The Blackgod

It was the strange Mang, Moss, the one who had found her in the desert. He had come up, apparently, from behind the yekt. Sneaking up on her? She prepared to call for Tsem.

“I mean you no harm,” the young man assured her quietly. “Really. I only meant to inquire after the stranger.”

“What business is that of yours? He is not kin to you.” She emphasized the word in a sudden disgust for the whole concept. Her “kin” back in Nhol had never cared for her; for her worth as a bride perhaps, but never for Hezhi. They would have placed her below the Darkness Stair and forgotten her. Family were people who never earned your respect or love but demanded it nevertheless. These Mang took that to such a ridiculous extreme she wanted to shout with laughter and disdain.

Moss did not flinch from her words or her rude, direct gaze. He only bowed slightly. “That is true, and to be honest, I will neither be happy nor sad if he dies. I will only be disappointed that the hospitality of this camp was violated.”

“That means nothing to me. You Mang make much of your laws and traditions, but like everyone else in the world, you compromise them the moment they seem encumbering.”

“Some do, that is true, when the danger seems great enough, when temper flares. That is not to say we ever discount our ways.”

“Words,” Hezhi scoffed. “What do you want of me?”

Moss' face held nothing but concern, but Hezhi had seen that before, on the face of another young and handsome man, and she would not be fooled twice in the same lifetime in the same way.

“I wanted only to explain.”

“Why do you owe me any explanation?”

“I do not,” Moss replied, and for the barest flicker his green-tinted eyes lit with some powerful emotion, then became carefully neutral. He was not, Hezhi reminded herself, more than two or three years older than she was herself.

“I do not,” he repeated, “and yet I want to speak to you.”

“Speak, then, but don't bother to try to fool me with any false concern. It only makes me angry.”

“Very well,” he said. He glanced back toward the western quarter of the camp; the drums were beating frantically as the fire threw new stars at the night sky.

“Soon the Horse God goes home. That you should see, if you care to understand my people.”

“I don't care to understand them,” Hezhi replied. “Get to your point.”

Moss frowned, showing irritation for the first time. “I will. You know of the war between my people and those of your friend?”

“I know of it. It was you who brought the news, remember?”

He nodded. “Just so. But this war is more than a war between mortals, Lady of Nhol. It is a war of gods, unlike anything the world has seen in several ages. Among my people, there are visionaries, shamans who see things in the future, who barter and truck in the world of Dream, and they have seen many ill things coming with this war.”

She noticed then that his gaze had fastened upon her drum, and she deliberately placed it on the other side of her. “Go on,” she said.

“It is only this,” Moss said, chewing his lower lip for a moment. “There can be war, and many men and horses and perhaps even gods will die. They are already dying, you know. I don't know if you understand what that means.”

“I have seen men die,” Hezhi told him. “I know death.”

“These are my kinsmen dying,” Moss said.

“For whom I care exactly as much as they care for me, for Perkar,” she retorted.

Moss breathed deeply. “You wish to anger me, but my people have charged me with something to say, and I will say it. You have been seen, Hezhi, in dream. A great man has seen you, a powerful gaan who would avert the worst of this war, bring peace. But what he has seen is that only you can bring this peace.”

“Me?” Hezhi narrowed her eyes to slits.

Moss nodded. “You. That is what was seen. You are the only hope for peace, and the Cattle-Man, Perkar, is the bringer of death. You must go from him, come with me. I can take you to the gaan and together we can stop all of this. If you remain by the side of this man—” He gestured at the yekt. “—then it will be as a rain of fire, sweeping over the land and burning all before it.”

“Me? Bring peace? How?”

“I know not. I have only been told this, but the one who told me is beyond trust and deceit. It is the truth, I promise you.”

“And of course I believe you,” Hezhi replied. She wanted to, of course. She had been the cause of so many deaths that the image of her as a peace-bringer was like a beautiful flower in a wasteland. She held on to that image wistfully but knew it had to be false. Must be false.

“How dare you?” she said slowly. “How dare you? For twelve years no one cared what happened to me, whether I was happy or sad, whether I lived or died. Now the whole world seems to want me, to use me like some workman's tool. I gave up the few things I loved to escape that, but I loved those things dearly. Do you understand me? I fled my home to live with you stinking barbarians to escape. I have given everything I'm going to give, do you hear me? How dare you say this to me?“ She was trembling, and her voice had risen to a shriek. Words were spilling from her mouth without any consent from her, but she did not care. The fierceness in her heart might have been panic or fury or both, it was impossible to tell, as tightly bound up and volatile as it was. “Get away from me, you hear me? If I had any of the power you people think, do you honestly believe I would help you? I would strike you down, burn you to blackened bones, scatter your ashes from here to the ends of the earth!”

She wanted to go on then but finally caught herself, panting, reason overtaking anger. But she wanted to hurt Moss, sear that mild expression from his face, and she arrowed her remaining anger at him, as she had done in Nhol. There men had fallen, twitching and dying. Here Moss merely smiled a bit sadly.

“I'm sorry to have upset you. I thought you would be honored to save two peoples and perhaps the world itself from so much pain and suffering. I suppose I have misjudged you.”

“Your gods have misjudged me,” Hezhi snapped. ”The very universe has misjudged me. I only want to be left alone.”

“That is not your fate,” Moss answered placidly.

“I will determine my fate,” Hezhi said, over the rising furor of the drums.

Moss stepped back, his condescending little smile still in place. “I must go,” he said. “The ceremony nears completion.”

“I have told you to go,” Hezhi retorted.

“Just so. But I would speak of this later, when you have thought upon it.”

“I have thought upon it,” she said. “I have thought upon it all that I will.”

Moss shrugged, bowed, and backed away for a few paces before turning back to the fire. Hezhi watched him go, aware that her entire body was trembling uncontrollably. She heaved in several deep breaths, attempting to steady herself. After a moment she glanced around her.

The yekt flap bulged slightly outward.

“It's okay, Tsem, he's gone,” she said, and the flap relaxed.

“And thank you, Tsem,” she finished. He, at least, was always there for her, because he loved her, and not for some mysterious thing she might be able to do.

She took the drum back up and stared at it, her fingers still trembling. She looked out toward the fire, where the Horse God was going home.

“Tsem, come on out here,” she called back into the yekt.

Tsem's huge head emerged immediately. “Yes, Princess?”

“Do you think that the roof of this yekt will bear our weight?”