The Blackgod

by Greg Keyes

  Balati gazed down at him for some time. “That is reasonable,” he said. “You may have them.”

  “Have them?”

  “Two valleys, the two which lie along west of the rim of Agiruluta. You know the place?”

  “Yes, Lord,” Perkar muttered faintly. “I know it. Thank you.”

  But the Forest Lord no longer stood before him.

  Now only the mare remained, stood near where Tsem crouched, weeping, beside Hezhi. The mare walked toward him, and as she did so, she became a woman, Mang-seeming, handsome. She looked angry.

  “The girl Hezhi still has some life in her, and since she is the house my little colt lives in, I have healed her. Your friend will live.”

  “Thank you,” Perkar murmured.

  “Do not thank me yet.” She knelt nearby and put her hand to Ngangata’s throat. Then she turned to him again. “You slew one of my children in a foul and vicious way. You cut her legs from under her and left her to suffer.”

  “I did,” Perkar admitted. “I have no excuse.”

  “No, you don’t. And so as punishment, I will give you a choice. I will either heal the halfling or you, but not both.”

  Perkar closed his eyes. He did want to live. His goal was accomplished, and suddenly he could imagine a life that might have Piraku and perhaps even joy in it. He might once again sip woti, own cattle—and with Hezhi alive, he might even find a companion. And he was afraid, afraid of the hours of torture that lay before him, of the oblivion to come…

  “You are cruel,” he said. “Of course you must save my friend.”

  The Horse Mother hesitated. “Perhaps I should do the contrary then. If you really want this one to live, then he shall die.”

  His mouth worked, but he couldn’t manage an objection, realizing the mistake he had made. After all, hadn’t he used the same logic against the River long ago? Tried to guess his desire and then frustrate it?

  But then the Horse Mother laid her hands on Ngangata. “No,” she said. “I haven’t the heart for that sort of cruelty. I was just taunting you. Ngangata will live. But I will not help you—I will not go so far.”

  “Thank you,” he managed.

  And then she, like the Forest Lord, was gone.

  He lay there for a moment, watched the now steady rise and fall of Ngangata’s chest.

  “Tsem,” Perkar whispered. Perhaps the half Giant could be persuaded to kill him quickly. But before he could utter another word, a sudden, sharper pain took him into oblivion.

  It took everything he had to stand still while the white-faced demon swung his sword again. But this time the pain and the shock meant very little to him. He was almost thankful to Perkar.

  To Hezhi and Ghan, he was thankful. “Good-bye, Hezhi,” he sighed, as shade descended.

  He was a little boy, walking along the levee, looking for a dead fish, anything to eat. His feet were cut and bleeding from fleeing across broken shards of pottery; the soldiers had seen him taking a merchant’s purse of gold, and of course he had dropped it in the pursuit.

  Ahead on the levee he saw an old woman, basking in the sunshine. She had an apple and a salted catfish before her on a red cloth. And bread, warm black bread that he could smell, even on the fetid breeze from the marsh. He felt about in his pocket again—but his knife was really gone. He walked toward the old woman anyway, thinking hard.

  She saw him and frowned—but then she waved him over.

  “I saw you looking at my food,” she said. He nodded sullenly.

  “I’ve seen you before, on Red Gar Street.”

  He shrugged, unable to take his eyes from the fish.

  “We’ll play a game,” the old woman said. She reached into a little bag and withdrew three clay cups and a copper soldier. She lined the cups up, placed the copper under one of them, and then moved them about quickly.

  “Keep your eye on the copper,” she said. “Now, tell which cup the coin is under, and I’ll give you my bread.”

  “It isn’t under a cup,” he said. “It’s in your hand.”

  She opened her hand, and there it was. “How did you know that?” she asked.

  “I’ve seen you on Red Gar Street, too.”

  She laughed. “Take the fish and the bread.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I like you,” she answered.

  “That’s no reason to give me something,” he said, but he took the food anyway, as she watched through narrowed eyes.

  “My name is Li,” she told him, as he swallowed a huge hunk of the bread.

  He stopped chewing then. “Really? Are you really Li?”

  The old woman smiled thinly and shook her head. “No, child, not really, no more than there was a soldier under those cups. But I can take you to where she is.”

  “You’re the Lady.”

  “Yes.”

  “Shouldn’t I be afraid of you?”

  “Yes and no. Are you?”

  Ghe shrugged. “A little. Will I disappear?”

  The Lady smiled. “Now that would be telling. Why don’t we go see?”

  Ghe nodded. “May I finish the bread first? I’m still hungry.”

  “Of course, child. Finish the fish, too.”

  Hezhi awoke, cradled in Tsem’s arms. The pain in her side was still present, but when she felt for the wound, that was gone, though her clothes were sticky—in some places stiff—with dried blood. She remembered—knew—that it was her own.

  Tsem stilted, tilting his coarse features down to look at her. They also were smeared with dried blood—a cut marked the summit of a huge gray lump above one massive brow—and caked further with dirt. Below his eyes, tears had cut runnels through blood and dirt, but he was dry-eyed now.

  “I’m tired,” she muttered. “Thirsty. Tsem, are you all right?”

  “I have a headache, and I was worried about you. The Blackgod knocked me down and I hit my head. I guess he was too busy to bother with killing me.”

  “Where is the Blackgod now?”

  “Gone.”

  She tried to look around. “Is anyone dead?”

  Tsem nodded his head sadly. “You almost were, but a horse healed you. I know that sounds stupid.”

  “No, it makes sense,” she told him. “Who is dead?”

  “Brother Horse. Bone Eel, Qwen Shen. Lots of soldiers.”

  “Perkar? Ngangata?”

  “Ngangata is fine. He’s doing what he can for Perkar.”

  “Perkar? Is he badly hurt?”

  “Very badly, Princess. He will probably die.”

  “I should—maybe I can help him.” But she knew that she could not. Brother Horse had never taught her how to mend a torn body, only how to cast off possession. And neither of her remaining familiars had such arts. And they, too, were weak. But Perkar! Added to Brother Horse and Ghan…

  “Take me to him,” she pleaded.

  Tsem nodded, lifted her up, and carried her to where Perkar lay.

  He was near death, she could see that. Ngangata had bound up his belly, but blood still leaked through the bandage, and he must be bleeding inside, for she could see his spirit ebb.

  “She healed me but not him,” Ngangata muttered when they arrived.

  “Who?”

  “The Horse Mother.”

  Hezhi took a deep breath, fighting back tears. “She said he offended her—” she began.

  Ngangata laughed harshly. “Yes, he did. That’s Perkar, always offending some god or other.” He tried to smile, with small success.

  “But his sword. Can’t his sword heal him?”

  “The Blackgod destroyed Harka,” Ngangata explained.

  “What do we do?” Tsem asked quietly.

  “Wait, I suppose,” Ngangata replied stiffly.

  Hezhi nodded and took one of Perkar’s cool, bloody hands in hers. The smell of iron and water was strong, but the cavern was quiet now, and the last of the flames on the water had dwindled to a pale glow. Hezhi began, at long last, to cry—for Ghan, for
Perkar, for Brother Horse—even for Ghe. She cried until a light appeared, high above them, a disk of gray and then blue; beyond Erikwer, the sun had risen.

  Even in Perkar’s dream, the pain remained—a nest of ants burrowing in his intestines—but it was, at least, muted. He lay in a grassy meadow, high in the mountains. Nearby, cattle lowed softly. It was an unusually vivid dream; he smelled the sweetness of the grass and the resin of spruce needles, even the almost-forgotten scent of cows. Wishing fervently that it were real, he knew it wasn’t. Only the pain was real, the hole in his body. The rest was just his mind trying to ease his death.

  “Oh, no, it’s real,” a voice assured him. He turned at the words and smiled, despite the pain. There, perched on a branch, as regal as any lord of the air, sat the most magnificent eagle he had ever seen. It was a bluebolt, body feathered in black and white with a crown of almost velvety indigo feathers. Its eyes were fierce, the eyes of a warrior, a predator.

  “Harka,” he said. “I must say you are more attractive in that form than as a sword.”

  “It’s been long and long since I enjoyed a form like this, felt the wind in my pinions,” the eagle answered in precisely Harka’s voice. “I had actually forgotten, you know, what I was until that day you asked my name. I had forgotten having ever been anything but a sword.”

  “And now?”

  “Now the Forest Lord will clothe me like this. I can spend a few years in a mortal skin and then perhaps take up residence in the mountain. It will be good, feasting on rabbit and fox again!”

  “I’m happy for you. I thought the Blackgod destroyed you entirely.”

  “Not at all, though I admit I thought I was dead; having my body broken like that really hurt. But in the end he did me a favor, freeing me. Though I hated to abandon you, Perkar—believe it or not, I developed a real fondness for you.”

  Perkar regarded the huge bird. “As I said,” he finally said, “I’m happy for you. But I wonder…”

  “Yes?” Harka sounded almost eager.

  “Can you tell me what happened? Exactly? It all went so fast.”

  “Oh.” The god’s voice fell a bit, as if disappointed. “Of course.” He cocked his head. “Karak believed that only the River’s own blood could destroy him, and only at his source. That was probably true enough. But that thing—the Tiskawa the River made to seek Hezhi out—contained many things, many kinds of blood and soul. The ghost of an ancient Nholish lord, your old love the Stream Goddess, other, smaller gods—all were given puissance and life by the River. A potent combination, one that served the same purpose as true Waterborn blood. The death of the Tiskawa performed the same task as Hezhi’s own was meant to: killed him deader than a bone.”

  “You are certain?”

  “I am certain. I have flown over him, and I have seen. His death follows him downstream; when these waters reach the sea, nothing will remain of the Changeling.”

  “And the River will be without a god. What a strange, strange thought.”

  “Without a god, yes,” Harka said. “But not without a goddess.”

  Perkar turned to him so sharply that, even in his dream the pain was suddenly exquisite. “What?” he gasped in both astonishment and agony.

  “Well, there was one spirit inside of the Tiskawa uniquely qualified to take over in the capacity of lord of the river.”

  “The Stream Goddess?”

  “None other.”

  Perkar sank back and stared up at the sky, happy despite the fact that he was dying.

  “What a glorious world,” he muttered.

  “Ah, yes, and that brings up the point of my visit—besides coming to say good-bye. In fact, if you weren’t so thick, you would know why I’m here.” The eagle hopped down, flexed its wings, and moved a pace closer. “You are about to leave this glorious world—unless you have changed your feelings about me.”

  “About what?”

  “More than once you cursed me for healing you. You asked me to let you die. Do you still want that?”

  “You aren’t my sword anymore.”

  The bird lifted its wings to the wind. “No, but I could do one last favor for a friend, if he wanted.”

  Perkar chuckled. “Fine, Harka. I take it all back. I’m glad you never let me die.”

  “Does that mean you’ll take my help, or would you rather expire as a hero, before you can make another mistake and start things all over again?”

  Perkar shook his head ruefully. “I think I will take that chance, if your offer is genuine.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “Then I accept, and I wish you well in your travels, Harka. You were my only companion at times, and I was ungrateful more often than not—certainly more than I should have been.”

  “Indeed you were,” Harka said. “Now, close your eyes.”

  He closed them, and when he opened them, it was to Hezhi and Ngangata kneeling over him, each of his hands held by one of them.

  The pain was gone.

  “Perkar?” Hezhi asked.

  “Hello,” he said. He turned to Ngangata. “Hello,” he repeated, wanting to say more, to explain to each of them what he felt, but the sheer joy of seeing them both alive and whole—and knowing that he himself would live—was more than he could contain. His words came out as sobs, and when Tsem joined them—he had been only a few paces away—they all clasped in a knot, wordless, gripping hands and shoulders and bloody chests. Behind them, Yuu’han watched—apart, his face expressionless.

  It was finally Tsem who stated the obvious, after a few long moments.

  “We should all bathe now,” he mumbled, and it could hardly be doubted that he was right. Hezhi laughed at that, and they all joined her. It was perhaps not the healthiest of laughter—more than tinged with hysteria—but it served.

  When their chuckles faded off into strained silence, Perkar dizzily found his feet, and with Tsem’s help struggled over to where Brother Horse lay. Heen licked the old man’s face, clearly puzzled as to why his master refused to awaken.

  “Brother Horse said to tell you good-bye, Heen,” Hezhi explained, from behind Perkar. The dog looked up at his name, but then turned his attention back to the old man.

  “Good-bye, Shutsebe,” Perkar said.

  The next few hours were something of a blur, and later none of them remembered very much about them. They carried Brother Horse’s body up and out of Erikwer and found that Karak’s men had vanished, presumably fled. Perkar could hardly blame them, if they had witnessed even the smallest part of what transpired below.

  At Yuu’han’s direction they laid the body out, and sang the songs, and burned a flame for offerings, though they had little enough to give. Yuu’han had cut an ear from the corpse of Bone Eel, and he offered that to be taken to his uncle by the goddess in the flame. When Yuu’han sang his personal grief, Hezhi happened to hear, though she stayed a respectful distance away. One line stayed with her to the end of her days.

  When they number the horses

  When they count the sires and foals

  Father, we shall know each other…

  When Yuu’han was done, he departed, and then Hezhi went there. The old man’s face had fallen into its most accustomed lines, so that she seemed to read a smile upon it. Heen already lay with him, his head propped on Brother Horse’s feet, eyes puzzled. Hezhi knelt down and stroked the ancient dog’s coarse, dirty fur.

  “He said to tell you,” Hezhi murmured to Heen. “But you already know.”

  But she told him anyway, and Heen licked her hand, and together they sat there for a time.

  Night came, and they built a larger fire to huddle about. Unwilling to bathe in Erikwer, they still reeked of blood and sweat and other, more offensive scents. Perkar passed the night restlessly, barely sleeping, suspecting that the others rested at least as poorly.

  He napped briefly, before dawn, and when he awoke, he knew why his rest had been so uneasy.

  “I don’t believe it,” he confessed to Hezhi.
“I don’t believe that the Changeling is dead, even after all of this, all of our sacrifices.”

  “I felt him die,” Hezhi answered, “but I don’t believe it either.”

  “Then there is one more thing we must do, before leaving Balat.”

  Hezhi nodded reluctantly. “Yes. One last thing.”

  XXXIX

  The Goddess

  Perkar placed his feet carefully on the broken red stone, though the way down into the chasm was neither steep nor particularly dangerous seeming. But after all that they had been through—and after searching for the better part of a day for a safe way down the mostly sheer cliffs of the ravine—it would be ridiculous and embarrassing to trip and break his arm or neck.

  Below them the river churned spray into the air that the bright sun rendered into a million shattering diamonds and that imparted a wonderful cool dampness to the ordinarily dry atmosphere.

  “It’s true,” Perkar said, speaking up to his companions still perched on the rim. “It is true. This is not the same Changeling I once knew.”

  “Not at all,” Ngangata agreed.

  Hezhi felt her own trepidation melt away. The scale on her arm reacted to the presence of the river not at all, nor did any part of her. This was just water, flowing through a narrow canyon of red and yellow stone. “It’s hard to believe that this slight stream is really the river,” she said.

  “This is where I first saw him,” Perkar answered. “This is where my journey to you began—our journey,” he corrected as Ngangata came level to him on the trail. He patted the half Alwa on the shoulder.

  “Well,” he called back up to Hezhi. “Come on down.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather I stayed up here?” she asked.

  “No. I would rather have you with me,” he answered, offering his hand to steady her for the next step.

  With only a little slipping and sliding, they all reached the bottom of the gorge easily—even Tsem, though Hezhi noticed the half Giant kept casting uneasy glances back up, probably dreading the return climb to the top.