The Blackgod

of the world, I don't know.”

“How far have you been that way? I never asked.” Perkar drew his knife and began helping Ngangata dress his kill. The hard knot of anger in the half Alwa seemed to have smoothed somewhat. He seemed willing to speak casually to Perkar again, which had not been the case since his “raid” on the Mang camp.

“I've been to Mor, no farther.”

“I should like to see that someday,” Perkar said.

Ngangata didn't look up from his task; his hands were bloody to the wrist as his knife worked efficiently at the carcass. “I would like to see Mor again,” he agreed, and Perkar smiled as the strain between them loosened further.

“Such a large world.” Tsem sighed.

“Yes, but two months gives us plenty of time to teach you how to be a warrior in it.”

“Two months until what!” Tsem asked suspiciously.

Perkar stopped what he was doing, raised his eyes to meet those of the Giant. “I… well, until we reach the mountain.”

“And we will have to fight there?”

Perkar spread his hands. “I honestly don't know. But probably.”

“Why?”

Perkar felt a bit of his old confidence return, so that his words seemed only somewhat ridiculous rather than absolutely absurd.

“Well, Tsem, we're going to kill a god, and they rarely take that lightly.”

Tsem's enormous jaw worked furiously for a moment before he suddenly threw down the club and gazed fiercely at them. “Why haven't I heard about this? What are you talking about? I thought we were trying to reach your people, Perkar, that we might live with them. I have heard nothing of slaying gods.”

Perkar realized his mistake, realized also that he needed badly to speak with Hezhi. Since his illness, he had been so occupied with his own fears and desires he had completely lost touch with the status of the group. Perhaps plans had even changed since he and Hezhi last talked; she was more firmly in charge than he was, more aware in some ways of what was going on. Perhaps the plans should change. Trusting Karak was a perilous thing, and though he had been convinced, at first, that what the Raven had laid out for them was possible, he was now skeptical again. Furthermore, what he had told no one—not even Ngangata —was that Hezhi was the essential ingredient in the scheme. At the headwaters of the Changeling, she—and only she—could slay the god: that was all he knew. But Karak had made it seem a simple thing, easily accomplished. All they had to do was get there.

That still wouldn't be easy. The high plateau and mountains were dangerous, prowled by Mang and even more dangerous predators. And ahead of them was the war, where his own people fought and died against those of Brother Horse. How would the old man and his nephews react when they reached that point?

And Hezhi was willful. She might not agree to help, once he explained. But the longer he put off his explanation, the angrier she would be that he had kept it from her.

And there was Tsem, glaring at him, the consequence of his talking without thinking, of another stupid blunder.

“We haven't talked this over yet, Tsem. Hezhi and I haven't really discussed it, so as far as she knows, what she told you is true.”

“No. No, I remember her saying something about a mountain now, back in the yekt. That she chose that destination because of something you said. Yet she told me nothing about why”

“She doesn't know, perhaps.”

“I think she does,” Tsem muttered. “I think she's trying to protect me again.”

Before Perkar could protest further, Ngangata softly replied. “Probably. These two have a habit of 'protecting' us, don't they?”

“If you mean leaving us in the dark about their intentions, yes,” Tsem agreed. “Though that's never made me feel very safe.”

Ngangata snorted and coughed a bitter chuckle. “No, me, either. Perkar, maybe you should talk to her. You are, after all, her kind.”

Perkar flushed scarlet. “You don't have to remind me of how I once treated you. You know my opinion of the Alwat has changed.”

“We aren't talking about that,” Tsem said softly. “You are two of a kind because you both think you bear the world on your shoulders.”

“You're a fine one to talk about that.”

“No, I've never borne the world on my shoulders. Only Hezhi. That was the only burden I ever wanted, and I want it back.”

Ngangata had never looked up from what he was doing. Perkar understood what the Giant was saying—he had heard Ngangata say the same thing in different words. And Ngangata had steered the conversation on this bent. To remind him? Perkar resolved that he would tell Ngangata, at least, the whole truth as he knew it, next time he had a chance.

“I will talk to her,” Perkar said. “Together we'll decide what todo.”

“I worry about decisions the two of you make.”

“By together I meant all of us,” Perkar clarified. ”But I must speak to her first. Meanwhile, finish that club! No matter what we do, trouble seems to find us, and now that you've brought it up, I want to see you armed. Some enemies will flee us just at the sight of you, mark my words.”

He shot a glance at Moss when he said that and realized with a bare shock that their captive was awake, hearing everything they said. How long had he been awake? Had he heard Perkar's ill-considered remark about godslaying?

Probably. The more reason not to let him go. When they reached the pastures of his people, they could give Moss into the keeping of someone else. Perhaps he could be traded to the Mang for captives. But he must not be allowed to return to the Mang gaan who sought Hezhi and report what he knew. Perkar would kill him first.

Moss smiled thinly, as if he understood that thought. Perhaps he saw something in Perkar's eyes; but rather than fear, the smile held a hint of mockery.

“I'm going on watch,” Perkar said softly. “I'll see the two of you in the morning.” Then, in Nholish, to Tsem: “Watch this prisoner, Giant. I don't know what Hezhi has told you of him, but he is a terrible threat to her.”

“I know he sought her,” Tsem growled darkly. “I think I should blood my club on him when I'm done making it.”

“No.” Perkar sighed. “We've killed more than enough, and we'll probably kill more before it's done. No reason to do so when it isn't really necessary.”

“I suppose.”

“Good night, Tsem. Be careful not to let the fire eat too deeply.”

Tsem looked up, black eyes caging bits of flame. “Just deep enough, I hope,” he replied.

PERKAR put off his talk with Hezhi until the next morning. They were ascending onto the high plains the Mang named the Falling Sky, and the going alternated between troublesome and dangerous; not a good time for what might become a heated discussion. When questioned about the name, Brother Horse explained how legend held that a chunk of heaven had cracked loose and plunged to earth. If so, their horses now climbed the eroded edges of that shard, beveled by time and wind into a stepped slope of banded sandstone. The going was easiest in the trenched furrows dug by long-dead streams, but it was midday before they found one of these broad enough and long enough to ease the constant upward stumbling into some semblance of normal traveling. Brother Horse explained that there were other, more established paths farther north but that they would risk meeting other Mang traveling there, especially now that news of the war was widespread; young, unproven warriors from every part of the Mang country would be streaming to earn honors for themselves in the mountains.

So they clattered up the dry streambed for another few leagues, until it broadened to vanishing, until dense black soil crept to cover the stone again, and they entered onto the spacious back of the Falling Sky.

“We will never be out of the shadows of mountains now,” Brother Horse told them, and it was true; they could