Sword Maker-Sword Dancer 3 (42 page)

I could have said no, and been truthful. But lying has its uses; in this case,

I'd get my answer. "I'm blood-bonded to his sister."

Kinship. Such a simple, obvious key to unlock Vashni secrets. To force the warrior's hand.

He looked past me again to the others. But I knew he'd have to tell me what he

knew, no matter how he felt. They are a fierce, ferocious tribe, but the Vashni

have their weaknesses just like anyone else. In this case, it was kinship.

They

won't tolerate bastards or half-bloods, but full-birth kinship or blood-bond takes precedence over pride.

His eyes were not kind. "There was such a boy."

"A Northern boy--sixteen?"

"He was as you describe."

I kept my voice even. "You said 'was'?"

The Vashni didn't play diplomat to try to soften the blow. "The Northern boy is

dead. This is a holy war, Southron--we must purge our people of impurities to prepare for the jhihadi."

I tried not to think of Jamail--or Del--as my own contempt flowered. "Is that what the Oracle said?"

I expected offense to be taken. I expected to have to fight. But the Vashni warrior smiled.

It was open, unaffected, and utterly genuine. Then he turned and went into the

rain.

How do I tell Del? How in hoolies do I tell her? Sula's gone, chula.

Salvation

no longer exists.

How am I to tell her she's the only one left of her blood?

How do you thank Sula for all that she was and did?

I can't just walk into our borrowed bedroom and say: "Your brother's dead, bascha."

You can't go to the gods of valhail and ask to have Sula back.

It would kill her. Or get her killed; she'd immediately go after Ajani.

How do you tell a childless woman that she still gave birth to a son?

She's only just now coming to realize there's more to life than revenge.

How do you tell a dead woman she's the one who gave you life?

Is her freedom worth the price?

Is my freedom worth the price?

Something was wrong. I knew it immediately as I got closer to the house Del and

I shared with Alric and his brood. There is a feeling, a sound... when a crowd

gathers to witness death, everybody knows.

Too much dying, I thought. First Sula, then Jamail--who was dying now?

The death-watch was on. It took all I had to break through, trying to reach the

house. And then all I had to stop.

Oh, gods--oh--hoolies--

All the hairs stood up on my body. My belly began to churn. The street stank of

magic.

Oh, hoolies--no--

Someone had my jivatma.

No--my jivatma had him.

But I put it away. I wrapped it up, set it aside, put it away--

And someone had stolen it.

Now it was stealing him.

He dug in mud with his feet. Sprawled on his back, he dug. Because the blade had

gone in at his belly and threaded its way through his ribs to peek out at the top of a shoulder.

Showing a blackened tip only slightly tainted by blood.

No one kills that way. A clean thrust through ribs, through belly; a slash across abdomen. But no one threads a sword through ribs like a woman weaving cloth.

Except for Chosa Dei.

He lay on his back in the rain, digging mud with his feet. Trying to shred the

cloth of his flesh so he could unstitch the hideous needle.

How can he be alive?

Because Chosa Dei wants the body.

I thrust my way through the gathered crowd and knelt down at his side. His eyes

saw me, knew me; begged for me to help.

Slowly I shook my head: he'd known what the sword was. He'd told me about Chosa

Dei.

"Why?" was all I asked.

His voice was wracked by pain. "She wouldn't have me--have me... Xenobia wouldn't have me ..."

"Is she worth dying for?"

"They wouldn't have me--have me... they said I was a bastard..."

From whom I had come, I knew. "Vashni," I said grimly. "That's your tribal half."

Nabir didn't nod. Black eyes were wide and fixed. "My brother," he said. "My brother; yes? I must unmake my brother."

"Nabir!" I shut my hand on his arm. "Give him up, Chosa."

"I must unmake my brother."

"But I'm here, Chosa. How do you plan to win?"

Nabir dug mud with his feet. "I knew what it was--I knew... with this sword, they might have me... with this sword, she might have me... the sword of the Sandtiger--"

There was very little blood. Chosa Dei was taking it all.

"Nabir--"

"I tripped... he made me trip... he took my feet away--"

Immediately, I looked. Nabir still dug mud, but there were no feet to do it.

Only mud-coated stumps.

"--and I fell... and it turned... without a hand on it, it turned--"

"Nabir--"

"CHOSA DEI--don't you know who I am?"

I put a hand on the hilt. Felt the virulence of his rage.

"Don't you know WHAT I am?"

Only too well.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry... I've got no choice, Nabir."

"I'll give him back his feet--"

"No, Chosa... too late."

"I'll unmake YOU--"

"Not while I hold this sword."

"You don't want this sword--"

Two hands on the hilt. "And you can't have this body."

Nabir's body arced. "SAMIEL!" it shouted. "The sword is Samiel--"

Eight

He wasn't quite dead. But I knew I'd have to kill him.

"Nabir," I said, "I'm sorry--"

--unthreaded the deadly needle--

Nabir was mostly gone. Chosa used what was left. "Sam--Sam--Samie--"

"No good, Chosa. Now it's just me."

--blood and breath rushed out.

Unfettered rage exploded.

Hoolies, but this hurts--

I was aware, if only dimly, of the crowd gathered around. For the moment, what

they saw was a dead man on the ground and another man by his side, holding on to

the sword that killed him. What they heard was a low, keening wail like the moan

of a stalking cat. They didn't know it was steel. They didn't know it was Chosa.

They only knew the boy was dead in messy, spectacular fashion.

Faces: Alric. Lena briefly, with the girls; she hustled them back inside.

Garrod, braids and all, working his way out of the crowd to the inside perimeter. And Adara, staring mutely, trying unsuccessfully to send Massou away.

And many, many strangers.

No Del. Where's De--

Chosa Dei was angry. Chosa Dei was very angry--and he took no pains to hide it.

It wasn't unexpected. But the power was overwhelming.

I knelt in bloody mud while the rain ran down my back, wishing I knew what to do. Wishing I had the strength. Wishing I had the ability to unmake my perverted

jivatma.

Heat coursed down the sword. In cold rain, steel steamed.

I shook. I shook with it, trying to suppress the raw power that strained to burst free of the sword. Chosa Dei was testing all the bonds, attempting to shatter the magic that bound him inside the steel. I knew better than to wonder

what could happen if I just let him go, let him free--if he left the sword entirely, he'd be nothing but an essence, lacking face or form. In order to be

what he wanted to be he'd have to have a body. He'd tried to take Nabir's.

He'd

take mine if I let him.

In rain, the blood washed away, leaving the blade free of taint... except for the discoloration reaching nearly to the hilt.

If Chosa ever touched it--

No.

My bones ached. They itched. Blood ran hot and fast, too hot and too fast, surging toward my head. I thought my skull would burst.

Samiel was shrieking. The sword was protesting Chosa.

If we could work together--

Light flashed inside my head.

Go to hoolies, Chosa... you're not beating me.

The blade began to smoke. .

You're not beating me--

Rain stopped falling. Mud began to dry. The ground beneath me steamed.

If it's a song you want, I'll sing it... I can't sing, but I will... I'll do what I have to, Chosa... whatever it takes, Chosa... you're not going to beat me, Chosa... you're not going to have my sword... you're not going to have me--

Parched mud began to crack.

I got off my knees and stood. Clutching the hilt in my hands. Watching the black

creep forward, licking at the hilt.

I'm a Southroner, Chosa--you're in my land, now.

A wind began to blow.

Do you really think you can win--?

The wind began to wail.

This is my land--

A hot, dry wind.

--you're not welcome here--

A wind from off the Punja.

--I don't want you here--

Blasting down through the alleyways, the streets, shredding silk burnouses, stripping makeshift roofs, drying eyes and mouths.

Go away, Chosa. Go back into your prison.

Dried mud broke and crumbled, blown northward out of the city.

Go back to sleep, Chosa. I'm too strong for you.

The sun ate into flesh.

Don't be stupid, Chosa... you're no match for me--

Black flowed down the sword and lodged again in the tip.

No, Chosa--away--

Chosa Dei refused.

No, Chosa--away--

Chosa withdrew a little... and then the firestorm engulfed me.

I came around to voices. "Keep him covered," someone said. "But he looks so hot," another protested. "He's sunburned. What he feels is cold." Sunburned?

How

could I be sunburned? The last I recall, the day had been full of rain. I shivered beneath the blanket. "I wish we could get him to let go of that sword."

"Do you want to touch it?"

"After what it did? No."

"Neither do I." Nothing was very important. I let it all drift away.

And then came back again, trying to make sense of the words.

"--what they're saying about the Oracle... do you think it's true?"

Alric's voice now; I was beginning to tell them apart. "It's why most of the people came here... to see the Oracle and the jhihadi."

"But they're saying he's coming now." That was Adara.

Garrod's tone was dry. "Right this very moment?"

"No. But any day. Maybe even tomorrow."

Lena's quieter voice: "I heard he's already here, but being hidden by the tribes."

"Why would they hide him?" Garrod asked. "He's what the people want."

Alric's tone was crisp. "There are those who'd like to kill him--or have him killed. And besides, would you show off your holy oracle before things were ready?"

Adara sounded puzzled. "What do you mean: things?"

Garrod understood. "If there really is a jhihadi, it would be more dramatic to

have the Oracle appear not long before the messiah. If he arrived too soon, everyone would get bored."

"People are already bored," Alric observed. "The tanzeers--who are perhaps the

most bored of all, and yet have the most at stake--have already taken to challenging one another. They're pitting sword-dancer against sword-dancer, wagering on the outcome... I was at the circles earlier, trying to earn a wage.

They're talking about the Oracle there, as well--wagering on him, of course, and

what kind of person he is. Rumor says he's neither man nor woman." Alric's tone

changed. "I'll go back as soon as I know Tiger is all right."

"Is he?" Adara asked.

Something I wanted to ask myself.

And then Del's voice, raised, from a little distance away, responding to Massou's treble comment in the other room. "What do you mean, he's sick?"

I peeled open an eye. Saw Lena, Alric, Garrod, Adara--and Del, pushing through.

The eye closed again.

"It's the sword," Alric told her. "It's done something to him."

She knelt down next to me. I realized, somewhat vaguely, I was lying on my own

bedding in the room Del and I shared. ,

She stripped away blankets. "Done what to him?"

Alric shook his head. "I can't tell you exactly what happened... I don't think

anyone really knows. But it was the sword. The jivatma--and Tiger. In the middle

of some kind of battle."

I cracked the eye again.

"Chosa Dei," Del said softly, creases marring her brow. Fingers were gentle and

deft, then she stopped examining me. "Tiger, can you hear me?"

I opened the other eye. "Of course I can hear you," I answered. "I can hear all

of you--now."

"What happened?"

"I don't know."

She pressed the back of her hand against my cheek. "You're sunburned," she said.

"And the day is blazing hot."

I blinked. "It was raining."

Del lifted her hand and pointed straight up.

I followed the direction of her finger. Realized Alric's makeshift blanket-and-skin roof had come down--or been torn down, since shreds were left

to dangle--and saw the sky clearly. The blue, burning sky, full of Southron sun.

No rain. No clouds. No wind. It was still, very still; my skin quailed from the

sun.

I moved a little. Felt weight in my right hand. Realized it held a hilt, with the blade still attached. "What in hoolies--?" I frowned at Del.

Alric answered instead. "You wouldn't let go. And no one dared to touch it."

Well, no; it was, after all, a jivatma.

I stiffened. Then wrenched myself off the bedding into a sitting position.

"Hoolies, that was Nabir!"

"It was." Garrod's face was solemn. "Whoever he was, he's dead."

I stared at the sword. Slowly, very slowly, I unlocked stiffened fingers and set

it down beside me. "He unmade Nabir's feet--" I swallowed heavily, realizing I

was dizzy; that my belly was none too content. "Then put himself into the boy.

First the sword, then himself...he nearly got what he wanted."

Adara's voice was puzzled. "I don't understand."

Del barely glanced over a shoulder, watching me instead. "Do you remember the loki, Adara?"