Sword Sworn

EPILOGUE

Alric dragged me out of the house. "Come on, Tiger."

"I’m not going — Alric, let go…" I tried to free my arm. "This is my own house, you know!"

He didn’t give up. "Yes, I know that. I helped you build it. Now, come on."

Another harsh, half-throttled cry came from the bedroom where Del was in labor. Lena was there and one of Mehmet’s aketni, an old woman who’d borne many children herself. Alric’s children were off being tended by another of Mehmet’s aketni, to get them out from under our feet.

I planted mine. "Alric —"

"We’re going." He practically jerked me off my feet. "Trust me, there is nothing we can do except get in the way. Lena told me that with the birth of every baby. Now that it’s you in my sandals, I understand why."

He’d gotten me as far as the dooryard. The panoply of the canyon opened before us, a spectacular fall day with trees ablaze, but I was in no mood for scenery. "How can you expect me to wait out here? She’s been in labor since last night. She could die from this!"

He shoved me toward the stream. "Yes, she could, but I doubt it. Del is strong, and she’s had a baby. Now, go sit down with your feet in the water."

"She had that baby nine years ago!"

"Tiger, she’s young enough to have ten or twelve more after this one."

Hoolies, what an image! I stomped down to the stream, swearing all the way. Alric followed me, likely making sure I didn’t try to go back to the low-roofed house built of mudbrick hauled in from elswhere, since the soil here was better fit for crops. It’s what Mehmet and his aketni had done.

I stood on the streambank and listened for Del’s cries over the sound of the water. I didn’t hear anything, which was probably Alric’s intent.

Something occurred to me: absence. "Where’s Neesha?"

Alric sat down in the grass, then leaned back on elbows. "He and Ahriman climbed up to the chimney earlier. Your new student is very eager to learn everything he can about his shodo."

I grimaced. "Ahriman won’t make it past the second level."

"No, probably not. But he’s a paying student for the time being."

One student in six months. Two if you counted Neesha, but I didn’t expect him to pay; I figured a father owes his son that much, especially when he’s been absent for almost twenty-four years of his life.

I smiled. "Neesha will make it past the second level."

Alric laughed. "Oh yes."

"He wants very badly to achieve seven levels faster than I did."

"Of course. He’s your son. But he’s hungrier than you were."

I glared at Alric. "You weren’t there. How do you know he’s hungrier than I was? He’s certainly had an easier life than I did!"

"It’s a different kind of hunger, Tiger. Your ambitions were to escape slavery in body and mind. Neesha wants to live up to the legend he’s held in his mind since childhood and to make you proud of him."

"I am proud of him!"

Alric shrugged. "He has to discover it in his own way."

But my mind turned from Neesha and back to Del. Unable to stand still or sit, I began to pace. "Hoolies, I’d rather be in the midst of a death-dance than this. How can you stand the waiting, Alric?"

"Well, I’ve done it four times, so I have experience. And will likely do it again a few more times." His smile was content. "Four healthy daughters."

I stopped pacing. "Del says men make their wives keep having babies until they get a son, even if their wives don’t want to."

"That may be true of some men," Alric agreed equably, "but I’ll have sons enough when my daughters marry."

If I had a daughter… if I had a daughter, men would think of her as they did of all women. Even as I had, before Del trained me out of it.

Well, mostly.

"I’ll kill them," I said.

Alric’s brows ran up beneath the fair hair hanging over his forehead. "Kill who?"

"The men who try to get my daughter into bed."

The big Northerner laughed. "She’s not even born yet, Tiger — and she may be a he!"

"I need to think about it, though. What I might face. Because, you know, if it is a girl, and she looks like Del…"

"Let’s hope so. I’d rather a daughter look like Del than a big, slow danjac such as her father."

"I can’t do this," I said abruptly. "I can’t just wait out here. What if Del wants me with her?"

"Trust me, Tiger, Del doesn’t want you with her. Best you stay out here — unless you like having her curse you."

"I’m going." I started toward the house, taking huge, long strides to get me there the faster. Then Lena appeared in the doorway and I began to run. "Is she all right? Is she all right?"

Lena was smiling as I arrived. "She’s well, Tiger. So is the baby."

I stopped dead. "The baby? It’s here?"

"Yes, the baby is here. Go in, Tiger. You’ve been waiting long enough."

But suddenly I couldn’t make myself move. "Maybe I shouldn’t. Del will be tired. She’ll want to rest."

Lena laughed. "Go on, Tiger."

I felt a hand come down on my shoulder. Alric’s. "She won’t curse you now. They never do once the baby’s born."

I took a deep, steadying breath, then a second one. And I went in to see what the Northern bascha and I had wrought.

The old woman of Mehmet’s aketni was helping Del drink a cup of something that smelled slightly astringent. When she saw me come into the bedroom, she smiled, set the cup down, and waved me in. Staring at Del, I didn’t notice her departure.

I couldn’t see any baby. Just Del, lying beneath the covers. She was propped up against pillows. Lines of exhaustion were in her face, but there was also a contentment that outshone everything else.

I lingered in the doorway until she saw me. Her hair, wet with perspiration, was pulled back, braided out of the way. Her smile was weary, but happy.

"Where is it?" I asked.

"Where is she, Tiger. A baby is not an it."

Ah, good. She sounded normal.

Then it struck me. "It’s a girl?"

"That’s what ’she’ usually means. And she’s right here."

I saw then that they had wrapped the baby in so many layers that she looked more like a lump of bedclothes than a person. Del lifted that lump from beside her. I heard a muffled noise that sounded suspiciously like a sandconey warning of predators.

"Come see your daughter."

I didn’t move. "You don’t want to do this again, do you? Ten or twelve more times?"

Del looked horrified. "No! Why do you ask me such a thing?"

"Alric said you could have ten or twelve more… and he and Lena are already headed in that direction."

She laughed. "Tiger, stop putting it off and come and see your daughter."

When I reached the bed, Del put up a hand and urged me to sit. I did, very carefully. And then she peeled back the wrappings and I saw the face.

I was aghast. "What’s wrong with her?"

"There’s nothing wrong with her."

"She’s all red and wrinkled! And she has no hair!"

Del’s smile bloomed. "The red will fade, the wrinkles will go, and the hair will grow. But she does have some hair, Tiger. It’s baby fuzz. See?"

To please Del, I said that yes, I could see the wisps of something that approximated hair. But if that’s all she was going to have the rest of her life, I wouldn’t have to worry about what men might think.

"Hold her, Tiger. She’s yours, too."

I recoiled. "I’d drop her!"

"You won’t drop her. Have you ever dropped a sword?"

I refused. "You can hold her. I’ll just look at her."

"I’m very tired," Del said. "I’m very weak. I need you to hold her."

I cocked an eyebrow at her. "You aren’t any better at lying now than you were before she was born."

Del was aggrieved. "I am tired, Tiger."

She was. Some of the animation in her face had faded. "Are you all right? I mean, will you be all right?"

"I will be fine just as soon as you hold your daughter."

I scowled. She always did drive a hard bargain. "All right. What do I do?"

"Just take her in your arms and cradle her. Put her head in the crook of your elbow."

"What if she cries?"

"Just hold her."

"What if she’s hungry?"

"Then give her back to me."

I leaned forward, grasped the lump, lifted. Discovered she weighed nearly nothing.

Del’s tone was appalled. "Don’t just clutch her in midair, Tiger! Hold her against your chest."

Apparently I got it sorted out, because Del quit giving me advice. She lay there smiling at us both.

I ventured, "Does she have any arms and legs, or is she just a lump with a head attached?"

Del sighed. "I should have known you wouldn’t appreciate the moment."

I grinned. "It’s not a moment, bascha. It’s a baby."

She reached out a hand and stroked the wrappings. "I thought maybe we could call her Sula."

It shocked me. I could think of nothing to say.

"That woman gave you your freedom," Del said. "As much as there was to be found in the Salset. Not enough, I know — but more than you might have had otherwise."

After a moment, when I had my emotions under control, I nodded. "Take her," I said. "Bascha — take her."

She heard the tone in my voice. "What is it? What’s wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong. Nothing, bascha." I leaned forward, steadied the little bundle as she was taken from me, then bent down and kissed Del’s forehead. "Rest. I’ll come back later."

I waited until she had settled the baby beside her. As her eyes drifted closed, I left the room.

Alric saw my face as I came out of the house. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong."

"You look — odd."

"I’m fine."

"Then why are you in harness?"

"There’s something I need to do."

"Tiger — something’s wrong."

"Nothing’s wrong," I repeated. "There’s just something I need to do." I paused. "Alone."

Alric was troubled. He and Lena were sitting outside the house on the wooden bench I’d built. The chickens Mehmet had given us darted around the dooryard, and the half-grown gray tabby cat was chasing an insect. We had, in six months, accumulated all the trappings of a regular family: a house, chickens, mouser, two goats.

And now a daughter.

"I have to, Alric. I’ll be back later."

He nodded and let me go.

I met up with Neesha and Ahriman at the passageway into the upper canyon. Ahriman was a short, compact Southroner with black hair and eyes. He was several years younger than Neesha and rather shy in my presence. Which made it difficult to get him to actually attack me in the schooling circle. He did better with Neesha, whom he did not hold in awe.

"How’s Del?" Neesha asked at once.

"She’s fine. So’s the baby."

"She had it?"

"Her. She had ’her.’ " I nodded. "A little while ago."

Neesha was studying me. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong."

"Tiger-"

I stopped him with a raised hand. "Nothing is wrong. Go on up and see Del and the baby — she’s your half-sister, after all. I’ll be back."

Neesha didn’t look any less concerned than Alric. But I had no time for them.

No time for much of anything.

The climb up to the broken chimney was easier now than when I’d made it six months before. Not only did I know where I was going, but I was utterly focused on my goal. When I reached the tunnel, I didn’t think twice about the darkness. I ducked my head, went inside, followed it back to the slot near the boulders blocking the rest of the passageway. There I took off the harness, dropped it to the dirt floor, and pulled the stopper from the little pot I’d collected on the way out of the house. I smeared grease on my abdomen and spine, tossed the empty pot away, unsheathed the jivatma. I left the harness where it lay.

It wasn’t easy getting through the slot. Neesha had been right about leaving layers of skin on the rock. But the grease served me well, and at last I scraped myself into the chimney.

The chamber was small, about one-quarter the size of the original circle. Sunlight worked its way down through cracks, illuminating the area, but the chimney wasn’t a chimney anymore. Mostly it was a pile of rocks and sections of ribbed wall. But the floor was still the pale Punja sand Del and I had discovered before.

I glanced around. Found what I expected: Del’s jivatma. Boreal lay in two pieces. I didn’t touch them. I set down my sword and bent to unlace my sandals. When that was done, I stripped out of my dhoti. I collected my sword, moved to the center of what remained of the chimney chamber, and sat down cross-legged with the jivatma across my thighs.

In fractured light, I looked at my hands. Two thumbs, three fingers on each. The stubs were no less obvious than before, but I hadn’t really noticed them for a while. The training I’d done on the island near Haziz still served me. Since settling in the canyon, I had spent every day working through the forms, keeping myself fit. Sparring matches with Neesha and Alric — I had refused to fight Del once I knew she was pregnant, which irritated her to no end — maintained my speed, strength, and technique. In fact, Alric said I was better than before.

If that were true, it was because something inside me, some facet of the magic, lent me an edge. When I danced, I felt four fingers on the hilt. Not three. My grip was the grip it had been before losing them. And I had no explanation. Only gratitude.

I closed my hands lightly over the sword. Went into my head. Dug into my soul. Peeled the flesh off the bones, shed muscle and viscera, until I found the magic buried so deep inside.

It wasn’t a flame, but a coal. It burned steadily, unceasingly, using me as the fuel. It would kill me one day, merely because it existed. Because my mother was of the Stessoi, one of the gods-descended Eleven Families of Skandi, and those gods had been capricious enough to set their mark on me even as my mother, and I, lay dying in the Punja near my father’s body. Because I was ioSkandic, a mage of Meteiera, meant to leap from the spire to merge with the gods when the madness overcame me.

In ten years. Twelve.

I had a son. A daughter. I had Delilah.

I wanted to live forever.

Or at least as long as I possibly could as man, not mage, without the interference of a magic I never wanted. Even though I’d used it.

"Find me" she had said, "and take up the sword."

My mother had died giving birth to me. But she had served me nonetheless by setting me on the road to this place. To this moment. To this decision.

No other was possible.

I found the coal inside. Took it up. Blew gently upon it. Felt the heat rise; saw the flame leap. I coddled it. Cradled it. Nursed it into being. Kept it alive. Bade it serve me.

Made it serve me.

Once I had had a sorcerer inside me. And in my jivatma.

It was time to put the mage that was me in the jivatma. The power, if not the man.

For the first time since I’d been reborn atop the spire in Meteiera, I thanked the priest-mages who had altered mind and body. Because in doing so they had given me the key.

Discipline.

"Mother," I said aloud; and discovered how odd it was to use the word as an address. A title. "Mother, you bred me for this. Bred it in me, bequeathing me something else of your people besides height, coloring, even keraka. Magic, magery, is not a gift I desire, or require. I wanted freedom — and won it because of Stessoi magic. I wanted to be a sword-dancer — and became one because of Skandic strength, the heritage of you, my father, and everyone before us. But now comes the time for me to look forward instead of backward. To, as Del would say, make a new song. To do that, I must make a new man. One who wishes to live for the children he has made, children who are of Stessoi flesh and bone even as I am. But also of the North, and of the South. If to do that I must cut away a part of me that you gifted me, so be it. I have made the choice."

There was no answer. I had no bone to fuel the dream-walk. But I had clarity of purpose, and the certainty to fuel that.

It took time. It nearly took me. But I felt the flame of the power become conflagration, feasting on my flesh. I poured it into and through my arms, down into the sword. Into Samiel, whose song I sang in a broken, shaking voice.

Discipline.

And when it was done, when the magic that had, at age sixteen, won me my freedom, resided in the sword, I stood up from the sand. Walked to the chimney wall. Found a crevice. I thrust the jivatma blade into the stone as deeply as I could.

And then I broke it.

I was a sword-dancer. It was all the magic I needed.

I smiled even as I wept. Even as I placed the two halves of the broken jivatma with Del’s. Even as I shakily put on dhoti and sandals and went back through the slot, leaving layers of grease and skin.

In the tunnel, I collected my empty harness.

When I walked up the canyon I was thinking about Del. Not about circles, or sword-dancers, or elaii-ali-ma. Not about challenges. Not about dancing. Not about the price for breaking lifelong oaths.

Certainly not about Abbu Bensir. But he was there. And I understood why. On this day of all days, we had finally arrived at the moment we both had known would come: the dance that would define us both.

He stepped out of the doorway of my house as I approached. He wore only a dhoti and held a sword. "You were hard to find," he told me, "but then I heard about Alric and his family heading down here with a kid who’d been seen with you and Del, and I knew."

I said nothing. I waited.

His tone changed. "Sandtiger," he said, "by the rite of elaii-ali-ma I am not required to challenge you or to meet you in the circle. I am required only to kill you. But I have not forgotten the ignorant boy who, all unknowing, taught me a lesson before others at Alimat, even before the shodo. For that, I will offer you the honor of meeting me in the circle."

Very slowly, I unbuckled my harness. Dropped it to the ground. Spread my hands. I had no sword; I could not accept.

Abbu Bensir smiled. "The boy has said he will lend you his."

The boy. My son. Who had once been taught by the man before me.

"Where are they?" I asked.

Abbu stepped out of the doorway into the yard. Neesha came out. And Alric.

The big Northerner said, "Lena’s with Del. She’s fine."

"Does she know?"

Something spasmed briefly in Alric’s face. "She’s asleep."

Ah. Well, probably for the best.

Abbu nodded. "I have asked the boy to start the dance for us. Shall we waste no more time?"

"The boy," I said, "has a name."

"Nayyib. I know. I met him some years ago, apparently, though I confess I don’t recall." He flicked a glance at Neesha, standing white-faced in the dooryard. "Give him your sword."

We had met several times, Abbu and I. That first time at Alimat, when I nearly crushed his throat. His voice still bore the scars. Once or twice after that, merely to spar because we ran into each other in a distant desert town with no other entertainment. Then for years, nothing. The South is a large place, and we ranged it freely. We were to meet again at Iskandar during the contest, but I’d been kicked in the head by the stud and was in no shape to dance. More recently, we had met at Sabra’s palace, where I had aborted the dance by declaring elaii-ali-ma.

To this day neither of us knew which was the better man.

I walked over to Neesha and looked him in the eye. "I thank you for the honor of the use of your sword."

He wanted to speak. Didn’t. Just unsheathed and gave me his sword.

I led Abbu to one of the sparring circles and waited. He studied it, walking the perimeter, noting how the turf was incised and marked with small pegs denoting the circle, so the grass wouldn’t cover it. Inside, the meadowgrass was beaten down, crushed by feet. He walked there, too, to learn the footing. In a strange place, we would not have done so; but this was my home, and Abbu was due the chance to learn what its circle was like. He set his sword in the center, then walked away. I did the same. We faced one another from opposite sides.

He was older than I, smaller, lighter. But he’d always been fleet of foot. Age lay on him more heavily than the last time we’d met, but he was as fit as ever.

"I hear you danced against Musa."

So, he knew him. Or knew of him. "Umir’s idea. But yes. I did."

"I hear you killed him."

"He insisted."

"Ah." Abbu nodded. "Musa was a proud boy. I did warn him it would get him killed one day, if he didn’t quench it. I didn’t believe it would be this soon."

"How well did you know him?"

"I taught him. Oh, not as the shodo taught us. He didn’t stay with me for years, learning the forms. He came to me with a natural skill honed by other instructors: the sword-dancers he’d already defeated. He wished to defeat them all and desired my help. When I saw how he danced, I gave it to him." His creased face tautened briefly. "I did not believe you could defeat him."

I nodded. "Neither did Musa."

Dark eyes flicked to Neesha. "Now."

Neesha stood two paces away. Alric had moved to stand behind me, well out of the way.

I looked at my son and nodded.

His jaw clenched. "Dance."

It was a fast-moving, vicious fight, unlike anything Abbu and I had engaged in before. But then, though not friends, we had been friendly rivals, more interested in the challenge. We had never fought to the death. Even before Sabra, he had retained the honor I’d always seen in him, doing his best to respect the honor codes despite Sabra’s desire for me to die.

He respected those codes now. But this time he wanted me dead.

Within four engagements each of us had drawn blood. I had a slash across one thigh and a cut along my ribs, matching the one Musa had given me on the other side. Blood dripped from the inside of Abbu’s right arm, but it wasn’t a mortal wound. We were a long way from dying.

And I had discovered that the ritual I performed to rid myself of the magic had also tired me. I felt as if a part of me were missing; and maybe it was. The fingers were. No more was there the odd conviction that they were still attached. My hands were as Sahdri had made them: a thumb and three fingers, no more. The stumps were sore. My grip was weakened. As Abbu engaged my blade again, the sword twisted in my hands.

Abbu Bensir was not as young as Musa, but he was far wiser. He would not make the mistake Musa had.

And I could die for it.

My world closed down. My mind registered all of the factors that affected a dance, such as footing, footwork; how the light lay; the reach of blades and arms; the rhythm of my breathing and his; even the blood running down my flesh. The canyon was filled with the belling of blades, the screech of steel on steel.

Yet again his blade touched me, slashing high across one hip. I broke away, stumbled, felt more blood running, saw the light in Abbu’s eyes. He came in, blade raised and moving. I blocked it, held it, spun away. Felt the pain in my hip. Felt the sudden tilt of the world.

I took a step forward. Went down. Caught myself with both hands splayed against the ground. The hilt of Neesha’s sword remained beneath my right hand, but I couldn’t grasp it properly. The stump banged against leather grip, sending fire through my arm.

Abbu came on. I grabbed the fallen blade, stayed on my knees, brought the hilt up. I planted the pommel in his belly even as his sword sang down on the diagonal, slicing straight into the meat up my upper arm. I felt the steel grate on bone.

But Abbu had lost the impetus of his blow when I jabbed the sword hilt into his abdomen. He fell back, gasping, slightly hunched. I got to my feet, aware that the wound was a bad one. The arm didn’t want to work. I wavered, nearly fell down, caught my balance with effort. Blinked as sweat ran into my eyes.

Abbu went to one knee. He cradled his lower belly with his left arm. His face was gray.

I was one-armed now. I stayed on my feet with effort, aware of the roaring in my ears. And then, as it so often did, time slowed for me. I had no magic, but I had skill and the odd accuity that always served me.

Abbu got up. He winced as he straightened, then wrapped both hands around his sword hilt. He came across the circle. Slowly. So slowly.

I saw the blade rise. Saw my blood on it. As he came on, I let go of the sword — Neesha’s sword — in midair and caught it upside down as it hung there at the apex. I held it overhand now, the pommel exiting above my thumb. I pulled it and my arm back across my body, elbow bent; as Abbu closed, I snapped my arm toward him in a backhanded, punching thrust, keeping the power close to my body. The desperate maneuver allowed Abbu inside, to make contact with my body, but by then my blade had been shoved straight through his body. I heard his outcry, felt the warmth of his breath on my face, took his weight on my right shoulder as he fell forward.

With the last bit of my strength, I thrust him away from me with my right arm, letting him take Neesha’s sword. He fell hard, full-length, his head smacking dully against the ground. The sword stood up from his body.

They were with me then, Neesha and Alric. I felt hands on me, holding me upright, supporting my left arm. Someone tied something around my upper arm to try to slow the bleeding. But I pushed them away, staggered to Abbu. Saw the blood on his lips. Before I could say a word, before I could speak the ritual blessing for a seventh-level sword-dancer at the edge of death, he was gone.

Over.

Ended.

The first of the shodo’s greatest lay dead in the circle.

This time I didn’t fight them as Alric and Neesha gathered me up, kept me on my feet, aimed me toward the house. We were nearly there when I saw Del in the doorway. Hollows lay like bruises under her eyes, and her lips were pale. One hand clutched the doorjamb; the other lay across her mouth, as if to physically restrain the fear that she would not confess.

But a smile of relief began behind the hand, and she lifted her fingers away. She reached out, closed that hand on the back of my neck, shakily pulled me close. Her robes were immediately soaked with my blood. "Come inside."

Alric and Neesha got me there. Del directed them to the bed in the other room. I protested weakly. "What about the baby?"

"She’s in the cradle," Del told me. "She missed her father proving once and for all that he is the greatest sword-dancer in the South."

"Well," I gasped, "she’ll probably see it again."

Alric and Neesha helped me to sit on the bed. Unconsciousness crowded in. I was aware of people moving around, bandaging me, of words exchanged about a heating knife; but none of it made any sense. Everything felt distant.

"What about you?" I asked Del, even as they made me lie down.

She had moved around to the other side of the bed. She sat down, caught her breath, then took my right hand. "I’m here."

I wanted to tell her she had no business sitting up in bed hanging onto me so I could hang onto her, but then Alric thrust a twist of cloth between my teeth, told Neesha to hold my arm, and pressed the red-hot knife blade against the wound in my upper arm.

I woke the baby up. Del said something about having two screaming infants in her house, and then she very suddenly lay down next to me.

Ridding my mouth of cloth, I croaked, "You all right?"

Her head moved against mine in a weak nod.

I glanced at Alric, who was dropping the knife into a wooden bowl. "You enjoyed that. Making me yell."

He grinned. "So I did."

Now I looked at Neesha. "Still want to be a sword-dancer, after seeing that?"

He drew in a breath. "After seeing that, I want to be nothing else."

Guess it was in the kid’s blood after all. I smiled faintly to tell him I approved, then rolled my head toward Del. I heard the sounds of Neesha and Alric leaving. The baby had gone back to sleep. I thought her mother was on the verge herself. "You awake?"

Her voice was a breath of sound. "Barely."

"I have a question."

She was fading fast. So was I. "What?"

"Who’s really the best? You or me?"

Del lifted her head enough to stare at me in wide-eyed, rigid disbelief. Then dropped it back down again. "I guess we’ll just have to have a dance to find out."

"All right. Tomorrow?"

"Fine," she murmured.

I turned my head enough to feel her hair against my face. Opened my mouth to tell her we’d have to be vigilant about the men who lusted after our daughter — and then exhaustion hit me over the head with a cantina stool.

A woman. A son. A daughter.

Was this what I had expected?

No.

But it was what I had dared to dream, at night among the Salset.