Sword Singer-Sword Dancer 2 (45 page)

back when you first started instructing me as if you were the kaidin and I the

an-ishtoya." I nodded as she stared. "I should have seen it then. All this blather about the North... I should have seen it then. You knew there was a chance you could buy your way out of an execution by offering a blood-gift to the voca--and that gift, you decided, was me."

Del's tone was flat. "Yes."

Anger, oddly, diminished with her admission. I sighed heavily. Turned from her,

faced the lake and mountains, folded my arms across my chest. "I suppose I don't

really blame you. And I think that's what makes me the angriest--I do understand

what you've done."

"And why?"

I shrugged. "Enough of the why, I guess. Mostly, I just feel empty. Tired, numb,

empty... I feel like I've been used."

Stark-faced, Del said nothing.

Idly I rolled a stone out of its pocket in the ground. Bent, picked it up, tossed it out into the lake. Watched it fall, heard its splash. Saw the rings ripple out from its passage. "I can't stay here."

She drew in a deep, uneven breath. "There may be an honorable way yet. I think

if you spoke to Telek, or maybe even Stigand, they could find a way to release

you from the year."

It brought a blossom of hope. Then it faded. "A way for me to buy myself out of

my sentence?" I smiled and laughed a little. "But what have I to sell? What have

I to trade?"

Del turned from me abruptly. Stared blindly out at the water, then just as abruptly swung back. "I want that year with Kalle. But I also want it with you."

Well, I suppose that's something. But I'm not sure, now, it's enough.

Thirty-nine

It was sundown. In the North, the colors are different. Here the sun moves behind snow-flanked mountains and sucks the daylight with it. But because much

of the day is gray and blue and ivory, the colors of sunset are muted. It simply

fades to deeper blues and bleaker grays, until the sun is replaced by moonlight,

holding luminous court against pallid black.

We gathered near a dolmen on the island: Stigand, myself, Telek. For questions

and explanations, hoping for solutions. None of us was happy.

Stigand was wrapped up in a warm green cloak, white braids corded with gold.

He'd shrugged the folds up near his head, warding his neck against drafts.

Gloomily, he stared past me to the dolmen, sucking the teeth he had left.

Telek was little better. He still wore deep brown and warm sienna. His mood was

decidedly darker.

"She won't be moved," I said. "She has made up her mind."

Telek's mouth twitched in wry displeasure. "Del always was stubborn."

Stigand's tone was querulous. "She has no respect for our customs."

"That's not true," I retorted. "And you know it, old man."

We had gone beyond the sometimes troublesome courtesies of strangers, being faced with the same unhappy reality we each had hoped to avoid. It cut through

the need for banalities like a shearing knife, showing us the brighter colors of

need in place of duller conversation. We wasted no time now.

Stigand sighed, snugged his cloak closer. "The others are adamant. She has bought her year, they say, with her gift of the Sandtiger. A worthy addition, they say, to the ranks of an-ishtoya."

I scratched through beard to chin. "I might have thought I'd at least be a kaidin.'"

Telek smothered a brief laugh. "Yes, well--undoubtedly. It was not intended as

an insult. But you have no knowledge of our styles, other than what Del has taught you, and that in itself is what gives you the an- honorific rather than

making you merely ishtoya. It is something, Southron; be thankful."

I looked at him squarely. "No. What I am is disgusted." I pulled the borrowed cloak around me, swathing myself like a Southron sandbat. "I don't belong here.

I don't want to be here. What I want is to go back across that lake and get my

horse, so I can go home again. Down South, where I belong. In the Punja, where

it's warm."

"Would that I could send you," Stigand muttered.

"You will be here a year," Telek told me patiently, ignoring the petulant comment. "There will be much to do. I doubt you will remain a mere an-ishtoya for long--with your Southron skills already in place, you will surely be elevated more quickly than most to the rank of kaidin--and then you may teach worthy students."

I grunted. "I don't want to teach. I'm a sword-dancer; I dance."

Stigand worked something out of his teeth, spat it onto the ground. "It is a waste of time--ours and theirs--when students choose sword-dancing over the more

honorable rank of kaidin."

Telek sighed. "Sword-dancing is also an honorable profession," he said patiently. "Your own son chose sword-dancing over the rank of kaidin, Stigand...

don't let your prejudice get in the way."

The old man spat again. "My own son was a fool," he said curtly. He looked at me

searchingly a moment, then his face twisted in uncertainty. "Do you know?"

I frowned. "Know what?"

"That Theron was my son."

It rocked me. All I could do was stare in shock at the old man, whose son I had

killed in the circle to keep him from killing Del. Theron, who had come South to

find the an-ishtoya and give her the choice of meeting him in the circle, or going North to face the voca.

Whose dead jivatma I had presented to his father.

"No," Telek said, "why should you? Unless Del told you, which seems unlikely; Del says very little very much of the time."

I reflected aloud there were times Del said entirely too much altogether.

Stigand grunted. Telek smiled.

"I'm sorry," I told the old man. "Had I known--"

Stigand didn't let me finish. "Did he die honorably?"

The dance was fresh in my mind. No, Theron had not died honorably because he had

cheated. He had requenched, as Del called it, making his jivatma doubly dangerous. Doubly powerful.

"Yes," I lied, "he did. It was a good dance."

Stigand sighed deeply. "Theron always was a stubbornly headstrong boy... much worse than all the others."

I glanced at Telek, raising brows in a silent question.

"Stigand has--had--eight sons," he said quietly.

Well, that was something. At least I hadn't killed the only one.

Telek's smile was very bland. "And I'm one of them."

Hoolies! Here I was standing alone in the trees in the dark with the father and

brother of a man I'd killed. Not something to make a man feel particularly welcome.

Uneasily, I stirred. "I didn't have much choice, you know. It was a dance to the

death."

Telek nodded. "Theron knew that when he left here looking for Del."

Stigand's tone was glum. "She always was better than Theron."

Telek nodded. "And he always resented it."

I cleared my throat. "About our problem with me leaving Staal-Ysta...?"

Father and son wore identical expressions of annoyance.

"There must be a way," I said flatly, equally annoyed. "Find me a way."

Telek glanced briefly at Stigand, who said nothing; looking gloomy. "Del promised you to us for twelve months, and the voca accepted."

It was all I could do not to shout at them. "Look. I'm a Southroner, not Northerner... I can't be bound by your voca or your customs if they interfere with my personal lifestyle. Del didn't warn me about what she intended to do, so

I was never given a chance to refuse." I shook my head. "This is not my place.

I

don't intend to stay here."

Telek's expression was grim. "You agreed to abide by the results of the trial."

I nodded vigorously. "Yes--before I had any idea Del intended to sell me back into slavery--" I broke it off before my desperation could begin to show.

"There

must be some way, Telek. An honorable, Northern way to set this Southron sword-dancer free."

After a moment, Telek looked at his father. Stigand looked no more pleased.

"You're asking for a special dispensation," he growled.

"I don't care what you call it. I just want to get out of here."

Telek scratched his jaw. "Perhaps there is a way. Even so, have you thought of

the consequences?"

I frowned. "What consequences?"

Telek didn't mince any words. "It means leaving Del behind."

I looked directly at Stigand. "Talk to the voca," I said. "Find me a way to leave."

The old man sucked a tooth and spat.

Waiting drives me sandsick. So does inactivity. Generally, when faced with the

former, I turn to banishing the latter with as much force as I can muster, seeking out opponents to meet me in the circle. Only this time, I couldn't. I had no sword.

I asked, of course. I thought surely someone could give me the loan of a sword.

But no one would. I was told--politely, of course--that only the an-kaidin could

choose a sword for me. When I protested that I had to have something, if only to

keep in shape, the declaration was repeated. Students were incapable of selecting the right sword for themselves; the task fell to the kaidin or an-kaidin. Since I had none yet officially assigned, I'd have to wait.

Waiting, again.

I could make no headway no matter how much I protested, so at last I demanded someone to row me across the lake to the other side, where I could at least ride

the stud. This was agreeable. And so they gave me Del.

Silence is an odd thing. It can be uncomfortable or relaxing. Peaceful or disturbing. Companionable or hostile. But the silence that reigned as Del rowed

me across was none of those things, being composed of an absolute absence of communication. I thought of all the things I wanted to say, yet said none of them. I hadn't sorted them out.

I jumped out as the boat was grounded. Two of the settlement children had brought the stud and another mount, a gray--signals from the island negated the

need for hiking down the lakeshore to the corrals--and I took his reins immediately, not bothering to see what Del was doing. Anchoring the boat, most

likely... but I didn't wait. I strode through the barrows and dolmens of Staal-Kithra, leading my horse, and climbed the steep path overlooking the lake.

The stud was snorty and inquisitive, shoving a demanding muzzle beneath my arm

and nibbling. Absently I scratched the underside of his jaw, not really giving

him the attention he craved. Instead I looked down at Staal-Kithra, watching the

woman accept the reins to her borrowed mount. She peered up at me, shading her

eyes; I gave her nothing in return.

Del came up, of course. As I had, half-climbing, half-scrambling, trying to stay

out of the way of a horse in a hurry to reach the top.

The gray was a gelding, a dark steel-colored horse with a frosting of darker dapples, pale mane and tail, smudgy muzzle. Like the stud, he wore winter hair,

made oddly shapeless beneath the weight. Del brought him over, gave him rein, let him graze as she moved to stand beside me.

For the first time since I've known her, I didn't want her there.

The day was bright, clear, cold. Wind ruffled my hair, stripping it out of my eyes and giving me an unobstructed view of the island in the water.

"I don't belong there," I said.

Del's tone was quiet, inoffensive. Yet the words offended me. "You belong wherever you want to."

"I don't want to belong down there," I told her curtly. "It isn't my place.

I'm

an old horse, Del. You can't take me to water and expect me to drink every time,

just because you say so, especially if I know the water is tainted."

She looked at me sharply, braids swinging. "Tainted! Staal-Ysta isn't--"

"It is," I said firmly, "for me. It's not what I want, Del. It's what you want,

maybe what you need, but it isn't what I desire. I'm a Southroner. I have no intention of changing myself just to fit into your world. Down South I have my

world, and that's where I'm going."

Wind put color back into her face. "Then--you've spoken to Telek and Stigand."

"Yes."

"Have they found you a way to be excused from the year?"

"Not yet."

She nodded. "What happens if they don't? Will you go anyway?"

I turned abruptly, shutting off the conversation. Led the stud away from the overlook. "I came up here to ride, Del, not to talk. If you want to ride, fine... if not, just wait for me down below." I swung up. "Unless, of course, you'd rather make me swim."

Del held the gray back as he tried to follow the stud. I saw the conflict in her

face: surprise, anger, guilt... then all poured swiftly away. Her flesh was hard

as stone. "I did the right thing."

"Right for whom, Del? Yourself? Maybe. Kalle? No. Me? Most definitely not.

But

then, you weren't thinking of me. You weren't even thinking of Kalle. You were

thinking of Del."

"Don't you think I should?" Her shout rang across the mountains. "Don't you think it's time I stopped thinking only of my murdered family and thought of myself instead?"

"Maybe," I agreed, "but maybe you should think of me, too, before you sell me back into slavery." The stud was filled to bursting with energy. It was all I could do to rein him in. He crowhopped, pawed, sidled, gnawed the bit in his mouth. Letting me know how he felt. "Del, I don't doubt it's easier for you simply to ignore my feelings by saying you've done it all for Kalle; maybe you

did, in some weird, twisted way. But it doesn't change the fact you've made me a

prisoner of a lifestyle I don't want."

"It's only for a year?"

"Too long," I flung back. "Sixteen years a slave with the Salset was too long for me. Four months a slave in Aladar's mine was too long for me. This is slavery, too, Del, because you gave me no choice. You just decided this was what