The Blackgod

“So it may seem to you,” Moss answered shortly. “But I know better.”

“Of course—” Ghan began, but Moss' eyes suddenly blazed, and he jabbed his finger at Ghan.

“I know better,” he repeated.

Ghan slowly closed his mouth on his unfinished retort. There would plainly be no fruit from a conversation that branched from that tree. He slowly gazed around the meager furnishings of the tent, gathering energy for another try.

“Will you kill her?” he asked dully. “Will she die?”

“Old man, she will die only if the Blackgod has his way. If I win this race and this battle, she will live to be the queen she was destined to be. She will unite all of the people of the River in a single kingdom. That I have seen.”

“With you at her side?” Ghan asked, carefully this time.

Moss shrugged. “It matters not where I am then. My work will be done. When she is queen, the sort of power I command will mean nothing. The little gods will be swept away and the world will be clean of them. The mountains and plains will be home to men and only men. And there will be peace, without the likes of the Blackgod meddling in our affairs.”

There, Ghan thought. There is a tender spot. What experiences had shaped this boy? He was beginning to see the glimmer, the veiled shape of his motives. If he could understand those, perhaps he could talk real sense to him. For the moment, however, he lowered his voice to nearly a whisper.

“But I ask again, why do you ally yourself with the Life-Eater, this ghoul?”

“Because only he has the power to see us to the mountain. The gods will resist us each inch of the way. We have already been attacked thrice, did you know that? Each time Ghe disposed of the sendings. I might have done so, but only after terrible struggle. And when we meet the Blackgod himself—”

Ghan held up his hand. “You keep saying 'Blackgod,' ” Ghan muttered. “But this word? In my language, 'god' is used only for the River. What do you call him in your tongue?”

“Many things. Mostly we call him 'Blackgod.' ”

“No,” Ghan snapped. “Say it in your language.”

“ Yaizhbeen, ” he complied, clearly puzzled.

Ghan chewed his lip. “Wait, wait,” he muttered. “Zhbeen means 'black.' ”

“So it does,” Moss replied, bemused.

“In the old language of Nhol, zhweng was the word for black.”

“I have noticed our tongues are similar,” Moss said. “Your name, for instance, and my profession, 'Ghan' and 'gaan.' ”

“It is not my name,” Ghan said. “It means 'teacher.' But there is another word in the old tongue: ghun. That means 'priest.' “ He mused, clenching his fist before his face, all other thought forgotten, save the puzzle. “Ghun Zhweng.” He whirled on Moss. “What if I were to say gaanzhbeen in your language? What would that mean?”

“It would mean 'black invoker, black shaman.' It is merely another name for the Blackgod, for he is a wizard, as well.”

“How stupid.” Ghan scowled. “How very stupid of me. When Ghe told me about the temple, I should have seen it. But what exactly does it mean?”

“What are you talking about?”

Ghan snorted. “Our priesthood was founded by a person known as Ghun Zhweng, the Ebon Priest. Do you see?”

Moss stared at him, openmouthed. “Your priesthood was founded by the Blackgod?”

“So it would seem.”

“Tell me this tale. How can this be?”

“Ghe visited the Water Temple. Beneath it he found—”

Moss wasn't listening to him anymore. His eyes had glazed. “This will have to wait,” he whispered. “It may be that you should leave.”

“Why?”

“Something comes for me.”

“Something?”

Moss looked back at him, eyes hardening. “Yes, perhaps you were right. I don't understand why, but Ghe is coming for me. He just slew my outer ring of guardians.”

?know, Ghan thought frantically, ?know why he is coming for you. Because Qwen Shen holds his leash, and Qwen Shen is from the priesthood, and the priesthood … was a creation of the Blackgod. And whatever else this Blackgod was, it was an enemy of the River and of all of his blood. He was Moss' enemy—he was Hezhi's enemy, though she knew it not.

“Leave,” Moss repeated.

“N-no,” Ghan stuttered. “I think I can help you.”

“Why would you help me?” Moss asked, rising, facing the tentflap. Outside a wind was rising.

Ghan started to answer him, but Moss dismissed him with a simple wave. “Go. I have no more time to speak to you.” His body had begun to blur faintly. At first Ghan thought something was wrong with his eyes; then he understood. He had seen the emperor thus resonate with power. Moss stepped outside. Ghan followed quickly, as far as the tent opening, to watch.

Something roughly Human in shape and size hovered perhaps ten feet off of the ground; wind gyred about him, sparks from a nearby cooking fire dancing madly in his cyclonic path. The figure itself was darker than the surrounding night, a nothingness.

“Why do you come to me thus?” Moss demanded somewhat mildly. “Why do you slay my guardians when you have only to ask to pass them?”

“You have tricked me,” the shadow said, and it was Ghe's voice, of that Ghan was certain.

“I have not, and I know not why you think I have, but we should talk.”

But Ghe was apparently in no mood to talk. Light gouted from the sky as if the substance of the heavens somehow had been slit open. It ruptured into a million starlike fragments that cooled from white to violet and finally to a sullen red, all in the briefest instant, and then, like a swarm of bees, the summoning fell upon Moss. Moss himself sprang back, and Ghan saw that he had produced a drum. He stnick its head and shouted, and the fiery hornets were seized by pandemonium, flying everywhere. Many struck the tent, which instantly burst into flame.

Meanwhile, something huge and dark was forming beneath Ghe.

“Ghe, you idiot!” Ghan shrieked in the brief, pregnant silence. “You fool!”

Whatever was coalescing suddenly blazed yellow as a vaguely tigerlike thing leapt from Moss' drum and shattered itself upon the small cyclone around Ghe. Ghan saw a skeleton of something snakelike sublimating and then nothing at all. The shadow cloaking Ghe burned away like a tissue, revealing him naked, grinning, still above them, his outstretched hand against the sky. But in the next moment he languidly brought both arms down in front of him. He held up a single finger as if for their inspection, and Ghan could see that it terminated in a lethal-looking talon.

Moss had stumbled, his drumbeat faltered, but now he regained his feet and began a frantic chant. But Ghan was only faintly aware of him. What caught his attention was Ghe, drawing his own talon along his wrist. Blood drooled out, and Ghe dropped his hand; the black liquid trickled down his fingers, and he flicked droplets out and away from him.

They fell on the earth, and in each spot they struck, something erupted. The air was suddenly thick and sweet with the smell of blood, earth, and corruption, with the storm-scent of lightning striking.

Ten grass-bears arose, shook their great, flat heads, and attacked Moss.

Ghe turned then, to Ghan. “And now for you” he said, and advanced, walking down to him as if upon invisible stairs.

XXXII Beauty

“I remember you now,” Hezhi said, her voice small. “But before you were—”

“Yes, I have many suits of armor, many forms I may wear. Not as many as Karak, perhaps, but sufficient,” the