“Hold me down?”
She bent and wrapped a cloth around the knife handle. “I think even the Sandtiger might find this a painful experience. He will probably yell a great deal.”
“I don’t yell.”
Del’s raised brows expressed eloquent doubt. Then Alric’s big paws came down on my shoulders. His right hand was perilously close to the wound, which didn’t make me any fonder of him. “Watch it, Northerner.”
His face hung over mine. “I could sit on you—”
“Never mind.”
Del handed me a cup of aqivi. “Drink.”
“I don’t need a drink. Just do it.”
She smiled crookedly. “Foolish Tiger.” Then she set the red-hot blade against the bleeding wound and I didn’t care what Alric thought of me anymore (or even Del), I yelled loudly enough to bring down the whole building. I attempted one leaping lunge off the bed, but the Northerner leaned on me and I didn’t go anywhere. I just lay there and cursed and sweated and felt sick, and smelled the stink of my burning flesh.
“You’re enjoying this,” I accused Del weakly through gritted teeth.
“No,” she said. “No.”
She might have said something more, but I didn’t hear her. I just sort of went somewhere else for a while.
I woke up in a strange room in a strange place and in a very strange frame of mind. I felt floaty and detached, oddly numb, but I realized I wasn’t in Marika’s little room anymore.
“Del?” I croaked.
A woman came into the room, but she wasn’t Del. She was black-haired and black-eyed, like Marika, but she wasn’t her, either. She was also heavily pregnant. “Del is with the children.” Her accent wasn’t one at all, being familiarly Southron. She smiled. “I’m Lena. Alric’s wife.”
“Then—he really is married?”
“With two babies, and another on the way.” She patted her swollen belly. “Northern men are lusty devils, aren’t they?”
I scowled at her, wondering how she could be so blithely unconcerned with Del in the house providing all manner of distraction for a man she herself described as lusty. (Which wasn’t anything I hadn’t already suspected). “How am I?” I asked glumly.
Lena smiled. “Much better. Alric and Del brought you here a couple of days ago. You’ve slept since then, but you look much better. If the Sandtiger is the man I’ve heard he is, you should be up and around in no time.”
The Sandtiger was feeling a little green around the edges. But he didn’t tell her that.
“I’ll get Del.” Lena disappeared.
Del came in a moment later. There was an odd wariness in her eyes, and I asked her why.
“Because you’re going to start in on Alric again, aren’t you?”
“Shouldn’t I?”
She glared. “You’re being very stupid about this, you know. Alric offered us the hospitality of his house, which is hardly big enough for him, Lena and the babies. You’re in the only bedroom! The rest of us share the front room.”
Almost at once I felt pretty uncomfortable, which is precisely what she intended. “Then tell him we’ll be on our way just as soon as I’m able.”
“He knows that.” Del hooked a three-legged stool over near the bed. “What happened to you, Tiger? Marika couldn’t tell us.”
I felt at the bandage over my right shoulder, wondering what the cauterized wound looked like. “Thieves. One of them got lucky.” I paused. “Briefly.”
“I’m sorry,” Del said contritely, “I should have stayed at the inn; you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. But Alric wanted to take me home to his wife and babies. He’s very proud of them.” She shrugged. “I’m a Northerner, and he hasn’t seen anyone from his homeland for a long time.”
“What’s he doing here?”
She smiled a little. “Hunting dreams. Like everyone. He came South several years ago, hiring out his sword. Then he met Lena, and stayed.”
“He could have taken her North.”
“He could have. But he loves the South.” She scowled a little. “You don’t have to be born here to like the South, you know.”
I sat up experimentally. For the moment I was all right. I shifted around so I could lean against the wall, settling my sore arm across my ribs. “He doesn’t want to add to his collection of wives?”
The scowl disappeared as she smiled. “He only has one—and I think she might object. Tiger … there’s no reason to be jealous of Alric.”
“I’m not jealous. Just—protective. That’s what you hired me for.”
“I see.” Del rose. “I’ll get you some food. You look hungry.”
I was. I didn’t protest when she brought it. I munched away at bread and meat and goat’s cheese. No aqivi, so I settled for water. (Tame stuff). Del waited as I ate, making certain the patient was doing well, and as she hunched on the stool Alric’s babies came tumbling in. I stopped chewing and stared in amazement as both of them tried to climb simultaneously into Del’s lap.
Both were girls, black-haired and dark-skinned like their mother, but claiming their father’s blue eyes. An attractive combination. They couldn’t be much older than two and three, both wobbly and clumsy, but—like puppies—all the cuter for it.
I watched Del with the girls. She had an easy way with them, showing affection without strangling them with it. An offhanded sort of manner, but obviously satisfactory. The girls looked serenely content.
So, for that matter, did Del. She smiled absently, smoothing curly black hair into place and, for a moment, hardly seemed aware of me in the room.
Abruptly, I broke the moment. “You’ll go back North, then, when your business here is finished? Look for someone like Alric and start having Northern babies?”
“I—don’t know. I mean—I haven’t thought about it. I haven’t really thought much at all past finding Jamail.”
“What happens if you don’t find him?”
“I told you once before: I haven’t considered that possibility. I will find him.”
“But if you don’t,” I persisted. “Del—be realistic. It’s all well and good to go charging off on a quest of rescue and revenge … but you’ve got to consider all the angles. Jamail might be dead … and then you’ll have to take a look at your priorities.”
“I’ll look at them then.”
“Del—”
“I don’t know!” Astonished, I saw tears in her eyes.
I just stared in amazement at what I’d started with my question.
Del sucked in an unsteady breath. “You keep hammering at me, Tiger. You keep telling me I won’t find him, that I can’t possibly find my brother. Because a woman doesn’t stand a chance of tracking down a boy stolen five years ago. But you’re wrong. Don’t you see?” Her eyes were fastened on my face. “My sex doesn’t matter. It’s the task. That’s all. It’s what needs to be done. And I can do it. I have to do it.”
“Del, I didn’t mean—”
“Yes you did. They all do; all the men who look at me and see a woman with a sword. Laughing inwardly—and outwardly—at the games of a silly woman. And humoring me. Humoring me because they want me in their beds, and they’ll put up with just about any silliness to get me there.” She shook back her braid. “Only it isn’t silliness, Tiger. It’s a need. A duty. I have to find Jamail. I have to spend days, weeks, even years searching for him, because if I don’t—” She stopped abruptly, as if all the emotions that had propelled her through her declaration spilled out at once, leaving behind an empty shell.
But she went on regardless. “Because if I don’t, I have failed my brother, myself, my kin, my kaidin … and my sword.”
The food was forgotten. One after the other, the girls climbed out of Del’s lap and went away, frightened by the anger and grief in her voice. Tears spilled down her face unchecked and she didn’t wipe them away.
I inhaled a careful breath. “There is only so much a person can do, Del. Man or woman.”
“I can do it. I have to.”<
br />
“Don’t let it become an obsession.”
“Obsession!” She stared at me. “What would you do? What would you do if you saw all but one of your family killed right in front of you?” She shook her head. “All I could do was watch. I couldn’t help them, couldn’t run, couldn’t even look—until one of the raiders held me around my neck and made me watch them kill the men and rape the women, my sisters, my mother, and laughed while I cried and screamed and swore I’d castrate every one of them.” She shut her eyes a moment, then opened them again. There were no tears now, only a quiet determination. “It made me what I am as much as the Salset made the Sandtiger.”
I set the plate down beside me. “I thought you said you’d escaped the raiders.”
“No.” Her mouth was a flat, grim line.
“Then—” I didn’t finish.
“They were going to sell us both, Jamail and I. Everyone else was dead.” She hunched a shoulder. Her left one, naked of the sword. “But—I got away. After they were done with me. And—I left Jamail behind.”
After a moment, I released a long, heavy breath. “Oh, bascha, I’m sorry. I’ve done you an injustice.”
“You didn’t take me or my mission seriously.”
“No.”
Del nodded. “I know. Well, it didn’t matter. I was just using you to get me across the Punja.” She shrugged. “I made a pact with the gods. With my sword. I don’t really need anyone else.”
“That secret you mentioned once,” I said, “is it what you’ve just told me?”
“Part of it,” she agreed. “The other part is—private.” And she rose and walked out of the room.
I faced my opponent across the circle. I saw pale blond hair, tawny-gold suntan, sinews beneath firm flesh. And a sword, in supple hands.
“Good,” observed the familiar voice, and I snapped out of the momentary daydream.
I scowled. Alric faced me across the haphazard circle he’d drawn in the dust of the alley behind his house. The curved Vashni sword was in his hands, but he had dropped the posture of preparedness. “What’s good?” I asked.
“You,” he answered. “You heal quickly.” He shrugged. “No more need for this.”
We had practiced for three days. My shoulder hurt like hoolies, but a sword-dancer learns to ignore pain and, eventually, overcome it entirely. Often, you don’t get a chance to heal properly. You fight, you heal, you fight again. Whenever it’s necessary.
Alric flicked a tuft of spore from his wickedly-curved blade. One bare foot obliterated a portion of the circle; finished with practice, there was no more need for circles drawn in dust.
I glanced over at the girls. They sat quietly against the shaded wall, eyes wide and mouths covered with small fists. Alric had given them permission to watch, but only if they kept silent in the watching. They had. At two and three, they behaved themselves better than most adults.
“We’re finished,” he told them, giving them their release; both girls got up and headed for the front of the adobe house at a run.
I bent and scooped up my discarded harness, sliding Singlestroke into the sheath. Sand gritted against the soles of my bare feet. Bending over hurt, but not as much as participating in a dance, practice or no.
I hooked the harness over my arms. Did up the buckles. “Why a Vashni sword?” I nodded at Alric’s blade. “Why not a Northern sword—one like Del’s?”
“Like Del’s?” Alric’s pale brows jerked up beneath ragged bangs. “I never had a sword like Del’s.”
I frowned, haphazardly erasing the circle with one sweeping foot. “You’re a Northerner. And a sword-dancer—more or less.”
Unoffended by my gibe, Alric nodded. “Sword-dancer, Northerner, yes. But not of Del’s caliber.”
“A woman—?”
“Oh, it’s true that’s unusual,” he agreed, going over to the bota he’d left sitting in the shade of a buff-colored wall. “But then Del’s unusual to begin with.” He unplugged the bota, sucked down a couple of swallows, then held it out in silent invitation.
I quit erasing the circle and went over to accept the bota. We sat down and leaned companionably against the wall, which was faintly warm even thought it lay deep in shade. In the South, shade is not necessarily cool.
I sucked down my own share of aqivi. “No. I’d never say Del was anything but unusual. But that doesn’t tell me why you use a Vashni sword.”
Alric shrugged. “A fight,” he said. “Me against a Vashni. Nasty fellow, too. He managed to break my Northern sword.” He raised a silence hand as I opened my mouth to protest. “No—it wasn’t a sword like hers. It was—just a sword. And it broke. About the time I was looking up the curving edge of the Vashni’s blade, I decided I didn’t need my sword to kill him. So I grabbed his right out of his hands … and killed him with it.” He smiled as he looked fondly at the shining blade. The hilt was made of a human thighbone. “I kept it for my own.”
“Del calls hers a jivatma—a blooding-blade—” Alric nodded. “What’s that mean?”
He shrugged and drank more aqivi as I handed him the bota. “What it sounds like. A blade made specifically for drawing blood. For killing. Oh, I know—you can say any sword suits that purpose—but in the North, it’s different. At least—it is if you’re a sword-dancer.” He gave me back the bota. “The rituals are different in the North, Tiger. That’s why you and I aren’t a good match—our styles differ too much. And I imagine even Del and I would have trouble performing the proper rituals.”
“Why?”
“Because her style and mine would be similar. Too similar, to offer a superior match. Blade patterns, maneuvers, footwork—” he shrugged “—even though we learned from different kaidin, all Northerners know many of the same tricks and rituals within the circle. And so it would be an impossible dance.”
“But not if the dance were to the death.”
Alric looked at me. “Even if I were an enemy, I’d never dance with her.”
My brows ran up into my hair. “A woman—?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He frowned thoughtfully, watching his right foot as he scuffed it in the dirt. “In the South, sword-dancing is made up of levels. A student works his way through the levels as far as he can. You, I’ve heard, are seventh-level.” As I nodded, he went on. “Here, I’d be considered third-level. In the North I’m better than that, but the comparisons don’t really apply. It’s like comparing a man and a woman—you just can’t.” Blue eyes flicked up to meet my green ones. “I guess what I’m saying is that the highest level of training in the North has no corresponding level in the South. It isn’t a matter of skill—at least, not exclusively. It’s more a matter of total, absolute dedication and determination, a complete surrendering of your will to the rituals of the dance.” He shook his head. “Hard for me to say, Tiger. I guess the best way is just to say that Del—if she’s telling me the truth—was ishtoya to the an-kaidin. And all I can say about that is what I know, which isn’t much. I never stood so high.” He drank again. “She must be telling the truth. Otherwise she stole that Northern sword … and a named blade can’t be stolen.”
Named blade. There it was again. A deliberate distinction. “My sword has a name.”
“And a legend.” Alric smiled and smacked the bota against my hand. “I know all about Singlestroke. Most sword-dancers do. But—well, it’s not the same. A jivatma is a little more than that. Only an-kaidin bestow them on selected an-ishtoya, those students who have proven their worthiness.”
“Why is it you don’t have one?”
“I don’t have one because I never stood high enough in the ritual rankings to be awarded one.” He said it easily enough, as if the pain of the knowledge had faded years before. Alric, I thought, was content with his lot. “As for what one is—it’s hard to explain. More than a sword. Less than a person. It doesn’t really live, although some might say it does.” He shrugged. “A jivatma has particular attributes. Like you or me. In that respect, the sword h
as a life of its own. But only when matched with the an-ishtoya who has earned his—” he paused significantly a moment “—or her right to it, who knows the sword’s name, and who knows how to sing the song.” He shrugged. “Ishtoya who achieve the highest ranking from the an-kaidin are no longer ishtoya. They are an-ishtoya. And then kaidin themselves, if they choose to be. Or sword-dancers.”
“Kaidin—an-kaidin.” I frowned, mulling over the nuances in the tones. “Del always called her sword-master kaidin, without the prefix.”
After a moment, Alric nodded. “The prefix is an honorific. Kaidin—you would say shodo—means sword-master. Teacher. Highly skilled, but a teacher. Kaidin is someone all ishtoya know. But—an-kaidin is more. An-kaidin is the highest of the high. I think she drops the prefix as a way of trying to deny what has happened.”
I frowned. “What has happened?”
Alric shoved hair out of his face with a forearm. “There is—was—only one an-kaidin of the old school left in all the North. Newer schools have replaced the old, but many ishtoya preferred to follow the old ways instead of the new.”
“Was?” I asked sharply.
“He was killed a year ago, I heard. In ritual combat against an an-ishtoya.”
It happens. Even to the best of us. It isn’t always easy to avoid bloodshed in the circle, even if it’s nothing more than an exhibition.
The big Northerner with the curving Vashni sword looked at Singlestroke. “Swords are—different here in the South. But in the North, there are swords and swords. A named blade, a jivatma, is made of steel that is more than steel. The an-kaidin makes them for the special students, the an-ishtoya who will someday take the an-kaidin’s place. Being ishtoya only, I never had the chance to learn more about the blooding-blades. But—it is precisely that: a sword quenched in blood. And the first blood is always carefully selected, because the sword assumes all the skill of the life that is taken.”
Selected. I looked at him sharply. “Then—you’re saying it wasn’t an accident that killed the an-kaidin. That someone desired to assume the skills of the an-kaidin.”
Alric’s face was taut. “I heard it was purposely done.”
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