Sword Sworn

THIRTY-ONE

At dawn, as the others lay sleeping, I carried the vertebra and rib bone out to where Del had found them. Nayyib had dug up all the visible pieces of wood; hollows and indentations were left to show where he had worked, but the first whisper of wind would cover those up, leaving no trace of the wagon. A few paces away Del had found the bones. I knelt, set the two fragments aside, used the edge of my right hand to ease away more fine sand. After some time I gave up the search; the rest of the bones could be anywhere, carried away in countless simooms over forty years. That any had been left for our discovery was miraculous.

I smiled wryly, remembering that supposedly I was the jhihadi. It was a ludicrous idea — and utterly untrue. I was just a man who seemed to fit pieces of the prophecy certain religious zealots had adopted, and I’d come up with a good idea in channeling water to the desert. But anyone could have come up with that idea. It just happened to be me.

I sat there on the sand, vertebra in one hand, rib in the other. It was very difficult to believe they were from my mother; that with flesh over them, and muscle, tendon, ligament, not to men-tion the vessels carrying blood, they had been part of a living woman.

A living woman who had somehow sent a message to me in my dreams.

But I wished I could have seen her as she had been, before the borjuni raid killed her. When she had been woman, not a scattering of bones across the sand, or a speaking skull telling me to find her, to take up the sword.

I leaned forward, dug a pocket in the sand, pressed the bones into it. Feathered sand over the top. The next storm would bury them more deeply, or strip away the covering so that the wind, in its exuberance, might carry them on a journey.

It crossed my mind that perhaps I should have them sent back to the metri on Skandi, so she might have a little something of her daughter to bury or burn, according to Skandic rites, and to mourn. But my grandmother didn’t strike me as the type of woman who would do that. Or appreciate the thought.

Love for my father had brought my mother here. Best they remained together.

I pressed three sword-callused fingers over the slight upswell of sand, bid her goodbye, then left her.

Some time later we rode out of the Punja, onto the road — this time I had no problem heading south — and into Julah. I suggested we put up the horses at a different livery, which we did, then went to Fouad’s by way of alleys and entered via the back door. It startled Fouad half to death as we snuck in, but when he saw who it was, he settled. His look at me was oddly assessing; I wondered what he saw. I was still tired from the magery I’d used first on the storm, then to read my mother’s bones, and was looking forward to a night’s sleep in a real bed. Especially since I’d missed it the last time we were here.

Then Fouad looked at Nayyib, narrowed his eyes as he sought to figure out who he was; his face cleared, and he nodded. He recalled the kid from when he’d come looking for a healer. Del shut and latched the door behind us.

"Food, no doubt, and drink," Fouad said. "Yes?"

"Yes to both," I agreed. "Del and the kid will eat in the front room; how about you send something back to me? I’d rather keep my head down, after what happened the last time.

Fouad’s eyes flicked to Nayyib again, clearly questioning his presence. The kid had been taught his manners: He bowed slightly, smiling. "Neesha," he said. "I am privileged to be the Sandtiger’s student."

Fouad’s eyebrows ran up into his hair as he looked at me. "Student?"

I shrugged, deciding now was as good a time as any to announce my intentions. "I plan to restore Alimat and take up my shodo’s role."

"Alimat! But it was destroyed years ago!" Fouad shook his head. "And I doubt the other sword-dancers will let you. Particularly Abbu Bensir."

"If they want to take it up with me, they’re welcome to. That in itself would provide a valuable lesson for the students."

"Watching you die? I would say so!" He glanced at Del. "You’re amenable?"

Del mimicked my shrug. "Why not? There will be two teachers: a Southron sword-dancer and a Northern sword-singer. What other school may claim that?"

"And one student already," Neesha added.

Fouad wagged his head back and forth thoughtfully. "Well, you will most certainly draw students — until someone kills you."

I scowled. "I appreciate the confidence. Now, how about that food and drink?"

"I’ll eat with you," Del offered, turning toward the back hallway.

Neesha grinned wickedly. "While I eat out front and attempt to charm Fouad’s wine-girls."

Fouad grunted. "I suspect you’ll have any number of offers be-fore the food’s on the table. But come along; I’ll introduce you as a friend of the new owners. That ought to be good enough for a discount." His tone went dry as dust. "That is, if they don’t decide to offer themselves for free, as has been known to happen with certain regular customers I won’t mention in present company."

Neesha, still grinning, threw a conspiratorial look over his shoulder at Del and me as if to make sure we understood what he was doing.

"Well, at least he’s not entirely oblivious." I turned Del and propelled her toward the back bedroom. "I guess if he’s got enough sense to know when we need some privacy, it won’t be so bad having him ride with us."

Del, allowing herself to be propelled, merely laughed. "I don’t think he’s doing that so much for our privacy as he is for his own! Fouad’s right: The girls will be fighting over him the moment he sits down. I rather think our new student will be most busy tonight."

I pulled back our door curtain. "I rather think we will be most busy tonight."

"And tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow we load the horses and head out again for the chimney at Beit al’Shahar. There’s a sword I need to have a discussion with."

Del sat down on the bed and began to unlace her sandals. "If you can find it. The whole formation collapsed, Tiger. Your jivatma may be completely buried."

"Worth a look anyhow." I stripped off the harness, unsheathed the sword, set it point down against one of the bedside tables. "If I can’t get to it, no one can; but my mother seemed fairly certain it could be found. I mean, who would have thought I could find her bones out there in the Punja? On the basis of dreams? It may be possible I can find Samiel, too."

"And if —" She corrected herself, "when — you do?"

"Dunno." I sat down, yawned, rolled my head against my shoulders, stretching tendons.

"He’s still a jivatma, Tiger. You used Northern magic to make him — and now you have your own magic as well."

"A magical sword, wielded by a mage who is also the long-lost grandson of one of the Eleven gods-descended Families of Skandi — and who also happens to be the jhihadi." I flopped down against the bed. "Something for people to write sagas and sing songs about, don’t you think?"

Del, barefoot now, undid the buckles of her harness. " ’The Sword-Dancer’s Tale.’ Well, perhaps."

"Maybe ’The Tale of Tiger.’ "

" ’And Del.’ "

My eyes drifted closed. "As long as my name goes first."

"Not when it’s sung or told in the North, it doesn’t."

I smiled. "Depends on the audience, I guess. Hmm — what about ’The Tiger’s Tale’?" "Or The Tiger’s Tail’?" I stuck my tongue out at her. "If you’re asleep when the food and drink arrives, do you want me to wake you up?"

"I’m not going to sleep. I’m resting my eyes."

"Do you want me to wake you up from resting your eyes?"

"Sure," I mumbled, "a man’s got to keep up his strength to satisfy his woman." And slid into the abyss before she could respond.

Del did indeed wake me up when the food and drink arrived. She slapped a cupped hand across my abdomen, making odd, hollowed, clapping sounds against my skin. Not entirely the most subtle way to awaken a sleeper.

"Up," she said. "Food’s here."

I scrunched up against the wall at the head of the bed, inspecting the skin of my abdomen. Then I helped myself to the platter bearing bread-bowls of mutton stew, cheese, grapes, and a small jug of what turned out to be ale.

"Tiger, we need a door on this room."

I slugged down about half the ale, then licked the foam from my upper lip. "We have a door."

"That’s a door way . I mean a door. I’d like some privacy, if we’re to stay here now and again."

"There’s a curtain."

"I would like a wooden door. With a latch."

I plucked grapes from their stems with my teeth and spoke around them. "Why so formal?"

"Because unless you don’t mind everyone else knowing our business, with all manner of false conclusions drawn about the fair-haired Northern bascha — for example, how much does Fouad charge for me? — I think we need a door. A wooden door. With a latch."

"You have a point." I dropped the denuded grape stems back on the platter. "I’ll have a word with Fouad. Anything else you’d like, while we’re at it?"

"Well, I’d recommend he dismiss all the wine-girls who double as whores, but I’m quite sure he would not agree to that."

"I think that’s a safe conclusion. We’d probably lose all kinds of business and thus all kinds of profit. We’d have to close down."

"The gods forfend," Del said dryly, reaching for the other jug; water, no doubt.

I paused before putting a chunk of cheese in my mouth. "You don’t sound particularly enamored of being a partner in a thriving cantina. Just think of the benefits!"

"What benefits? Other than free drinks for you?"

"We’ll be the first to hear all rumors and reports of whatever may be going on in the world. At least, our little corner of it."

"That’s a benefit?"

"It is when you know anywhere from ten to twenty men are bent on executing you."

"And you’ll run back here to hide any time one of them comes into the cantina?"

"Oh, no. We’ll clear all the furniture out of the common room, cut a circle into the hardpack, then charge admission for the dance. Plus take a percentage of the side bets." I grinned wickedly. "Rather like we used to do, when we needed money."

Del used her knife to carve curling strips of cheese from the hunk Fouad had sent along. "Those were not actual dances."

"Which means we can charge even more money for a real one."

Her eyes were on the cheese, but her idle tone was nonetheless underscored by solemnity. "What will it take to make them stop?"

"Once I kill enough of them, the rest will find other things to do."

"I’m serious, Tiger."

"So am I. It’s true. I killed Khashi quickly and brutally in front of many witnesses. Then I won a difficult sword-dance against a very, very good young man, in front of a whole slug of sword-dancers. Once I kill a few more, most of them will stop coming."

"And will it be like Fouad suggested, that they’ll want to stop you from resurrecting Alimat?"

"Very likely." I took up horn spoon and bread-bowl of stew and began scooping the contents into my mouth. Seeing Del’s concern, I paused between bites. "I have to see it settled, bascha. We can’t go North, and I have no desire to return to Skandi, where I’d likely be hauled off to ioSkandi again and stuck back atop the spires in Meteiera. I also have no desire to go haring off to foreign lands. The South, despite all its problems, is my home. Coming back made me realize that. I won’t run away again."

She nodded, clearly troubled. "I know."

I sighed, set down the bowl and spoon. "Del, something happened to me. I became aware of it when I was Umir’s ’guest.’ I don’t know how it happened, and I can’t even be sure it will happen again, but when I danced, when I took up my sword — I felt as if I had all four fingers on each hand."

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."