Waterborn

Hezhi smiled. 'I will try,' she promised.

 

 

Perkar edged around the skinning frame, admiring the hide from all sides. 'You've done a nice job with this,' he said. 'One would never know you were once a princess.'

She attempted a smile, but it fell into a flat line.

'Sorry,' he hastened to add.

'No,' Hezhi said. 'It isn't that. Being a princess never meant much to me. It might have, I suppose, if…' But the if hung in the air.

He pretended to examine the skin more closely, embarrassed.

'What are your plans, Perkar?' she asked abruptly. 'Do you plan to hunt with the Mang from now on?'

'No.' He had been thinking about that, of course. 'No. I'm repaying debts right now, and I thought to begin with the closest, the ones I owe here. I'm also told that winter is hard on the western steppes. When spring comes, I'll go back to my father's land, to my own people. I have much to atone for there, many things to set right.'

'Many things that I share blame for as well,' Hezhi said.

'This has been discussed,' he told her. 'I believe you to be blameless.'

'If I am, you are as well. But if you bear responsibility, so do I, Perkar. You can't have it both ways. We did this together, you and I. No matter what Brother Horse says, this skein was wound by the two of us, out of our fears and desires. I barely know you, but we belong together, at least for a time.'

He tried out a chuckle and found it wanting. 'How old are you?' he said. 'Why not rest for a few years, be a child awhile longer?'

The girl looked back at him wearily. 'That is already lost to me,' she said quietly.

'Lost things can be found,' he replied. But he knew what she meant. He would never again be that boy with his first sword, whooping in his father's pasture.

'I don't know,' he went on, when she didn't reply. 'We have many months to think about it. It might be that you will change your mind.'

'I might,' she conceded. 'I did promise Tsem a few things. But I want you to think on this.'

Perkar grunted. 'You know,' he said, 'you frighten me a bit.'

'I? I thought you were a demon, when I first met you.'

'Perhaps I am, when I wield Harka. I don't know. But you…'

'How do I frighten you?'

'Who knows? All that time, on the River, your face the only clear thing in my mind. I can't see you without remembering that, without remembering that I hated you for a while.'

'You still hate me?'

'No. It is just a memory. A clear memory.' He settled down, cross-legged.

Hezhi hesitated for an instant, eyes turned from him. 'You were going to kill me,' she blurted suddenly.

Perkar grinned sardonically. 'We were going to kill each other, weren't we?'

Hezhi nodded, but choked suddenly, gasped with an obvious effort to fight back tears. Perkar stared at her with open dismay. She bit her lip and began to scrabble to her feet. Perkar, to his own vast surprise, reached his hand out gently, laid it upon her shoulder. After a tiny hesitation, he knelt and drew her to him, felt her heart beating in her slight form like a thrush's wings. She sobbed, once, into his shoulder, and he felt a sudden tightness in his own throat.

'I'm sorry,' he sighed, as he hugged her awkwardly. 'I'm sorry. I know it hurts, all of it.'

'I never meant to…' she mumbled, sniffling.

'Shh. Never mind,' he soothed back. For a moment they stayed that way, and Perkar realized that though he had come half a world to find her, he had never really touched Hezhi.

'Listen,' he said seriously, disengaging but leaving his hand on her shoulder, 'all of this talk about duty and responsibility is fine, but I would be happier if we could at least like each other.'

Hezhi nodded, reached up to brush at the dampness beneath her black eyes. 'I can do that,' she said, her tone a shade less certain than her words.

Perkar smiled, but boyishly this time, with none of his world-weary hardness. 'I can do that, too. Maybe…' He crinkled his brow. 'Maybe we need each other to heal from this; I don't know. But when I go home, I hope you will come with me.'

'I would like that,' she replied.

Suddenly embarrassed, Perkar turned his attention back to the skinning frame. 'I thought I might go for a ride,' he confided. 'I like this horse the Mang gave me. He reminds me of one I used to have.' He glanced over at the girl. 'Would you like to come with me?'

Hezhi surveyed her work. Overhead, a late flight of geese arrowed through the turquoise sky.

'Yes,' she said, her eyes distant. 'Yes, I think I would.'

He rose and offered her his hand, but she stood on her own before taking it, grinning.

'Where shall we ride to?' she asked.

It was his turn to smile. 'Anywhere,' he said. 'Wherever we choose.'

They turned together toward where the horses waited.

About the Author

Born in Meridian, Mississippi, on April 11, 1963, J. Gregory Keyes spent his early years roaming the forests of his native state as well as the red-rock cliffs of the Navajo Indian reservation in Arizona. Storytelling in his family and on the reservation sparked an interest both in writing and in the ancient. Pursuing the ancient, he obtained a B.A. in anthropology from Mississippi State University. Moving to Athens, Georgia, he worked ironing newspapers and as a night guard to support his wife, Nell, in her metalworking/jewelry degree, and also began seriously pursuing writing in his spare time.

Returning to anthropology, he earned a master's from the University of Georgia, concentrating on mythology and belief systems, long-standing interests that also inspire his fiction. He currently teaches introductory anthropology and a course on reconstructing Southeastern Indian agriculture while pursuing his Ph.D.

In leisure time, Keyes enjoys ethnic cooking—particularly Central American, Szechuan, and Turkish cuisine— heirloom gardening, and kapucha toli, a Choctaw Indian sport involving heavy wooden sticks and few rules.