The Blackgod

Hezhi, empress of the world. And in such a world, ruled by the River and his children, might there not be some place for such as he?

Furious and bewildered, he stalked back to the rapidly breaking camp. The urge to fly ahead, alone, and confront his enemies by himself was nearly overwhelming. But he must listen to Moss now, who knew this world of magic and many gods better than he. Moss could throw his vision from him, see things far away—something Ghe found himself unable to do; when he tried, the spirit carrying his sight inevitably tried to escape, and he was usually forced to devour it entire. Moss controlled his familiars in a different way, by cajoling them, by bargaining with them; they came and went willingly. The shaman's personal power was as nothing compared to Ghe's, but it gave him some advantages. Moss knew where Hezhi and her captors were, knew that in a few days the paths of their forces would converge, at the base of the mountain looming west. Moss had urged Ghe to wait until then to strike. The waiting was hard, hard. Yet one thing he understood, now that Qwen Shen's hold on him was released: he himself was a weapon, not a warrior. The River had made him thus, for it could not give him the wisdom or knowledge to know how he should strike or where. That was Moss' task. Moss knew best how to wield him.

So perhaps—as a weapon—he spent too much time thinking. Thinking only served to confuse him, in the end.

He entered the camp, wondering what Ghan had to tell him.

GHAN stumbled to the stream, sought up it until the current was unsullied by the hooves of horses. Kneeling, he brought handfuls of the clear and incredibly cold liquid to his face, gingerly probed the cuts and bruises on his throat. So close, so close, and yet now he wondered if he had done the right thing. It might have been better if Moss were destroyed.

Well, he shouldn't hold himself accountable for what he shrieked when Ghe had a grasp on him. Never in all of his years could he have ever imagined the forces at play, here beyond the simple and sterile world of the River. It was a terrifying world, and he feared for Hezhi. Everything seemed to hinge upon her, and a hinge swung too many times could weaken and break.

But, water take him, he was beginning to fear this unknown, unseen “Blackgod” even more than he feared Ghe. Here was a creature who had plotted and planned against this day for at least a thousand years. Such a creature might be resistant to attempts to alter its plans, and it would surely not take into account the feelings, desires, and wishes of a twelve-, no, thirteen-year-old girl. Whatever designs were laid down in the dark places of the world in the past millennia could not account specifically for Hezhi. One could not plan her—only a child like her. Hezhi had her own desires and motivations, and they might not coincide with what the gods wanted from her.

He closed his eyes, trying to imagine her face once more: chewing her lip, bent over an open book…

He opened his eyes and was startled to indeed see a woman's reflection on the stream.

“If you cry out,” she whispered, “if you make the faintest of sounds, you will die. Do you understand that?”

Ghan turned to Qwen Shen and nodded. Bone Eel stood a small distance behind her. He looked grim.

“You will come back to the horses with me, and you will mount, and you will offer no resistance. If you do those things, you will not only live, but you will see your darling pupil again.”

Ghan shrugged, though he found it impossible to conceal his expression of anger. He followed her to the horses.

Surely Moss or Ghe would sense them somehow, find them.

But half a day later, as their horses lathered and panted beneath them, and they entered the bosom of the enormous forest, he was forced to admit that perhaps he was mistaken about that. About midday, Bone Eel called them to a walk, so that their mounts might not die beneath them.

“You are a fool,” Bone Eel told him casually.

Ghan turned sharply in his saddle. There was something in Bone Eel's voice that sounded different, somehow.

“Am I?”

“You revealed us. We had the ghoul under our control, and you gave him the means to slip. You cannot imagine what you have released.”

“I think I can. I wonder if you can?”

Qwen Shen uttered a harsh laugh. “My husband has endured much,” she said. “He has pranced and played for your amusement, so that you would focus all of your attention upon me and never watch him. But do not be deceived. I have witchery enough, but—”

“Hush, beloved,” Bone Eel said, a cord of command strung through the words. “Giving this one knowledge is like giving an assassin weapons. Or perhaps like giving broken glass to a small child, I am not certain which. In any case, he needs to know little enough.”

“I know that you are servant of the Blackgod, who in Nhol we name the Ebon Priest,” Ghan snapped.

“Do you?” Bone Eel said easily. “Well, I must admit I would be sorely disappointed in you if you had not reasoned at least that much. Tell me more, prince of words and books.”

“The whole priesthood serves this Blackgod. But you are not priests. She is a woman and you are not castrated.”

“Right again. You are indeed clever, Master Ghan. Perhaps we were wrong in urging Ghe to swallow you up.”

“No,” Qwen Shen snapped. “We would still control the ghoul if we had persuaded that. What I endured from him, and then you render it all for naught!”

“Now, beloved,” Bone Eel sighed, wagging his finger at her. “You know that you enjoyed him well. Lie not to me.”

Qwen Shen opened her mouth to protest but when she met her husband's gaze, a devilish look flashed upon her features. “Well, after all, my lord, on the River you were less than your usual self.”

“Hush, I said,” Bone Eel snapped, and this time Ghan caught real anger in his tone.

Qwen Shen obeyed, and the three rode in sullen silence for a bit.

“May I ask where we are going?” Ghan asked.

“You may, and I may even answer,” Bone Eel replied.

“Well?”

“We go to rendezvous with Hezhi and her retinue,” he answered.

“At best, you can only hope to reach them hours before Ghe and Moss. Less, if Ghe takes to the air. He can fly now, you know.”

“I know. Well, you can thank yourself for this mess. The balance was easily tipped in our favor when we had some control of Ghe. Now we have none, and the outcome of this shall be messy, at best. I seek the advice of someone wiser and more powerful than myself. Leaving Nhol, I left much of my power and wisdom behind,” Bone Eel confided.

“You seek Perkar, who rides with Hezhi?”

“Perkar? The barbarian dolt? No. Actually, you will be pleased to meet him in person, since you have thought so hard upon him.”

“The Blackgod?” Ghan grunted. “You're telling me that Hezhi rides in the company of a god?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. I can only barely see them. But I would bet my last copper soldier that he is near if he is not among them.” He shrugged. “Either way, in a day or so you will witness a battle such as this world has not seen in many, many ages. The rotten stump has been kicked, and termites pour out!” He laughed, genuinely and loudly, and the peals of it rang weirdly in the vast roof of the forest.

BY the afternoon, he was no longer laughing. They entered a high, narrow valley and began hurrying their exhausted mounts up one slope of it. It was steep, very steep, and none of them was an accomplished horseman. Below, the lean shapes of mounted Mang began to appear, outriders or actual pursuit, it did not matter, for they clearly understood who rode ahead of them—whoops of discovery and triumph echoed through the vale. Perhaps Qwen Shen and Bone Eel had some priestly trick for muddling Ghe's and Moss' supernatural senses, but they could not fool the keen eyes of born hunters and warriors.