Sword Sworn ss-6

by Jennifer Roberson

  Blue eyes widened.

  "I know it sounds impossible. But it’s true. I mean, I know the fingers are gone — hoolies, I saw Sahdri throw them off the spire! — but when I dance, it feels as if I still have them."

  Del was staring at my hands. One thumb, three fingers on each.

  "I don’t know, maybe I’m just imagining them there. But when I danced against Musa, I could have sworn I had all my fingers again."

  She met my eyes. "Is it possible that it’s —"

  "— wishful thinking? Sure. And it could be. But it might also be something in me now, something that’s a part of the magic. I conjured a living sandtiger out of carved bone once. Who’s to say I can’t conjure two fingers when I need them?"

  "Does it — does it feel the same?"

  "Not exactly. And when I look at them, I see the stumps, not the fingers. But when I take up the sword, I feel whole again. That my hands are whole again." I hitched one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I’m not saying I can’t be defeated or that no one could use it against me. My grip is different. I’m not the same as I was before. Anyone looking at my hands would see only three fingers. But if I can dance as though I have four on each hand —"

  "But you don’t." Gently insistent, afraid I’d become complacent in something that didn’t truly exist.

  I heaved a sigh, ran one hand through my hair, scrubbing against my tattooed scalp. "I’ve heard men who’ve lost a limb talk about ghost pain. That they feel as if the missing limb is still attached, still functional. Maybe that’s all it is. I sense the ghosts of my fingers somehow, and it helps." I tapped. "Up here, in my head."

  Del nodded. "And if the ghosts ever go away?"

  I laughed a little. "Bascha, I’m forty years old. I don’t have many more good years left to me as a sword-dancer; and I’m not a sword-dancer, according to the oaths of Alimat. But I think I can teach."

  The smile broke free from the tension in her face. "I still can’t believe it. The Sandtiger, opening a school… and teaching!"

  "Oh? What about you? You seem willing enough to stick in one place and take on students. Is that what you envisioned for yourself when you left Staal-Ysta?"

  "I envisioned killing Ajani. Beyond that — ?" She shook her head. "Nothing. My song ended that day in Iskandar. The South is not my home, but I can’t go to the North. And it doesn’t matter. I chose to be with you. If you want to restore Alimat and reopen a school, then I will be a part of it."

  I was only half-joking. "Until Neesha steals you away from me."

  Nothing in Del’s expression suggested there was anything that supported what I’d suggested, even in the back of her mind. "Well, then we have a few weeks, at least."

  Relief. I grinned, handed her the other bread-bowl, stuck the second horn spoon into it so it stood up in the center. "Here. Just don’t eat up all our profits."

  THIRTY-TWO

  Del and I were packed and eating our morning meal by the time Neesha came dragging out of one of the smaller rooms to knock at the doorframe, since, as Del had noted, we had no actual door.

  My mouth was full, so Del, tying saddlepouches closed, waved him in; he sidled through the curtain split. "Is everyone decent?"

  Del and I assessed him silently. His face was stubbled, his eyes faintly bloodshot, his hair an unruly tangle. I swallowed and said, "Aparently more decent than you."

  His smile blossomed, lighting honey-brown eyes. "Oh, no. I am far better than decent. Or so Silk tells me."

  I nearly choked on my next bite, swallowed hastily. "Silk? You ended up with Silk last night?"

  "Silk was the last one I ended up with last night, yes."

  I glowered at him. "And I suppose she didn’t charge you."

  Neesha’s grin was a superior smirk. "As a matter of fact, she said she ought to pay me."

  Del looked from me to him and back again. "Is this for my benefit, this ridiculous male posturing?"

  Neesha started laughing even as I grinned. Hey, in front of a beautiful woman you like it to be known that you have alternatives.

  "But you do look, um, used up," I noted.

  He attempted to tame his hair. "Ridden hard and put away wet," he agreed in horse parlance; then he glanced at Del solemnly. "And that isn’t posturing."

  She made a sound of absolute scorn and waved a dismissive hand. "You men."

  Indictment in two words. Neesha and I exchanged grins. "Women," we said simultaneously.

  Del scowled, buckling on her harness. "Are we ready to go?"

  "My things are packed and by the back door," Neesha told her.

  My mouth full again, I gestured illustratively at waiting saddlepouches.

  "Good," she said. "Why don’t you two men go saddle the horses? I’ll be along in a few moments."

  I washed breakfast down with ale. "What’s keeping you?"

  "Something men wouldn’t understand." She gestured again. "Run along, boys."

  I already wore my harness and sword; I hooked my set of saddlepouches over my shoulder, tossed Del’s to Neesha. "By all means, let’s allow the woman to do woman things."

  Del scowled at us both as we departed the room.

  The kid and I went to the livery housing the horses and set about getting them ready to go. It was companionable as we worked, exchanging a sentence now and again, but mostly just tending the horses. Neesha did indeed have a way with them that I envied. I wondered if I should have him ride the stud… nah, better not. I really didn’t want to get the kid hurt.

  Nor, for that matter, did I want to witness the stud’s defection.

  He had finished tacking up his horse and worked on Del’s white gelding, smearing black paint around his eyes and stringing the Vashni browband across his face. When done, he looked over at me. "When do you want to try this sparring match?"

  I was inspecting the line of stitches in the stud’s left haunch. "Oh, let’s wait till we get to Alimat. I figure what you did for the stud bought you a lesson or two, no audition necessary." I patted the stud’s rump well away from the stitched wound. "It looks good."

  "My father taught me well."

  I shook my head, leading the stud into daylight. "If you are the only son, you stand to inherit."

  Neesha followed with his bay and Del’s gelding. "Yes."

  "Owning a horse farm is not a bad way to live."

  "It’s a good way to live."

  "Then —"

  He replied over the beginnings of my question, knowing what it would be. "Because it’s not what I dreamed about. Not what I wanted to do since —" He broke off, glanced away from me. "Since I first understood what sword-dancing was. My father followed his father’s footsteps, and his before his, but I want to follow… well, I wanted to go elsewhere. To make my own way." Now we stood in the alley not far from the cantina. "It may be a good life — I don’t suggest it isn’t — but it isn’t the one I want. Not yet. Maybe someday when I’m your age and want to retire, I’ll use my winnings to buy my own horse farm."

  I nodded inwardly; I could admire a kid who wanted to make his own way in the world despite having advantages. If he had any true talent for the sword, I’d find out; if not, I’d send him back to the horses. Most didn’t have that choice.

  "Sword-dancing is a very hard life, Neesha. The work isn’t steady, it’s often painful, and now and again there’s a very real chance you could be killed, even if it isn’t a death-dance. Accidents happen. And outside of the circle, there are any number of jobs that could get you hurt or killed."

  He nodded. "Abbu told me so."

  I went very still. "Abbu Bensir?"

  "He was the sword-dancer who came through my village."

  "Hunh." That put a different light on things. "How many lessons did he give you?"

  "Four." A self-deprecating grin kindled quickly. "Enough to have him humiliate me but not enough to dissuade me."

  "You took lessons from Abbu, then decided to find me ?"

  "I decided to find you before then." His ga
ze on me was level. "I heard stories about you."

  Ah, yes. The legendary Sandtiger. Abbu would certainly appreciate that. "Did you tell him that was your plan?"

  "No. It was my business, not his."

  I released a low whistle of appreciation. "Had Abbu known, he might have offered to teach you some tricks."

  Neesha’s smile was slight. "I knew that. But I didn’t want to learn tricks. I wanted to learn the art. I think Abbu believed I would change my mind."

  I saw Del approaching. "You’ll do," I said, patting the stud’s neck. "At least, for a while."

  He grinned. "Ten years? Or maybe seven, to match the shodo?"

  "Or maybe six, to better him?"

  Neesha didn’t hesitate. He simply shook his head. "Who could?"

  I laughed. "Abbu would say otherwise."

  "Possibly. But I didn’t come all this way to be Abbu’s student."

  Del came up and took the gelding’s rein from Neesha’s hand. "So, we are bound at last — again — to the fallen chimney."

  "Beit al’Shahar." I gave it the Vashni name. "Yes. And if I manage to accomplish my task, then we’ll head for Alimat. It’s a good five or six days’ ride from here, depending on the mood of the Punja. In the meantime, we can start beating up on Neesha so he understands what schooling is really all about."

  Del cast him a glance, expression questioning.

  He nodded. "I am duly forewarned."

  I mounted the stud. "Then let’s ride."

  Not far out of Julah we found and followed the faint trail of wheel ruts Del and I had come to recognize, noting familiar landmarks. Somewhere along it we’d camped out on the way back from the Vashni settlement, where Del had scattered the pieces of the necklet Oziri had given me. I was aware that I no longer had any inclination to return to the Vashni encampment or to learn more about dream-walking. I had used a form of it to read my mother’s bones, but there was no desire in me to sort out what my dreams meant. I knew what those involving the dead woman meant; by finding her bones, I’d fulfilled half of her repeated commandment. Now all that was left was to take up my jivatma and forget all about magery.

  If I could.

  Not long before sundown we rode up the familiar twisting trail to the top of the tree-hedged plateau. The lean-to against the boulders still stood. I shook my head in bemusement, recalling how Del and I had spent days there sick from sandtiger venom, and how Neesha had helped us both.

  Apparently so did he, and so did Del. I saw them exchange long, intent glances. It was more than mere memory, more than a friendly recollection worth reciting to others over food and drink, but something strangely intimate. And indecipherable. It left me with an odd feeling in my belly. There was nothing in Del’s behavior suggesting she was attracted to Neesha, and she had even come right out and said there was no interest on her part. When drunk on Umir’s liquor the kid had divulged his attraction to her, but that didn’t surprise me. Most men fell under Del’s unintended spell merely by being in her presence. I was used to that. But I had seen looks exchanged between them before, glances I couldn’t translate. Not the silent communication of lovers, but something else. Something — more.

  But what more is there? You are lovers, friends, acquaintances, strangers, or enemies. I could attach none of those descriptions to what I saw passing between Del and Nayyib.

  Could she be lying? I didn’t think so. She had explained once in Skandi that if she ever intended to leave, she’d tell me. That, I believed. It wasn’t Del’s way to hide behind lies and subterfuge. She had also demonstrated her affection for me in physical ways, ways that were no different than had been employed before. Could a woman hide her attraction to a new man while sleeping with the old?

  Well, yes. But not Del. Not with her honesty. She had never learned to dissemble.

  And when Neesha had quietly bragged about his conquests of Silk and other wine-girls, it hadn’t been done in a way to kindle jealousy or to make a point, the way a man might if he wanted a woman who refused him.

  Which left — what?

  I didn’t know. Before Del, I’d kept myself to wine-girls and other women who wanted nothing more than a night or two together. I’d never sworn myself to any kind of bond. Del and I were not oath-bound, not vowed to one another save by what lived in our spirits. But I knew that could change. That it had, for others.

  Hoolies, it was too complex to think about right now, after most of a day spent on horseback.

  I dismounted over by scraggly trees rimming the edge of the flat-topped bluff and set about unloading and tying out the stud. The grass grazed down earlier by our horses had recovered somewhat, which suggested no one had been here since I’d come looking for Del. She and the kid found separate places for their mounts and began to unload as well. When the stud had cooled, I’d water and grain him; for now he was content to nose and lip at grass. I humped my tack and pouches over to the lean-to and dropped them outside.

  "Wood," I announced tersely. "I’ll be back."

  "I’ll go, too, when I’m done here," Nayyib offered.

  "Not necessary." I stalked off, aware both were staring at me in startled bafflement.

  Well, fine, so I’m prone to occasional bouts of jealousy. I’m human.

  Maybe that proved I wasn’t the jhihadi. Did messiahs get jealous? For that matter, did messiahs sleep with women?

  Feeling somewhat better, I began looking in earnest for appropriate deadfall.

  I made two trips to gather firewood. Nayyib made one; he piled it next to the fire ring, then lingered to talk with Del. From some distance away, it seemed an odd conversation. The kid stood with his head lowered, shoulders poised stiffly. Not deferential exactly but not precisely happy, either. Del stood very close to him, and her body language suggested she was doing most of the talking.

  It was interesting to see them together from a distance. Nayyib was an inch taller than Del, and certainly broader and thicker of limb, but, though larger in general than most Southroners, he was not truly a significantly big man. Still, he was young yet; I didn’t truly fill out until halfway through my twenties, though I had my height. Del is no delicate flower, but a tall, strong woman who moves unencumbered by the perceived requirements of femininity. They matched well together, Nayyib and Delilah.

  His head came up sharply. Posture stiffened even more. He said something to Del, something definitive, because her posture abruptly tensed. Then he turned and walked away, looking for all the world like a house cat offended by the taint of splashed water.

  Del watched him go — perhaps he was after more wood — then shook her head slightly. She knelt, began building a fire.

  All in all, it did not put me in mind of a lovers’ quarrel. Or a woman withstanding the blandishments of a man who wanted her. In fact, I couldn’t put a name to it at all, save to say that he wasn’t pleased by what she had told him, and she was no more pleased by his response.

  But how much of that was wishful thinking?

  I went over with my second supply of wood, piled it by the fire, and looked at her questioningly. "Something wrong?"

  Del denied it crossly, then ducked into the lean-to to begin arranging her bedding.

  Which left me even more confused than before. Wood delivered, I went off to check on the horses and to water and grain them. When Nayyib came back, he dumped his wood on the pile and came over to tend to his bay, though I had things under control.

  The day was dying quickly, the way it does in the desert, but I could still see the stubbled planes of his face and the hollows of his eyes. He was unhappy about something. It struck me as odd, since Neesha seemed a mostly equable sort.

  In view of my own sharp temper earlier, I didn’t think it would help to inquire if he had a problem. So I lingered as I tended the stud and Del’s gelding, and eventually he sighed, let the tension go, and spoke.

  "Why is it we’re going to this chimney place?"

  "Beit al’Shahar. It’s a rock formation."

&
nbsp; "But what’s there?"

  "Something I left behind." I collected emptied canvas buckets and set them out of reach, so inquisitive equine teeth wouldn’t chew them to bits. "Del and I were out this way about a year ago, give or take."

  "She said something about a sword."

  "Jivatma," I clarified. "A Northern sword. Blooding-blade. Named blade." I smiled when I saw his frown of incomprehension. "Northern ritual. Mostly, it’s just a sword."

  "You have a sword. Why go looking for this Northern one?"

  "Something I need to do." "Like find the bones in the Punja?"

  "Something like that." I smoothed a hand down the stud’s neck. "Kind of hard to explain. There are swords — and there are swords. If you own one long enough — if you form a partnership, odd as it may sound — it becomes more than just a weapon or a means of making a living."

  "Singlestroke."

  "Ah, the infamous blade of the Sandtiger!" I dropped the melodramatic tone. "A good sword. Kept me out of serious trouble many times."

  "But you don’t carry it any more."

  So, he didn’t know everything about the legend. "Singlestroke was broken a number of years ago."

  His head came up. "So you want the Northern blade in its place?"

  I remembered Samiel’s begetting at Staal-Ysta, the days and nights I spent in Kem’s smithy. "It too is a good sword. A special sword." I shrugged. "It’s hard to explain."

  "Much about you is hard to explain."

  "I’m a complicated guy, Neesha." True dark had fallen; there was nothing more to be read in expressions, which couldn’t be seen. Only in voices.

  "Del told me some stories when we were with the Vashni."

  Finished with the horses, we fell in together as we drifted back toward the fire. "It’s been an interesting life."

  "And a dangerous one."

  "I warned you about that."

  "Yes." He sounded pensive.

  "Thinking the horse farm sounds a bit better?"