigment was a different tone of white from Carnelian's skin but even then, there was so little light that Tain had to keep turning him to see which bits he had done already.

When it was finished Tain hurried the drying with a fan. Carnelian shivered with each gust. ‘I’ll bet you're enjoying this,' he said through rattling teeth.

'Of course,' said Tain and they grinned at each other.

When he was ready they put on all the robes. Carnelian decided he had no need of jewels. They tied his mask on, then went out together and were surprised to find no guards outside the door. They made off through the barracks. Everywhere was the same; the Hold seemed abandoned. Neither voiced his dread. When they came down into the stretch of the alleyway that ran between the Sword Court and the Long Court they began to hear a rhythmic thudding.

In the Long Court the snow had been trampled grey. The mouths of doors and blind-eyed windows gaped all round its edge. Carnelian and Tain were scandalized to see the snow blowing into the rooms beyond. The thudding rang round the court. It grew louder as they passed along the arcade. The door to the Great Hall was ajar. They approached it as if it were the opening to a cave in whose depths some monster lay. The sounds grew sharper with each step they took. The chopping stopped suddenly. They peered round the jamb. Tain gasped. Carnelian froze, staring. There was a long stuttering eruption. One of the columns was falling, dragging down a canopy of ceiling. It butted another column with its carved head. They both shuddered as the falling one scraped down, trailing a smoke of plaster. It crashed into the floor. The impact shook up through their feet. They watched it bounce and rock still. The dust settled. Snow drove down through the ragged hole that had been ripped in the ceiling. Flurries danced among the columns still left standing.

Carnelian strode into the hall in fury, trailing Tain after him. Three columns had already been cut down, felled like trees. He reached one of the stumps and touched its splinter teeth with tender disbelief. The chopping began again. He kicked his way towards it through the debris of the mosaics. Five strange creatures were hacking into the smooth skin of another column. Thin grey light filtered down with the snow. It revealed them to be as bony as old men's hands. Their skin was spotted with bruise-blue wave glyphs.

Carnelian planted himself before them, bellowing, 'What in the names of the Gods do you think you're doing?'

He saw the sailors' narrow faces look up, sweat-glazed, taut with effort. Eyes widened, they collapsed to the ground. An axe clattered to the floor. The blue glyphs had been branded, not tattooed. Joints knobbed their limbs. They reeked of bitumen and fear. Carnelian could see their shaking. Their terror and frailty rebuked him. He saw Tain wandering lost amongst the devastation.

A voice cried out in anger, and a man burst into the light. He was taller than the sailors, but still much smaller than Carnelian. He scolded the bony creatures, jabbing at them with a stick. The man must have seen Carnelian looming there, for the next moment he fell to his knees, mumbling, 'Master.'

Carnelian came further into the light. 'Has this been sanctioned by a Master?'

'Yes, Master,' the man replied without looking up.

'Why is it necessary?'

'Long timbers are needed, Master, to repair the masts.'

'And who're you?'

'Ship's captain, Master.'

'Look up when I speak to you.'

The man lifted his face but not his eyes.

'And my people who were here, where're they?'

They've been moved elsewhere, Master.'

'Show me.'

'Instantly.'

As the captain rose, Carnelian noticed the thick ring of brass circling his brown neck. It widened at his throat and there was inscribed with a wave glyph. To the right of the inscription the collar threaded a slider showing the number eight. To the left were other sliders. Carnelian knew this must be a legionary collar detailing the man's rank and recording his service to the Commonwealth. Only the Masters could make brass. Only they could put that collar about a man's neck, or take it off. Any man found wearing such a collar outside the bounds of his service faced crucifixion.

Carnelian called over to Tain. He came, sullen, cowed. Carnelian reached out and squeezed some reassurance into his arm. Together, they followed the captain out of the hall. Behind them the axes had already resumed their chopping.

As Carnelian accompanied the captain through his home, he found that it had become strange, unknown. Order had passed away. The passages were choked with people, with bundles, with rolled carpets. There was a clatter and echoes and the angry voices of his guardsmen as they herded the children and the women. These last were strangely silent. Thin chameleoned faces, fearful-eyed. When they saw him they looked up with hope. He tried to smile until he realized that all they could see was the disdainful fixed expression of his mask. They made way for him and, as he passed, hung their heads.