Her mother smiled at her for a score more uncomfortable breaths. "I just wanted to say hello," she explained. "You're really a very beautiful young woman."

"Thank you."

Her mother nodded. "I hope we see you soon," she concluded sluggishly, turned. Signaling her man with a slight crook of her wrist, she departed.

Her visit left Hezhi with a tight heart, a need for air. Dizziness crept up on her, and she realized her breathing was too hard, too fast. Why would her mother come see her now, of all times, after all these years? But Hezhi knew, she knew.

Even the most remote of mothers might want to see her child one last time.

Especially if she knew her child was soon to die. Or vanish.

Ghan had a harried look about him, as if he hadn't slept. His face was tightened into a frown more bitter than usual, and he ushered her into the back room without delay.

"It was more difficult than I imagined. I'm afraid I awoke some of my own sleeping enemies," he said tiredly.

Concern for the old man stole up through her other fears. "I never wanted to create trouble for you," she said.

"No, I created my own troubles long ago," he informed her. "Old debts can be put off for a time, but they must be paid eventually."

"They let you see the books?"

"Yes," he verified shortly.

She waited.

"There isn't much that can be done," he said at last. "Only one thing, really."

"But something?"

He shrugged. "It is a chance. Some of the older texts speak of a time before the Blessed were consigned…" A look of agony washed over his face, and his jaw worked soundlessly, like a mute gibbering. "You know," he gasped, after the spasm passed, "one can dance around a Forbidding, if one is clever. Sometimes I am not clever."

"Before they were sent underneath," Hezhi finished for him softly, wishing she could erase his pain.

"Yes." He seemed composed again. "Before that began, they were dealt with in other ways. Some were killed. Others fled Nhol entirely, or were exiled to some distant land."

"And now? Why not now?"

"There are uses for the Blessed," he muttered. "Under the right circumstances, their power can be controlled, manipulated. Used to enhance the Chakunge's power. More than that, though, was the nagging paranoia of the royal family. One does not let a rival power loose in the world."

"I don't…"

"Some evidence indicates that the… change"—Again he shuddered, lightly—"is so tied to the River that if one is not near him, if one is far away, it will not occur." He paused, watching her, letting that sink in.

"Leave Nhol?" It was a bewildering thought.

"Surely it has occurred to you," he said softly.

"I… no, I hadn't thought of that. How? Where would I go?" Even as she said this, her dreams came flashing back behind her eyes; deep forest, mountains, the gray-eyed man. Was that what they were about, her dreams?

"I made a wish…" she muttered.

"What?"

"The day I began bleeding, I drank Sacred Water. I wished for someone—a man, I guess—to come and get me, free me from my problems. It was a stupid wish, I know. It feels stupid talking about it. But after that, I began having dreams of a far-off place, of a strange man."

"You were bleeding," Ghan whispered. "Your first blood." He frowned, wrinkled his brow as if remembering something. "Blood is motion," he said softly, and it had the sound of something quoted. "Blood is motion, and thus spirit. Spirit is the roots of the world."

"What is that?" Hezhi asked.

"An old, old saying," Ghan said. "I never thought about it much. But the Royal Blood sets things moving, Hezhi. The River knows the feel and touch of Human blood, the scent of it. But the blood of his children he knows very well. You may have set something exceptionally deep in motion." He knitted his fingers tight, squeezed his palms together, nodded fretfully. "But what you get is not likely to be what you wished for."

"Why would the River help me at all? Why would it help me escape?"

Ghan quirked his mouth in a shallow grin. "The River is not a thoughtful or wakeful god. He is a very literal one, and it has been said that none can know his will. Not because he is mysterious, or even capricious, in the usual sense. But because he does not know his own will."

"Leave Nhol," Hezhi considered wonderingly. "I can't imagine it."

"But you can imagine the alternatives all too well," Ghan pointed out.

"I don't even know how to begin."

"Your Giant. He is loyal?"

"Tsem loves me," Hezhi said. "He has always been with me."

"In the palace, that means nothing. Do you trust him?"

"Yes," Hezhi said, "I do."

"Then leave and send him in to see me. He and I will make your plans."

"What of me? Am I to have no part in my own rescue?"

"Tsem and I can move outside of the city. You cannot."

Hezhi saw sense in that, reluctantly nodded acquiescence.

Ghan narrowed his eyes. "This man in your dreams. Describe him again."

Hezhi closed her eyes, concentrating. "He has very pale skin," she said. "Gray eyes, light brown hair. He wears armor sometimes. He has a sword. I think he is very far away; I have never dreamed about him here, in Nhol."

Ghan nodded. "These dreams of yours may mean something or they may not. Nhol is a large city, and even if this dream-man is here, he may be difficult to find. Though there must be precious few men in the city who match his description." He smiled and stretched out his hand to give hers a squeeze. "Well, it's been long enough since I've been out of the palace anyway. This will be good for me."

He motioned for her to go on, his eyes thoughtful. Already seeing the city outside, perhaps, and the paths by which one might leave it.

"Ghan?" Hezhi murmured. "Ghan, why have you helped me?"

Ghan regarded her, his old face solemn. "I wish you wouldn't ask me questions I don't know the answers to," he sighed. "Not when I have a reputation for knowing everything."

VII

Paths of Stone, Mountains of Light

Perkar spooned the soup greedily; he believed it to be the best thing he had ever eaten. Nearby, a scruffy brown dog watched him with more than passing interest.

"Otter Boy wants some," Win explained. Win was a little boy of perhaps seven years with a broad, happy face. Nearby, his mother, Ghaj, watched with evident amusement as she spun cotton onto a wooden spool. Hearing his name, Otter Boy stood, wagging and panting hopefully.

"Reminds me of my old dog, Kume," Perkar remarked. "When I was this hungry, I wouldn't give him any, either."

"They have dogs where you come from?" Win asked.

Ghaj snorted, glanced up from her work to show them her thick-featured face. "They have dogs everywhere," she opined.

"She's right, they do," Perkar agreed.

"Tell me more about where you're from," Win exclaimed.

"Don't be rude," Ghaj chided her son.

"It's all right," Perkar said.

Ghaj puckered her face in consternation. "He's my boy," she informed him. "I'll decide what is and is not acceptable."

"Oh," he said sheepishly, "sorry."

She nodded her forgiveness, but it was clear she had more on her mind. "I can't invite you to stay with us tonight," she told him. "Me a widow and you a foreigner—I don't need that sort of talk. There is an inn in town—sort of—L'uh, the stable master, rents a few rooms. You understand, I hope."

"I understand," he assured her. He also understood the suspicious way she kept eyeing his sword and the faded brown stains on his clothes.

"You do have some money?" she inquired.

He stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth.

"What is money?" he asked.

Ghaj rolled her eyes. "A foreigner who doesn't even know what money is," she muttered. "Strange things the River sends me."