The Blackgod

by Greg Keyes

  “What?” he whispered.

  “I told my lord that—”

  “Yes, yes, I understood you. She really is alive?”

  “My lord, I cannot be certain. But I did not kill her, nor did the priests or the soldiers. She escaped into the desert, where the River has no power to see, and she may have been killed there, though, knowing her, I doubt it. But she is in danger; I know that to be true. The priesthood knows she is alive, and they will not rest until she breathes no more. There may be others.” The ghoul’s voice dropped lower, and She’lu heard the deep sincerity in it. “My lord, the River brought me to life for this purpose, and this purpose alone: to find your daughter and return her to the River, so that she may fulfill the destiny of you and all your family. Can’t you see how carefully the priests control you? They keep you from your children, slay or bind captive all but a few who have power…”

  “My brother was one so bound,” She’lu interrupted. “He was insane, and would have destroyed all. There is good reason for that binding.”

  “In some cases. I do not doubt that the power drives many to madness. But Hezhi was his chosen, as you are, and yet they would have disposed of her. You, they keep tranquil with lies.”

  “Have a care how you speak of me!” The ghoul seemed to be getting bolder, less respectful by the moment. She’lu tensed, expecting attack but unwilling to launch his own. Despite its insolence, this creature was making a sort of sense. And the River had prepared him for this, he realized, sent ahead thoughts of his daughter, fond memories. Behind all of that lurked his ever-present knowledge that the empire was losing its form at the edges, the persistent nagging feeling that power was somehow slipping past him, that his reach was not what an emperor’s should be.

  “I’m sorry, Lord,” the ghoul amended, “but I believe it to be the case. The priesthood has labored for centuries to check your power in a thousand subtle ways. Even your ghosts are kept chained.”

  “You mentioned this before. What do you mean?”

  The ghoul suddenly began shivering, power tightening around him like a cocoon, and She’lu raised his hands reflexively. But no thrust of potence came, no claws stretched to strike at his heart. Instead, the ghoul spoke again, but in a very different voice. Not merely in timbre and intonation; the very language was different, the ancient tongue of his ancestors.

  “Thou knowest this be the truth, Chakunge my descendant. We are trapped in the tombs, starved to nothing, until such time as we amuse them. Then they may take us out, command us to speak, to sing, to blaspheme. We are their library, their drama stage. They play with us, grandson of my grandsons.”

  “What?” She’lu sputtered. “What?”

  “They keep us there, in their temple. The Chakunge himself, the First Emperor, they keep on a leash like a dog!”

  She’lu knew that this was no trick; he could see the soul image, and it was not the ghoul’s. Though he could not tell who it was, this was certainly one of his ancestors. His skin crawled like a bed of ants.

  “Who are you, Lord?” he asked.

  “I am Lengnata, fourth to the throne of the Nas Dynasty. Your ancestor.”

  “The First Emperor is in chains?”

  “As I said. You, too, will be chained when you die. Only a few escape, and them the priests destroy. I myself departed only in the heart of this ghoul, and now I am slave to him. But it is better, better. For through the ghoul, I see the River has a plan to destroy the priesthood, and that is good.”

  “Lord Ancestor, I…” But the ghoul was the ghoul again.

  “Pardon, my lord, but I have only recently entered into this power of mine. My control over it is growing but still imperfect.”

  “You admit your weakness to me?”

  “If I had no weakness, I would not beg for your aid. I was made to go where the River cannot go, Lord, and where the power of his true children thus cannot go. I cannot bear his strength as you can, cannot become him as Hezhi can; he has given me the strength to find my power as I go along, that is all. But to go where Hezhi is, I need help. Your help.”

  “If this is all true…” He grimaced. “I must speak to Nyas.”

  The ghoul shook his head. “My lord, the Ahw’en and the Jik seek for me everywhere now. I have killed many of them and invaded their temple. I have their secrets and I have stolen one of your ancestors back from them. I have seen the Chakunge of our most sacred legends on a leash like a dog. I have power, but the priesthood can kill me. If you do not ally yourself with me, help me, all will be lost. All. And it must be now, quickly—this night.”

  “Why did you not approach me sooner?”

  “I did not know. We are taught that the emperor and the priesthood are warp and weft in the same cloth. Only as a ghoul have I found the truth.”

  She’lu drew a deep breath. This was very sudden, but if it were true, if Hezhi still lived, if she could bring back the real power and glory of the throne… if even an emperor must eventually suffer a fate like that of the Blessed, a fate he believed he had escaped…

  “What do you want of me?”

  The ghoul knelt again. “A fast ship, to sail up-River. Horsemen and swordsmen, as many as you can spare. But most, most of all, I need the librarian from the archives.”

  “Ghan? The old man?”

  “He knows where Hezhi is. I know he does.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I just feel it, Lord. They were very close, he and your daughter. He helped her escape, though none knew that but me. He knows where she has gone.”

  “You may have him, then. And the ship, thirty mounted men, fifty foot. Will this suffice?”

  “That will suffice,” the ghoul answered, and She’lu could hear the surge of victory in the voice.

  “But tell me,” She’lu asked. “Why drag this old man out into the desert? We can torture the information from him, or merely snatch it from his brain.”

  The ghoul smiled thinly. “I considered that. In fact, I could swallow his soul and keep it with me, open his memories like a book. Three things stop me: first, I believe he may be canny enough to prevent it somehow; you would almost certainly never torture him, for he would kill himself in some clever way rather than be the instrument of Hezhi’s capture. The second is that I believe he will be wiser alive. Those I bind to me lose much of their essence, their ability to think. They are, really, just parts of me. This Ghan is worth ten counselors if he is on your side.”

  “Three reasons?”

  “Hezhi loves him and hates me. If Ghan is with me, she will trust us.”

  “But you say the librarian helped her escape. You were a Jik at the time. Why should he trust you?”

  “He never knew my identity. Still, he will be suspicious, and so a series of lies must be told him…”

  She’lu scrunched forward, forgetting for the moment that he was an emperor and this man a ghoul. Something was happening, something that might make his reign a memorable one. He could not launch an assault on the Water Temple; such had been tried in the past and only resulted in the worst sort of bloodshed. But if this creature was right, he could free not only the River but himself. Of course, he would make some provision for his own interests; he could not trust this stranger—all the more reason to surround him with eighty of his handpicked men. That would be a thousand times better than having him skulking about the palace. Could he keep the priesthood from finding out? Maybe.

  But in the palace, at least in his own section of it, the emperor was supreme.

  Yes. A barge could be spared, and men. These were cheap; and if the expedition failed, he would be no worse off than before. But if it succeeded…

  He was aware that the promise of majesty he felt was only partly his own, that most of it surged into him from the River. The god had never, in his memory, been this strong or wakeful. Some of his ancestors might have been glad of that, happier to rule without the intervention of the divine, but She’lu did not share their sentiments. He would see Nhol s
trong again. Perhaps, if all went well, he would see the priesthood spitted on stakes for his pleasure. He smiled then, at the ghoul.

  “Come with me. Tell me what else you require.”

  PART TWO

  Upstream Passages

  XVII

  Kinship

  Tsem roared and swung a stool at one of the swordsmen, caught the bright edge of slicing metal on the wood. The sword snapped with a metallic cry and the Mang echoed it as the half Giant’s makeshift weapon thudded into his chest. He joined his fellow on the floor of the yekt, wheezing.

  For an instant there was calm, in which Hezhi desperately tried to assess the situation.

  “Princess!” Tsem growled, glancing toward her, but only for an instant, for another warrior stood in the yekt, menacing them. Ngangata, his face spattered with blood, held a throwing axe in each hand, his expression that of a caged predator, driven to fury. All told, three Mang lay on the floor, two unmoving, one clutching his chest and grimly working to regain an upright stance. A fourth warrior stood just inside the doorway of the yekt, and Hezhi could see several more just outside. She recognized two of them; the one whom Tsem had just battered with the stool was Chuuzek, the surly tribesman who had met her the day before; one of the men outside was his companion, Moss.

  The interior of the yekt was in total disarray; only Perkar seemed unchanged, still pale with unnatural sleep.

  “Tsem, what is happening?”

  “Treachery,” Ngangata snapped, loudly enough for those outside to hear. “Though Brother Horse promised us hospitality, his kin seem bent on dishonoring his name.”

  “There is no honor in harboring monsters,” Chuuzek gasped, already up on one knee. Tsem stepped quickly forward and slapped the man’s broad face with the half-curled back of his hand, and Chuuzek sprawled back, spitting blood. A cloth bandage on his head, caked with old blood, began to dampen with new wet redness as well.

  Moss stepped into the doorway. “Chuuzek! Stop!” he shouted, the first time Hezhi had heard the young man raise his voice. Chuuzek, fumbling for a knife at his belt, ceased, and instead scooted back against the wall of the yekt.

  Moss took another step in, eyes intent on Hezhi. “There is no need for this,” he asserted. “These friends of yours need not die.”

  “So far we aren’t the ones dying,” Ngangata remarked. Hezhi had never seen him in such a state, either. He was normally so mild, deflecting insults or ignoring them.

  “It’s not to you that I am speaking, Brush-Man,” Moss replied.

  “I don’t understand any of this,” Hezhi groaned, and then more firmly, “Get out of this house. All of you, go away!”

  Moss frowned. “I would not have chosen this,” he said. “My cousin acted hastily, but his motives were pure. You must come with us.”

  “I must do nothing,” Hezhi snarled. “Yesterday you spoke of hospitality. What did you say? ‘I’m only sorry the hospitality of this camp was violated.’ Fine words, but I see now which hole they issued from. Not from your mouth, that much is certain.”

  Chuuzek stirred again angrily.

  “Stand back up, little man,” Tsem growled. “I will break your neck.”

  “You cannot break all of our necks,” Chuuzek returned.

  “He does not have to!” came an angry voice from outside. “Move out of my way, all of you, you worthless carrion dogs!”

  Hezhi saw the look of consternation, quickly mastered, flash over Moss’ face. Reluctantly he stepped back as a burst of shouting from outside was followed by sudden silence. Brother Horse shouldered into the tent, swept furious eyes over the scene. His short, spindly legs and wizened body no longer seemed in the least comical or kindly; the old man bore his rage in every angle of his stance, spat it in each terse syllable. The wolf she had seen inside of him now shone out like a candle through a red paper lantern.

  “Get out of here,” he said to Chuuzek softly. “Get out of my house, and take these piles of buzzard dung with you.” He kicked one of the dead or unconscious men with the toe of his boot.

  “Now we see,” Chuuzek said. “We see the great man cares more for his dun’cheen friends than he does for his own people.”

  “I care,” Brother Horse gritted, “more for the ways of the Mang—the Mang, you whelp of a cur and a turd—than I do for your insolent disregard of all we know. I promised these people hospitality, and you steal that from me, you thief. You horse thief!”

  Which was about the worst thing one Mang could call another. Raiding and robbing others was war—and acceptable—but stealing from one who gave you hospitality was one of the worst offenses conceivable.

  “Perhaps you want her for yourself, old man.”

  Brother Horse ignored Chuuzek. He swept his gaze over Tsem, Ngangata, Perkar, and Hezhi. “Are you injured, child? Has any one of you been hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” Hezhi answered. “I don’t know about Tsem and Ngangata. I just… awoke.”

  “We are not injured,” Ngangata answered. “No true harm has been done… yet.”

  “No harm!” Chuuzek roared. “My cousins lie there thus, and you say no harm has been done?”

  “They begged for their fate,” Brother Horse answered venomously. “Were they—and you—not protected by the same hospitality that protects these others, I would have you all on the frame, screaming for days on end.”

  “I would spit in your face.”

  “Brave talk,” Brother Horse answered him. “You have never been on the frame; I have.” He turned to Moss. “You had my answer yesterday. You may seek to turn all of this on your rock-brained cousin, but I know better.”

  “I warned you,” Moss said quietly. “I respect you greatly, and I understand your position. If you had let us take her, you would not have been dishonored; the onus would have been shouldered only by Chuuzek and myself. You need only have been too long engaged elsewhere. As it is…” He signed with his hand and four more warriors crowded up to the doorway.

  Brother Horse shook his head. “You would slay me, in my own house, during the Ben’cheen? You are not Mang.”

  “We do what must be done,” Moss answered. “We will bear the dishonor. Please don’t make us bear the responsibility of your death as well, honored one.”

  “The warriors of my clan are just behind you. Make another move, and you shall wear a coat of arrows.”

  Moss smiled grimly. “You mistake your own family. These warriors have agreed to stand aside. They will not aid me, but neither will they aid you. I have spoken with them all.”

  “Yes, well, I have spoken with them all, as well, and I told them to answer you thus. I wanted to see how far down this wrong, waterless trail you would stumble. Now I know.”

  Hezhi wished she could have laughed at the sudden understanding on Moss’ face, but her heart was still thudding too painfully in her chest. Too much happening, too much. First the mountain and then, with no letup, this.

  The green-eyed man seemed to sag slightly, but then he recovered himself.

  “You will regret this,” he said sincerely. Not with heat, but with a kind of sadness.

  “I regret much in my life,” Brother Horse murmured. “This will not greatly add to my burden, I’m sure.”

  “In that you are mistaken,” Moss assured him.

  Brother Horse merely shrugged and slapped his hands. Men came from behind and seized Moss and his kin roughly.

  “Watch them,” Brother Horse called to his men. “Disarm them but do them no harm. They are protected by my word, and I will not break that word.”

  Two men came in to get the bodies. Chuuzek managed to leave under his own power. Brother Horse grimly watched them go before turning to examine those he protected.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think things would go this far.”

  “You knew,” Hezhi stated.

  “Yes. I knew when I saw you with them in the desert. They meant to take you then, would have if I had not been present. Moss is honorable at hear
t, and thought to persuade me rather than slay me. It was a very near thing, though. Did you notice the way Chuuzek kept fondling his sword-grip?” “No,” Hezhi admitted. “But I knew something was wrong.”

  “Something is very wrong,” Brother Horse agreed.

  “Thank you for your help,” Tsem said. “Thank you for protecting Hezhi.”

  Brother Horse eyed the half Giant. “I had no choice, so there is no need to thank me.”

  “I think you did have a choice,” Ngangata disagreed. “Moss was right; had you turned your back, they could have taken us and no one would have faulted you.”

  Brother Horse grinned tightly. “We work to keep the good opinion of our elders, but none here is my elder. That leaves me in the unfortunate position of having to stay clean in my own eyes.”

  “They would have killed Perkar,” Ngangata answered, his tone still conveying thanks.

  “They would have killed you all, all but me,” Hezhi added.

  Tsem nodded. “They must have known you were ill and come to take you while you lay asleep.”

  “Ill?”

  “Princess, you have lain as dead for a day.”

  That long? But it had seemed even longer.

  “She was not dead,” Brother Horse said. “You bled into the lake, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  He sighed. “Yes. I wish I could have been with you, to help you.”

  Hezhi held her hands up. “You were here when we needed you most, I think. What should we do now?” She surveyed her companions helplessly.

  “Princess, that is your decision,” Tsem quietly responded.

  She thought that Brother Horse or Ngangata would disagree—hoped they would—but to her surprise they did not, only watched her expectantly.

  “I…” She stared back at them. “I don’t know what to do. We can’t stay here anymore, though, can we?”

  Brother Horse pursed his lips. “I never anticipated any of this. I offered you a life in this village, with my people, and yet…”