Waterborn

"Here, light yours, too," Eruka said.

"No. Just one going at a time; we may need them all to get out of here."

"Oh," Eruka said. "Good thinking."

Apad was still in the treasure room, head between his knees, retching as Perkar had been only moments before. His vomit reeked of woti.

"Get up, Apad," Perkar growled. "Thanks to you, we have no more time for this. We have to get out of here now!" He shouted the last word, and it seemed to sink through to Apad's consciousness. He staggered to his feet.

Trying not to look at the corpse, Perkar strode over to the weapons. "Bring the torch, Eruka," he commanded, and the singer obeyed.

"Which one?" Perkar muttered. Perhaps any would do, even the one he held. He gnawed his lip, knowing he had no time.

"Each of you take one," he enjoined. "Leave your own weapons here. We'll have to run, I'm sure." He made his own decision, took up a long, slender weapon with a blade the color of jade. It reminded him of water. As soon as he touched the hilt, he felt a tingle, as when he grasped the last, but this felt stronger, somehow. He hesitated, when he unbuckled the sword Ko had made, the sword his father had given him to make him a man. He hesitated but left it, anyway. It would be too heavy to carry both of them, and his own sword could not slay gods, of that he was certain. Perhaps this one could. He dropped the sword and its scabbard, only after he did so realizing that he had dropped it into the slowly spreading pool of blood. In an instant, the scabbard was stained, the applique pattern his mother had made ruined. Near it lay the woman's needlework, doubly red with blood and torchlight. Perkar was transfixed for an instant, understanding in a sudden flash how deep the roots of ruin could burrow, once a single seed was germinated, began growing. The instant passed; he would outrun what ruin he could.

Eruka selected a weapon without much dithering, and when Apad just stared blankly, Perkar thrust one into his hands. Apad nodded numbly and took it. He kept looking at the dead woman, a puzzled expression on his face.

"We go," Perkar said, shaking him roughly. "We go." He belted on the new sword, thrust his unlit torch into his belt, took the burning one from Eruka. A significant portion of it was already gone. Without waiting to see if his companions were following, Perkar left the treasure room, retracing their steps. In the torchlight, the cavern winked at him with bloody eyes, a million ruby accusations.

The first torch was burned down nearly to Perkar's hand; he lit his reed bundle without stopping.

"We have to move faster," he told Apad and Eruka. "If we run out of torches, we might as well start our death chants."

"Is this the right way? Are you sure?" Eruka asked.

"As sure as I can be," Perkar admitted. "I think I remember how we came."

"If we get lost…"

"Then that will be that," Perkar said. "Save your strength for ru

They could not, in fact, actually run. The tu

But he wouldn't have come in without me. If I had paid more attention to him, I could have stopped him.

Of course, then they would not have the weapons, the jadelike sword that rattled and flapped on his thigh.

I will avenge her, too. When I slay the Changeling, I will make her death worth something, turn it into Piraku for the whole world.

But that rang hollow, too. He had a vivid vision of the Stream Goddess, fury in her eyes—or weeping—knowing the things he was doing in her name.

The reed torch seemed to last longer than the heart pine, but it constantly threatened to go out, guttering to almost an ember at times. Perkar had to nurse it as they went along, and that slowed them further. When he lit the third torch, it was with a growing sense of despair. He did not know how far they had to go, but he knew it was much farther than their torches would light the way for them. After that it would be fumbling at the walls, the darkness surrounding them, the Lemeyi standing an arm's breadth away, laughing, fully able to see them but invisible to the Humans.

The blood beneath his armor was begi

Soon, though, it was the last torch that was nearly scorching his hand. He wondered wildly if there was anything else to burn; the noises—especially those behind them—were growing in volume; they could not be dismissed as imagination, and fear took hold in their minds. Perkar wondered how long they would last, fighting in the dark.

"My father will never know what happened to me," Apad groaned—the first coherent words he had uttered since their flight began.

"Our spirits will wander here without gifts, without even woti. I have killed us all."

"There's plenty of blame to go around," Perkar said. "If it hadn't been for me, we wouldn't have even come in here. Without Eruka, that thrice-damned Lemeyi would not have been our guide and we would have neither found the weapons nor been tricked into slaying their keeper. We've all been fools, but we can't make up for that dead."

"It was like cutting butter," Apad said, his voice rising hysterically. "These swords are terrible things. It just slid through. I thought it would be like fighting the Wild God, hacking and hacking almost without cutting at all. I thought we had to attack first, before she could change… Her blood was red!"