The Blackgod

never succeeds—nor learns, apparently.”

“But he is still here, when the other stars have fled,” Hezhi noted. “He lives longer in defiance than in retreat.”

“The other stars are smarter,” Raincaster answered, but Hezhi thought she heard a faint contempt in the young man's tone—or had her ears added that?

“But not braver,” Hezhi retorted sourly. “And he isn't always running”

“I won't play this word game,” Tsem said, turning to speak but not so much that she could see his face. These were the first words he had spoken since crying the night before. “It was you who decided we should leave.”

“I never decide, Tsem,” Hezhi replied. ”It always happens, but I never decide.”

“Well, you are not a star, Princess, and if you are blown out like a candle one morning, you will not return to light the world again. I don't know much about these ghosts that people out here call gods—you know much more than I, as always. But they seem to me, from what I have heard, to be poor creatures to model your actions after.”

“Well put,” Brother Horse agreed, “though I must admit that as a young warrior I carried the likeness of the Hunter on my shield. Many young Mang do so still. He is a rash god, but then, young men value rashness.”

“What do old men value?“ Raincaster asked.

“Young women,” Brother Horse answered. “If I carried a shield now, I would paint one on it.”

Ngangata—riding slightly ahead of Raincaster—turned, his face a weird rose color in the light of the rising sun. “Perkar is like the Hunter,” he put in glumly. “Always. And you see where it gets him.”

The wind picked up, clean and cool, and for an instant it swept the rooms of Hezhi's mind of the broken bits of thought that cluttered them. She had to raise her voice a bit for Brother Horse to understand her.

“Yes, Perkar,” she said. “You told us we would speak of him.”

“Later, when you have had some rest.”

“I should rest soon, then. When I returned—well, just before I awoke, in your yekt—I saw the monster again, the one feeding upon him. I think it may be winning. If I do have the power to help him now—as you say—I may not in a few days.”

“That's probably true,” the old Mang conceded. “But first tell me everything. How you went through the drum, what happened—everything. We have time enough for that.”

Hezhi nodded and told him, trying to leave nothing out, though even the wind failed to keep her mind clear and the droning of her own voice threatened to put her to sleep. Her story became a patchwork of digressions, and she feared that what little sense it had ever made was now lost. The sky continued to brighten, as the sun puddled red on the horizon, and then, finding its spherical shape, rose up. At Brother Horse's direction, they put the rising light to their backs, bearing nearly due west. The land rolled and then flattened out like a pan, rimmed at the limits of their sight by hills on the south and north. Ahead, Hezhi could make out the purple contours of distant mountains. The sky was as clear as blue glass, and the last traces of snow were gone from the ground.

The end of Hezhi's story whipped off with the wind across the endless plain, and Brother Horse rocked silently in his saddle for some time without commenting on it. Hezhi did not rush him, instead looking about her once more.

Tsem sat a horse nearly twice as massive as the one she rode, and he was still too large for it, though the horse bore his weight without complaint. Tsem himself remained glum, his visage hidden from her as she recounted her journey to the mountain. It was just as well, for she feared what her words might have written on his face. Ngangata now rode well in front of the rest of them, ever the scout, and Heen had paced ahead with him. Yu-u'han led Perkar's horse, and Perkar dragged and bumped along behind on a travois. At Ngangata's insistence, they were also accompanied by Sharp Tiger, the mount that Perkar had been leading when he reached the Ben'cheen. Raincaster, after their conversation, had dropped back to rear guard, his hawklike features clouded with exhaustion. Two additional horses carried their provisions and tents.

Seven people and nine horses. We make no more impression on this plain than a line of ants, Hezhi thought. Dust in the eye of the sky.

Brother Horse broke the silence, clearing his throat. “You have had an unusual experience,” he said. “Unusual, I mean, even for a gaan.”

“It seemed unusual to me,” Hezhi admitted. “But I know nothing of these things.”

“You were caught up in the wake of the sacrifice. Traditionally we must make certain that the Horse God returns home without delay when she is slain. We must make sure she does not lose her way. So we sing her a path to follow.”

“It was more like being caught in a stream,” Hezhi said.

The old man nodded. “I have never flown in such a manner. Few gaans ever purposely risk the mountain. It is too dangerous by far.”

“Then perhaps,” Tsem exploded, turning in his saddle and unwittingly yanking his poor mount's head about, as well, “perhaps you should have warned her before giving her the means to do so. Or did you hope that she would do what she did?”

“I did not think? Brother Horse admitted, more to Hezhi than to Tsem. “I did not think. I honestly never believed you would open the lake without my help… without my urging, even. You seemed so reluctant.”

“Whatever else she is,” Tsem said, “she is still a very young woman. Impulsive.”

“Tsem—”

“Princess, I have served you for many years. Until quite recently, it was not enemies I protected you from but yourself. You have the mind of a scholar—I know you are smarter than me—but you have no sense sometimes.”

Hezhi opened her mouth to frame an angry retort, but she let it die unsaid, for Tsem was right, of course. Sometimes she became so lost in thought, she could not see where she was walking. At other times, it seemed as if she acted without any thought at all and had to spend her wakeful hours making up stories about why she did things. Anyway, it was the same old Tsem litany. He didn't really understand.

Instead of replying, she nodded wearily.

“In any event,” Brother Horse said, “with some rest, you should be adequate to the task of helping Perkar.”

HEZHI awoke, cold, though she was well bundled in blankets. The embers of a nearby fire gave out a dull heat, as well, but the air quickly sucked it away. Hezhi could not remember stopping; she must have fallen asleep in the saddle. She still felt tired, but it was a manageable weariness, not the soul-numbing shroud of exhaustion she had worn earlier. Most everyone else seemed to be asleep, as well, scattered here and there about the floor of some sort of cave or rock shelter. Outside the gaping entrance, moonlight drizzled onto the plain when swift-flying clouds allowed; she watched several of the dark forms pass before the Bright Queen, dress briefly in silver, then rush on to their nameless destinations. The air smeiled wet.

“It will rain soon,” a voice raspily whispered. Hezhi turned from the tableau to Ngangata. She could see only bits of his face in the dim glow. It seemed very inhuman, and she suddenly remembered the dreams she once had of a deep, ancient forest, of trees so huge and thick that light never fell, undiffused, to the earth. And though she had never dreamed of Ngangata—only Perkar—in the bits of his face she somehow sensed those trees.

“You can tell?”

“Yes. It is no difficult thing, really.”

“How is Perkar?”

“Breathing a bit more shallowly, I think,” he answered.

“Well,” she chuffed, rubbing her eyes, “would you go wake Brother Horse for me?”

“Do you have the strength for this? I know I urged you earlier, but…”

“I won't let him die, Ngangata. Not if I have a choice in the matter.”

He nodded and rose lithely, with no sound, and padded off on cat's feet.

Nearby, Tsem stirred. “Princess?”

“I'm here.” She rummaged through her things—they were in a pile near the blanket she had been wrapped in