Sword Maker-Sword Dancer 3 (11 page)

I think there is no way a man can fully share or understand a woman's feelings

for her child; we are too different. Not being a father--at least, not as far as

I know--I couldn't even imagine what she felt. But I had been a child without kin of any kind, trapped in namelessness and slavery, feeling myself unwhole.

Del's daughter had a family, even if not of her blood, and I thought that relationship justified the price.

Even if the mother did not.

"It's done," I said quietly. "You've been exiled from Staal-Ysta. But at least

you're alive."

Del stared hard into darkness. "I lost Jamail," she said, "when he chose to stay

with the Vashni. And now I have lost Kalle. Now I have no one at all."

"You have you. That ought to be enough."

Del's look was deadly. "You are ignorant."

I arched eyebrows. "Am I?"

"Yes. You know nothing of Northern kin customs. Nothing at all of family. Yet so

quickly you undervalue things I hold very dear."

"Now, Del--"

Del's impatience was manifest. "I will tell you once. A last time. I will tell

you so you know, and then perhaps you will understand."

"I think--"

"I think you should be quiet and listen to my words."

I shut my mouth. Sometimes you have to let women talk.

Del drew in a steadying breath. "In the North kin circles are very close.

They

are sacred... every bit as sacred as a circle is to a sword-dancer.

Generations

live within a single lodge, sometimes as many as four if the gods are generous

in portioning out our lives." Briefly she nodded. "When a man marries, the woman

comes into his lodge--unless he has no kin, and then he goes into hers--and so

the circle widens. Children are born, and still the circle widens. And when sickness comes and the old ones die, or even the newborn babies, the circle grows small again, so we may support one another. So we may share in the pain and the grief and the anguish, and not try to withstand it alone."

I waited, saying nothing.

"Brothers and sisters and cousins, aunts and uncles and grandfolk. Sometimes the

lodges are huge. But always filled with laughter. Always filled with song.

Even

when people die, so the soul departs in peace."

I thought back to the lodges on Staal-Ysta. Big wooden lodges overflowing with

people. So different from what I knew. So alien in customs.

Del spoke very softly. "When anything of substance happens, kinfolk always share. Courtships, weddings, birthings. And deaths. The songs are always sung."

She paused, swallowing, frowning, then continued. "A father begins one for the

lost child, and the mother takes it up, and then the brothers, the sisters, the

aunts, the uncles, the cousins, the grandfolk... until the child is sung to sleep forever. If it is a husband, the wife begins. A wife, and the husband begins, and so on. The song is always sung, so the newly passed know a life beyond the world. So that there is no darkness, but only light. The light of a

day, the light of a fire... the light of a star in the night, or the glint from

a jivatma. Light, Tiger, and song, so there is no need for fear." She drew in an

unsteady breath. "But now, for me, there will be no song. There is no one to sing it for me." She controlled her voice with effort. "No one for whom I may sing it; Jamail and Kalle are gone."

It called for something. Something of compassion. Something of understanding.

But I found myself lacking the words, the tact, the necessary understanding, because I had known the need for revenge. The need for spilling blood.

And so I blurted the first words I stumbled upon because they were easiest.

Because they required no compassion--only quiet, deadly passion. "Then let's rid

the world of these hounds, bascha... let's rid it of Ajani."

Del blinked heavily. But her tone was very steady. "Will you dance with me, Tiger? Will you step into the circle?"

I looked at my sword, lying quietly in its sheath. I thought of its power. I thought of a man named Ajani, and the woman once called Delilah. "Any time you

like."

Lips parted. I knew what she wanted. To say here, now, this moment. The temptation was incredibly strong, but she denied it. And made herself all the stronger.

"Not now," she said quietly. "Not even tomorrow. Perhaps the day after."

She knew as well as I even the day after was too soon. But by the time that day

arrived, we could put it off again.

Or not.

I rolled forward onto my knees, pulled one of my pouches close, dug down into its depths and pulled from it the ash-dappled pelt. I tossed it gently at her.

Del caught it. Let it unfurl, exhibiting all its glory. And looked to me for an

explanation.

"Your birthday," I told her. Then, feeling awkward, "I've got no use for it."

Del's hands caressed it. Much of her face was hidden behind loose hair. "A fine

pelt," she said softly. "The kind used for a newborn's cradle."

Something pinched my belly. I sat up straighter. "You trying to tell me something?"

Del frowned. "No. No, of course--" And then she understood exactly what I meant.

She tossed back pale hair and looked me straight in the eye. "No, Tiger. Not ever."

"What do you mean, not ever?" And then I thought about how some women couldn't

have children, and regretted asking the question. "I mean--no, never mind. I don't know what I mean."

"Yes, you do." Del smiled, if only faintly. "I mean, not ever. Only Kalle. I made it so."

"What do you mean, you made it--" And, hastily, "No, never mind."

"A pact," she explained simply. "I asked it of the gods. So I could be certain

of fulfilling my oath. Kalle had delayed me enough already."

I blinked. "That sort of thing isn't binding." I paused. "Is it?"

Del shrugged. "I have not bled since Kalle's birth. Whether it was that, or the

gods answering my petition, I cannot say. Only that you need have no fear I will

make you something you have no wish to be."

So. Yet another piece of the puzzle named Delilah clicking into place.

Only Kalle, forever, who was no longer hers. And never could be, now.

Thanks to me.

Thanks to my sword.

Oh, hoolies, bascha... what's to become of you?

What's to become of us?

After a moment I reached out and touched her arm. "I'm sorry, bascha."

Del stared at me blindly, clutching the moon-silvered pelt. And, eventually, smiled. "Giving up on the wager already?"

It took me a moment because I'd nearly forgotten. "No," I retorted sourly,

"I'm

not giving up on the wager. But I'll make you wish I had."

She slanted me a glance. "I don't sleep with my father."

Hoolies, she knows how to hurt.

Ten

"Here," Del announced. "It is as good as anywhere else, and we may as well see

if either of us is capable."

Having been lulled halfway to sleep by the rhythm of the stud and the warmth of

the midday sun--well, maybe not warmth, exactly; at least, not the sort I was used to, but it was warmer--I had no idea what she was talking about. So I opened my eyes, discovered Del dismounting, and hastily reined in the stud.

"Good as anywhere else for what?--and what is it we're supposed to be capable of?" I paused. "Or not?"

"Probably not," she observed, "but that had better change."

I scowled. "Del--"

"It's been long enough, Tiger. Ysaa-den is a day away--and we have yet to dance."

Oh. That. I was hoping she hadn't noticed. "We could wait a bit longer."

"We could wait until we've ridden out of the North completely... but that wouldn't fulfill your promise." Del squinted up at me, shielding her eyes with

the edge of a flattened hand pressed against her forehead. "I need it, Tiger.

And so do you."

Yes, well... I sighed. "All right. Draw a circle. I've got to limber up a bit,

first."

What I had to do was remind aching joints and stiffened muscles what it was to

move, let alone to dance. We had ridden northeasterly for six days, and I was beginning to think tracking the hounds to their creator was not such a good idea

after all. It hurt too much. I'd rather be holed up in some smoky little cantina

with aqivi in my cup and a cantina girl on my knee--no, that would probably hurt

too much, too. Certainly it would hurt too much if I did anything more strenuous

than hold her on my knee, which meant why should I bother to hold her on my knee

at all?

Hoolies, I hate getting old!

Del tied her gelding to a tree, found a long bough and proceeded to dig a circle

into the earth, thrusting through deadfall, damp leaves, mud. Pensively, I watched her, noting how stiffly she held her torso. There was no flexibility in

her movements, no fluid grace. Like me, she hurt. And, like me, she healed.

On the outside, if not on the inside.

Del stopped drawing, threw the limb aside, straightened and looked at me.

"Are

you coming? Or do you want a formal, ritualized invitation?"

I grunted, unhooked foot from stirrup, slowly swung a leg over and stepped down.

The stud suggested we go over to the gelding so he could get in a few nips and

kicks, but I ignored his comments and tied him some distance from the blue roan,

who had done his best to make friends. It was the stud who was having none of it.

Slowly I unhooked cloak brooches, peeled off wool, draped the weight across the

saddle. It felt good to be free of it; soon, I hoped, I could pack it away for

good. I wouldn't feel truly free until we were across the border and I could replace wool and fur with gauze and silk, but ridding myself of the cloak was something. It allowed me to breathe again.

My hand drifted to the harness worn over the tunic. Fingers tangled briefly in

beads and fringe, then found their way to leather straps, supple and soft, snugged tautly against soft wool. Across my back, slanting, hung the sheath with

its weight of sword. My hungry, angry sword.

"Tiger."

I shut my eyes. Opened them again, turning, and saw Del in the circle, all in white, glowing in the sun. It was a trick of clear, unblemished light unscreened

by a lattice of limbs, but nonetheless it shook me. It reminded me of the night

not so long before when she had stood in fire of her own making and all the colors of the world. Then I had thought, however briefly, she was spirit in place of woman. Looking at her now, blazing so brightly, I wondered if maybe I

had killed her--

No. No.

You fool.

"Tiger," she said again. Unrelenting, as always.

You sandsick, loki-brained fool.

Del unsheathed. Light took life from Boreal.

She wouldn't sing. She wouldn't. And neither, I swore, would I.

Oh, hoolies, bascha... I don't want to do this.

Del's face was composed. Her tone divulged nothing. "Step into the circle."

A tremor ran through my limbs. Something pinched my belly.

Bascha, please don't make me.

Del began to smile. Bladeglow caressed her face. It was kind, too kind; she was

older, harder, colder. The light gave her youth again. Boreal made her Del again. The one before exile. And Kalle.

Something tickled the back of my neck. Not an insect. Not a stray piece of hair,

falling against bared flesh. Something more.

Something that spoke of magic, whispering a warning to me.

Or was it merely fear, setting my flesh to rising?

Fear of my sword? Or of Del?

Oh, hoolies. Bascha.

"Tiger," Del said. "Have you gone to sleep standing up?"

Maybe. And maybe I am dreaming.

I slipped out of my harness. Closed my hand around the hilt and drew the blade

from its sheath. Hooked the harness over my saddle and walked toward the circle.

Del nodded, waiting. "It will be good for us both."

My throat tightened. Breathing was difficult. Something stirred in the pit of my

belly. I bit into my lip and tasted blood. Tasted fear also.

Oh, bascha--don't make me.

"Gently, at first," she suggested. "We both have healing left to do."

I swallowed tightly. Nodded. Made myself step over the limb-carved line.

Del frowned slightly. "Are you all right?"

"Do it," I rasped. "Just--do it."

She opened her mouth. To comment. Question. Chastise. But she did none of those

things. She simply shut her mouth and moved away, closing both hands on Boreal's

hilt. Slipping smoothly into her stance. That it hurt showed plainly in the soft

flesh around her eyes and the brief tensing of her jaw, but she banished pain.

Spread her feet. Balanced. Cocked the blade up. And waited.

In a true dance we would put our swords on the ground in the very center of the

circle, and take up our positions directly across from one another. It was a race to the swords, and then a fight. A dance. Combat to name a winner.

Sometimes it was to the death. Other times only to yield. And occasionally only

to show what dancing was all about.

But this was not a true dance. This was sparring only, a chance to test one another's mettle. To learn how fit we were. Or how much we needed to practice.

I needed it for the beasts. Del for Ajani.

One and the same, perhaps?

She waited quietly. I have seen her wait so before, always prepared, never wavering; completely at ease with her sword. It no longer struck me as odd, as

alien, that a woman could be a sword-dancer. That a woman could be so good.

Del

had made herself both; I had seen--and felt--the results.

Sweat ran down the sides of my face. Tension made me itch. I wished myself elsewhere, anywhere, other than where I was.