“You cannot ask me that,” he snapped. “If you cannot tell me what troubles you, then I…” He trailed off into a growl and a glare.
“Tsem,” Hezhi began, laying her small hand on the corded bulk of his arm. The muscles in his neck worked silently for a moment as he ground his teeth. Then he sighed and turned a milder gaze on her.
“What good am I out here, Princess?” he asked after a moment. “What good have I been to anyone since leaving Nhol? Since before that, even?”
“Tsem, you were injured.”
“Yes, and stupidly so. And you have had to pay for my healing, pay by working like a common maid.”
“That has nothing to do with you, Tsem. These people expect everyone to work. There are no princesses among the Mang.”
“And what sort of work am I suited to? Now that I have healed, what will I do to show my worth?”
“Tiin said—”
Tsem dismissed that with a roll of his eyes. “Curiosity, Princess. Woman are always curious about me. Once. Novelty is a fleeting thing. The truth is, these people think I am worthless, and they are not far from the truth. I was raised to be the servant of a princess, and, as you say, there are no nobles here.”
“No slaves, either,” Hezhi reminded him. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. There are things you can learn to do.”
Tsem began to reply, but then his eyes bulged.
“You did it,” he swore.
“What?”
“Made me tell you. Made me complain. The only thing I know how to do is serve you, and you won't even talk to me.”
“We are talking,” Hezhi noticed.
Tsem turned his eyes back to the riders. Some of the girls had managed to snatch pennants, and now the original bearers of those streamers were chasing them, trying to grab them up onto their horses.
“Something happened to you,” he said. “Something bad. Are you going to tell me?” The bitterness had left his voice, but there was challenge there, as if she were withholding something she owed him.
“I don't know,” she said at last. “I don't know what happened. Brother Horse tried to explain.”
“But it has to do with your… nature.”
She shrugged. “Brother Horse said that I saw a god. He saw it, too; just a little god, he said, the child of some spider goddess.”
“Did you?”
“I saw something. No, it was more than seeing …”
She felt suddenly very close to tears. Her voice trembled as she said, “I thought I had escaped it, Tsem, but my blood is doing something. I thought I was safe”
Tsem gently drew her to him, and she relaxed, rested against his mammoth frame and took comfort in the familiar smell of him. She closed her eyes and imagined that they were in her mother's rooftop garden, hot sun bleaching the city white around them—before everything, before the whole nightmare began, when she was still just a little girl.
“I don't know about these things,” Tsem soothed, “but Brother Horse says you will not change, will not become one of the Blessed. We are far and far from the River, Princess.”
“Yes, so Brother Horse said. But Tsem—in Nhol there was only the River, the River and ghosts. Nothing else. Out here, there are gods everywhere. Every other rock, every creek. Everywhere. And if I am going to start seeing them, the way Brother Horse does, the way I did yesterday … if that happens, I will lose my mind.”
Tsem patted her shoulder thoughtfully. “Does Brother Horse believe that this will happen, that you will keep seeing these gods?”
“Yes,” Hezhi confirmed. “Yes, he thinks that I will.”
“Oh,” Tsem said. He turned his gaze thoughtfully back to the village perimeter, where the great chase was winding down; horsemen were beginning to dismount and clasp their relatives to them. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat; soon the feasting would begin.
“While odd,” Tsem began again, in an optimistic tone, “Brother Horse has not lost his mind, and you say he sees these gods. Perkar speaks of seeing gods, as well. It cannot be so terrible as you fear.”
Hezhi nodded into the crook of his arm. “Brother Horse and Perkar are different. Perkar has seen gods, it is true, but they were clothed in flesh—they were manifest. I am told that anyone can see a god thus, and while their form might be disturbing, it is not the same as what Brother Horse and I see. We see the essence of the god, the unmanifested form. That is altogether different.”
“How so?”
“They get in here,” Hezhi said, tapping her head. “They worm through our eyes into our minds, the way the River did, when I almost lost myself.” She paused. “I never told you, Tsem. It was after you fell down, when Perkar was fighting the Riverghost. I… I was filled up. The River filled me up, and I could have done almost anything: torn Nhol apart, killed Perkar, killed you. I wanted to do all of those things, because I was not me. That's what it will be like, every time I see. Thoughts and feelings and desires that have no place in me—yet they feel right, too, as if they have always been there.” Her voice felt dull in her throat.
“Brother Horse must know how to live with it. He must,” Tsem insisted. “I don't understand these things, but he must. He can help you.”
“Yes,” Hezhi murmured as, across the plaza, an oaken keg of beer was tapped to a general chorus of approving howls. “Yes, that is what he says. But…” She gazed up into Tsem's sympathetic eyes, at his thick harsh face and the kindness it yet contained. “I thought I had escaped” she whispered. “Won't I ever be free?”
“Hard to be free of what you are” Tsem said, and Hezhi knew that, at least to that extent, he understood.
HEZHI wrote later:
This is what they call the Ben 'cheen. It is a winter gathering, in which many of the Mang tribes come together. They feast, play games, and make sacrifices to the gods. I expect it to be very interesting. So far it is noisy, this festival, barbaric. The newcomers look very strangely at Tsem and me but are generally not unfriendly. However, Brother Horse had to dissuade some of the young warriors from challenging Tsem to fight—they have legends of the Giants, who live to the northeast, and in their legends they are great fighters. A warrior who proves himself against them is considered very brave. Brother Horse tells them that Tsem is still recovering from injuries—which, of course, he is—and that it would thus be inhospitable to challenge him openly. Fighting is something Mang men love, on horseback or off. One of their sports is called bech'iinesh, which I think just means “Slapping”. What they slap each other with, however, are long-handled wooden paddles with just enough padding to keep them from always being lethal. They charge at each other on horseback and try to knock each other from the saddle. On foot, they like to wrestle and box. I believe that they would be sorry if they wrestled Tsem. He doesn't know the use of weapons, but I have seen him fight with bare hands, and it is difficult for me to believe that even one of these wild warriors would have a chance against him.
In a few days they will hold their main festival, as I understand it. It is named the “Horse God Homesending, ” but other than that, I know nothing of it. I will write more afterward, when I do.
It seems my studies did not leave off when I left you. Brother Horse believes that I must learn something of being a gaan, if I am to live with my godsight. These gaan are something like priests, using drums and singing to talk to their gods. Brother Horse became one, long ago, though now he rarely “sings. ” It sounds barbaric, superstitious, worse than the silly witchery of fishwives. It is difficult to adjust to how different the world is, away from the River, how different the truth of things is. That the world can be as full of gods as it is of rocks and trees seems ludicrous. Yet I know that what Brother Horse says is true—he knows these places, where the River does not hold sway, where he has not devoured all of the little gods these people know. I wish these Mang had books; I would rather go somewhere alone and read about these gods, about the ways of the gaan. Instead I must learn by listening to Brother Horse talk. Hearing people talk all of the time is tiring. I am not used to listening so much, as you may remember.