I felt distinctly queasy. “I don’t want it. It’s not a sword—it’s more than a sword…have you lied to me? Is that thing already a jivatma?”
Slowly he shook his head. “It’s not a jivatma yet. It’s hardly begun to live…but what life is there is yours.”
I badly wanted to back away but refused to show so much. “A sword is a weapon, a killing instrument, a tool designed to take life. Not to live on its own. It’s simply a piece of metal—”
“And so it is,” Kem agreed. “This sword is only half-made. You needn’t fear it yet.”
“I don’t want to fear it at all!”
He stood bathed in the dim red light of coals, and the glow from a single lantern set high in a corner. “It’s too late to turn away now. It would be like killing a child who’s only begun to live.”
“It’s a sword—”
“—in need of a name,” Kem finished quietly. “It doesn’t know itself yet. It only knows what you’ve given it: a taste of what life is.”
I felt the prickle on neck and arms. “Something’s wrong,” I said sharply. “There’s sorcery in the air!”
He looked at me piercingly, not even asking how I knew. Only, “Where?”
“—something wrong—”
In the distance, I heard screams. Faint, small screams, warped by water and echo.
Kem heard them, too. “The settlement!” he cried.
Forty-two
I was out of the smithy and running, heading through trees to the lakeshore, where boats bobbed on the water. The screaming was clearer now, and the squealing of frightened horses.
I was not alone for long. Kem was there, and others, pushing off in boats. I waited, looking for Del; saw only Telek.
“Where is she?” I asked.
“With Kalle.” He bent to free the rope.
I blinked. “Why? It’s not like Del to ignore someone’s need for help.”
Telek straightened, holding the rope. His gray eyes were almost feral; his tone precisely even. “I told her not to leave the island. That if she wants to stay with Kalle so much, she should stay with Kalle.”
I shook my head. “That’s not fair. No matter how you feel about her, you’re still depriving Staal-Ysta and the settlement of a good sword.”
“Get in the boat,” Telek repeated. “There is no more time to waste.”
He was right, much as I wanted to argue. I clambered into the boat, sat down, watched grimly as Telek pushed off and jumped in. He settled the oars and began to row, heading us diagonally across the lake toward the shrieks and screams.
By the time we reached the settlement, there was nothing left to fight. People clustered in groups, talking about the attack. Some carried wounded into lodges for tending. Others gathered together the bodies, preparing for funeral rites. I saw the marks on the bodies. I knew what had done this.
“Hounds,” I told Telek on the way to the corrals. “Beasts, I call them the hounds of hoolies—I don’t know what they are. But they’ve followed Del and me for weeks.”
His face was stark. “After they left us.”
I glanced at him sharply. “These hounds? Are you certain?”
His expression was bleak. “We’ve said nothing, because up till now we’ve been safe. The beasts can’t swim, so Staal-Ysta has been a haven. And they left us weeks ago, trailing other prey…we believed them gone for good.” He shook his head and frowned, looking around at the carnage. “They ignored the settlement before, watching Staal-Ysta only, as if there is something there…something that draws them. They want something specific—”
I nodded. “I think they want her sword.”
It stunned him. “Her jivatma? Why? What use would hounds have for it?”
“I think they’ve been sent by someone.” Briefly, I told him how they had dogged our trail, herding us, driving us toward the North. And how they had responded to Del’s sword when she’d keyed it in the canyon.
When I was finished, Telek nodded. “You may be right,” he agreed. “If indeed there is someone behind the hounds—someone who has sent them for whatever purpose—” He started to shake his head, then snapped it around to stare at me in shock. “It is her sword! It must be! Because up until tonight, none have been here at the settlement.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand.”
He was impatient with my ignorance. “We elevated two an-ishtoya to kaidin only three days before you and Del arrived. Their swords were not yet blooded…they were preparing to ride out with their sponsors to blood them in the circle; this was their last night here. They came to spend it with their families—off the island: here.” His face was intent. “But maybe it isn’t just Del’s sword. Maybe it’s any jivatma at all—and that’s what drew the beasts tonight.”
I shook my head. “But if the swords haven’t been blooded yet—”
“The magic is still in them,” he snapped, distracted. “Just not roused, not harnessed by blooding…a sorcerer, knowing jivatmas, would also know that. It wouldn’t stop him from sending the beasts—if that’s what he’s after.”
I could be as terse. “Then I suggest you find those new-made kaidin as soon as you can. See if they’re here. See if their swords are here.”
Telek looked at me in dawning shock. And then he turned on his heel and ran.
We’d reached the corrals. Some of them had been broken down and emptied as the horses panicked and ran, but others remained standing, poles and brush left intact. In one of them was the stud.
I felt the knot in my belly loosen. “So, old man, you survived…still too tough to kill.”
I unlatched the gate, slipped in, slapped milling horses out of my way, let the stud come up to me.
I scratched the stud’s jaw, glad to touch him again; it gave me an unexpected peace. “They want something,” I mused aloud; he flicked black-tipped ears. “Those hounds of hoolies want something. They’ve been very patient, but I think they’re tired of waiting.” I patted his hairy neck. “Yes, I think they’ll be back…there are more jivatmas here, and one due to leave very soon.”
Telek was back, and panting; his breath was white in the air. “They’re gone,” gasped, “both of them. Them and their swords.”
I reached to my neck and slipped the thong over my head, handing him the ward-whistle. “Give this to someone here who is responsible. It will keep the hounds away; it’s what allowed Del and me to get through. I’ll need it again soon, but for now it should keep the settlement safe.”
Telek frowned, looking at the whistle. “What do you intend to do?”
I tugged the stud’s ears; smiled as he pulled away. “I intend to beat you in the circle, Northerner, and then leave Staal-Ysta.” I shrugged. “Maybe get in a little hunting.”
There was a new respect in Telek’s eyes. “You will leave with your own jivatma. If that really is what is drawing the beasts—”
“—then I can draw them away.” I smiled. “I guess you can say it’s my way of making up for a dance that isn’t a dance; I want to buy my deliverance somehow. Honorably. This is one way to do it.” I shrugged. “Besides, I figure it’s one way of helping a lot of people I know: you, Del, Kalle…a Borderer woman and her children…even a horse-speaker from the uplands.” Again, I shrugged. “Something to do to pass the time.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I didn’t expect it of you.”
“No, probably not.” I grinned. “Of course, people have been misjudging me for years.”
But Telek didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile.
One night later, I faced Kem in the smithy. Faced him and my sword.
“It will cut water,” Kem said. “Cut it cleanly, like flesh or silk, and make it bleed; even water.”
He had fit blade and hilt together, melding them into one, so that the sword was a single unit. All was washed with silver, though steel underneath: hilts, grip, pommel; a twisted rope of silk somehow turned into metal. Its color was moonlight and ice.
In my hand, it
was an extension of myself. The balance was as pure as any I’ve ever known, so fine and clean it carried me instead of the other way around. And it was warm in my hand, like flesh.
Del’s sword, to me, was cold, but she’d said to her it was warm. I wondered if this was the same: hoarfrost to everyone else, sunlight only to me.
“Of course,” Kem said pointedly, “it isn’t ready yet.”
I looked at him over the blade. “What do you mean, ‘isn’t ready’?”
He tapped his anvil. “Lay it here. This will take only a moment.”
Suspicion flared instantly. “What do you mean to do?”
“There is the Naming, yet. Right now, it’s an unnamed blade. Left so, it’s not worth its Making. Here.” He tapped the anvil again.
Slowly I set down the sword, oddly reluctant to take my hand from it. Then Kem drew his knife, motioned me forward, took hold of my left hand and turned it over, palm up.
“Wait,” I blurted.
“This isn’t the true blooding,” Kem said patiently. “I’ve explained all that, remember? This is part of the Naming.”
I held my silence as he nicked deeply into the fleshy part of the heel between thumb and wrist. When blood flowed freely, he nodded, then guided the hand to the sword. Carefully he held the sword in place, then slid my hand the length of the blade, smearing it with blood.
And again, when he turned it over. The steel shone bloody and dull, moonsilver sheen now obscured.
He grunted, gave me a rag. “Blank.” Graying brows knitted a moment. Then he heaved a weary sigh, as if I’d disappointed him. “Well, it comes of being matched with a man who doesn’t believe.”
I frowned down at the sword, stopping the nick in my hand with the rag. “What’s it supposed to do?”
“Once Made, once Bound, once Blessed, there is a heart in every blade…a soul known only to it. And it shows itself in the runes.”
I recalled the alien, twisted shapes carved into Del’s blade. The runes were alive to me, never the same; everchanging. But my blade was blank as blood.
“Does it have a name, now?”
Kem looked straight at me. “If it does, you’d know. Since you don’t, it doesn’t.”
“Will it ever have a name?”
“Probably once it’s blooded. Or maybe when you finally come to believe; the sword will tell you, then.” He shrugged; his tone was one of delicate contempt. “But you don’t want to blood it. You don’t want to believe. You’d rather leave it unnamed, and only half alive.”
I felt a twinge in my belly: guilt, resentment, acknowledgment. “So long as it serves me in the circle, that’s all I require,” I told him flatly. “Down South, skill is the only magic. We don’t depend on other things.”
Kem put hands on hips. “I don’t care what customs are down South. This is a Northern sword.” He gestured sharply. “Take it to the lake. Wash it free of blood. My work is done; from now on it’s in your care, inadequate as that may be.”
Not a courteous man, Kem. But then, I hadn’t expected it. I was a stranger to him, and Southron, and yet I bore the rank of an-ishtoya. Accustomed to Northern students come begging for a jivatma, my indifference to the magic was startling as well as disturbing.
And it probably bruised his ego.
I lifted the sword yet again; yet again marveling at the silken texture of steel, the uncannily perfect balance, the life that cried out in the blade. Singlestroke, too, had been made for me, to precise specifications, but even that noteworthy sword felt as dross to gold compared to Kem’s masterwork.
As if reading me, he shook his head. “I was the Maker, yes; the rest is all from you. The Binding, the Blessing…whatever else you choose to do. This sword will be whatever you wish it to be. It will be you, growing out of whatever things have shaped you over the years. No other may use it once it’s blooded, because it will guard itself against them, turning only to you.”
“If it becomes a jivatma.”
Slowly, Kem shook his head. “You dishonor this sword. Southron. Pray gods it doesn’t dishonor you.”
Disagreements aside, he’d made a marvelous sword. Not knowing what else to do, I asked him his price for the work, knowing full well I couldn’t pay it. But he said he would take nothing; that his magic was from the gods and they repaid him well. His life was here on Staal-Ysta; all his wants were attended to. He needed nothing from me save respect for the weapon I carried.
I thanked him, left him, went down to the lake in darkness to wash the blade free of blood.
And there Delilah found me.
“So,” she said, “it’s done.”
Still I knelt by the water. “No. Not all of it. I have no intention of blooding it. All I want is a sword.”
“It’s far more than that.”
I dried the steel carefully with the cloth Kem had given me for my hand. “Only if I let it.”
“Tiger—” Del knelt beside me, clenching hands against wool-clad knees. “You must understand what you’ve done…what manner of responsibility you’ve accepted. I know you don’t intend to ever name this blade, or make it into a true jivatma, but you may have no choice. You may be forced—and the results could be disastrous.”
I shook my head. “I’m going to use this sword in the circle here to prove my worthiness to be named kaidin. And then I will go home.” I didn’t look at her, tending carefully to the drying. “South, Del, where I intend to sell this—or trade it—and get me a Southron sword.”
After a taut moment of shock, Del shook her head. “The sword will never allow it.”
“Oh, hoolies, Del—are you sandsick? This is a sword, not a person! Not something that dictates my life!” I turned on my heel, still kneeling, and looked at her in frustration and exasperation. “It’s a piece of steel, no more.”
My protests made no dent in her wall of superstitions. “You should know it’s unlikely you will reach the South without having blooded this blade. And if that’s so, you may have no choice in the instrument of its naming—Tiger, don’t you see? We are taught to choose an enemy carefully, because the blade, once blooded, assumes the characteristics and attributes of that enemy.”
“Then how in hoolies does everyone manage to blood their swords in the proper enemies?” I demanded. “What happens if they kill the wrong person? What if they kill an unskilled laborer? Wouldn’t it weaken the sword?” I shook my head. “All this superstitious nonsense…what keeps an enemy, knowing about these magical swords, from sending out a halfwit to throw himself on the sword, thereby rendering it nearly useless?”
Del’s jaw was tight. “When a newly-made kaidin goes out on his blooding journey, a sponsor goes with him. If there is killing to be done, he takes care of it. Until the new sword is blooded.”
Well, it did make sense. And took all the angry bluster right out of me. I rose, stroked the cloth across the blade once again, felt the fabric separate neatly against the edge. Like silk. Like water. Like flesh.
“Of course, you didn’t need a sponsor. You’d already blooded your sword.” I looked at her. “And you keyed it as well; how else would you get his power? How else would you gain his skills?”
White-faced, Del thrust herself up from the ground. “Listen to me, Tiger…if you go out there tomorrow and kill a squirrel, that is a true blooding, and your sword will take on whatever habits that squirrel possesses. Do you see?” Her expression was earnest and intent. “What kind of a legend would the Sandtiger be if he took a squirrel into his sword?”
I don’t know why it struck me so funny, but it did. I started laughing, and I couldn’t stop. It echoed out over the water.
Del spat out a concise comment in uplander, probably something to do with disrespect, noise and idiocy, but by then I didn’t care. I just laughed, nodded, turned back toward the lodges.
“You thrice-cursed son of a Salset goat!” she cried. “Can’t you see I’m trying to help you?”
I swung back and stood very still. All the laughter was
banished. “If that were true,” I told her, “you’d come with me now. Tonight. You’d leave this place behind.”
Her posture was awkwardly tense, lacking characteristic grace. “I have given you my reasons again and again. It is your choice to disagree. But it is my choice to make. No one can make it for me, unless he wears my boots. And you decidedly don’t; maybe you never will.”
It was, I knew, a jab at my profound lack of interest in fatherhood. Well, I’d give it to her; I wasn’t wearing her boots.
“You know,” I said lightly, “I wonder if anyone has asked Kalle what she thinks of this.”
The moonlight was harsh on the marks of tension graven into Del’s face. “Kalle is five years old.”
I shrugged. “I remember when I was five. Very clearly; what about you?”
Del didn’t answer. Del swung around and departed.
I looked after her into the darkness. “Ask her sometime,” I said.
But nothing answered me.
I walked back alone to Telek’s lodge, having introduced myself to my sword. There was nothing of ritual or magic about it, being little more than some time spent learning the steel. I’d found it ridiculously easy to do so, almost too easy; the sword was clearly mine. And clearly, it knew it, too.
My harness was in the lodge, in the compartment I shared with Del. I intended to go in, sheathe it, then go to sleep. But voices distracted me. I paused before the door, heard men talking quietly in the trees directly to the right of the wooden lodge.
It wasn’t my business. I might have ignored it. But the voices belonged to Telek and Stigand, and my name was in their mouths.
Silently I moved into the trees, hiding myself in shadow. I couldn’t see them, but I didn’t need to; all I wanted was to hear them.
Telek’s tone was strained. “—wins the dance, he’ll go. And he’ll take Del with him. It’s easiest this way.”
Stigand was obdurate. There was nothing old about the way he sounded. “He killed Theron. Dishonor enough, don’t you think? Shall we allow him to heap more on us?”
“But a dance to the death serves nothing. If he loses, our cause is lost, because he can’t take her with him, and she stays.”
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