The Chosen (The Stone Dance Of The Chameleon Book 2) by Ricardo Pinto

Author:Ricardo Pinto [Pinto, Ricardo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ivory Tower Press
Published: 2020-02-27T22:00:00+00:00

THE LADDER

I saw him

My right hand spoke

But all the while

My left

Was sowing the whirlwind.

(from the poem ‘The Bird in the Cage’ by the Lady Akaya)

HE SORTED THROUGH THE ROBES Fey had sent. They were all elegant silk and clearly unsuitable for whatever expedition Osidian had in mind. Where did he intend to go that required outdoor paint? For three days? Was there a region of the Halls of Thunder exposed to the sun? That must be it. He would not be going against his father. Besides, he had no way to get a message to Osidian to tell him he was not coming. There was still the problem of what to wear. He laid out his scarlet mourning robe and went to the door to call for a servant. When the man appeared, he sent him to fetch body paint.

‘Body paint, Master?’

‘Body paint.’

The man returned with a jar and pads, and Carnelian put up with the timorous cleansing. Once the paint was dry, he put on the mourning robe and his mask, and he told his guardsmen he would be gone for three days.

•

Osidian’s eyes widened as Carnelian approached. ‘That is a mourning robe.’

‘It is all I have.’

‘Hardly the best omen for our expedition.’

Carnelian did not like his unfocused stare. ‘Where are we going?’

Osidian seemed to wake. ‘Down to the Yden.’

‘The Yden? Down the Rainbow Stair?’

‘There is another, more ancient way.’

‘Another stair?’

Osidian smiled enigmatically. ‘More a ladder than a stair. It is a harrowing descent. Are you strong enough?’

‘If I am not, I shall have the long pleasure of the fall.’

‘You speak lightly of what you do not know.’

‘I will brave it.’

‘Good. Let us make haste: it will not bode well for us should night find us on the Ladder. First, we must put on our disguises.’

‘Disguises?’

‘It would be unwise’—he smirked—‘to penetrate deep into the chambers of the Wise as ourselves.’

Osidian disappeared into the darkness and returned with two packs. Carnelian swung his pack onto his back and adjusted its straps over his shoulders as he saw Osidian do. Osidian tossed him a bundle. Carnelian shook it out. It was a cloak. He threw it on over his pack and did up its bony hooks. As he smoothed it down his thighs, he realized it was embroidered with beadcord. He picked what he judged to be the beginning of a text and read aloud: ‘The Heart of Thunder is the locus of the rain-heavy sky. It translates along the ritual axis, from the sea. It can be—’

‘These are the cloaks of near-Sapient acolytes,’ said Osidian

‘A study aid?’

Osidian nodded and moved away, leaving his mask on the floor against the wall.

‘Your mask!’

‘Our masks would be a dangerous encumbrance.’

Reluctantly, Carnelian put his mask beside Osidian’s and followed him through the moon-eyed door into the library. Osidian opened the lantern, blew it out and put it under a beadcord bench. With his foot, he nudged Carnelian’s towards an embossed symbol. ‘Follow your feet.’ Carnelian traced the shape with his toe. A face with a horned-ring above.

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