Waterborn

it would be so nice, if a hero like Chakunge would come, free her from her problems, her worries. Perhaps that was where D'en was, off becoming a hero, so that he could come back and rescue her.

After the dance, the people in the hall lined up to file past the fountain; each drank from the water in their cupped hands, praying for their city, their emperor, themselves. Hezhi followed dutifully, and when she came to the fountain her mind was still picturing the dashing dancer portraying Chakunge, laughing, full of power. When she drank, she prayed silently. Send me a hero, she prayed. She felt weak, doing so. She felt as if she were betraying something. But at that moment, it was the foremost thought in her. Send me a hero, she beseeched, and she drank the water.

She had taken only a score of steps, and the water reached the hurtful place in her belly, and there it seemed to erupt, like pine knot thrown on a fire. She gasped and fell, saved only by the quick arms of Tsem from cracking her skull open on the hard marble floor. The water roared in her, rushed out into her veins, fiery. It made her skin feel like dough, like something soft and barely real; reality was the heat, the insides of her.

A hundred times she had taken sacred water, and it had always been just drinking. Now she thought she would die.

Her senses returned soon enough, though. No one but Tsem seemed to pay her much heed; he picked her up, carried her to a bench near the wall, and the two women occupying it leapt up hastily at the look he jabbed at them.

Perhaps Tsem, is my hero, she thought, but no, Tsem was as surrounded by the monsters as she; he was like one of the men the chief sent who failed. But he was a comfort.

Tsem laid her on the bench, and after a few moments the flame became a tingle, an itch, was gone. But something was different, changed.

'I should take you back home now, Princess,' Tsem whispered.

'No.' Hezhi shook her head. 'No, I'm better now. It was just the water… I'm better. I should stay for the rest of this.'

'As you wish, Princess.' Still, he made her remain on the bench long after she was capable of walking. When finally she wobbled to her feet, his face was filled with concern.

'I'm fine, Tsem,' she assured him, but her feet felt like wood and she sat back down, as best she could, with her dress's tail hanging off the back of the bench and resting on the floor.

The ceremonies were over; now servants passed here and there, bearing trays of steamed dumplings, fried fish cakes, strange foods that even Hezhi could not identify. She wasn't in the least hungry; she took a small cup of wine when it was offered, however, and the first few sips of it made her feel better.

She was taking another sip when she heard a polite cough.

'Princess? May I?'

It was the boy, Wezh Yehd Nu. He was dressed in as silly an outfit as anyone, a long robe of silk, green pantaloons, a shirt cut to look like a breastplate.

Hezhi reluctantly inclined her head in assent. The boy sat down. Tsem seemed to have withdrawn to some distance.

'You seem to be feeling unwell,' Wezh remarked. 'I thought I might ask if there was anything I can do.'

'It's nothing,' Hezhi said. 'I felt a little faint, but I am much better now.'

'I'm glad to hear that,' Wezh said gravely. He moved his mouth as if to say more, but instead turned his attention back to the crowd. The two of them sat in awkward silence for a few moments.

'My father says these gatherings are the lifeblood of our society,' Wezh said at last. 'Don't you think that's true?'

Hezhi remembered her father, a blurred image with the River at his beck.

'I suppose,' she replied.

There was another awkward silence, during which Hezhi began to feel well enough to be rude. Still, she held her peace. Perhaps those near her—Tsem, for instance—might be a little less annoying if she indulged their wishes just a bit. And of course, her father had probably been so insistent that she come for just this reason. Daughters were best married off early.

Wezh was not unkind or unpleasant looking. Perhaps, if not a hero, he could be a friend. She flinched at that thought—the thought of having another person as dear as D'en to lose—but it was no longer unbearable, as it had been a year or even a few days ago.

'I have a boat,' Wezh said cautiously. 'A little barge with a cabin on it. My father gave it to me for my fifteenth birthday. Do you like to go boating?'

Where had that come from? Hezhi wondered. From the lifeblood of society to his boat?

'No, I have never been boating,' she told him.

'Oh, it's great fun,' Wezh told her enthusiastically. 'You can imagine that you're one of those pirates from the Swamp Kingdoms, you know, like in the romantic plays? You do like the plays, don't you? Most girls do.'

Hezhi had seen a few of the plays he spoke of. Pitiful, debased things compared to the great epics like the one they had just witnessed.

'I liked the dance just now,' she told him. 'It was a wonderful rendition of the Chakunge epic.'

'I found it a little boring,' Wezh said diffidently. 'You know, old-fashioned. Now the other day I saw this drama about Ch'uh—he's a pirate, you know…'

'That means 'mosquito' in the old speech,' Hezhi informed him.

Wezh glanced at her, his eyes a bit wider than before, if such were possible. 'Indeed?' he said. 'That might explain why his sword is so long and thin, mightn't it? Well, how illuminating! I'm sure that you would have many such observations, if you were to attend such a play. Ah, with me perhaps.' He looked around the room nervously.

'Are you searching for pirates?' she asked with mild sarcasm. 'I don't think my father would admit them, you know.'

'Oh, no, of course he wouldn't,' Wezh said. 'No, I was…' He closed his eyes and cleared his throat.

'Umm… Whither goes her brilliant beauty/My tongue cannot hold her name …'

The words were so rushed they were nearly incoherent, and so it took Hezhi nearly two stanzas to realize that Wezh was reciting his—or more likely somebody else's—poetry to her.

'Oh,' she interrupted, standing abruptly. 'I'm sorry, Wezh Yehd Nu, but I must bid you good day.'

Wezh stuttered off, looked a little puzzled and forlorn. 'Are you feeling unwell again, Princess?'

'Yes, Wezh, that is it precisely.'

She turned and gestured to Tsem, who shot her a small expression of chagrin. She turned once to survey the hall again, before she left. The fountain was in its normal state, the water rising no higher than usual. But among the sparkling droplets she thought she saw something dark rising, as well. With an involuntary shiver, she took her leave without another word to the anxious Wezh.

 

 

'That was rude, Princess,' Tsem told her, when they were back in the Hall of Moments and out of earshot of anyone. The hall was lined with guards in armor today, and a lone priest was sweeping, smoke rising from his spirit-broom, a little acolyte behind him with a mundane broom and dustpan, gathering the ashes. None of them were close enough to hear what the princess and her bodyguard were saying.

Hezhi shrugged. 'He is an idiot, Tsem, stupid and unlearned. What use do I have for a boy like that?'

'You will find a use for men someday, or you will live as a spinster—or more likely have a marriage imposed on you.'

'I think marriages must always be imposed, if Wezh is the common sort of man.'

Tsem shook his head, then bowed it, in respect, as they passed the old priest and his novice.

'Anyway, I'm really not feeling well. You know that.'

Tsem was about to reply, but there was a strangled cry behind them; Hezhi felt the hackles rise on her neck, experienced yet another terrible shuddering. She stumbled and turned to confront the source.