The Blackgod

Moss to understand her, not to raise his hackles. “Some have called me pretty—some, perhaps, because they thought it, others merely to flatter me. But if the Royal Blood had worked long in me, no one would have thought me pretty. My relatives so marked all became monsters. Do you want to see my mark?”

“Very much.”

She pushed up her sleeve and revealed the single iridescent scale. “That was only the beginning. When I knew for sure that the change was coming to me, I ran. All of these people you see around me helped me run. They have all suffered for it, and many died because of my selfish desire to live. Now your gaan sends people after me, and more men are dying, and I want it to stop. But I will never go back to the River, because no matter what you have been told, I have felt his blood working in me. I know what I would do should he fill me up. He is tricking your shaman, trying to bring me to him. Your shaman in turn tricks you, and he sends me dreams, pretending to offer me my heart's desire. But I know what is best, because the River has been in me. People die now, but it is as nothing compared to what will happen if you return me to the Changeling. I will be forced to end my own life, if that happens, and I don't want to do that. But if men like you—good men, I believe, in your hearts—continue to die because of me …” Now she was weeping. ”Why doesn't it stop? Why don't you all just stop it?”

Moss spoke very gently, and his eyes were kind. “The world can be seen from so many different angles. Each of us is born seeing the world in a different way, and each moment we live shapes our eyes and hearts differently. I believe everything you say, Princess. You have my sympathy, and I am sorry to have caused you pain. But I still must place my duty first, and now I have the blood of my cousins to avenge, as well. I will think on what you told me, but I will not lie to you; my way is clear.”

Hezhi felt anger spark, but she pushed an acrimonious retort away.

“I don't expect anything from you,” she said evenly. “I just wanted you to know”

Moss sighed. “And now I know.”

As far as Hezhi could tell, there was nothing left to say. She felt tired, drained. Her vision had robbed her of most of the night's rest, and she wished she could take a nap, at least.

But there were two things she still needed to do. She had to speak to Brother Horse about her dream—but not now. Her talk with Moss had worn her out on that subject. There was something else, a nagging in her heart. She needed to talk to Tsem.

He had been moping for days. It troubled her that they had not spoken, but she was embarrassed, both by the Giant's morose self-pity and by her own reaction to it. Was this what growing up consisted of? Discovering that what you had always believed to be towers of eternal stone were really only shoddy facades? She had believed that her childhood had nurtured few illusions, but the feeling that Tsem was as unbreakable—in spirit, at least—as the iron he was named for had always been with her.

Now it had been swept away in wind, and what was left for her was someone who needed her comfort.

In all of her life, she had never been the one to give comfort. She had always sought it. It seemed a chore that she was probably not capable of. But she loved Tsem, and she had to try.

Making certain that Yuu'han was still watching Moss, she went to find her old servant, unhappy at how much she dreaded finding him.

XXIV Sorceress

GHAN emerged into the fresh air and light of the afterdeck reluctantly; he had much reading to do and too little time, he feared, to complete it. But the motion of the boat—imperceptible as it usually was—made him queasy when combined with many hours of reading and writing. And though in Nhol he had considered sunlight about as desirable as poisoned wine, here he found it revived him, soothed him for more work.

Unfortunately, Ghe's sharp ears always heard him emerge and the ghoul almost always joined him, where they sat like a pair of spiders, limbs curled and eyes squinting at the brightness of daylight. This time was no exception; the door soon eased open behind him and Ghe trod noiselessly across the baroque patterns of rust-colored stains that recalled the carnage of a few days before.

“The dream becomes more persistent,” the ghoul informed him, with no preamble, as if they were already in the midst of a conversation. Ghan glanced up from his absent study of the bloodstains, but Ghe was not watching him, staring instead at some middle distance.

“The dream about the Mang?” Ghan asked.

“Yes.” Ghe drew his legs beneath him cross-style as he sat. “The emperor included you on this expedition for the purpose of counseling me. Use your scholarly wits and tell me what these dreams mean.”

“I'm a scholar, not a soothsayer,” Ghan snapped. “You need an old woman with casting bones, not me.”

“An old woman with casting bones …” Ghe's eyes widened in startlement, then went far away—a sign Ghan had come to interpret as a search through his shards of memory. After a moment, he unfurrowed his brow and leveled an enigmatic gaze at Ghan. “Well, there are no casting bones here and no old woman. You must know something of dreams.”

Ghan rolled his eyes and then tapped the deck, as if he were explaining to a child. “Hezhi had dreams about Perkar, before he came to Nhol. The River linked the two of them with visions, drew them together through them. You understand that much?”

“Have a care, Ghan,” the ghoul cautioned him.

“You asked for my help.”

“Yes, yes, go on.”

“The River sends dreams, especially to the Waterborn. You told me he had sent you other dreams, in the past.”

“Yes, to explain my purpose.”

“Just so,” Ghan agreed. “If you press me for my opinion in the matter, you are being connected to this Mang man by the River. He is an ally or an enemy.”

Ghe twisted his mouth ruefully. “But which? I can sort that much sense into my dreams. Bone Eel could have told me that”

Ghan snorted. “Please, be my guest in seeking scholarly advice from Bone Eel.” He rocked back against the bulkhead. His hip still hurt, and he wondered if he had cracked it. He turned to find Ghe, jaw muscles locked, staring intently at the water.

“You are wrong, you know,” Ghan remarked.

“About?”

“I told you what I thought about your dream, and I told you I didn't know the explanation for it. A. fool—like Bone Eel—would have given you a definitive answer.”

Ghe fingered the little scar on his chin. Ghan thought he looked a bit more relaxed. “I see what you mean. Though even if you had an answer for me, you might not reveal it to me.”

Ghan let that pass. Why deny the obvious? Instead he settled for at least appearing to be helpful. “What do you think about this mysterious horseman?“ he asked. ”What feeling do you have?”

Ghe shook his head as if affirming something. “That he is like me, a servant of the River. That he seeks Hezhi as I do.” He shifted on the deck, produced a knife from somewhere, and began absently picking at the wood. As he spoke, he kept his gaze focused on the knife point, only occasionally half glancing at Ghan.

Like an embarrassed little boy. For some reason that comparison trotted a little shiver up Ghan's spine and disturbed him more than the moment when he had seen the scar and known what the man was.

“The odd thing is,” he went on, digging a little trench around one of the larger stains, ”though I have more frequent dreams of the horseman now, they are more shadowy, as well. His face is less clear than it was the first time I dreamed of him.”

Ghan continued to shiver despite the deep warmth of the day and turned to watch an enormous green heron lift from the reeds at the banks of the River. Beyond the reeds and a few willows, short grass extended to the horizon. Two days farther south it was desert.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Ghe following his gaze—or, more probably, eyeing his back. His shoulder