Waterborn

was foolish.

'I'm sorry,' Perkar said, perhaps without enough conviction, but an apology nonetheless. The white-haired man nodded acceptance. Perkar thought perhaps he should seem a little more grateful.

'I know very little about the Alwat,' Perkar continued, more to explain his behavior to the Kapaka than to this strange person. 'Perhaps you could teach me a bit, if we are to go to see them. May I call you by your name?'

'You may call me Ngangata, as the king does. It is not my name.'

Perkar tried to ignore the slight. 'You may call me Perkar,' he replied softly, 'and that is my name.' And it may be that you and I come to blows one day, no name, no clan, Perkar felt but did not say.

V

A Forbidding and a Compulsion

Hezhi closed her tired eyes for a moment, watched the weird play of lights beneath her eyelids. The shapes that flitted there were familiar enough—the curves and angles of faded glyphs, some known to her, better than half as mysterious as the wind from the sea. How many days now had she been staring at them, scratching at their meanings as at an itch and with as little positive effect? She simply didn't know enough. Ghan was right.

And yet what she did understand of what she read would not let her stop. Her revelations were few and hard won, but they were sweet, sweeter than anything she had known in her life thus far.

Qey was worried about her, she knew. Dragging out of bed at first light, returning when the stars came out, fingering scraps of folded paper in her pocket. With a piece of charcoal, she copied glyphs she didn't understand, and at night, in her bed, by the flicker of an oil lamp, she puzzled at their meanings. The ghost in her room took notice; he came close, as if watching her, once ruffled his invisible finger across the paper. Perhaps he had been a scribe, in life, some learned man who loved writing as much as she.

I must open my eyes, she thought. I was just beginning to understand what this page was saying. But her eyes did not open, and in a moment sleep stole up on her.

She awoke falling, hurtling down into the black depths, but it was only a sleep terror, the kind caused by small imps that lived in one's head—or so Qey said. Hezhi put one small hand to her breast, to still the beating there. In her sleep-muddled state, she feared that Ghan might hear her heart. She feared as well that Ghan might have seen her sleeping; more than once she had seen him coldly expel those who did so, even those with the royal writ of permission to be in the library. A writ that she did not have. But no, if he had seen her sleeping, she would have awakened not to falling, but to the sage's sharp tongue.

Relieved, if still a bit disoriented, Hezhi turned her attention back to the book. Horrified, she saw that it lay sprawled, splay-paged upon the floor, and bit back a little cry. Had she dropped it? It seemed to her that she had laid it carefully down, handled it like the precious thing that it was. But there it was, facedown, like a dead bird with wings crookedly folded. Hezhi actually shook a bit when she reached for it. When she gently turned it over, her worry became panic, for there, just near the binding, the yellowed paper had torn. It seemed a long, obvious tear to Hezhi, as wide as the River.

If you tear just one page, Ghan had told her. Just one.

Hezhi wiped at her eye when she realized a few tears had squeezed out, and she shut them tightly, willing the salty water to stay beneath her skin. If Ghan saw her cry, he would know. He might learn anyway, but he would not learn from her. She remained there, thinking, composing herself, for some moments more. When she felt her face settle out of distress and into what she thought was a more normal mask of indifference, Hezhi carefully closed the book. There, one could not tell one torn page when the book was closed. Had Ghan even seen her take this particular volume? She was deep in what she called the tangle, a confusing maze of shelves and tables in the back corners of the library. Ghan had not seen her asleep, and he had not seen her take down this book. Satisfied with her reasoning, feeling a little better, Hezhi replaced the volume with its dark wine binding, nestled it among its brethren. She looked about once more, saw no one through the cracks and gaps between the books and shelves.

She took down another book, one that promised to tell her of the proper consecration of First-Dynasty fanes. She reasoned that since consecration involved painting the symbol names of the River upon supporting and necessary structures of the buildings, there might be some good description of the way that such buildings were planned and constructed. After an hour of half comprehension, Hezhi saw the mistake in this; the fanes of her father's dynasty were indeed painted, but in the First Dynasty, they were merely filled with particular and complex combinations of incense. There seemed little promise of architectural description in that. Her eyelids were beginning to droop once more and, rather than risk tearing another book, she replaced the useless volume and rose. She was proud of herself when she went past Ghan, neither hurrying nor dragging, in every way her normal self. As usual, he spared her not the tiniest glance.

Once outside, she scurried to where Tsem sat, back propped against the wall. He was talking to a young man in the dress of the court, some minor nobility. When the young man saw her, he raised his brows a bit, bade a quick farewell to Tsem, and started off down the corridor, plainly having business elsewhere. Hezhi paid little mind. She rushed up to Tsem, plucking at the titan's sleeve.

'Let's go, Tsem. Now.'

Tsem nodded, frowning, and climbed laboriously to his feet.

'This was a short day for you,' he remarked as they crossed the increasingly busy hall. Afternoon absolutions would be offered soon, and everyone was moving toward the open fountains. Hezhi, of course, would attend no such public ceremony, and though Tsem technically should, she made no sign that he might be released to go and do so.

'Yes, a short day. I thought I might help Qey in the kitchen.'

Tsem snorted. 'There is no need to lie to me, Princess. Tsem is your servant.'

Hezhi frowned, a bit angry that Tsem should know her so well. They crossed the White Yarrow Courtyard and then entered the royal wing, where they met fewer people going to pray.

'Did the Salamander cause you pain, Mistress?' Salamander was Tsem's name for Ghan and his smooth pate.

'No, Tsem.' Hezhi was startled to feel her tears threaten to begin again. Hadn't she put them away? She was fine.

'Huh.' The Giant grunted. They walked along a bit in silence.

'Mistress,' Tsem began, then paused a moment before going on. 'You know Wezh Yehd Nu?'

'What? Tsem, what are you talking about?'

'I just wondered if you knew him.'

'Should I?'

'His family is wealthy and powerful.'

'And unscrupulous. A century ago they acquired their land by fraud and deceit. There was a murder or two involved, as well, I think.'

'I have never heard this,' Tsem growled.

'No one talks about it. After all, now they have Royal Blood. It was in one of the old records—a priest wrote it, bemoaning the thinning of the River's blood with that of thieves and cutthroats.'

'Ah. But this was long ago, yes?'

'Yes, long ago.'

'There is a young man of the family, one Wezh…'

'Was that who you were talking to in the hall?'

Tsem stopped, leaned against the bright turquoise painted wall of the Wind People Hall they were just entering. 'You know,' he said, 'that just may have been him.'

'Now, you don't lie to me, Tsem. He scurried off like a house lizard when the cat comes around. What did this 'Wezh' want of you? I warn you, if you think I will release you, even for a day, to bodyguard some fool while he goes off to get drunk in the city…' Hezhi had refused such requests before.

'Ah… no, Princess. That is not what he wanted.'