The Blackgod

He twisted through the labyrinth, the complex overlapping of sewers, flood drains, and, finally, sacred water tubes that he knew Hezhi had mapped. He, however, did not have need of such a map, for in him was the River's strange awareness of flowing, his own expertise with the underways, and even an added tactile sense from the ghost of the boy that was tethered to his heart. The River's unspecified “map” of himself was somehow filtered through the boy's sense of space without sight, and though Ghe would not have needed this added advantage to find the temple, it helped. And when he reached the temple itself, the River in him would be blind, would it not? He wondered, then, how much of his power he would retain, in those dark precincts below the great fountains and the alabaster steps. Perhaps, once again, his head would merely roll from his shoulders, and he would be undone, a corpse made puppet and then corpse again as its strings were severed.

He did not believe that would happen, but no matter. This was the path to serving the River, and it was the way that led, finally, to Hezhi. And he was no mere puppet, not some silly creature on a string.

And that was what he was thinking when his vision blurred, grayed, and doubt renewed itself as, at last, he crouched beneath the Great Water Temple.

XIV Horse God Homesending

HEZHI sat on the stoop, contemplating her drum, as Brother Horse, with a pat meant to be reassuring, rose and went back to his duties. The sun set and stars scattered across the dome of the sky, obscured only by a few tatters of indigo velvet clouds that quickly faded to mist. The Mang kept up their chanting, and the very air seemed to hum with some secret presence.

Tsem went in to get some more water, and when he returned, he said in a worried voice, “Something is happening to him.”

Hezhi turned fearfully back to the yekt, reluctantly stood, and walked inside.

Ngangata watched Perkar, his thick features cast in a worried mold. His forehead—what little there was of it— bunched like columns of caterpillars, his eyebrows their furry sovereigns.

Perkar moaned, then thrashed a bit. He opened his mouth and a few syllables bubbled forth, nothing she understood. Ngangata, however, nodded. “Here,” he answered in Mang, then switched to another language. With his right hand he beckoned her.

To her horror, Perkar's eyes slitted open, and the orbs beneath were glazed a peculiar blue, like those of a fish several days dead.

“Hezhi,” he muttered, barely audible.

“I am here,” she answered. She thought of taking his hand from Ngangata, but the idea repelled her; she knew what was crouched on his chest, what she would touch if she touched him.

“You must… shikena kadakatita.“ His tongue stuttered off into something she didn't understand, as if his River-given command of Nholish were failing. She looked to Ngangata.

“You have to go to the mountain,” Ngangata translated reluctantly.

“Balatata. ” Perkar gasped.

“Yes, I know,” Ngangata assured him.

“What? What does he mean?”

“He is perhaps delirious.”

“Tell me what he said,” Hezhi insisted, and then to Perkar, in Nholish: “Perkar! Tell me.”

Perkar's eyes opened wider, but his voice dropped away.

“He seeks you,” the faint breath from his mouth said. “The River seeks you. You must go to She'leng, the mountain. Look for signs …” His mouth kept working, but even the semblance of sound failed.

“His body seems a bit stronger,” Ngangata remarked after a moment. “But he should be well now. What did Brother Horse tell you?”

“That he has had a witching placed on him.”

“No more?”

“More,” Hezhi admitted, “but I must think on it.”

“Think quickly, then,” the half man urged, “if there is anything you can do.”

Behind her, Tsem growled. “Have a care, creature,” he said, the Mang thudding clumsily, like stones from his mouth.

Ngangata frowned but did not reply. Nor did he relinquish the hold of his gaze on her for several more heartbeats.

“I will think quickly,” she said, and left the tent. Tsem followed her, but not without casting a hard glance back.

“Thank you, Tsem,” she told him once they were outside, “but Ngangata is right. I can't let him die.”

“You could. It might save us a lot of trouble.”

“No, Tsem, you know I can't.”

He grumbled incoherently and shrugged a bit.

“Ngangata is like you, you know.”

“His mother a Giant? I think not.”

“You know what I mean.”

Tsem nodded sadly down at his feet. “Yes, Princess, I know what you mean. You mean we are alike in what we are not, not in what we are”

“Oh.” She hadn't thought of it that way, but that was exactly what she had meant. Each was half Human and half… something else. What they were not was fully Human.

“Tsem, I—” But there was nothing right to say about that now. Instead she threw up her hands in frustration. “Leave me alone for a bit,” she said at last.

“Princess, that would be unwise.”

“Stay near the door. If anything happens, I will cry out.”

She thought, briefly, that he would disobey her, but he did not, and brushed open the doorflap with his enormous palm.

Alone on the stoop, she once more contemplated the drum.

It seemed alive; larger drums had begun thundering, out where the Mang were holding their ceremony, and the small hand drum shivered in sympathy with its brother instruments.

She remembered Perkar, the rides they had taken together, the brightening in his eyes when he spoke of his homeland. She recalled only a few days before, when he had shown her the wild cattle, the sudden intense affection that had seized her. How could she let some black creature eat all of that, if she had the choice? Perkar said he had done terrible things—and she believed him. But she had also done terrible things. And some feeling for Perkar rested in her, she knew that now, for it had glowed hot with pain when he left her to go to see the Stream Goddess, and it lay chill in her now like a frozen bone. She had denied that it was love—and it wasn't, not the sort of love that made you want to marry someone—but it was a fragile thing, a part of her that existed only because she knew him. And when it was not hot or chill, it was warm and pleasant. Not comfortable, but more like the itchy moment before laughing or crying with joy.

And, even all of that aside, Perkar knew something, something important about her.

So there was no question of letting him die; she must admit that now to herself as she had to Tsem earlier. There were few paths open to her, and that admission closed all but one for now.

Tomorrow she would ask Brother Horse to instruct her. She did not really trust him, not anymore, and the other Mang were clearly less trustworthy even than he. Their treatment of Perkar, even after months of companionship, testified to where strangers stood among these people.

But Perkar was dying and the River was after her. Perkar had said so, said that she must go to She'leng. She'leng, the mythical mountain from which he issued. If the River sought her, why should she fly to his very head? It made no sense to her, but Perkar had spoken to one of his gods, one that had aided their escape from Nhol, one who seemed inclined to help them. But what did it mean, and why? “Look for signs,” Perkar had whispered, but she didn't know what that meant, either. Perhaps none of it meant anything, as sick as he was, but she had to know, had to do something. Once again she was being tossed about by forces she did not understand, and that she could not tolerate. She needed information; she needed power. All of that lay in the little drum.

“How fares your friend?” a quiet voice asked, interrupting her thoughts. She turned, startled.