The Blackgod

by Greg Keyes

  Her body may have lain as if asleep while she traveled the skies, but it had apparently received no rest. After the fight and the discussion—after her decision—they had wasted little time, slipping from the camp while the sky was still an inky beast with a thousand eyes. Now they were more than a league from the Mang camp, the most immediate danger behind them, and events, unbroken by oblivion, crowded together in Hezhi’s brain until they were a senseless litany of colors and shapes. Her eyes read the sky and the landscape only from habit, without much comprehension.

  Of the night’s watchful eyes, only one remained, the rest having fled or fluttered shut beneath sky-colored lids at the graying of the horizon, and that only made her sleepier, made her wish that she were a cold, distant, sleeping star. The holdout still flamed, defiant, defending his domain in the vault of heaven even though his was the easternmost portion, where the sun’s birth was heralded by servants of copper and gold.

  “What star is that?” Hezhi asked wearily, in an attempt to keep awake.

  Brother Horse cracked the barest grin in the gray light. Hezhi noticed not so much the show of humor as how old he looked, with the stubble of beard on his chin.

  “We call him Yuchagaage, the ‘Hunter.’”

  “What does he hunt?”

  Brother Horse waved the back of his hand at the star, winking dimmer each moment to their right. “He has hunted many things. Right now he hunts the sun.”

  “Will he catch the sun?”

  “Well, watch for yourself. The Bright King will kill him, sure enough, before even he has risen.”

  “The Hunter is not the most intelligent of gods,” Raincaster added from up ahead of them, next to Tsem. Hezhi had been staring east in the first place to avoid watching the tail of Raincaster’s horse, which threatened to mesmerize her as it switched back and forth.

  “True,” Brother Horse said. “He lies in wait for the sun, each morning getting closer. Always he is slain; he 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. Yuu’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 l
itany. 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 smelled 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—and withdrew her drum.

  “Can’t that wait?” the half Giant asked.

  “Wait forever, you mean? Tsem, try to understand.”

  “Tsem always try to understand, Princess. Tsem just not very bright.”

  Hezhi could not tell if Tsem was trying to make her smile or rebuke her with his “dumb act,” the one he had used in the palace so often.

  “You’ll be right beside me.”

  “I was right beside you before, when your spirit left your body. You almost fell off the roof and broke your neck.”

  “I was foolish. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “And now you do,” he replied sarcastically.

  She didn’t answer. Ngangata was returning with Brother Horse. The old Mang man knelt and touched Perkar’s brow.

  “Yes,” he muttered. “We should do this now.”

  “How?”

  “I will do it. You will lend me the strength I need.”

  “I don’t understand. You told me you couldn’t heal him.”

  “I can’t—not without you. I don’t have the strength. On the other hand, you don’t have the knowledge, and I don’t have time to teach it to you; that would take months of apprenticeship.”

  “What do I do, then?”

  “Tap your drum; follow me and watch what I do.”

  “What will you do?”

  He spread his hands expressively. “We must fight and defeat the Breath Feasting. We will use our spirit helpers. Watch how I call mine forth, and then call yours forth in the same manner.”

  “The Horse, you mean—the spirit of the Horse.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Of course,” Hezhi repeated, not at all certain things were as obvious as Brother Horse seemed to think them. “I’m ready.”

  “The rest of you be silent and do not touch us,” the old man warned. “Do you understand? Giant, do you understand?”

  “If anything ill befalls her, I will break your neck.”

  Brother Horse sighed and shook his head slowly at the cave floor. “If, when we get started here, you interfere, you may have no need to break either of our necks. The Breath Feasting may do it for you.”

  Tsem glowered but protested no more.

  They sat and after a still, silent moment, Brother Horse began scratching the surface of his drum with his nails, faintly, faintly. Soon he began to tap it, and Hezhi joined in, also tapping with the nail of her index finger. The effect was nearly immediate; though almost negligible, the vibration of the taut rawhide tremored up her finger and into her bones and blood, filled it with rhythm. She moved to a pulse not her own, pumped not by her heart but by the skin head, by the scale on her arm. She was only remotely aware when Brother Horse began to chant, a wordless incantation at first, a droned note repeated over and over and an occasional odd rise in pitch. But in time, the meaningless syllables resolved into words, and these she caught as they drifted by.

  Wake up, my guest

  You have slept long

  In the house of my ribs,

  The house of my heart

  Wake up now,

  See through my eyes,

  Walk with my feet,

  Yush, my old friend

  As he sang, Brother Horse began to shiver, wavering like flame in high wind. In that uncertainty of form, his face was the face of a wolf and his own at once, and she gathered from his limbs a sense of lean gaunt grayness that was not wholly Human. He chanted on, speaking to the spirit in him, and the air about Hezhi began to dream, to fill with the colors from behind closed eyelids. Tsem, Ngangata, and the others became shadowed, dimmed away as the real and the unreal traded their substance. Brother Horse continued to spread, became two shapes, wolf and man, though they were not entirely separate.

  “Now,” the old man told her, though he still chanted when he said it, “sing as I sang. Call up your helper.”

  Hezhi closed her eyes, rocking. It no longer seemed as if her finger moved the cadence of the drum; rather, it seemed to move itself. Hezhi’s sight turned inward, and there she saw the horse-child, waiting for her call. She appeared as she had in life, iron gray with blazing white stripes, mane whipped by a fierce wind, racing upon a limitless, grassy field.

  This is in me, Hezhi realized. The Horse’s world nested within her, a world of hooves pounding and strong, willful blood.

  Come on out. Come out and help me, she thought. Her lips formed the same chant that Brother Horse had recited, but this inner speech seemed more important than the formal words. It was her wish that the mare responded to, not the syllables in Mang. The mare came gladly, the thunder of her hooves shaking the drum so violently that Hezhi very nearly dropped it.

  Hezhi opened her eyes. Brother Horse was talking again, perhaps to her. He seemed to be speaking urgently, but in her dreamlike state she felt sluggish, too lazy to puzzle at his meaning. She was more interested in the spirit emerging from her; it was almost as if she were giving birth—or at least, the way she had imagined giving birth might be. Far away, she heard a dog barking frantically. Heen? He was never frantic about anything.

  Then she noticed Perkar standing, facing her, bending toward her. The almond molds of his eyes were entirely black, seething, bubbling like boiling tar. He grinned oddly, and his teeth were black, too. His sword squirmed in a white-knuckled grip, now a blade, now an eagle, now a single long beak or claw.

  “I told you,” Perkar said. “I warned you.” He lifted the sword to point at her throat slowly, as if it were heavy and he was having trouble raising it

  A feral swirl of gray and teeth and claws smacked into Perkar and his black grin turned to a snarl. He staggered beneath the onslaught, swiping clumsily about him with his weapon. Brother Horse still sat, hands tapping the drum, as the wolf that had emerged from him tore with white teeth at Perkar.

  Hezhi stated, gaping. Were they to kill Perkar? If the price of evicting the Breath Feasting from his body was to kill him, what was the point? But Perkar did not seem
in danger of losing. One hand gripped the wolf by the throat now, and though it squirmed and shifted shapes from wolf to serpent to man, still he held it and brought the godsword around. The wolf split nearly in half, and its yowl was deafening. Perkar tossed it aside and advanced upon Brother Horse.

  “Old man, you should have stayed away from this. He has been given to me by one much stronger than you.”

  “By whom?” Brother Horse asked. His eyes remained on Hezhi, however.

  “I will take your ghost to him, and he will have some use for it, I think.”

  “I regret that I cannot accompany you.”

  Hezhi noticed that the two halves of the wolf were still joined by a thread of life, and the doglike creature was obstinately dragging itself across the cave floor toward Perkar. It would never reach him before the Perkar-thing reached Brother Horse, however. Only Heen stood, teeth bared, between the old gaan and death—but if a wolf god fell so quickly, how long could an ordinary dog stand?

  Hezhi hesitated just an instant longer. What if Brother Horse was the enemy, and this all a trick to kill Perkar once and for all? She still, despite all of her experience, had only his word that he was on her side. But watching him sit there, calmly, facing something that looked like Perkar but was not, not really—

  “Come, Goddess,” she cried. “There is your enemy!”

  And the spirit bolted from her chest, like a heartbeat escaping, heart and all. It was not unlike the feeling of terrible sadness or joy, tightened beneath the tiny bones of her breast, suddenly bursting out, and of the two, more like joy. The gates of her heart swung open, and the Horse God sprang out.

  Perkar turned at the sound, gaping wider than humanly possible. In fact, his whole head hinged open, almost comically. Black flame coiled out from an open mouth framing sharklike teeth. He brought his blade up, but he was too late. The mare erupted into existence, fury and passion rolling in her eyes, and her hooves slashed with more speed and force than summer lightning. They caught Perkar in the head and his skull split, burst into shards like a shattered pot. He swayed on his feet for an instant, as the Breath Feasting pulled free of the stump of his neck. The demon leapt out, coiled sinew and scales scratching at the air, spinning out rays like a thousand-legged spider, each leg a segmented worm tipped with a sting. It wheeled toward the Horse God, who reared to meet it, teeth bared and snapping. Hezhi braced for their impact, but it never came; something suddenly settled about the demon, a hoop of shivering light, and Hezhi realized that she had not seen Brother Horse approaching the duel, though now she felt how insistent his drumbeat had become. He swept the circumference of his instrument—which seemed now much larger than before—over the Breath Feasting, and as the beast passed through, it came apart. It literally burst through the skin head of the drum, a fountain of worms rotting into shreds of moldy black cheese and finally smoke. The only sound was faint, something between a snap and a gasp.