The Blackgod

“You put store in that now? The priesthood teach you to respect old women properly?”

“Yes.”

She shrugged, picked the bones up, and rattled them around in her hands.

“Whatever happened to that girl?” she asked casually. “The one you liked, that they set you after?”

His dismay must have been as clear to her as the call of gulls above. Her own eyes widened. “What have you done, little one? What is this about?”

Ghe felt a little tremor walk up his spine. He had to do something. He reached out for the httle, fluttering knot of strands that made up her life. She knew it all, this old woman. That he was a Jik, about Hezhi, everything. Best to kill her now, quickly.

But he could not. He knew not why. The moment passed, and he shrank back from the strands, though now he felt a bit of hunger—completely unabated by the bread and meat he consumed earlier.

“Listen,” he hissed. “Listen to me.” He took a deep breath. “I don't know who you are.”

Her eyes widened and then flattened. “What do you mean by that? Life in the palace made you too good to talk to old Li?”

LI He had heard that name in his vision, when he was reborn. Then it meant nothing, just a sound. Now …

Now it still meant nothing, save that it was this old woman's name.

“No. No, that isn't what I mean at all. You clearly know me, know my name, know much about me. But I do not know you.”

Her face cleared then, blanked like a perfect, featureless mask: the inscrutable fortune-teller.

“What do you remember?”

“Bits of things. I know I grew up around here somewhere. I remember this street. I remember your face—but I didn't know your name until just now.”

Her face remained expressionless. “Perhaps some sort of Forbidding,” she muttered slowly. “But why would they cripple you so? This makes no sense, Ghe.”

“Perhaps,” he began, “perhaps if you were to tell me, remind me. Perhaps the memories are only sleeping.”

Li nodded slowly. “That could be. But again, why? You are still a Jik?”

“Still,” he said. “Always.”

“Last I heard from you, you had been set to watch one of the River Blessed. A young girl. Did something happen?”

“I don't remember,” he lied. “I don't remember that, either.”

The old woman pursed her lips.

“I should read the bones, then,” she said. “Maybe the bones will show something. Sit with me here a bit.”

She rummaged in a small cloth bag and began taking things out.

“You gave me this, you know,” she said, as she laid a little cone of incense out on her velvet mat.

“I did?”

“Yes. When you were initiated. This cloth and this hat. Be a dear, little Duh, and go light this on the flame of old Shehwad over there.” She waved her hand at a man cooking skewered meats a few tens of paces away. He nodded, rose, and walked over to the stand.

“Li asked me to light this here,” he told the person—who, despite the fact that Li referred to him as “old,” was certainly younger than she.

The man's sharp features began a scowl, but then suddenly transfigured. “Why, it's little Ghe, isn't it? We haven't seen you about here in an age.”

“No?”

“No, not since … well, I can't remember when. Since before the priests came asking about you.”

“The priests came asking about me?” Ghe asked, straining to control his voice, to sound casual.

“Months ago. There's some flame for you.” He presented Ghe with a burning splinter of black willow from his cook fire.

“Thank you.” He couldn't ask more; it would seem too suspicious. Why would they have sent anyone here?

Because, of course, his body had never been found. The Jik he had killed in the palace had indicated that someone had seen him dead—and then he had disappeared. They had looked for him.

Did the priesthood suspect? Could they suspect? That was worrisome. He had been trained to kill, but his knowledge of priestly magic was not great. Was there some way of seeing what had happened to him? Some magical trail or signature?

He turned back to the old woman. She must know that the priests had been here, but she hadn't mentioned it.

“Light the incense, silly boy,” Li said, when she glanced up from arranging the bones. He complied, touching the brand to the cone until it sputtered. A thick, pungent scent drifted up from the cone.

“Now, just sit here. Ill cast the bones, and we'll read them, just like we used to.”

Like we used to. Ghe grimaced. Who had she been to him? She was so familiar, in some ways. And he had confided in her, told her of the vast empty places in his mind. That had been stupid, but what other choice had there been?

Watching the people moving up and down Red Gar Street, he knew the answer to that. He watched them; the wealthy and the poor, the noble and the mean—none of them saw an old woman and a man clad to his neck in rough silks. They were unnoticeable, invisible. Every person that passed had some pressing business, some private thought, some destination, known or unknown. If he were to reach into Li, take her life …

He still didn't want to do that. She had meant something to him once, that much was clear. The only person who meant anything to him now was Hezhi…

That brought a frown. The priests might have been looking for him, but it must have been her they wanted to know about. To what lengths would the priesthood go to retrieve her? Had they already sent an expedition after her? Ghe knew that thought should have troubled him, stung him to action, but for the first time since his rebirth, he felt a heaviness, a pleasant weight across his forehead and eyes. The sun was warm, relaxing, and Li's voice floated soothingly as from far away.

“Now I cast the dice. Oh, see, they've fallen in the 'telling' pattern, the eye of the clouds …”

There was more, but he lost it, his eyes fluttering shut just for an instant.

When he opened them again blearily a moment later, the old woman was glaring at him, livid. He shook his head, uncomprehending. Why was he so tired? Why was the old woman so angry?

“You are not Ghe,” she hissed flatly. “I knew that you were not. You are nothing more than some ghoul who has swallowed him.”

No! Ghe wanted to say. No, see my neck? It is my body, my head, not some ghostly simulacrum. It is me … But he couldn't say it. He couldn't speak at all; his mouth and throat were numb, as were his extremities and his senses.

The incense! He should have recognized it, should have known. He sharpened his sight, and everything changed. Li faded to her little bundle of life, as did those on the street, vibrant strands in a transparent world. The incense was a spot of nothingness, of black beyond darkness, a hole sucking his strength into it. Snarling, he swept at it clumsily.

“No!” the old woman managed to choke out. She had clearly believed him weaker. She began muttering under her breath.

This time Ghe did not hesitate. He reached out, around the vacuum of the smoke, took hold of her life, and ate it.

It took only an instant; she writhed a moment, then was part of him. Gasping, he stumbled up, away from the burning cone, and the instant its fumes were no longer brushing him, feeling rushed back with a fierce, insistent tingling, as if his limbs had been momentarily deprived of blood.

Around him, the street continued to bustle, people hurrying hither and back. He struggled into the pedestrian stream and let it sweep him along. He glanced back once, saw Li lying as if asleep, her hat with its moon and stars fallen and lying across her bones.