Sword Bound

Chapter 23

I AWOKE IN THE MORNING when part of the house collapsed upon itself. Ash drifted on the air. Heat remained but was pallid. Del roused even as I did, pushing hair out of her eyes as she sat up. And Neesha…Neesha’s bedding was empty.

I swore, rose rapidly, awkwardly, stiff as always first thing. I grabbed up my sword and hastened to what once had been the plank front door and now lay charred upon the wooden floorboards. “Neesha? Neesha!” Hoolies, had he gone in on his own? “Where are you?”

Del joined me, sword in hand even as I held mine. “Did he go in?” she asked

“I don’t know,” I said grimly. “But we’ll have to.”

“No. No, you need not.”

I spun around and saw Neesha approaching from the corral containing our horses. Tears had left white runnels in soot and grime. He was clearly exhausted.

Del murmured something in Northern.

I asked because I had to, even though I believed it was self-evident. “Did you go in?”

“I did.”

I waited for the words. Waited for the grief. I knew what the answer was. My son had cried.

Neesha said, “There are no bodies.”

At first I wasn’t certain what he’d said. And then I understood. He cried for relief, not in grief. “They got out,” I said in surprise.

He nodded. But his expression remained tense. “What if the raiders took them and then set the house afire? That’s no better, is it?”

“Of course it’s better,” Del told him flatly. “I escaped from raiders. I am proof it can be done.”

“Wait,” I said, putting a flattened hand into the air. “Wait. Neesha, if they escaped both fire and raiders, is there a place they might go?”

He stared at me blankly a moment. Then, exploding from him, “Yes! They’d go to Sabir and Yahmina! Our closest neighbors—eight or so miles away.” He gestured. “That way. Gods, I should have realized…I saw that produce. Sabir must have found them.”

“Then what are we doing here?” I asked. “Let’s get tack and pouches and horses and go.”

Which is exactly what we did.

We wasted no time riding to the neighbors’. Eight miles was nothing under these circumstances. Del, who took mercy on me and my sore hands, dallied the roan off her saddle this time, keeping the mare snubbed up tight to avoid protests or rambunctious behavior. We couldn’t afford it.

The house came into sight as we crested the top of a hill. Neesha, riding point, twisted in the saddle to look at me. I knew very well what he meant to say even before he formed the words, so I waved a hand at him and said, “Go. Go.”

He rode his bay hard down the hill as Del and I took the descent at a slower rate. We were not needed, at least not immediately. Neesha should learn the truth of his family without two people flanking him who were strangers to the neighbors, even to his folk.

Neesha was well in front of us as he entered the dooryard. He shouted names while reining his horse into a long sliding stop in which the bay nearly sat on his rump, digging furrows into the soil. In the midst of that, Neesha leaped off the horse, flung reins at him, and ran toward the house. Again he called names, and this time I recognized them: Father. Mother. Rasha.

Even before he reached the door a woman hastened out of the house, halted briefly as if in disbelief, then threw her arms around Neesha as he reached her. They clung hard to one another. Del and I were close enough now to hear that she spoke to him, but not what she said. And it wasn’t necessary. We knew well enough what a mother would say to a son come unexpectedly home just when she needed him most.

Danika, he’d said. But at this distance I could see no details of her features to recognize her. Just that she was a woman.

Drawing away from the embrace, she took Neesha’s arm and led him rapidly into the house. Del and I rode up slowly and reined in. Not very distant, Neesha’s loose horse cropped at grass.

Del’s gelding shook from nose to rump, hard. She sat it out, grimacing as bit shanks clattered, then looked at me. “What do we do?”

I drew in a deep breath, released it in a heavy, abbreviated sigh. “I don’t know. But—we might do best to just stay away, for now. I don’t think we should get in the way.”

She agreed. “Perhaps we can set up a small camp, just us and the horses. We can wait for someone to get us when they are ready.”

“Probably Neesha.” I dismounted. “There’s a well and a cookfire ring with spit,” I noted. “And a very large tree over there. We can make camp under the branches.”

Del nodded, dismounting as well. We led two horses apiece to the wide-bolled, spreading tree and found good areas for picketing. We untacked all four mounts, scrubbed off the sweat with hard-bristled brushes, took turns cranking up the well bucket to fill waxed cloth buckets for them, then picketed each. When it came time for us, we once again spread out the blankets, weighting the corners with stones, and set our saddles upside down at one end of each.

Del rummaged in her saddle pouches, came up with more journey bread and added cheese and dried fruit to the meal. Even as she did so, I realized I was hungry. It wasn’t precisely a feast, but would fill our bellies nicely. We each of us had botas; we washed down the food with water that tasted of leather. Didn’t matter. It was wet.

Just as we finished, the woman who had embraced Neesha came to us. And I knew her. It had been twenty-five years since we had seen one another, she and I. All she could do, and all I could do, was stare awkwardly at the other. I felt heat in my face. Color shaded hers.

Del hastily brushed off her lap, rose, and said she was off to find an accommodating bush. Whether she really had to do so—and that was certainly possible—I knew it was her way of offering us privacy. I suspected she wouldn’t return for a while.

So did Danika, who smiled faintly, crookedly.

I got up less nimbly than Del. Hoolies, I felt like a kid again, not knowing what to say or do that was not circumscribed by the Salset.

Then I smiled, because I remembered what that kid had done, and with this woman. It wasn’t purely the physical act; it had been, for us both, a rite of passage. It made her a woman, despite her youth; it made me no more a chula but a free man.

I saw it in her eyes, that mutual memory. I bent briefly to drop bread and bota to my bedroll, then straightened and took the three steps to reach her. I did not embrace her; that was much too intimate after so long. Instead, I took her hands in mine, leaned down, and kissed her gently on the brow.

As I straightened up, I squeezed her hands lightly. “You made us a fine son. You raised a fine son.” I paused a brief, tight-throated moment. “You and your husband.”

She was dark-haired, as I remembered, but now also had strands of silver framing the sides of her face. Most of the hair was wound in a coil against the back of her head, but that coil had loosened to droop against her neck, with straggling locks fallen free. Age had laid a gentle hand upon her, I thought. Happiness in her man, in her children, in her life, softened the more obvious encroachment of ruthless time. Hazel eyes, olive skin—I had forgotten both. Her grandfather had been a Borderer, and she’d told me her coloring took after him, not her father or mother. It would be flattery, if I could say I remembered everything about her, could tell her she hadn’t changed. But flattery was not always the truth, and I knew she was worth the latter.

She squeezed my hands briefly, then slipped them free. The moment had passed. And the age I had not seen suddenly mastered her face. Her body went rigid. In her eyes was a great grief. “I would like to hire you.”

That was the last thing I’d expected to hear from her. “Hire me?”

Her voice shook, though she tried to keep it steady. “They took my daughter. They left Harith and me behind to watch the house burn, the horses driven away, and my daughter taken.” Her chin trembled a moment, just a moment, before she regained composure. “She ran. A raider on horseback caught her and dragged her up before him. I heard her screams until the raiders were no more than a cloud of dust.” She swallowed heavily. “I would like to hire you. To bring her back.”

“No, Danika; no need for hiring.” I shook my head decisively. “Del and I had already decided to go after them. After seeing your house, we came here with Neesha in hopes you had survived, and now to talk with you and your husband about the details of the raid. Anything you might tell us is of help.” I gestured toward the blankets. “Will you sit down?”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I must see to my husband. They beat him badly. One of his legs is broken, and his head is injured.”

I grimaced. “I’m sorry, Danika. But we will rescue your daughter and your horses and kill all the raiders. Each and every one.”

Neesha’s mother nodded as tears welled in her eyes. “Justice.”

I nodded. “At the very least.”

She gestured toward the house. “Come in. There is room to visit, though not to sleep, I’m afraid. But we can feed you. Sabir and Yahmina have been good enough to take us in.”

“We’ll do just fine right where we are,” I assured her. And we would; Del and I both would be uncomfortable within the house, with so much of worry and pain already in it.

Somewhat hesitantly, she put out a hand. I took it. The awkwardness was gone. We shared much, she and I, in our son. We walked slowly toward the house with fingers entwined. “I’m glad you’ve come,” she said. “For all reasons: Neesha. You. The raiders. But I should have expected it. The gods know what is most needed and when.” She glanced up at me sidelong. “Is she your wife?”

“Sword-mate,” I answered. “We saw no reason for words to bind us. The gods know we belong together.”

Danika said, “She’s beautiful.”

I smiled. “She is.”

“She’s a sword-dancer?”

“Sword-singer, as the Northerners say.”

“Good,” Danika said firmly, after a moment. “When you bring Rashida back, perhaps your woman—the woman—would be willing to teach her a few forms. Ever since Neesha left, Rasha has been extremely vocal about her desire to be a sword-dancer like her brother.”

I smiled crookedly. “Is that what you want for her?”

“No,” she answered swiftly, honestly, yet without annoyance or bitterness. “But it’s her choice. You taught me what freedom was, one night so many years ago.”

That astonished me. “You were already free!”

“But not as Rashida is, was.” Tears spilled over as she turned to face me, letting go of my hand. “Bring her back. Tiger, please…bring my daughter back.”

Fervently, I said, “I swear it by whatever god you like, Danika. I’ll swear by all of them, if that’s what you prefer. We’ll bring Rashida back.”

After a moment she nodded, brushed away her tears, then walked in quiet dignity before me into the house.

Danika’s husband, Neesha’s stepfather, had been settled in a bed. His left leg was splinted. His head above his eyes was tightly wrapped in muslin, showing spots of blood. One side of his face already exhibited the ugly purple of deep bruising.

The room wasn’t large, but we managed to squeeze Danika, Neesha, the neighbors—Sabir and his wife Yahmina—and me into it. Del, who came in later, stood in the doorway.

“Has he been conscious at all?” I asked.

“Occasionally,” Yahmina answered. “He knows where he is and what happened, but he doesn’t remain awake very long.”

I nodded. “Has he said anything about the raiders?”

“A little,” Yahmina replied.

“Can you wake him now?”

Yahmina was shocked. Her husband, Sabir, turned an angry face on me. “He needs his rest!”

“He’s here, and safe,” I said. “So is Danika. But their daughter is not. If Del and I are to find the raiders, we need to know details.”

Sabir looked at me, looked at Del. His jaw was set. “Sword-dancers.”

Del’s voice was cool. “Who better to go after raiders?”

“And ask them to dance?” Sabir shook his head. “I hardly think any of those men would step into a circle.”

Neesha, kneeling on the floor very close to the bed, lifted his voice. There was a perceptible edge in it. “I don’t believe Tiger or Del would do any such thing as invite them into a circle.” He looked at me. “Would you?”

“Well, no,” I agreed. “Not exactly.”

“I want my sister back,” Neesha said flatly. “I can conceive of none better to accomplish such a task and to bring her home.”

Sabir looked at Neesha, looked at me again. He inclined his head slightly in accordance with Neesha’s words.

“Can you wake him?” I asked once more.

It was Neesha who reached out, who massaged Harith’s shoulder. “Father,” he said. “Father, it’s Neesha. Please awaken. Please speak with us.”

The wounded man reacted but not in a helpful way. He moaned, shifted slightly, rolled his head away.

“Father, it’s Neesha. I’m home. I need to speak with you.”

After a moment, Harith turned his head back. A slight wince gave way to twitching eyelids, to a mouth that trembled.

“Father. I’m here.”

The eyelids cracked. Lifted halfway. What lay behind them were dark brown eyes glazed with pain, with confusion.

Neesha took his father’s hand into his own. “Yes,” he said. “It’s me. Neesha. I’m home.”

Harith’s lips parted. The tip of his tongue extruded briefly, as if to lick dry lips. In a cracked voice, not much above a whisper, he said, “Neesha’s gone away…”

“No. I’m home. I promise. I’m here. Right here. Feel my hands?” He squeezed flesh. “Feel them? I’m home.”

And Harith said, “Rashida.”

Neesha glanced briefly at me, at his mother, before turning attention back to his father. “Yes. Rashida.”

“Not here…”

“No,” Neesha agreed, more gently than I might have expected, under the circumstances. “But we mean to bring her back.”

“Harith,” Danika said quietly. “Harith, we need to know. Is there anything you can tell us?”

His eyes wandered. He saw his son. Life crept back into his eyes. “Neesha?”

“I’m here.”

He moistened dry lips. “They took her…took Rasha.”

Neesha nodded. “We’ll bring her back. I promise. But what can you tell us?”

“Follow hoof prints,” Harith said. “So many horses…” Then he roused a bit more. “Six men. Northerners. Borderers. One was red-haired.” Pain took him; he gave in to it. “Follow…”

“We will,” Neesha assured him. “I swear it.”

Harith volunteered no more. Unconsciousness left his face lax.

“It’s enough,” I said. “Probably this red-haired man is the same red-haired man who attempted to raid Mahmood’s caravan. His coloring, plus so many horses, will mark him out.”

Danika’s expression was bleak as she cupped her elbows in her hands, but her voice was hopeful as she looked at me. “You’re sure?”

“I saw him,” I told her. “I saw him from close up. I’ll know him if I see him again.”

She looked at Del, standing very quietly just behind me, and accorded her the honor of being a sword-dancer, not just a woman. “You’re sure?”

Del’s voice was frigid. “If I do nothing else before I die, I will bring your daughter home.”

Neesha carefully settled his father’s hand on the bedclothing again, then rose. He glanced briefly at his mother, then looked at me, at Del. “Let’s go out.”

I had expected it. I turned, Del turned and led us out of the house into the air, into the scent of grasses, of trees, the faintest whiff of near-dead coals in the cookfire ring. Tree leaves rustled faintly on an equally faint breeze.

Neesha paced as Del and I waited. Finally he stopped and looked at us. “I have to stay. She has nothing now, my mother. If he dies—”

Del cut him off. “He won’t.”

Neesha stared at her. “You can’t know that.”

“I can,” Del declared. “He’ll wait for us to bring his daughter home. Hope will keep him alive. And when we bring her back to his side, joy and love will mend his bones and bruises.”

Emotions and thoughts filled Neesha’s eyes, followed by tears, though he blinked them away before they could fall. “You will bring her back.”

It was as much question as it was statement, as much hope as defeat. “Del said it best,” I told him. And so I echoed her words, if with one small alteration. “If I do nothing else before I die, I will bring your sister home.”

Neesha loosed a long breath that vanquished some of the tension. “A two-fold promise. So much power in that.”

“Merely the truth,” I told him.

“Gods,” he said tightly. “I want to stay, I want to go!”

I nodded understanding. “But your mother needs her son.”

“I know. I know.” He shook his head.

I glanced at Del, then back to Neesha. “You’ll know when it’s done. You’ll hear the thunder of the horses and your sister’s voice.”

Neesha squeezed his eyes closed. “Gods. Gods.”

When he opened them, I stood right in front of him. “Yes,” I said.

And for the first time ever, my son and I hugged.