THREE days later, Perkar found Tsem's war club when they stopped to hunt. It was nearly perfect without finishing, a natural cudgel of black gum that rose almost to Perkar's waist when stood on end. That night, around the fire, he showed the half Giant how to shape wood by charring it in the fire and scraping off the burnt part.
“It hardens the wood, as well,” Ngangata put in, watching over their shoulders. He had just returned from hunting, and instead of a piece of wood, he had returned with an antelope. Tsem nodded at them both. It was just dark, and the wolves Perkar had warned of were singing in the distance, accompanied by the occasional skirl of a tiger owl. The sky was cloudless, the air crisp enough that the fire felt good. A pattering of twin drums a hundred steps or so from camp were Brother Horse and Hezhi, teacher and pupil at their arcane studies, Perkar gathered that Hezhi was making rapid progress in her study of the world of gods—not surprising, since the blood of the most powerful god on earth flowed in her veins.
Tsem scraped enthusiastically at his club. He was clumsy, but the wood and the method of working it were forgiving. A simple but deadly weapon was taking shape in his hands.
“I remember my first sword,” Perkar told them. He felt quiet tonight. Not happy, but not crushed by the weight of the world, either. For once, he felt no older than his age. “Oh, I crowed about it. It was such a beautiful thing.”
“What became of it?” Tsem inquired.
“I … traded it for Harka.” He didn't mention that the blade his father gave him, the blade made by the little Steel God Ko, now lay near the corpse of the first person he was responsible for killing. But at least his father's blade had never itself been sullied by murder.
Perkar looked up in time to catch the warning glance Ngangata shot Tsem. Ngangata, trying to protect him again. Did they all think him so fragile?
Why shouldn't they? His tantrums and sulking had given them ample cause to think so. He resolved to be stronger, take a more forceful role in the journey. After all, it was him the Crow God entrusted with the knowledge of what should be done.
“How much longer, Ngangata? Until we reach the mountain?”
Ngangata considered that. “If we keep this pace, don't lose any horses, and all else goes well—two more months.”
“Two months!” Tsem asked incredulously, looking up from his work. “Won't we walk off the edge of the world?”
Perkar and Ngangata grinned at that. “No. We could ride another ninety days beyond the mountain and still not find the end of the world.”
“What would we find?”
“I don't know. Ngangata?”
“Balat, for many of those days. Balat is a very large forest indeed. Beyond that—Mor, the sweet-water sea. Mountains, forest, plains—finally, I hear, the great ocean. Beyond that, perhaps, the edge of the world, I don't know.”
“How far have you been that way? I never asked.” Perkar drew his knife and began helping Ngangata dress his kill. The hard knot of anger in the half Alwa seemed to have smoothed somewhat. He seemed willing to speak casually to Perkar again, which had not been the case since his “raid” on the Mang camp.
“I've been to Mor, no farther.”
“I should like to see that someday,” Perkar said.
Ngangata didn't look up from his task; his hands were bloody to the wrist as his knife worked efficiently at the carcass. “I would like to see Mor again,” he agreed, and Perkar smiled as the strain between them loosened further.
“Such a large world.” Tsem sighed.
“Yes, but two months gives us plenty of time to teach you how to be a warrior in it.”
“Two months until what!” Tsem asked suspiciously.
Perkar stopped what he was doing, raised his eyes to meet those of the Giant. “I… well, until we reach the mountain.”
“And we will have to fight there?”
Perkar spread his hands. “I honestly don't know. But probably.”
“Why?”
Perkar felt a bit of his old confidence return, so that his words seemed only somewhat ridiculous rather than absolutely absurd.
“Well, Tsem, we're going to kill a god, and they rarely take that lightly.”
Tsem's enormous jaw worked furiously for a moment before he suddenly threw down the club and gazed fiercely at them. “Why haven't I heard about this? What are you talking about? I thought we were trying to reach your people, Perkar, that we might live with them. I have heard nothing of slaying gods.”
Perkar realized his mistake, realized also that he needed badly to speak with Hezhi. Since his illness, he had been so occupied with his own fears and desires he had completely lost touch with the status of the group. Perhaps plans had even changed since he and Hezhi last talked; she was more firmly in charge than he was, more aware in some ways of what was going on. Perhaps the plans should change. Trusting Karak was a perilous thing, and though he had been convinced, at first, that what the Raven had laid out for them was possible, he was now skeptical again. Furthermore, what he had told no one—not even Ngangata—was that Hezhi was the essential ingredient in the scheme. At the headwaters of the Changeling, she—and only she—could slay the god: that was all he knew. But Karak had made it seem a simple thing, easily accomplished. All they had to do was get there.
That still wouldn't be easy. The high plateau and mountains were dangerous, prowled by Mang and even more dangerous predators. And ahead of them was the war, where his own people fought and died against those of Brother Horse. How would the old man and his nephews react when they reached that point?
And Hezhi was willful. She might not agree to help, once he explained. But the longer he put off his explanation, the angrier she would be that he had kept it from her.
And there was Tsem, glaring at him, the consequence of his talking without thinking, of another stupid blunder.
“We haven't talked this over yet, Tsem. Hezhi and I haven't really discussed it, so as far as she knows, what she told you is true.”
“No. No, I remember her saying something about a mountain now, back in the yekt. That she chose that destination because of something you said. Yet she told me nothing about why”
“She doesn't know, perhaps.”
“I think she does,” Tsem muttered. “I think she's trying to protect me again.”
Before Perkar could protest further, Ngangata softly replied. “Probably. These two have a habit of 'protecting' us, don't they?”
“If you mean leaving us in the dark about their intentions, yes,” Tsem agreed. “Though that's never made me feel very safe.”
Ngangata snorted and coughed a bitter chuckle. “No, me, either. Perkar, maybe you should talk to her. You are, after all, her kind.”
Perkar flushed scarlet. “You don't have to remind me of how I once treated you. You know my opinion of the Alwat has changed.”
“We aren't talking about that,” Tsem said softly. “You are two of a kind because you both think you bear the world on your shoulders.”
“You're a fine one to talk about that.”
“No, I've never borne the world on my shoulders. Only Hezhi. That was the only burden I ever wanted, and I want it back.”
Ngangata had never looked up from what he was doing. Perkar understood what the Giant was saying—he had heard Ngangata say the same thing in different words. And Ngangata had steered the conversation on this bent. To remind him? Perkar resolved that he would tell Ngangata, at least, the whole truth as he knew it, next time he had a chance.
“I will talk to her,” Perkar said. “Together we'll decide what todo.”
“I worry about decisions the two of you make.”
“By together I meant all of us,” Perkar clarified. ”But I must speak to her first. Meanwhile, finish that club! No matter what we do, trouble seems to find us, and now that you've brought it up, I want to see you armed. Some enemies will flee us just at the sight of you, mark my words.”