Perhaps she would visit the River himself and see how he lay here. Perhaps she would challenge him here and now and have an ending to it all.
She understood, distantly, that these were the sentiments of the bull, but she did not care; it did not trouble her.
They struck back to earth from the sky, for solidity gave more pleasure to run upon; the mountain loomed and the lands rose, but it caused them no pause; there was no fatigue here.
But in the midst of seeming omnipotence, something shattered the earth; it twisted beneath them and dashed them, scattered them. A sharp jolt of ecstatic fear burnt through the quicksilver joy, and Hezhi scrambled back to her feet, the bull, mare, and swan forming a rank of protection before her as something dark rose looming.
A black lion, she was, whose mouth parted to reveal the shadows of dagger-teeth against the red soul that burned in her shell, that illumined her eyes from behind, as well, slits of flame with no pupils. A black lion the size of the bull. He lowered his horns to meet her.
“Call back your beast,” the lioness said. “The others will not aid you.”
Indeed, Hezhi saw with a thrill of dismay that the mare and the swan were kneeling, after their fashion. The bull himself trembled, trepidation mixed with fury.
“Who are you?” Hezhi asked, her godlike confidence quickly evaporating.
“We have met, you and I,” the lioness said, and she seemed to grin—at least she showed the full range of her teeth and switched her great tail behind. She spoke then, to the bull.
“Kneel down, Hukwosha. I know you, and you know me. You know I cannot be challenged here. Be wise for your new mistress.”
The bull regarded the lioness steadily, but Hezhi sensed a frustrated easing of muscles, as if the bull agreed, however reluctantly, with the pronouncement of the great clawed beast.
As easily as that, lam without protectors, she thought.
“You should remember me, and it pains me that you do not,” the lioness growled, padding closer, pausing to run her tongue on the fur of the mare—whether grooming or tasting, Hezhi could not tell. She advanced until the twin coals of her eyes were inches from Hezhi's own.
“Let me introduce myself,” the lioness went on. “I am Paker, Apa, Bari—I have many names, but most often I am called Huntress.”
XXXI The Lady of Bones
SENSATION crept along Ghe's skin, pleasure and darkling pain, and he bit into his lip until he found the iron tang of blood. A fountain of flame seemed to erupt from him, and white-hot stars fluoresced and faded in the heavens behind his eyelids. The woman caressing him stroked his face, and he looked up into her features. And remembered.
Hezhi's older face, Qwen Shen—both stared down at him. Fury and futility surged in the wake of gratification. How many times had she done this to him? How many times had he forgotten? Somehow he understood that he always forgot, remembered the passion but not the details, the woman but not the witchery. What was Qwen Shen doing to him? A wave of humiliation coursed through him as he answered himself: she controlled him. She held him taut on a leash, and he did not even realize that, save in these lucid instants after…
After what? What had he been thinking? Something annoying, but slipping from him. Something about Qwen Shensface, glowing above him, lips curled in a gentle, teasing expression.
And then, of a sudden, she was no longer Qwen Shen. He was suddenly straddled by a corpse, bones of black ice, the withered face of a mummy leering down at him. And then that horror was replaced by yet another woman, beautiful and dark, whom he had never seen before.
“Ah, sweet Ghe, ” she sighed as she stroked his face with a finger that was both a yellowed bone and supple, black skin. “Thy mother gave you unto me with thy birth. It is my womb you return to, and it aches for you. You and this godling cause me pain with this delay, sweet one. ”
“You, ” he gasped, frozen by terror or glamour, he knew not which. In his mind he suddenly beheld the little bone statuette that Li once kept, the forbidden image of a goddess the priests said did not exist. But the accursed of Southtown believed, down deep, in their ancient goddess—though he never had; for him the only god was the River, and the Lady just another tale to frighten children,
“Yes, of course you know me, ” the Lady said, and where she touched him, worms sprang from his flesh. “Come with me now, before you cause yourself more pain. He only tricks you, you know. You will never live beyond his wish. Much of you is already with me, if you would like to see it. ”
“What?” he asked.
“Everything you have lost—the most of you, sweet Ghe, lies corrupting in my house. It is all there, your childhood, memories of Li—whom you took from me, by the way. ”
“I did not—I never…”
She smiled, and her smile split back to her ears, as her black almond eyes were suddenly Hezhis. “All men are surprised by me, ” she assured him. “But few wish to resist. ”
“I will not go, ” Ghe snarled suddenly. “Not yet. ”
She looked down at him sadly, an old woman—Li, in fact. “ Why torment yourself? ”
Ghe reached out, then, intent on swallowing her—after all, a goddess was a goddess, and he had already swallowed one such. But what was in her eluded him; nothing was there to devour, only emptiness. She laughed.
“Even gods are living, ” she cackled. “But I am death. ”
“I will defeat you then, ” Ghe snarled. “I have taken many gods into myself these past days. I have dined on great powers, and they will sustain me until nothing lives or moves on the earth. ”
“For me, ” she replied sweetly, “even that space of time is nothing— save perhaps annoying. You don't want me to be annoyed when you come to suckle at my breast at last. ”
“Take me if you can, ” Ghe shot back. “And if you cannot, then leave me. ”
She nodded distantly. “Very well, ” she told him. “I gave you the chance, for Li, who loved me, who burned incense for me. I will not offer this again. ”
“ You offer me only death. ”
“Death is sweeter than anything you will know now, ” she answered, and was gone.
He awoke shuddering. Qwen Shen stroked him, consoled him with little words, with small kisses. She looked worried. He reached to touch her face, and for just an instant, a bare instant, he saw not her face but Hezhi's, and a sudden rage filled him, but try as he might, he could find no reason for the emotion. So, bit by bit, he allowed himself to be soothed, knowing that given time, he would discern his vision of the Lady to be only a lying dream, perhaps a false vision given him by one of his more willful vassals—for a few still fought for freedom. But now he was far too strong to be escaped or troubled by dreams; since meeting the Mang shaman, Moss, at White Rock, he had found the land rich in these so-called gods and now he was swollen with them, distended. Perhaps it was merely a sort of heartburn that plagued him.
“You are well now?” Qwen Shen asked, the first words she had spoken.
He nodded.
“Good, then. What was wrong?”
“Nothing,” he answered. “A sort of night terror.”
She clucked softly. “But you do not sleep, my love.”
“No, but it is always night to me, and even for me there is sometimes terror in the darkness.” He stopped, angry. Why would he show even Qwen Shen his weakness? No longer.
“I'm sorry for that,” she soothed. “But I must tell you something, something that terrifies me.'
“What is that?”
“I fear this shaman, this Moss. I worry that he plots against you.”
Ghe levered up on one elbow. Outside of the tent, cicadas sawed their shrill tunes, frogs croaked imprecations
