"You ask why I do this," the Lemeyi said, when he was able to speak. "There is your answer." He shook his head gleefully. "And now, if you great warriors would like to continue on…" He gestured down the tunnel.

Perkar forbore asking the Lemeyi any other questions. They continued their passage into the mountain, the Lemeyi chortling every now and then, remembering his joke.

At last the passage widened and then opened into an enormous glittering chamber. It was like the vault of heaven, shimmering with a million more stars than the real night sky. Every surface of the cavern was encrusted with jewels, radiant in their unnatural vision. For a long moment he could only stare, gape-mouthed at the wonder of it, at the cascades of shimmering crystals. The only sound was their breathing and the faint dripping of water somewhere.

"Well," the Lemeyi remarked. "Here we are. Karakasa Ngorna."

"Kadakasa Ngorna," Perkar corrected, thinking that the Lemeyi had mispronounced "Belly of the Mountain."

"No, no," the Lemeyi said, a bit crossly. "Karakasa. The Raven's Belly. When he swallowed the sun that time, this is where it rested."

Perkar studied the Lemeyi's face. Surely, as always, he was joking. And yet, Perkar knew so little of these gods. The claims they made… and the Crow God liked pretty, shiny things. Like the sun, or these crystals. Was it possible that this cavern was, also, in some way, some part of Karak? Better not to know for sure, Perkar decided.

"The weapons?" Apad asked nervously. "Where are they?"

The Lemeyi snorted. "You only demonstrate your mortality with such impatience," he muttered.

"We're in a hurry," Perkar explained.

"Of course," the Lemeyi replied, more than a hint of condescension and sarcasm in his tone. "This way."

He conducted them across the cavern floor. "This is his feasting hall, you know," the Lemeyi confided.

"Feasting hall?" Apad asked. "Where are the tables, the benches?"

"Can you not see them?"

Perkar, to his astonishment, thought he could. To his eyes, the cave seemed to flutter, like the wings of a bird; now an empty cave, now a hall more glorious than that of any damakuta, replete with tables and benches, all unoccupied, awaiting occupants.

"I do not," Apad muttered.

"Then you are entirely mortal," the Lemeyi retorted. "Is there no godblood in you?"

"No," Apad said. "There is not. And that pleases me."

"Of course it does," the Lemeyi replied, and Perkar put a hand on Apad's shoulder as it bunched, as he reached again for his sword. His friend shot him an angry look, but the sword remained in its scabbard. They continued on, Perkar stepping around a table, Apad walking through it.

"Ah," the Lemeyi noticed, observing Perkar. "But you have a tiny bit of the golden blood in you, do you not?"

Perkar did not answer. The surprise was that Apad had none. What family had no god anywhere in its lineage? Apad's, apparently, and he was proud of it. From the corner of his eye, Perkar saw Eruka avoid the table, as well.

They reached the far end of the gallery, and the Lemeyi stopped. "This is as far as I go," he said. "I may wait for you here, if it pleases me—and I suspect, somehow, it will. The treasures are just down there." He indicated a small side chamber; Perkar could just see it, adjoining the larger one.

"You may speak to the guardian about seeing the treasures."

"Guardian?" Apad asked.

"Yes, well, of course there is a guardian. Some gods are greedy, and wealth must be protected."

"What sort of guardian?" he persisted.

"Just go see," the Lemeyi answered, taking another drink from the woti flask. "She and I don't get along, so I'll wait here."

Perkar drew a deep breath. He had come this far; he was in the heart of the mountain at the heart of the world; he could all but feel his enemy to the north, the Changeling. He could not come so close to victory and walk away empty-handed. Without another word, he crossed into the adjoining cavern.

It was much like the Raven's Belly, though smaller. This meant that the shimmering walls were closer, in a sense more splendid. Yet Perkar would not let himself be distracted; his scrutiny was fixed on the guardian from the moment he saw her.

Perkar was not sure what he had imagined—a dragon, perhaps, like the one encountered by Iru Antu in the "Ekar Iru Antu." But this was no dragon, no one-eyed Giant. The guardian was a middle-aged woman, black hair shot with silver framing a careworn but handsome face. She wore a simple black shift, and across her lap lay an elaborate gown that she seemed to be embroidering.

"Hello," she said, hardly looking up. Behind her, weapons rested on a shelf of stone. Swords, straight and sickle-curved, promised edges finer than glass. Hammers, spears, sheaves of arrows lay carelessly about. Around the weapons, other treasures vied for his attention: golden circlets, flasks of woti, all sorts of Human-made adornment.

"Grandmother," Perkar said carefully.

"Who are you?" For the first time her gaze really fastened upon him; her eyes were gray, faraway—mist in the distance.

"My clan is Kar Barku," he told her. "My own name is Perkar."

The woman smiled a thin little smile. "Perkar—so you are an oak tree, are you?"

"That is my name."

"A god named you?" she asked.

"Of course. The god of our household named me for her friend, the oak tree."

The woman nodded, held up her needlework to contemplate it more closely. "Are your friends back there coming in?"

Perkar shrugged. "I don't know."

"You keep bad company, you know."

"You mean our guide?" Perkar asked.

"I mean the Lemeyi. If he brought you here, he must think you mean mischief. What mischief do you intend here, Oak-Tree Boy?"

"I am no longer a boy," Perkar said softly.

"So you say. You have yet to prove that to me, however. What do you want here?"

Perkar fidgeted. He had expected a fight, perhaps, but not this interrogation.

"I told you my name," he said. "It would be polite if you would tell me yours."

"What good would that do you?" she asked.

"I might know a song about you," Perkar said. "So that I could honor you. Or my friend, Eruka, who is a singer…"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "There are no songs about me, Oak-Boy. At least none you would have heard. Now, tell me what you want. Or can I guess?"

"I want to see the weapons of the Forest Lord."

"Well, there they are," she said. "You see them. Would you like to examine them more closely?"

"Yes, Goddess, I would."

She frowned in irritation. "Don't call me that," she said.

"You haven't given me a name to call you," he pointed out.

"Don't call me anything, then." She quit her needlework, crossed her hands over it. "What do you want the weapons for, Oak-Boy? To win glory in battle? To kill someone and take his damakuta? You could do that with the sword you have."

"I didn't say I wanted to take them," Perkar replied.

"You didn't deny it, either, and that's a good thing, too, or you would have lied," the woman replied. "Do you think the Lemeyi would have even brought you down here if he did not believe you would steal one of them? What do you want them for?"

"I wish to kill a god," Perkar said.

She nodded. "Of course. And what did this god do, that you hate him so?"

"I don't want to tell you that," Perkar said. "Not unless it will convince you to give them to me."

She smiled wanly. "I have nothing to give you, Perkar. The treasure will not leave this room while I am alive."

"What?" Perkar was distracted by a furious spate of whispering out in the big cave. Apad and Eruka were still out there, discussing something with the Lemeyi. Something Perkar should know about, no doubt, for it seemed the moment of truth was approaching.