Chosen of the Changeling

by Greg Keyes

  It was the first time he had ever held a sword in his life.

  The rope tightened. A face emerged from the water, and Ghan let the blade relax when he saw it was Yen. The boy had an expression of dumbfounded pain on his face. He looked up vaguely at Ghan.

  “Li …?” he gasped. It was both a question and an imprecation.

  “Come on, boy,” Ghan urged. “I don’t have the strength to help you. But you’ve done the hardest part.” He remembered the archer, certain now that it was Yen who had been shot. He felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach as he realized that this was probably all for nothing, that the young man would die regardless. How had he kept up with the barge?

  Yen managed to pull himself to the rail, and Ghan took hold of the man’s shirt and leaned back, felt how appallingly weak his grip was. He was not certain that this helped in the slightest, but the younger man flopped up, under the lowest rail, and dragged himself stubbornly onto the deck. Ghan could see the arrow wound now, though the arrow itself was gone. It oozed blood, or some fluid that resembled blood but was darker. He darted his head about, but there was no one aft.

  “Come on. Can you walk? We have to get you to my cabin.” Because the assassin was somewhere on the ship and, when he learned that his job was not complete, would probably wish to finish what he began.

  Yen managed to get to his knees and, by clawing at Ghan’s proffered shoulder, to his feet, though he leaned rather heavily. Puffing, Ghan steered him toward the open door of his cabin. He tried to lower him to the floor gently, but the result was that both of them collapsed. Ghan fell awkwardly, his hip slapping painfully against the hardwood floor. The hurt was mind-numbing, and for an instant he believed that he had cracked the bone.

  Outside, he heard several men enter the corridor between cabins. Groaning, he disentangled himself from Yen, crawled on all fours toward the door, and pushed it closed before anyone could come in sight. Then, back to the door, tears of pain in his eyes, he waited for the inevitable shove against it. What story would he tell? He tried to think; the pain was subsiding to a warm numbness. No one tried his door.

  Yen, for his part, coughed. A few flecks of blood came up, and Ghan knew that to be a bad sign. It was thus strange when the boy rose unsteadily to his feet, went to the door, and latched it. When he looked down at Ghan, this time, there was a sharp sense of recognition, and something unreadable flashed across his face.

  “No,” Yen muttered—clearly to himself. “No, I won’t.”

  For the first time, Ghan stopped to wonder why he had rescued Yen at all, despite his basic distrust of the man. But the boy was the only one on the barge he really knew. And Hezhi liked him, which surely meant something.

  Yen reached down for him and lifted him off the floor as if he weighed no more than a feather, cradling him like a baby. Ghan tried to protest, but the pain and his exertions had left him without a voice. The bed was soft, wonderful, when Yen laid him in it.

  “Thanks,” he managed to breathe.

  “No, thank you,” Yen answered. “I … may I stay in your cabin for a time?”

  “I think you should,” Ghan replied. “Someone up there is trying to kill you.”

  Yen raised an eyebrow. “You know who it is?”

  “I saw him. I don’t know his name.”

  “Really? That’s good. That you saw him, I mean.” He sat down and drew his knees up to his chest. His breathing seemed to have evened out.

  “It might be Li, I suppose,” Ghan offered.

  Yen looked startled—no, he was shocked. “What? Why do you say that?”

  “It’s the first thing you said, when you came up out of the water.”

  “Oh. No, I … Li was someone I used to know, when I was a boy. I thought you were her for a moment.”

  “She must have been hideously ugly,” Ghan remarked.

  Yen chuckled. “Most found her so,” he said, “though I did not. Funny.” He looked at Ghan with clear eyes. “I believed I had forgotten her. And yet there she is.”

  “Memory is strange,” Ghan said. “There are moments from my boyhood sixty years ago that I recall more vividly than yesterday. As you grow older, you become accustomed to that.”

  “There is no ‘older’ for me,” Yen mumbled, and Ghan caught the glitter of tears in the dim lantern light.

  Ghan swung his legs toward the edge of the bed, still worried about the ache in his hip, but certain he could walk now.

  “I’ll find Lady Qwen Shen. There must be someone on board who has medical knowledge.”

  Yen shook his head vigorously. “No, let it be. I’m growing stronger each moment.”

  “Let me see your wound, then.”

  “You won’t see much.”

  “What do you mean?” But Ghan felt a sharp jab of premonition. It turned into a pain in the center of his chest, and he clutched at it, astonished by the sudden force beneath his sternum. The room shuddered. Somewhere, inside the maelstrom of pain and fear, he knew he was about to die.

  But then Yen quietly said “No,” as he had before, and the ball of pain in his chest was released. A sweet breath surged into his lungs, and another.

  “I’m sorry,” Yen said. “You didn’t deserve that. I—”

  “What are you jabbering about?” Ghan snarled, pain and relief suddenly churning into anger.

  “Listen to me, Ghan. I wasn’t lying when I said you and I were Hezhi’s only hope. We are, and that is more certain to me now than ever. The emperor gave this expedition into my hands, do you understand? Not Bone Eel’s.”

  “Yes, yes. That much is clear. You and Qwen Shen control this expedition.”

  Yen nodded grimly. “So I am betrayed by the emperor or more likely the priesthood. Possibly both.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Yen sighed. “I’m not certain I do, either. Have you explained to anyone else about our destination? Does anyone else but myself know even generally where we are bound?”

  “The Lady Qwen Shen knows as much as you do. No one knows more.”

  “Then they must feel certain they can get the information from you. They don’t want to risk me because they can’t control me.”

  Ghan realized that Yen no longer seemed as if he was in pain at all. He had risen, begun pacing furiously about the cabin, though he kept his voice low, raspy.

  “I saw your wound,” Ghan said, articulating each word with great care.

  “You are the greatest scholar I know,” Yen said. He stopped pacing, and Ghan could see that his face was nearly drained of color. “Probably the greatest scholar in Nhol. And so you must tell me what I am, Ghan.” He reached to his throat and unbraided the silly-looking scarf he always wore, let it drift to the deck. Ghan stared, frowning for an instant, before what he saw made itself understood. Yen turned slowly, to help him.

  Another shudder touched his chest, just a light caress, but Ghan thought he knew now where the pain came from, what it threatened.

  “L-let me think,” he gasped, stammering for the first time since his eleventh birthday, eyes fixed on the impossible scar.

  “Take your time,” Yen said.

  There was a rap at the door. Ghan, deep in furious thought, looked up at Yen. Yen placidly replaced the scarf on his horribly scarred neck and went to the door.

  Their visitor was Bone Eel, dressed handsomely in blue turban and matching robe. Ghan caught the gleam of steel beneath the robe, however. Bone Eel had apparently been moved to don a cuirass, at least.

  “Ah, there you both are,” he said, sounding delighted. “I only wanted to make certain you had both weathered our recent bit of trouble. Very exciting, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Oh, indeed,” Yen answered.

  “Master Yen, your clothes are wet.”

  “True. Unfortunately, as I rushed to defend the barge, I stumbled and fell overboard.”

  “No! That’s dreadful.”

  “It was. Happily, one of the mooring lines hadn’t been tied up properly, and I
managed to get hold of it. Otherwise, the boat might have left me behind with those barbarians.”

  Bone Eel smiled happily. “There wouldn’t have been many to bother about, I assure you. We killed most of them, I’m happy to report, and the others will think long and hard about ever attacking an imperial vessel again.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “Master Ghan? All is well with you?”

  Ghan tried to focus his thoughts on the lord’s demented patter. It was difficult. It was very much like sitting near a fantastically poisonous viper; the viper had struck, playfully, once, just to show him its speed, leaving him to wonder whether the viper would strike him, or Bone Eel—or not at all.

  “Well enough,” Ghan tried to snap. “Though I would be better—far better—if I had never been included in this ridiculous mission.” His tension loosened, just a bit, as he warmed to playing himself. “I think your charter has been well satisfied. We have sailed to Wun and ‘points beyond,’ and I think it’s time we pointed the nose of this scow back down-River, to civilization.”

  “Now, Master Ghan,” Bone Eel soothed. “One day up-River of Wun is hardly ‘points beyond.’ I think young Yen here would agree with that.”

  “I do,” Yen confirmed.

  “I never asked to be included on this trip, however,” Ghan acidly retorted. “If I had—”

  “Master Ghan, I’ve heard this objection from you before, several times, and I say what I said then. It is the emperor’s wish that you chronicle this voyage, and so chronicle it you will. Now, I’m sorry for all of this unpleasantness, but the barge was never in any serious danger. We repelled all boarders and lost only seven men in doing so. Those are remarkably small losses, as I’m sure you know. Now, I must see to things, and knowing you are well, I do so without concerns for your health.” He made as if to leave and then stuck his head back in and said, “Try to be more cheerful, Master Ghan. It is good for digestion.” Then the noble left, closing the door behind him.

  “Yes,” Yen repeated. “Try to be more cheerful.”

  Ghan turned to face him. His speech about going back was contrived, but the outrage he had discovered was real. “You ask me what you are? Don’t you know?”

  Yen’s show of tears was over; his face was placid, his eyes frozen jewels. But though his lips formed a faint smirk, Ghan thought they lay there uneasily. He had a brief ridiculous thought that Yen had pressed them into shape with his fingers while Ghan’s own attention was on Bone Eel. In any event, Yen did not answer except to gesture with his hand for Ghan to go on.

  Ghan shook his head stubbornly. “No. You can kill me if you wish—that much is clear to me—”

  “I can do far worse than kill you,” Yen interposed, sending a chill down the knotted bone of the old man’s back.

  Ghan drew on all of his obstinance to continue. “But if you want my help, you must help me. What do you think you are?”

  Yen stared at him poisonously for a moment, and Ghan wondered how this could be the same boy who had seemed so grateful a moment ago, who had so thoroughly charmed Hezhi a year before. But, of course, they probably were not the same.

  “Very well,” Yen snapped. “I call myself a ghoul. That was what we called creatures such as myself when I was a child.”

  “You have been a ghoul since childhood?” Ghan asked, his accustomed sarcasm reasserting itself finally. It was an old friend, comforting to have around, especially in the face of this.

  “Very clever. I am not asking you to be clever in that way, Master Ghan.”

  Ghan was impressed by the gentle force behind the threat, but he had found himself now and wasn’t about to retreat to that younger, fearful self. He was Ghan, and Ghan would not cringe.

  “When did you become this?”

  “The day that Hezhi escaped from Nhol. Her white-skinned demon—”

  “Perkar.”

  Yen stopped, and a look of utter hatred crossed his face. “Perkar. He has a name. I knew I should have consulted you long ago.”

  “What did Perkar do?”

  “Cut my stinking head off, that’s what.”

  “You were in the River?”

  “In River water, in the sewers. Something else was happening, too, but I don’t remember. There was a sort of fountain of colors … no, I don’t know what it was. It was next to Hezhi.”

  Ghan pursed his lips. “I have heard of creatures like you, yes. The old texts call them different things. Names aren’t important, though. It’s what you are, what properties you possess, that matters, and you know that better than I. Are you still Yen at all?”

  “I was never Yen,” the man admitted. “I was … my name is Ghe. I was a Jik.”

  “Set to watch Hezhi.”

  “Yes.”

  Fury brighter than any that Ghan had ever known jolted through him then, and before he knew what he was doing, he had stepped up and slapped the Yen-thing, once, twice. The creature looked at him in real astonishment, but as he pulled back to strike again, anger danced across the young features. Ghan never saw Yen—Ghe?—move at all, but suddenly an iron grip closed on his wrist.

  “Sit down,” Yen hissed. “I deserve that, but sit down before you make me angry. I have much to tell you. Then I must decide whether to kill you or not.” He pushed back, and Ghan was suddenly sitting on the bed again.

  “Now listen, and then counsel me if you can. Because despite it all, our goal is the same. That you must believe. If you don’t—well, there is a way I can kill you and keep your memories. But I would rather have you alive.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Hezhi loves you. Because you helped me just now. Because you remind me of someone.”

  Ghan measured his breaths. Would things ever start getting simpler? He understood more about what Ghe must be than he let on. He had a few ideas about how such creatures might be destroyed. So did someone else on the boat, for they seemed to have almost done it. And yet, ultimately, Ghan thought, whatever this thing was, it had been cobbled together from a man. The pieces of it were Human, though perhaps glued together with something both more crude and more powerful than humanity. But Ghe had feelings that could be known, understood. And understanding was a weapon greater than a sword. Especially in this case, when a sword was likely to be completely ineffectual.

  But he had to live. He could not let the Life-Eater swallow him. He had read of that ability, as well.

  “Tell me then,” he said. “If what you say is true—if you really want only to help Hezhi—then I will help you. But you must convince me.”

  “I will,” Ghe returned grimly. “One way or the other.”

  When he finally left Ghan’s cabin, Ghe felt more powerful than ever, strong enough to rend the barge in two. Now his power was tripled; the holy strength of the River in his veins, the tethered ghosts at his beck and call—and Ghan, as an ally. He could never fully trust the old man, he knew, but he wasn’t without his senses. He could feel that the scholar would cooperate. Certainly he would not go to Bone Eel or Qwen Shen—though little would be lost there, since Qwen Shen already knew what he was. And Qwen Shen had tried to kill him, of that he was certain. Not herself, by her own hand, but she had arranged it nevertheless. Why? Of that he wasn’t certain, and he needed to know. Was she a tool of the priesthood or the emperor? He thought the former, or else the attempt on his life would have been far less subtle. He went to his cabin, sponged off, and changed into fresh clothing.

  He found Qwen Shen on deck. She smiled when she saw him coming. “Master Yen. I am happy to see you survived the skirmish.”

  “I am happy to have survived it,” he acknowledged. “Overjoyed that you were not injured.”

  “Well, how very kind of you, Yen. Perhaps I am winning you over, after all.”

  He smiled thinly. “Perhaps.”

  “They say there were many dead barbarians on the afterdeck,” she said. “Many with no apparent injuries. No one claims to have killed them, even the ones so expertly c
arved by knife.”

  Ghe bowed slightly. “It would be better that it remain a mystery. But if rumors develop, it might be hinted that I have been trained to kill with the force of my hands, without need of a knife. Such killing may leave no obvious marks.”

  She sidled toward him. “This is true?” she asked, reaching to touch the callused ridges of his hand. “You can kill with these?”

  “You like that?” Ghe breathed. “That intrigues you?”

  “It exhilarates,” Qwen Shen replied. “It makes me wonder what else such hands are capable of.”

  “Such things may be discovered,” he remarked.

  “Can they?”

  “They can.” He bowed again. “And now I return to my cabin.”

  Qwen Shen bowed back, but her eyes remained fixed on him. He felt her scrutiny return to the cabins with him. It felt, to him, like an archer sighting along a shaft.

  Qwen Shen did not wait long to accept his invitation. He had barely enough time to sit down before someone rapped on his door. Trying to anticipate almost any sort of attack, he swung his door wide, but no darts or flashing blades threatened, no incense or mysterious vapors. Just Qwen Shen. She glided through the door when he opened it, then stopped a few steps inside.

  “Close the door,” she said, and he did, latching it. “Now, then. What shall we do?”

  “I have some questions for you. If you do not answer them, I will be forced to—”

  “Hurt me? Will you hurt me, Yen?”

  “What?” He stopped in midsentence.

  “Why not hurt me first?” she cooed, reaching for the scarf at his neck. He reached to stop her, but she shook her head.

  “If you want me to answer your questions, you must cooperate with me—at least a little.”

  Ghe had not expected precisely this, he was certain. If she had been responsible for the attempt on his life, there should be some fear on her part, some worry that he suspected her. After all, he had rebuffed her advances since the voyage began. Why should he extend his own now?

  Perhaps she had some weapon, concealed in her clothing.