Waterborn

 

 

He gathered up the firewood and took it back to the clearing, where Brother Horse sat braiding his long gray and black hair. His eyes lingered an instant on Perkar's bloody knuckles, but he made no comment about them.

'I can see your sword,' he remarked instead. 'If it weren't for that, I might almost doubt your story.'

'What does it look like?' Perkar asked curiously, his anger diffused, cooling.

'Well, I see the two of you together. You're tied up somehow. But together you look like a bird. An eagle, I think.'

'The sword's name is Harka,' Perkar confirmed. 'That means Eagle.'

'Of course,' the old man answered. Nearby, Ngangata stirred in his sleep.

'Your friend is badly hurt,' Brother Horse apprised him. 'If he continues with you, he will die.'

'Yes, I know that,' Perkar responded. 'That is why I want to leave him with you. Can you see what would happen if I leave him?'

Brother Horse nodded. 'Yes. I see him getting stronger, I see you weakening. He is the last, the last of your companions, is he not? The last thing tying you to your homeland and the strength you draw from it.'

'I tell you the truth, Grandfather,' Perkar whispered. 'At first I hated this man. I feared him, and I hate what I fear. I have come to hate myself, because I fear the things I have done. But Ngangata has given me one present after another, even when I couldn't recognize them. He does not deserve to die for me, and I don't deserve to die with him—in such good company.' He let his gaze drift over to the fire, which seemed pale and sad without a goddess dancing in it. 'Brother Horse, will you watch him? When he is stronger, I know he will repay the debt.'

Brother Horse reached down and scratched his dog behind the ear and sighed. 'If Heen doesn't mind, I won't object,' he said.

'Thank you,' Perkar replied.

'There's some dried meat in the house. Take some of that. And listen,' he said, leaning a bit closer. 'If you meet any of my people, tell them I said to let you be. Tell them the old man on the island, who was once Yushnene, who was once Gaan, told them to take care of you.'

'That's very kind,' Perkar replied, by way of thanks.

'Oh, well,' Brother Horse said. 'It won't cost me anything; I'll be here with this man fetching and serving.' He paused, and his eyes twinkled. 'Too bad you couldn't have had a sick woman with you. But nothing's perfect.' He took a drink of tea and then cocked his head to the side. 'Listen,' he said. 'I remembered something else about the River.'

'Yes?' Perkar answered.

'You remember that we were talking about him being awake?'

'Yes.'

'There is an old song, a legend. I remember that it says one day the River will come fully awake, find two feet to walk on.'

'What does that mean?'

Brother Horse shrugged. 'Bad things. Maybe the end of the world. It is an old song, and I don't remember much of it.'

Later that night, after Brother Horse had finally faded into sleep, Perkar went back to the shore, dragged the boat into the water, and let the current take him on. For the first time in clear memory he felt alive, ready to face the future. Not happy, not content—but at least no longer numb. For thirty days or more, with every fingerspan of water they had crossed he had been resisting, as surely and as stupidly as a man paddling against a current far too strong to fight. Karak's boat had learned its lesson immediately. He had not, and the struggle had worn him out. Yet it was not too late for him to absorb this truth. If he had to meet fate, best not do it trying to retreat, back turned, weary to the bone. Better to meet it flying on the balls of his feet, sword drawn.

'I wonder who will bear you next, Harka?' he remarked, with more irony than resignation.

IV

Transformations

'Have you ever seen such a wonderful story?' Wezh exclaimed, his fingers fluttering enthusiastically. 'The way he arrived just as the pirates were going to kill her! And such swordplay! That man should be the head of the imperial guard!'

'That would be fine,' Hezhi replied, 'if he actually existed.'

Wezh blinked at her uncomprehendingly, then blew a little shower of spit from his mouth as he suddenly laughed. 'You are so witty, Princess,' he howled, dabbing at his eyes. 'Of course I meant the actor who portrayed Ts'ih. The way he handled that sword. Did you enjoy it? Were you inspired?'

'I was.' she agreed, though she reflected that what the drama had inspired in her was almost certainly not what it had evoked in Wezh.

'Well,' Wezh said, still visibly recovering from mirth, 'I wonder where we should walk tonight? The Forest Courtyard is said to be lovely this time of year.'

'I was actually feeling a bit tired,' she told him, again not lying.

'Nonsense. A breath of fresh air will restore your recalcitrance!'

Hezhi went back over Wezh's last sentence in her mind, trying—as she often found herself doing—to imagine what word the young noble meant to use. It didn't really matter though; it was clear that he was insisting on at least a short walk together. She was preparing to reinforce her stated lack of interest in such a stroll when she caught Qa Lung's expression. She hadn't realized that Wezh's bodyguard was near enough to hear her.

Qa Lung made her uncomfortable. Not a slave like Tsem, Qa Lung was actually a member of the Yehd Nu Clan—Wezh's uncle, in fact. As such he had full power to oversee a courtship and offer the terms of marriage. He was also, she knew, one of the small herd of sycophants who had her father's ear, and worse still, he had connections with the priesthood. She felt certain that he was carefully watching her every move, and that many ears would hear what he observed. So rather than loosing the rather pungent reply she had been forming to give Wezh, she smiled sweetly, if a bit painfully, and said, 'The Forest Courtyard sounds wonderful.' From the corner of her eye she caught her chaperon—Tsem, naturally—suppressing a grin.

A number of the other drama-goers also had a notion to visit the Forest Courtyard. She noted that the vast majority of them were young couples and their chaperons. The balance seemed to be married women without their husbands. These latter were clustered together, discussing the relative merits of the drama and cooing a bit over the protagonist. Their enthusiasm was no doubt heightened by nende'ng, the intoxicating black snuff currently in favor with the court. Their overhappy, glazed expressions and the black stains around their mouths and noses testified amply to that.

The Forest Courtyard was one of the largest, so called because of the eighteen trees that were planted in it and the numerous shrubs, all carefully sculpted to appear wild. It was deemed one of the more romantic spots for courting and for extramarital affairs because it was designed with privacy in mind; the shrubs and screens of climbing plants created numerous small alcoves.

Couples ahead of them slipped off into the 'private' places, their bodyguards lagging discreetly behind. This and a bit of prescience inspired in her a distinct drowning sensation, sinking and out of breath all at once. When, as she feared, Wezh took her hand and guided her toward one of the grottoes, she shot Tsem a silent appeal. He shrugged slightly as if to ask 'What can I do?'

'Alone at last,' Wezh said smartly. He hadn't thought of that himself—it was a quote from the drama, probably supposed to evoke in her the same tender feelings it had in the play's heroine. Instead, she wondered how Wezh would react if she were to become ill. Oblivious to her growing dismay, Wezh led her to a little stone bench. She craned her neck; Tsem was no longer visible to her.

Wezh had undergone a disquieting transformation since they had been seeing one another. His shy, tentative nature had slipped aside, and behind it lurked an arrogant self-confidence. Whenever they went anywhere, he made a great show of being with her, the Chakunge's daughter. He liked to be noticed. Worse, he believed that he knew her feelings, sensed what she wanted, because, he bragged, he 'understood women.'