Waterborn

Perkar resumed his stance. He did not want to be tricked into a rash attack. He grinned despite himself—Apad and Eruka were applauding him.

He swung again, and this time Ngangata brought an arm up, actually caught the blow. Perkar, anticipating that possibility, stepped with his back leg and drove his left hand into his opponent's midsection. It was like punching stiff leather, though Ngangata responded with a whoof. The grip on Perkar's wrist was strong—very strong—and Perkar realized to his dismay that he had badly underestimated the strength of the little man. He twisted free but resumed his attack instantly. As when he confronted the Wild God, the fear in his belly was gone, a hard anger surfacing.

Ngangata slapped his punch aside and, like a sudden stroke of lightning, launched his own attack; his fist darted out, so terribly fast that Perkar barely had time to blink before a stinging slap reddened his face. Perkar countered with a wild swing that lost him his balance but landed solidly on Ngangata's chest; the sound was as if he had punched a drum. Perkar's little anger was suddenly a storm. Ngangata was playing with him; he had opened the club of his fist into a mere slap; the attack that should have sent him to the cave floor spitting out teeth had only come as a reprimand. Twice the halfling had made him look foolish. Two times too many.

He followed the punch to the chest with another to the chin, and Ngangata's head snapped back, away from the blow, inhumanly fast. It must have looked like it hurt—the flagging enthusiasm of his friends' cheers picked up again—but he knew that his fist had really only barely connected.

The next blow was solid, though, and this time Ngangata really staggered. Perkar drew back to hit him again. His opponent looked at him enigmatically, and then—bizarrely—he smiled, a mocking, contemptuous smile. Perkar hit that smile dead center, and Ngangata fell, teeth smeared with his own blood. Slowly the half man picked himself back up. Perkar hit him again, and again he went down. Ngangata struggled to regain his feet once more, paused to gather strength, swaying on his knees.

'Stop. Stop this, I demand it!' The Kapaka pushed roughly between the two men. 'Stop it. Ngangata is here under my protection, Perkar. If you strike him again, you must strike me.' 'It is a fair fight,' Apad protested. 'They both agreed to it.' 'Enough. This expedition is under my charge, whatever any of you might think. My charge. I will not have you fighting amongst yourselves.'

Ngangata had regained his feet once more, though his legs were shaking visibly. One eye was already nearly swollen shut and his lip was bleeding copiously. His expression was completely unfathomable—puzzlement? scorn? Perkar did not know, but he suddenly felt silly, stupid even. Hitting a man who was not hitting him back. And now, the stupider he felt, the more angry he became.

'Why won't you fight?' he breathed, so low that probably only Ngangata and the Kapaka could hear him.

Ngangata shook his head as if a child should know the answer to that question. Perkar turned away in disgust. His fist was beginning to ache, and he vaguely wondered if he had cracked any bones in his knuckles.

Apad and Eruka clapped him on the shoulder as he walked away, back toward the fire. The Alwat were still there, watching, impassive. Atti sat somewhat apart from them, and he did not meet Perkar's gaze.

Perkar sat down, flicked his gaze angrily back toward Ngangata. The half man staggered out of the cave, out into the rain. Neither Atti nor any of the Alwat followed him.

III

The Light in the Labyrinth

Hezhi kicked back the embroidered coverlet and rolled across the bed to where the sheets were cooler. 'Hot,' she explained to Qey, who looked down at her with sympathy. 'Hot.'

Qey bent over, pressed a cool rag to her face. It was so cold as to be almost painful, and Hezhi winced away from it.

'I will send word to the library,' Qey said. 'Tsem will take it. Ghan cannot expect you to work when you are so ill.'

'No,' Hezhi insisted. 'No, I have to go. He will send soldiers again…'

'Ssh, little one.' Qey persevered with the rag, following her as she flinched from it. After a moment's contact, it began to feel better. 'He won't,' she assured Hezhi. 'If he does, they will see you are not well.'

Hezhi tried to protest once more, but Qey was right. She could not imagine standing up; her stomach lurched at the least motion, even on the bed. And she was so hot.

'Let me make you some tea,' Qey suggested. She left the rag with Hezhi, who sponged it across her own face.

'What's wrong with me?' she wailed.

'It's your first bleeding,' Qey replied. 'It's harder on some than others.'

Hezhi didn't believe her. There was some deeper worry in Qey's voice, and not a little fear. That, in turn, frightened Hezhi.

'Try to close your eyes, little one, get some rest. You hardly slept last night. Small wonder, with this and those horrible things that happened yesterday.'

'It was after me,' Hezhi mumbled. 'Why was it after me?'

'Quiet, child. It was just a ghost. It wasn't after anyone in particular. Get some sleep; FU make some warm tea to help you, to soothe your stomach.'

'I don't want to sleep.' Hezhi groaned. 'I don't like my dreams.'

'They will fade,' Qey promised.

'No,' Hezhi said, but Qey had already gone to the next room. Hezhi wanted to explain that it wasn't the dreams of the ghost she was afraid of; those were bad enough, seeing that poor soldier die again, split open from inside. But that dream she understood, at least. It was the strange dreams, the weird ones, that kept her awake. And it wasn't what she saw in them; it was what they made her feel.

She heard Qey in the next room talking to Tsem, muffled noises she did not understand, heard the outside door open and then close again. After a while, Qey returned with a cup of tea. Hezhi managed to sit up enough to sip it. The tea was bitter, but good. It relaxed the terrible knots in her gut, made her feel a bit less nauseated.

'Hezhi,' Qey said as she drank the last of her tea. 'Hezhi, I don't want you to tell anyone that you began bleeding. Do you understand?'

'Why?' She was beginning to feel warm rather than hot, more comfortable. Perhaps she could go to the library after all.

'It would be for the best. You know how people are about such things.'

Hezhi nodded, not really understanding but unwilling to argue about anything. Qey made to leave, but Hezhi grasped her hand. 'Stay here with me,' she asked.

Qey hesitated. 'I have to go start some bread,' she said. 'I'll be back to check on you soon.'

'Let me come to the kitchen then.'

'You don't have the strength, you just think you do. It's the tea, little one.' Qey patted her hand. 'I'll be back soon.'

Hezhi closed her eyes—for a moment only—and listened to Qey's footsteps recede. She really didn't feel hot anymore, just a bit warm.

 

 

Hezhi was in a strange place. It seemed altogether too damp and green. Trees— trees the like of which she had never seen— surrounded her. They towered impossibly high, taller and thicker than even the largest cedar or olive tree, and they grew as profusely as wheat in a field. The sky above her was visible only as tiny blue slivers, the vast dome of it blotted from her sight by the vault of branches and leaves. Light glowed through the leaves, however, shone through them as if through paper so that she could see the delicate veins in those closest. She was reminded of the Hall of Moments, of the colored glass and the way it made the light play upon the marble floor. It was beautiful and a bit frightening because it was so alien; the smells were thick, pungent, unfamiliar. Worse was an awful awareness of something she had done wrong, some awful act she had committed. What have I done? she kept thinking, over and over.

She awoke with a start; she blinked her eyes, for the images of the trees seemed to cling to them like the grit that formed in their corners at night. She rolled over onto her back, angry. Qey had tricked her into sleeping.