The Blackgod

much like a daughter they considered her, and what the greater ramifications of that were. But after more than a year in the Cattle Lands, she thought she knew.

PERKAR gave another try at lifting the fence post, lost his balance, and then sat down with a bump. He hoped he wasn't going to be sick again.

“Get up and work, Perkar,” Ngangata chirped in a cheerful—and thus evil—voice. “Sweat it out.”

From fifty paces away, Tsem boomed in, “I always wondered if that sword of yours cured hangovers, too, back when you still had it.”

“I don't know,” Perkar grumbled, holding his head. “I never got drunk when I bore Harka. But I wish I had him back, right now, so I could find out.”

“Try this instead.” Ngangata smirked, walking over to join him on the crest of the hill. Below, some fifty red cows moved lazily across the pasture. Tsem eclipsed a few of them as he, too, ceased working and labored up the slope to join Perkar and Ngangata.

Perkar eyed suspiciously the skin that Ngangata offered him. “What is it?”

“Water,” the halfling replied, inserting a broken stalk of grass between his broad, thin lips.

Perkar drank some of it. It was cool, clear springwater, tasting only of rain and snowmelt. Perkar was sure it would make him vomit. He drank it anyway and discovered that he did indeed feel somewhat better.

“Pass me that,” Tsem panted, and Ngangata transferred the skin to the huge man's massive paws.

“We make good time on this fence,” Tsem said, his tongue still wrapping thickly around Perkar's language.

“Thanks to you and Ngangata,” Perkar muttered. “I've been useless enough today.” He glanced up speculatively at Ngangata. “How much longer will you stay?” He hesitated, then rushed on, “I didn't think you would come back at all.”

Ngangata straightened his shoulders and gazed off at the forest, as if worried that something might lurk there. “Well, I had to make sure you hadn't already found some new trouble to get into. In any event, I had to come see if the songs were true.”

“Songs?”

“Yes,” Ngangata answered. “In the songs I heard at Morawta, they speak of the hero Perkar standing as tall as two men together. I had to see if that was true.”

Perkar closed his eyes, but that made his head whirl the worst, and so he cracked them open again. “Tell me not of such songs.”

Ngangata sat beside him, touching his shoulder lightly. “I shouldn't taunt you,” he admitted. “But you still owe me. Anyway, there is one thing I thought you would like to know about the new songs.”

“That being?”

“The Changeling. The river who was once the Changeling has a new name.”

“A new name for a new river,” Perkar said, and despite himself he felt a little thrill. Five years ago he had promised a goddess revenge, and despite everything, he had given her that—and more. “What do they call her?”

Ngangata's smile broadened. “Ah-hah. I knew you would want to know that.” He rubbed his hands together and cracked his knuckles, then lay back to gaze up at the lazy clouds overhead, his alien, dark eyes filmed with blue. “Well, the Mang call her Tu'da'an, the 'River of Springtime,' because she brought new life. Many of your own folk call her simply Itani, 'Rowing Goddess.' But there is another name for her.”

The half man lapsed into silence for a moment, as if suddenly listening to the sky.

“Yes?” Perkar grunted testily.

“Ah. Many call her Animiramu.”

Perkar had no answer for that, no retort. He only turned to look at the farthest tree line, toward the distant north where she flowed.

“I'm sorry,” Tsem interposed after a moment or two, “but what does that mean?”

“It means 'The goddess he loved,' ” Ngangata answered softly.

Perkar did not want the subject pursued.

“You didn't answer my question,” he rasped, more harshly than he meant to. “How long will you stay this time?”

Ngangata considered for a moment. “I don't know. A few days.”

Perkar massaged his head, wondering if he should try to discuss what he wanted when he felt so bad. But Tsem and Ngangata were both here, and no one else around.

“Listen, Ngangata. You, too, Tsem. I think I'm going out to claim some land in the new valleys. I think it's time I did that.”

“Good,” Ngangata said. “You waited more than long enough.”

Perkar considered Ngangata as frankly as he could with his bloodshot eyes. “This is my idea,” he began.

“Uh-oh,” Ngangata interjected.

Perkar greeted that with a self-deprecating grimace. “Hear me out. I want you two to come with me.”

“To do all of the work, I assume,” Tsem rumbled.

“To share the land,” Perkar countered. “To each take a third of my granting.”

Ngangata stared at him silently, weighing those words. He understood what Perkar was offering, whether Tsem did or not.

“How could that be?” the halfling softly inquired. “Grantings can be made only to clan members. Tsem and I have no clan.”

“I asked a lawkeeper about this,” Perkar explained carefully. “My father and I can adopt you. You can share the land with me as if we were siblings. And your land would pass on to your sons.”

“I could own land? Like this?” Tsem asked. From his tone it was clear that he thought he misunderstood. Perkar repeated his statement in Nholish, to make certain the half Giant comprehended.

“I can have no sons,” Tsem said, his voice thick with emotion. “My sort can father no offspring. But…”

“That matters not,” Perkar said. “Pass it on to whomever you want—it would be yours.”

“After much hard work,” Ngangata added. “This is not cleared pasture we speak of. Perkar, I am a hunter, a guide, not a cattleman.”

“For many years, the most of our sustenance will come from hunting, until our herds have strength and many trees have been felled. If you never choose to do aught but hunt it, it would still be your land.”

“Yes, but I would be your brother, according to those terms,” Ngangata said, his voice thick with disgust. Perkar looked down in shocked astonishment, certain that after all of this time he and Ngangata were better friends than that…

But then he saw the halfling was biting back his laughter, and when Ngangata did release his mirth, Perkar understood that it was all right. His offer had been accepted.

“ISN'T it beautiful?“ Perkar asked, sweeping his arm to encompass the valley. Hezhi thought at first that the question was purely rhetorical, but then he turned his shining gray eyes on her, demanding a response.

“It is,” she agreed. And it was. The expanse of the valley was breathtaking—not awesome, like some of the landscapes she had seen in Balat—but nevertheless lovely, a panorama of rocky meadows and spruce swaying in a breeze easing down a saddle in the surrounding mountains. But it was more wonderful still in Perkar's eyes, that was clear. Like so many things, she could never appreciate it as he did.

“I shall build my damakuta there” he stated, indicating a gentle rise in the valley floor, “and there shall be my first pasture.” He indicated a flatter area nearby, where a stream snaked through a meadow.

“That seems reasonable,” Hezhi replied, “though I know little enough about pasture.”

He glanced at her again, and she wondered exactly what his gaze held. It looked a bit like fear.

“Come walk with me a bit,” Perkar urged, dismounting.

Hezhi watched as he tied his horse to a nearby tree, then reluctantly swung her leg over Dark's mane and head, sliding earthward. “Where have Tsem and Ngangata gotten off to?” she asked. “They were behind us a few