"Eruka!" the Kapaka prompted, after a moment. "Sing an Ekar!"
Eruka looked up slowly, as if he were having difficulty understanding his king's command. Perkar feared he would not sing— that his voice would be as frozen as his body had been when the Wild God spoke to them. But after a moment, Eruka cleared his throat.
Among roots and branches
On and on I dreamed
One day like the next
In the tall birches
In the white rustling aspen
In the deep bottoms
In bright pools
On and on
One day like the next…
Eruka's voice shook at first, uncertain. But the songs of birds seemed closer now, seemed to fly beneath and between his song, supporting it, lifting it higher. He gathered confidence.
Ages passing, on I dreamed
Hooves and claws
Coming and going
In the hard wind from the ice
Dreaming in the sweet southern wind
Age to age
One age like the next…
It was a song that Perkar had never heard, and it was beautiful, captivating. Eruka sang of Balati in the endless forest, walking about his mountain, of the legions of gods in the forest who were both a part and not a part of him. The song went on like that for many, many stanzas. For hours, it seemed. Then, finally, the words became more familiar, as it told of the coming of the Alwat and finally of Human Beings. After that, Eruka sang of the first meeting of Humans and the Forest Lord, of trees chopped down for pasture, of bargains made. When Eruka finally finished, Perkar found himself still listening, still waiting for an ending. But there was not one, of course. There was no ending. But one verse—a brief, minor thing in the course of the Forest Lord's Epic—one verse glittered to Perkar like silver to the Crow God. It stayed there, shining, repeating itself:
Dreaming on and on
I watched my brother grow bitter
Grow gluttonous
Humans fed his appetite
Fed his dark, voracious desire
Flowing from the root of our mountain
Our cradle, our birthplace
Bitter my brother, Rivergod, Changeling
Took his hunger seaward
Dreaming on and on
Growing and changing
Each day more ravenous
Than the last
Dreaming on and on
Even I feared him
And so armed myself…
Brother, thought Perkar. But a brother not trusted, a brother to arm against. Perkar felt something in his grasp, for who could this brother be but the dreadful River, the one that ate her? There was a weapon, and it must be nigh. His enemy and the weapon, here together.
He was scarcely aware when the earth began to rumble with the Forest Lord's speech.
"It is good," Balati intoned. "We can add another verse to this song. What will that verse be about?"
The Kapaka stood, spoke a trifle too loudly, a king of instants confronting a lord of epochs. "In the Human lands, more and more sons go landless. We begin to turn on ourselves, and I fear troubled times. The local gods tell us that you have asked them not to bargain, as in days of old. They tell us that we must petition you for new lands and holdings to cherish and worship. So here we have come."
The Forest Lord seemed to swell larger, like a shadow moving farther from the sun. Above them, the sky darkened with twilight.
"It is good that you heeded my word," Balati said. "It is good. Many valleys and hills, many gods have I given into your care, and you into theirs. It has been well enough, but Balat is smaller than it was, and I will only give so much. You understand this; you are a lord of your kind."
"Yes. I understand. But I must request it."
"You have respect, you honor the memories of your fathers," Balati said. "We will talk, you and I. We will talk here, tonight, and we will decide. But I will tell you, I cannot give you much. Not much."
He hunched down, became a hillock of darkness, horned, single eye of flickering foxfire. A nighthawk cried, somewhere.
"Come," a voice whispered, and a gentle tug at his sleeve. "Come, Ngangata says we must leave them." It was Atti. The Alwat were visible again, at the edge of the clearing; they seemed to be waiting. Ngangata was already walking toward them, leading his horse.
"Come," Atti repeated.
"And leave the Kapaka with that?" Apad demanded.
But the Kapaka was waving them away, as well. Perkar rose up reluctantly, went to recover Mang. He let Atti go ahead, lagged back to make sure Apad and Eruka would follow. Behind them, neither the Kapaka nor the Forest Lord spoke; it was clear now that they were waiting for the others to leave.