Read Online The Chosen - Stone Dance of the Chameleon 01 by Ricardo Pinto - Free Book Online
Authors: Ricardo Pinto
Tags: Fantasy
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seeing him through tears. He snapped round. 'Get out,' he shouted. The women fled. He turned back. 'Come on, Crail, don't do this,' he sobbed. He reached his arm out to gather the old man up.
Crail sank back. His soft face bunched itself into a well-used expression of stubbornness.
'You will move, you old fool,' cried Carnelian, stepping back against someone. Tain. He had forgotten him. There he was, his hair dusted white in a mockery of the old man's. Two stripes had washed down from his eyes.
Carnelian stood tall, put his mask before his face, pulled himself together. 'Crail, you will leave this place,' he said in the level tone his father used. 'For I command it.'
The old man looked up, straining his eyes. 'Master ... ?'
Tain, help him up.'
For a moment, Tain was startled by Carnelian's tone, then he bowed. 'As you command, my Master.' Soon he had the old man propped up and was manoeuvring him out of the room. Carnelian followed them out, helping as he could without being seen to do so.
People had gathered outside. Carnelian went out to meet them. He pointed here and there into the crowd, affecting brusqueness. 'Help Tain take Crail away to some place of safety.' He watched the old man being carried off. People started kneeling, in ones and twos. They surrounded him with their abasement so that he could only move out of their circle by treading on them.
'Make way,' he said, controlling his voice, glad he had his mask to hide behind.
No-one moved.
'Master,' one said and then another, and then their voices rose all around him, breaking, almost wailing.
He wanted to be a child, to run away, but there was nowhere left to hide. At last he lifted his hands for silence. He bent down. 'Mari, what's all this?'
The woman he spoke to lifted up her face. Her eyes were red, sunken. 'Carnie ... Master ...'
Carnelian removed his mask. 'Carnie will do fine,' he said gently.
They're taking our food, Carnie.'
There were murmurs of assent: He looked at them. They all wore the same face of hope. He felt his lip quiver. 'It's needed for the ship.'
'But they're not leaving us enough,' someone said.
Carnelian nodded. He was trying to hold in his tears but they could see by the way the paint was smeared around his eyes that he had been crying. 'It's the Masters who've demanded it, and their needs are greater than ours.' He felt the hollow betrayal in his words. Their heads sank as the fight went out of them. He almost let his pain out in a wail.
'And you'll be leaving us too, Carnie?' asked Mari.
He could not bear to look at her. 'Yes ... yes, I must go with them,' he looked up, said fiercely, 'but before I go I promise I'll do all I can.'
He stood up and rehid his face behind the golden mask. They made way for him. It was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other.
Carnelian went to the storerooms and saw that it was as they had said. Fish were being sealed into jars. Dried fowl were being baled in woven seaweed. The walls were blank with naked hooks, the shelves empty. He opened one of the stone flour bins and had to lean over to see its level. Behind him on the floor, stacked and packaged, was by far the greater part of what the room had held. The faces that had gathered at the door told the story. Children frightened by their mothers' looks. An old woman gnawing her hand. Even with rationing he knew she would not see another summer.
Carnelian pushed through them and stormed back through the kitchens, where lavish dishes were being prepared for their guests. The sight of all those riches patterning the plates made him rage. He stumbled into the shambles of the Great Hall. Among the columns there lay a clearing with its stumps. He walked into it. Most of the roof had come down. Capitals for so long hidden in the ceiling's dusk showed their colours. It was already difficult to remember the way it had been.
Of the doors to the Long Court only the splintered wooden hinges remained. Beyond was another scene of
Crail sank back. His soft face bunched itself into a well-used expression of stubbornness.
'You will move, you old fool,' cried Carnelian, stepping back against someone. Tain. He had forgotten him. There he was, his hair dusted white in a mockery of the old man's. Two stripes had washed down from his eyes.
Carnelian stood tall, put his mask before his face, pulled himself together. 'Crail, you will leave this place,' he said in the level tone his father used. 'For I command it.'
The old man looked up, straining his eyes. 'Master ... ?'
Tain, help him up.'
For a moment, Tain was startled by Carnelian's tone, then he bowed. 'As you command, my Master.' Soon he had the old man propped up and was manoeuvring him out of the room. Carnelian followed them out, helping as he could without being seen to do so.
People had gathered outside. Carnelian went out to meet them. He pointed here and there into the crowd, affecting brusqueness. 'Help Tain take Crail away to some place of safety.' He watched the old man being carried off. People started kneeling, in ones and twos. They surrounded him with their abasement so that he could only move out of their circle by treading on them.
'Make way,' he said, controlling his voice, glad he had his mask to hide behind.
No-one moved.
'Master,' one said and then another, and then their voices rose all around him, breaking, almost wailing.
He wanted to be a child, to run away, but there was nowhere left to hide. At last he lifted his hands for silence. He bent down. 'Mari, what's all this?'
The woman he spoke to lifted up her face. Her eyes were red, sunken. 'Carnie ... Master ...'
Carnelian removed his mask. 'Carnie will do fine,' he said gently.
They're taking our food, Carnie.'
There were murmurs of assent: He looked at them. They all wore the same face of hope. He felt his lip quiver. 'It's needed for the ship.'
'But they're not leaving us enough,' someone said.
Carnelian nodded. He was trying to hold in his tears but they could see by the way the paint was smeared around his eyes that he had been crying. 'It's the Masters who've demanded it, and their needs are greater than ours.' He felt the hollow betrayal in his words. Their heads sank as the fight went out of them. He almost let his pain out in a wail.
'And you'll be leaving us too, Carnie?' asked Mari.
He could not bear to look at her. 'Yes ... yes, I must go with them,' he looked up, said fiercely, 'but before I go I promise I'll do all I can.'
He stood up and rehid his face behind the golden mask. They made way for him. It was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other.
Carnelian went to the storerooms and saw that it was as they had said. Fish were being sealed into jars. Dried fowl were being baled in woven seaweed. The walls were blank with naked hooks, the shelves empty. He opened one of the stone flour bins and had to lean over to see its level. Behind him on the floor, stacked and packaged, was by far the greater part of what the room had held. The faces that had gathered at the door told the story. Children frightened by their mothers' looks. An old woman gnawing her hand. Even with rationing he knew she would not see another summer.
Carnelian pushed through them and stormed back through the kitchens, where lavish dishes were being prepared for their guests. The sight of all those riches patterning the plates made him rage. He stumbled into the shambles of the Great Hall. Among the columns there lay a clearing with its stumps. He walked into it. Most of the roof had come down. Capitals for so long hidden in the ceiling's dusk showed their colours. It was already difficult to remember the way it had been.
Of the doors to the Long Court only the splintered wooden hinges remained. Beyond was another scene of
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