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pierced back through the drum into the living world, and nearly it was too
much to bear. For a long time she shuddered, and each tear seemed to empty her
heart, to hollow her, until soon enough she feared that her skin would
collapse in upon nothing. Before that could happen, she clambered back into
the damakuta, still weeping. She padded into its halls and into another room,
until she found the sleeper she searched for. There she curled against him,
until he woke, snuffled in confusion and then, without comment, wrapped the
immense bands of his arms around her and rocked her gently. She slept the rest
of the night in Tsem s arms, as if she were five years old desperately
wishing she were.
At breakfast, Perkar wondered at how drawn and weary Hezhi looked. Dark
circles lay below her eyes, and her face seemed pinched. She only picked at
the food they were served, though it was the best breakfast any of them had
enjoyed in some time wheatcakes, sausage, and fresh eggs. Of course, his own
meal tasted like wood in his mouth, for he had not slept at all until the very
break of day, then only dozing into nightmare images of the same waking dream
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he had suffered all night: the Stream Goddess, his love, devoured.
He wondered, briefly, if Hezhi had been shown some similar vision, if she,
too, were filled with a wintry resolve. He had cried as much as he would; now
there would only be killing and dying. His death or that of the Tiskawa, he
cared not which.
The irony was that the goddess had spurned his love because she did not want
to see him grow old and die. It was an irony that would drive his sword arm,
he was certain.
After the meal, he confronted Hezhi. He tried to find some warmth in his voice
if only for her sake. Part of him wanted to ask what was troubling her
, to comfort her with a hug, but it seemed like too much trouble, and in her
mood she might reject him anyway. He added this to his coldness; whatever
tender feelings had developed between the two of them were doomed, and he knew
it. He had never been honest with her about all he knew, and now he never
would be. The destruction of the Changeling was too important to rest on the
whims of a thirteen-year-old girl, even one he cared for. In the end, he might
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have to use force to get her to the River source. He did not want to do that,
but he would.
Now he would.
 We ride out by noon, he told her.  Sheldu and his men will go with us.
 That s good, Hezhi murmured.  We may need more warriors.
 Why do you say that? he asked, aware of the frost in his voice but unable to
do anything about it.
Hezhi s face reflected his tone; hurt and then anger passed over it,
ultimately replaced by weariness.
 Never mind, she whispered.  I ll get ready to ride. She turned away, and
Perkar realized for the first time that she had traded her Mang clothing for
the embroidered yellow riding skirt and woolen shirt of a woman of his own
people. It looked wrong on her somehow; the Mang attire suited her better.
 Yes, he said to no one.  I ll get ready to ride, too.
From the corner of his eye, he caught Ngangata s reproving and concerned gaze,
but he shook it off, striding with purpose to the stables.
In the stables, he eyed Sharp Tiger, wondering if the beast would yet accept
him on his back. His last try at riding the fierce stallion had been two days
after Moss escaped them, and that had ended with a nasty bite that Harka had
taken three days in healing,  to teach him a lesson. He decided there was no
point in trying, and for the hundredth time he regretted his vow to the doomed
Good Thief to watch after his mount. Still, Sharp Tiger did not object to
packs, and a packhorse was valuable on journeys such as this one. It was just
a shame for such a fine war-horse to go unridden, and his own mount, T esh,
was showing increasing signs of rebellion, perhaps having been exposed to one
or two too many strange sights and smells. He packed Sharp Tiger and was
cinching on T esh s saddle when Ngangata arrived.
He nodded at his friend.
 Two days hard riding and we ll be in Balat again, the half-ling observed.
 We ll have come full circle.
 Not quite, Perkar said.
 No? This is how we met, equipping an expedition to ride into the realm of the
Forest Lord. Now we are back to that point.
 I suppose. For you and me, this is full circle. Full circle for me will be
when we reach the mountain.
That s where my mistakes began.
 Oh, no, Ngangata said.  Your mistakes began here, too, listening to Apad and
Eruka allowing their
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prejudices and fears to become your own and hiding your agenda. The Kapaka
would never have taken you along had he known you were in love with a
goddess.
 Is that what this is about? Are you here to dissuade me?
 Yes. Your last quest to slay the Changeling brought all to ruin. Surely you
remember.
Perkar kneed T esh roughly in the side; the stallion was blowing out so that
the saddle would be loose, and today Perkar was having none of that.
 As usual, Ngangata, you know best. I even agree with you. Deep down, I no
longer even believe in this quest. I do not think the Changeling can be slain,
and I do not think I can put all my mistakes back the way they were. But I no
longer have any choice in the matter.
 You always have a choice.
 Remember your diatribe against heroes, Ngangata? About how they are merely
fools who have been glorified in song, how they are death to their
companions?
 I remember.
 Then for the last time, ride away, because I think that soon I will die. And
if I am a hero, we both know what will happen to my companions.
Ngangata turned to his own mount.  I know this, he said.  But does she
?
 Hezhi? No. Truth to tell, I don t think I am the hero this time at all,
Ngangata. I think she is. Maybe she always was. And that means we are to die
in her service. What point in telling her that? Perhaps she can
slay the Changeling, as Karak says. Maybe I ll live long enough to see that.
Gods granting, I ll take my revenge on his instrument, at least.
Ngangata shook his broad head and waved away a horsefly.  You are intimately
familiar with several gods, Perkar. Do you think them likely to grant you
anything?
 If it serves them
, yes.
 Very well, he conceded.  But listen to me. He turned his dark, Aiwa eyes
upon Perkar, eyes Perkar had once found so intimidating. Time and friendship
had taught him to see the deep expressiveness of them, the concern there but
they still gave him pause.  I will not leave you, Perkar. I will not allow you
to throw your life from you like a worn bowstave. Whatever else you may be,
you are my friend, and I can say that of very few. So when you ride to meet
death, think of me by your side.
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 I don t want that responsibility, Perkar sighed.
 You don t have it, Ngangata grunted, in answer.  But if I force you to think
of me or anyone
before yourself, I ve done a good thing.
Perkar watched as Ngangata finished saddling his mount and then led his horse
from the stall.  Will we win, Ngangata?
Can we defeat the Changeling? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]