2ED COUNTDOWN ART DAY 38
Carnelian whipped off his mask and knelt before the chair. ‘Crail, you must leave.’ He looked into the old man’s rheumy eyes. This had been the commander of the tyadra. Now he was wasted to a bony sag, his mind so faded that sometimes he did not even know his own name. He was also the Master’s brother and so Carnelian’s uncle.
Crail shook his prune of a face. ‘Won’t.’
Carnelian looked round, saw the cracks that had spread like branches up the walls. ‘This is all falling down, Crail.’
‘And me with it. I’m too old for this.’ He reached up a trembling arm and touched Carnelian’s face. ‘Just leave me be, child.’
Carnelian was 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.