The Blackgod

keenest gazes. You must forgive me, you see, for I never thought that even if you did see into me, it would frighten you. I forget, sometimes, what it means to be from Nhol, where there is no god but the Changeling.”

Hezhi pursed her lips in aggravation and thrust out her jaw, trying to retain her bravery of a moment before. Tsem, beside her, was a presence of enormous comfort. “Are you telling me you are some sort of god?”

“What? Oh, no. No. But there are gods in me. Very small ones, very minor ones.”

“In you? I don't understand that.”

“There are many kinds of gods,” Brother Horse began, after a moment's pause to collect his thoughts. “There are those that live in things—like trees and rocks—and there are those that govern certain places, certain areas of land. There are also the Mountain Gods, whom we call the Yai, and they are different yet again; they are the ancestors of the animals, as Horse Mother is the begetter of all horses, as Blackgod is the father of all crows, and so forth. Those are the most powerful gods, the gods of the mountain.”

“Yes, this was explained to me,” Hezhi said, uncomfortably.

He nodded. “The Mountain Gods have younger relatives who walk about. Small gods cloaked in the flesh of animals—such as those we select for the Horse God Homesending that we hold tonight.”

“I know that, as well.”

“Such gods dwell in flesh, sometimes in places, and those places are like their homes, their houses. But when their house is destroyed—when their bodies are killed or their place ruined—then they are without homes. They must return to the great mountain in the west to be reclothed in skin. However, it is possible to offer them—or sometimes compel them—to make another home, here.” He tapped his chest with a forefinger. ”That's why we call this yekchag tse'en, 'Mansion of Bone.' You saw the dwellers in my mansion, child. Two spirits live within me and serve me, though they have, like myself, grown old and weak.”

Hezhi took that in doubtfully. “And what do these gods do, living in your chest?”

“First and foremost, they dim the vision” the old man said gently. “They toughen you so that the sight of a god does not enter you like a blade, to cut out your sense. Once you have a single familiar, no matter how weak, then you can resist.”

She suddenly understood what Brother Horse was getting at, and her eyes widened in horror. “You aren't saying I have to do that? Have one of those things inside of me.”

Brother Horse examined his feet rather closely. “It isn't bad,” he said. “Most of the time you never need them or notice them.”

“No!”

He shrugged. “It is the only way. And I can do nothing for Perkar. You can trust no other Mang healer, for we do not know who did this. You are his only hope, and you are your own only hope. You have been lucky and strong thus far, but you will weaken, and when you do, your Giant friend will not be able to help you, nor will I. I know you don't like it, but you must face this, Hezhi. I am trying to help you.”

“Brother Horse, I canW She worked her mouth helplessly, hoping it would fill with more words of its own accord, explain to the old man her horror of losing herself, of becoming something not Hezhi. That fear had been a strength when the River threatened to fill her up with himself, make her into a goddess. Now… one of those things, those monsters, living in her? How could she be the same, ever?

But if she did not, what would Perkar do? And what would she and Tsem do? Her talk to Tsem of using her power to help them survive—would she pretend she had never said it?

“How is it done?” She sighed weakly.

“Princess, no” Tsem gasped. He at least understood her, knew her fears.

“I don't say I will do it,” she muttered. ”Only that I want to know how it is to be done.”

Brother Horse nodded. “I have a few moments, and then I must return to my responsibilities. This is a bad time, such a bad time for all of this.” He reached around and pulled up the bag he had carried before, when they went into the desert. From it, he produced a small drum, thin and flat like the tambors played for jugglers in her father's court.

“I made this for you,” he said. “It is called a bun.”

“Bun,” Hezhi repeated. “Like 'lake.' ”

“Exactly. A drum is a lake.”

“That's nonsense,” Hezhi snapped. “What do you mean?”

Brother Horse continued patiently. “The surface of a lake is the surface of another world. Beat upon its surface, and ripples are formed. The things that live beneath that surface will see the ripples, feel the beating. Some may come to investigate. The skin of this drum—” He touched it gingerly but did not sound it. “—is the surface of another world, as well, or at least to a part of this one that only you and I—and others like us—occasionally see. And if you beat upon it…”

“Something will hear,” she whispered, for suddenly she remembered another time, in the library, a book in the old script. Two days before, Ghan had shown her the key to understanding the ancient hand, how the ten thousand glyphs were ultimately composed of just a few. She was reading of her ancestor, the Chakunge, the Waterborn, and how he slew the monsters. When he banished the last of them, the text said he “broke the surface of the lake.” At least that was how she had read it, though the character was just a little circle that she did not think resembled a lake very much. But she remembered the word: wun. Bun, wun. He had banished the monsters and broken the surface of that other world, and even in the ancient language of Nhol the name for that surface was drum.

“Something will hear,” Brother Horse acknowledged, and his voice brought her back to the dusty desert and the shouting celebrants. “Or feel. And if it pokes its head through the drum, you can speak with it and strike your bargain.”

“That simple?”

“It is not simple,” Brother Horse said. “There are songs to be sung—you can send your words through the surface of the lake. But ultimately, yes, that is the essence of it.”

“I hear drums beating now,” Hezhi said. “Are they attracting gods and ghosts?”

“Perhaps,” Brother Horse said. “But their drums are not like this one, or like this one will be when you have made it yours.”

“And how do I do that?”

“As I told you before, it begins with blood. You must wipe a bit of your blood on the surface of the lake, and it will be yours. The lake's surface will open into you rather than into the empty air. Your farniliar can climb right out of the spirit world and into your body.”

“Then I cannot pass through the drum, into that other world myself?”

Brother Horse smiled ruefully. “You understand quickly. Yes, you may. But you don't want to do that, Hezhi. Not yet, not until you have many gods on friendly terms with you, or in your power.”

Hezhi regarded the old man for a moment. She was still afraid, terribly afraid. And yet, with that drum she could have power. Like being the keeper of an important doorway, through which anything might come. It was weirdly compelling, and briefly, her curiosity nearly matched her fear. She reached over and touched the drum skin; it felt ordinary, not at all unusual. But then, Brother Horse had not seemed unusual either, until she suddenly saw inside of him.

“I'll take the drum,” she said. “But anything else—”

“Take the drum,” Brother Horse confirmed. “Think on this, and in the morning, after the Horse God has returned home, we will talk again.”

Hezhi nodded and took the tight disk in her hand. Its tautness felt suddenly to her like something straining, pulling. But it was straining to stay together, of one piece.

Much like Hezhi herself.

XIII Becoming Legion

THE wall shuddered again, and Ghe knew for certain that it was no hallucination. Impossibly, he could faintly