“What nonsense is this?” Perkar growled.
Moss closed his eyes. “The lake comes to swallow me,” he muttered. “I can't—” He opened his eyes again, and they held a peculiar blankness. “Perkar, are you still there?”
Perkar crouched down beside his foe. “I'm here,” he said.
“I think I know what the Blackgod intends,” the dying man whispered. “I think I understand now.”
He whispered another sentence, and Perkar felt a profound chill. It was a sensation that gathered strength.
“Oh, no,” he muttered, because he knew it was true. There could be no doubt.
“Karak must have conspired with the Huntress to separate me from her,” he snarled. Moss nodded faintly.
“Does it hurt?” Perkar asked. “Are you in pain?”
“No. It's a sort of fading. Let me fade, if you will—it will prepare me. Many vengeful things await the ghosts of shamans, and we must have what advantages we can.”
“Can I help?”
But Moss didn't answer. He was not yet dead, but it was clear that he had spoken for the last time. With Harka's vision Perkar could see the last thread of life unraveling.
Trembling, he stood, Moss' revelation repeating itself in his brain, and grimly he began to run back the way he had come. T'esh was dead, and the last of the Mang horses either fled or devoured. He had no chance of reaching his destination in time, but he also had no choice but to try; once again, it was all his fault.
XXXVI Erikwer
GHE tumbled through space, the treetops a nightmare blur that they sometimes hurtled over and sometimes crashed among. They fought with claws and teeth and with the energies burning within them, and almost as soon as they began, Ghe understood that he would lose. The Huntress was the most powerful being he had ever faced save the River himself. Her existence seemed to extend all about him, into the earth and the trees—this form he fought was only a finger of her. His sole satisfaction was knowing she was not toying with him; he was giving her a good fight, drawing power from her to hold himself together—but he was losing, for she was both more powerful and more experienced than he. For the first time, Ghe truly understood the sheer desperation of the River in creating him, the minusculity of his chances of success.
Nevertheless, he clung to her as she disemboweled him again and again.
“You hurt me,” she admitted in a feral, growling voice. “Few have done that, so feel proud.”
He didn't answer, for at that moment one of his arms tore free of his body. Again he was surprised at the lack of pain, and he wondered if there would be pain when she finally bit his head off. Shuddering, he called up all of the gods he had swallowed; he began to burn them for strength. The stream demon was strongest, would burn longest. He did not bother with the feeble fuel of his Human ghosts, though they shouted at him.
One shouted at him more loudly than the others.
River! he shouted. Ghan shouted.
Ghe understood in a blaze, but there was no triumph in that comprehension, for it came too late. He could scent him, his Maker, and he realized that their aerial battle had brought them very near his waters. So it was worth a try.
Using what strength he could, he tore himself from the Huntress and flew. For an instant he was free of her, and sprawling below him he could see trees, the rising flanks of mountains—and a gorge that pulsed with salvation. How could he have forgotten that his lord lay so near?
“No, you don't,” the Huntress shrieked as sharp talons dug into what remained of his spine. 'Oh, no, my sweet.”
For an instant he went limp with despair, but then Ghan spoke again within him, a single word.
Hezhi.
Ghe snarled and struck his talons into the Huntress, reached for the beating heart of her power. He touched it and it surged through, burning him, tearing at him, far too much energy for him to absorb; his extremities charred and his vision blazed away with his eyes, and then they were falling, the Huntress shrieking and beating about him, but they were still falling. She had not recovered.
“No,” she snarled, and then they hit something that broke them both.
“G? fine,” Hezhi said, stumbling toward Dark. But she wasn't fine. She had killed Moss, and though the man had been her enemy—or had he? She barely knew that anymore. The effort of fighting Hukwosha back into her heart had sapped her of strength, and she could barely stand.
“I've never seen anything like that,” Sheldu muttered. ”Not in a Human shaman. Surely—“ He bit off his remark, seemed almost ready to chortle. ”Come. Our success is certain now. In ridding us of that menace yourself, you have removed the last chance that we might be stopped.”
“You mean because you wouldn't have to reveal yourself, Blackgod?“ Hezhi muttered.
The man smiled grimly. “Well. I thought that Perkar might soften, eventually. But it matters not. I would have revealed myself to you—it is to this forest that I dare not show my power—not yet. The actions of a Human shaman such as yourself—”
“I don't understand what you're talking about,” Hezhi groaned. “But shouldn't we get going?”
“Indeed.”
As they continued their ride up the valley, Ngangata flanked her on one side and Tsem on the other.
“So you know,” Ngangata said, his voice low.
She nodded. “Perkar told me.”
“Give the word and we flee,” the halfling said. “With your familiars and Tsem and me to stand for you, chances are good you can escape.”
“Why? Why should I want to do that?” Hezhi asked. “This is what I want. I want to be rid of this malevolent thing our people call Lord. The thing that brought Ghan here to his death—that—that—” She stuttered off, realizing that she was dangerously near crying. She must not weaken now; the end of all of this, one way or the other, was nigh, she could feel that. She took a deep breath and continued. “I care not what designs your Crow God has, what hidden agenda his scheming covers. The truth is that compared to the River he is but a flea.”
“A flea who believes he can slay the dog,” Tsem muttered.
“And I believe he can, with my help,” Hezhi said. “But he is still a flea.”
“Do you imagine yourself more, Princess?” Tsem asked softly.
She looked at him, shocked, but then reflected on her words and smiled.
“It sounds like I do, doesn't it? It's just that I know what it feels like, the power in the River. Just now, when I was the bull, I felt I could do anything, and that takes more than a moment to forget.”
Tsem bridled. “I wish I could forget it in a moment, Princess. If you could have seen yourself—”
“Hush, Tsem. I'm fine: I don't want to be a goddess. That is exactly what I want to be free of. Only the River can poison me with such might—the Blackgod and his kin cannot, will not do it. They have the same desire I do, to end the threat I pose.”
“They could do that simply by killing you,” Ngangata argued.
“True, which is why I do not fear the Blackgod. He has had ample opportunity to slay me and he has not. Why? In another generation the River can produce another like me, perhaps one more receptive to his will. As long as he exists, the threat I represent exists.”
Ngangata shrugged. “Still, it is never wise to trust the Blackgod completely.”
“Or any god. Or any person!“ Hezhi answered. As she did so, Yuu'han drew abreast.
“An instant of your time, please,” he asked of Hezhi.
“Of course.” Hezhi was taken aback by the man's tight, formal tone.
“I have tried to dissuade Brother Horse from this trip many times,” Yuu'han admitted. “He is an old man, and I fear for him.”
“I have tried to turn him back, as well,” Hezhi told him.
“I know. I thank you for that.”
Hezhi regarded the young man. Since Raincaster's death, Yuu'han—always somewhat dour—had withdrawn from almost everyone but Brother Horse. “If you wish to try again …”