“What's wrong with him, though?“ Hezhi asked. ”Wasn't it better that he didn't have to fight?”
Ngangata lifted his odd, square shoulders. “I don't know. Sometimes I despair of ever understanding him.”
“You've known him for a long time.”
“No. Only just over a year.”
“Really?” Hezhi thought she understood the general outline of Perkar's story—what Ngangata jokingly called the “Song of Perkar.” But this part of the tale she did not know.
“How did you meet?”
“We were both members of the expedition to Balat. Of the five of us, only we two survived.”
“It must have made you close. You seem like brothers.”
That seemed to amuse Ngangata. “The first time we met we insulted each other. It may have been my fault. Later on we fought—with our fists, not with swords. That was his fault. After that…” He trailed off, but after a moment's thought picked up the thread and sewed it a bit further. ”There is some good in him, you know, of a peculiar kind. Being as I am, I act as a sort of sieve that most people flow through, if you know what I mean. Perkar nearly went through, but in the end, he stayed. Whenever that happens, I count the person a friend, because it happens so rarely that I can't afford to ignore it.”
“You mean most people are repelled by your appearance.”
He shrugged. I am repelled by it. There is nothing I hate more than a mirror or a clear pool of water. Well… maybe there are things I hate more, but I dislike seeing myself.”
“I don't find you ugly,” Hezhi said.
“You stopped in a different sieve long ago—your friend Tsem. So I would count you a friend, were we to know each other better. But you would never marry me, or bear my children.”
That startled her. “I haven't—”
He waved with the back of his hand. “I only wanted to show you how alien the thought is to you. I have never given any thought to courting you.”
Hezhi bit her lip. “Or anyone, I guess.”
“Or anyone,” he confirmed.
“Then you should, because I think someone would marry you, Ngangata. You are a good man, thoughtful. There must be a woman who wouldn't fall through the sieve.”
He smiled. “Show me this woman and I will court her,” he allowed. “I am not as fatalistic as Perkar. I take what opportunities come my way and do not spend time regretting those that do not. Show me such a woman, and I will take my opportunity.”
“I'll keep my eyes open,” Hezhi said. “But you should, too.” She glanced at him and then away to the increasingly hilly land. “We haven't spoken very often,” she said.
“No.”
“I must ask you a question. I must ask you to answer it truly or not at all.”
Ngangata raised his thick brows and waited.
“Can I trust Perkar?”
The half man pursed his lips and rode silently for so long that Hezhi believed he had taken the offered option not to answer at all. But finally he nodded.
“It depends on what you mean. You can trust Perkar to always try to do the right thing. That doesn't mean that you yourself can trust him. In the end perhaps you can, because the people he knows are dearer to him than Perkar himself comprehends. He believes, for instance, that it is the failure of the expedition to Balat that gnaws most at him—the fact that he let his people down. And he does feel that. But what strikes him most deeply is that the actual people who trusted him died: Apad, Eruka, his king. Now he struggles to right those wrongs, and it may blind him to certain things. Do you understand the distinction? Perkar believes in the pursuit of higher causes. That is why I call him a 'hero.' But when he focuses his vision too narrowly on saving the world, he can make terrible mistakes, and it is usually those close to him who suffer for it. In that way he is very dangerous, Hezhi. You should be careful of Perkar. He means no harm, but people die in his wake, nevertheless.”
“I think I knew that. His rescue of me was for some 'higher purpose.' ”
“Yes.”
Hezhi shifted uncomfortably in her saddle. That seemed to be the end of the discussion about Perkar, though it only served to confirm what she already suspected. Unexpectedly, she found that she enjoyed speaking with the halfling—and was not yet ready to end their conversation. “What do you know about dreams?” she was surprised to hear herself ask.
“Not much. I do not have them. If I do, I do not remember them.”
“How odd. I thought everyone dreamed.”
“I have had hallucinations, when I was fevered. But I've never had a dream or a vision.”
“My father has dreams,” Hezhi said. “All of those of Royal Blood have them. The River sends them so that we may know his will.”
“Have you had such a dream?”
“Something like that,” she replied cautiously.
“You should speak to Brother Horse. He knows more of this than anyone here—as I'm sure you are aware.”
“Yes, and I'll speak to him eventually. But I want you to know, too. In time it may become important.”
“I'm flattered,” the half man said, and he did not sound sarcastic.
“First of all, I don't think I got the dream from the River—not directly. I believe that if he could send me a dream, he would do more than that. I believe that I really am beyond his reach. But I think he sent his message through someone else.”
“Who?”
“This Mang gaan the Blackgod told you about, the one who sent Moss and Chuuzek, whose men attacked you and Perkar earlier. He has found a way into my dreams. He tells me lies.”
“What lies?”
“That part isn't important. I just thought… if he can send dreams to me, he might be able to do more. I know just enough about sorcery to suspect that.” She looked down uncomfortably. “What I'm saying is, perhaps I can't be trusted, either. Perkar nearly slew me once, and for good reason. A dreadful power sleeps in me, Ngangata. I just want you to know that I should be watched, that's all.”
Ngangata smiled. “I trust very little about the world,” he said. “Perkar is perhaps my best—if only—friend, and as you know, I don't trust him. Inside of you, however, there is a—I'm not good with words—a kind of glimmer. Or maybe a truth. Something I trust, anyway.” He looked away, plainly embarrassed.
“I hope you're right,” Hezhi said.
“Well, I have been wrong before,” Ngangata admitted. “And believe me, I never rely entirely upon such instincts. I will watch you—even more closely than I have.”
“Thank you.”
“No need for that,” Ngangata assured her.
THEY traveled steadily until noon, and then the men conferred and called a halt. Brother Horse and the other Mang were essentially convinced that whatever creature had dispatched Chuuzek's party was not following them, guessing that it was a territorial rather than a roaming god. Perkar diffidently agreed. Moss had awakened, and everyone wanted to question him.
But it was Moss who asked the first question. “Chuuzek? What has become of my cousins?”
Moss sat on the ground, weaponless, hands tied in front of him. His feet were hobbled with a length of rope that would not hinder him much walking but that would prove inconvenient if he attempted to run. Brother Horse, Perkar, and Ngangata stood over him.
“Don't you know?”
“I don't remember anything much. Something struck my head as I was waking—” He fingered the bruise tentatively.
“Your cousins are dead. Something bleeding black blood killed them. Do you know what it was?”
“No,” he replied, but his eyes flicked to Hezhi, and she saw something there that made her doubt his answer.
“Why were you following us?” Perkar demanded.
“You know,” Moss answered sullenly.
“I know only that some shaman sent you to kidnap Hezhi. I don't know any more than that.”
“That is the only thing you have need to know.”
Brother Horse crouched, creakily, before the boy. “Moss, we want to know this thing your cousins died for. They died well; one tied himself to a tree, and whatever god they battled, they sent it away wounded.”