"So you called a bastard," the Lemeyi finished. "A bastard, that's me! My father was an Alwa and my mother was a stone!" He laughed, so loudly that Perkar feared the Forest Lord would hear.
"And so now," the Lemeyi said, when he had done laughing, "what do you want of the bastard?"
Apad and Eruka were just staring at the creature. Perkar found his voice. "We want to see the armory of the Forest Lord."
"The armory?"
"Where he keeps his weapons."
"You want to see the Forest Lord's treasures?" the Lemeyi asked. He seemed amused by this, as he did by everything.
"If that's where the weapons are."
"And you just want to see them?"
Perkar hesitated. He answered carefully. "We want to see them. Can you take us there?"
"Well," the Lemeyi mused. "Well. I can take you anywhere in the mountain. Anywhere you want to go. But when you get there, you might not like it."
"Why?" Apad asked.
"You just might not. Humans are funny that way. Never really like what they desire."
"Well, we desire this," Perkar said. "Let us worry about whether we like it."
"Oh, I wasn't worried," the Lemeyi explained, spreading his hands generously. "No, I wasn't worried. If that's where you want to go, I've nothing better to do. Follow me."
"This is the right cave?" Perkar asked.
"Any of them is the right cave, if you know where you are going," the Lemeyi replied. He frowned, looked back over his shoulder. "You can't see in the dark, can you?"
"We have torches," Apad said.
The Lemeyi shook his head. "The Fire Goddess would arouse notice. Just follow close to me." He turned and started down into the cavern.
Perkar shrugged and followed, his friends a few paces behind. They followed the Lemeyi down the dark, constricting tunnel. Perkar prepared himself for blindness, but as they progressed farther and farther from the entrance, his eyesight did not seem to dim; indeed, it improved somewhat, though the distance he could see was limited. The Lemeyi, in front of him, was distinct, as were the floor and walls of the cave. But up ahead, beyond their guide, it was as if a fog obscured his vision. Rather than dwelling on this feat the Lemeyi was clearly performing, Perkar instead concentrated on memorizing the path through the cavern. Always they seemed to be going down, and the way was usually rough; they picked their way over jagged swords of stone that pointed always up, toward the roof—a roof that Perkar could not usually see. At other times, however, the ceiling descended to their very heads; twice they had to crawl on their bellies through narrow clefts in the rock. His armor no longer seemed hot; though he perspired freely from the exertion of wearing it, he felt cool, almost cold, and the motionless air was colder still. When anyone spoke—the Lemeyi spoke often—the voice seemed to fill the space around them like water in a jug, and it seemed to Perkar that all of the underdark must know their whereabouts. He himself kept his mouth tightly shut whenever possible.
They crossed a swiftly coursing stream, flowing roughly in their direction of travel.
"She used to flow through here," the Lemeyi said, indicating the way they were going. "But that was many years ago. She still talks about it—constantly. I think she regrets cutting her new channel."
"What?" Eruka asked.
"Well, before, she flowed down through here and finally south," the Lemeyi explained. "But she cut through to a lower fissure, worked that all up into a tunnel. Some of the little mountain gods down there were angry about that! They still resent it, even though they should pity her instead."
"Pity her?" Eruka queried.
"Oh yes, for of course she flows north now. Into the Ani Pendu, the Changeling."
Ani Pendu, Perkar thought. Changeling.
"What if we meet one of the gods?" Apad whispered.
"What if you do, mortal man?" the Lemeyi shot back.
"How are they best fought?"
The Lemeyi, of course, laughed. "From far away, by someone else."
It was too late, of course, to regret his decision, but just the right time for Perkar's apprehension to grow. By now they must be deep in the mountain, and his sense of that profundity made his magical ability to see in the dark seem a lie. In fact, he reflected, it might be a lie. The Lemeyi were said to be capable of such things. Perhaps even now they were still at the cave mouth, and this was all a dream in the white creature's head. If so, it was a lengthy dream. Perkar had not the faintest idea how long they had been traveling. Three times his throat had grown dry enough to wet with water from his skin, twice he had relieved himself while the Lemeyi waited impatiently. None of that told him much, only that time was indeed passing—something he might otherwise doubt. The dark tunnels all looked the same; they crossed a few more streams, had to wade in one for a while. The streams all seemed to flow in the direction they were going— which meant down, of course. That might be a help, should the Lemeyi choose to abandon them, something Perkar considered a distinct possibility.
Thinking along those lines, nagged by worry, Perkar at last decided to speak to the godling again.
"May I ask why you're doing this?" he asked.
"Me?" The Lemeyi sounded genuinely astonished. "Doing what?"
"Leading us. Taking us to the Forest Lord's treasure."
"Why, you called me."
"That doesn't compel you, does it? I thought Eruka's song was only to get your attention. I didn't realize it obligated you in some way."
"Why, I hadn't thought of that," the Lemeyi said, scratching his head. "I guess I'm not compelled to do this at all. Thank you for bringing that to my attention, mortal man." He smiled broadly and vanished. Or, rather, the entire tunnel vanished into darkness as if Perkar had been struck blind. Which, of course, he had been in a sense. Perkar heard a double sharp intake of breath behind him, a curse.
"Well, that was clever, Perkar," Apad drawled, behind him.
Somewhere, the Lemeyi began to laugh.
VI
The Rite of the Vessel
They made her undress. She burned with embarrassment and outrage as she did so. Her body had begun to change in ways that bothered her; in private ways that only Qey should share, and sometimes not even she. No man—with the exception of Tsem, and he not in years—had ever seen her unclothed. It was an insult, a terrible insult, to have to stand exposed to their masked faces. And yet, though it should have, it did not make her angry; instead it made her feel helpless and more than a little sick.
"Lie down," one of the priests told her; his voice was also high and clear, and she remembered that priests weren't technically men; they were made into eunuchs at an early age—or so she had heard—to better serve the priesthood. She tried to think about that, about how that fit into the whole question of age and "investment," tried to flee their staring masks into the puzzle within her mind. It didn't work; they were too real, the experience was too personal.
Two of the priests lit bundles of herbs, the same ones used in their brooms, and the rich but acrid scent of the smoke permeated Hezhi's room quickly. The third priest began to chant in words that she did not recognize, and the fourth—the one who had done all of the speaking up until that point—unwrapped a cloth from a brass vessel, a stout cylinder the size of a man's head, closed on the bottom, almost closed on the top. A brass tube projected from the midpoint of the cylinder and rose upward at an angle to the level of the top of the can. There it ended in a perforated ball, the holes many and small. Though much more ornate, the design was essentially that of the watering can Qey used to care for her potted plants.
The priest set the watering can aside and opened a pouch dangling on his belt. From this, he produced a wad of damp herbs.
"Open your mouth," he said.