Sword Singer-Sword Dancer 2 (19 page)

woven cloth curtain pulled back. I saw blonde hair, blue eyes, concern.

"Bascha--?"

"Maybe," Del said dryly. "Which one of us did you want?"

Silence, I decided hastily, was the better part of valor.

Fourteen

I was in the Punja. In a hyort. Bathed in heat and sweat and stink.

I stirred. Tried to talk. A cool, callused hand touched my mouth gently, quieting my mumbles, and I subsided into silence.

I knew I had killed the sandtiger. But he had also nearly killed me. My face was

alive with pain; venom ran through my veins and set my flesh afire.

But I was still alive. And now I was free as well.

I stirred. Surely the shukar would see his way clear to giving me freedom now.

How could he deny it? I had killed the beast that had killed so many of us--no,

not us; I am not a Salset, being merely chula--and now the tribe would have to

reward me for it. They would have to, and the reward I craved was freedom.

The reward I demanded was freedom.

Gods of valhail, hounds of hoolies--would they give it to me at last?

My lips were parched; I licked them. Tried to wet them and found my mouth too dry. All of me was too dry, until a cool hand with a dampened cloth bathed my face, my neck, my chest, dipped to belly and paused. I heard an indrawn breath.

Sula?

Through closed eyes, I summoned her before me. A young Salset woman with characteristic coloring: lustrous black hair, golden skin, liquid, dark brown eyes. Sula was still unmarried but of an age to take a husband; that she hadn't

yet was attributable to me. And a definite breach of custom. I was a chula, she

was not; yet another reason the shukar hated me. He might have taken her for himself, although Sula herself would have denied him.

The vision-Sula wavered, faded, renewed itself. Only this time it wasn't the Sula who had given me manhood and dignity; who had argued for my freedom; who had told me to go when I had fairly won it. This time it was the Sula who had rescued Del and me from the Punja and brought us back among the living. An older, fatter Sula: broad of face, graying of hair, now a widow. But still a woman of enduring strength and courage.

Del.

And I realized I was dreaming.

"Bascha?" It came out on a broken croak.

The hand with the damp cloth spasmed against my flesh, withdrew itself hastily.

"No," she said, "it's Adara."

Adara. I opened my eyes. And realized how far I'd gone in my dreams.

I was in the wagon, the little horseless wagon, stuffed full of Borderer belongings. Adara knelt next to me, though there was hardly room, and held a dampened cloth in both hands. Fingers twisted and knotted it, then smoothed it

out to begin again. Bits of red hair straggled down the sides of her neck, caught in sweat against flesh. Her face was sheened with it. She wiped her brow

with the back of an arm.

A handsome woman, Adara. And strong, in her own way, though a bit blind about swords and dancing. "Here," she said, "I have water."

It was tepid, tasting of goatskin bota. But I sucked it down, savoring the wetness, and felt my throat come alive again. I thanked her and pushed it away.

"I have apologies to make," she said quietly.

I raised both brows.

"I have been too harsh with the children. I have been rude to you and Del."

I drew in a deep breath. "I just figured you had your reasons."

"I do. I did." She sighed and shredded the cloth again. "My husband was a sword-dancer."

Part of me was surprised. Part of me wasn't at all.

Adara, avoiding my eyes, stared at rigid hands. "He came down from the North to

the border, to our settlement; a strong blond giant, and my heart was lost at once. I was barely fifteen--he was older by twenty years, but somehow that didn't matter. I wanted him for my husband. But he was a man who lived by the sword, and I feared he would die by it also." Her mouth was thin and flattened,

hardening the set of her jaw. "I made him give it up."

"How?"

"By giving him a choice: the woman or the circle. Kesar chose the woman."

"And you've raised your children accordingly."

"Yes." Her gaze, now raised, was unflinching. Green as my own; as a sandtiger's.

"I wanted Cipriana to have a softer life than I, and I wanted Massou never to take up the sword."

"Wanted," I said clearly. "Now you've changed your mind?"

Adara drew in a deep, noisy breath. "What Del has said is true. I can't hide my

children from life, and life is rarely kind. So I've told Massou and Cipriana,

if she wants, to learn what they can from you and Del, because one day they may

need it."

And maybe sooner than she'd like. But at least she'd give them a chance.

"Water," I croaked.

Adara passed me the bota. "Your fever has broken. With sleep and food and rest,

you should recover soon."

I grunted, handing back the bota. "I'll be up in the morning."

"No, probably not." Adara tucked the bota away. Her manner was oddly hesitant,

yet also distinctly determined. "You and Del are--bonded?"

"Not formally." Bonding was a Border marriage custom. "Not even informally, really... we just ride together."

"And--sleep together."

"Well, yes. Usually." I sighed and scratched my scars, thinking about my arm, which felt strangely numb. "At the moment, it might be difficult . , . and Del's

afraid of loki."

"I am not," Adara said. Clearly and distinctly.

Thoughtfully, I looked at her. Didn't say a word.

She lifted her chin and met my gaze. "My husband was often unable, once his heart weakened. So--it has been a long time."

I knew what it had taken her to say the words. In the South, women never initiate such things; it's for the man to do. Adara was a Borderer and therefore

somewhat freer, and undoubtedly a Northern husband had also contributed, but all

the same it was an interesting--and courageous--proposition.

And one I didn't particularly desire, Del being more than enough.

But how in hoolies do you tell a woman no?

In the end, I didn't have to. Adara knew it instinctively. For a moment she shut

her eyes, then opened them again. Color bathed her cheeks, but she wasn't humiliated. "I know," she said quietly, without excess emotion. "I am only a Borderer. A woman who bears and raises children and lives in a single place.

The

sun has sucked the softness from my flesh and puts spots on my face. I have no

gift with weapons, and I cry when I should fight back, and I couldn't wield a sword if my life depended on it. I'm not the woman for you."

"You were the woman for Kesar."

"But I made him change." She hated herself for it, now.

I thought about what Del had said. How she had wondered if I wanted a softer woman, a woman with different appetites, with different needs in life. A woman

like Adara. And now another woman asked the same question, although the words--and who said them--were different.

I wondered if every woman alive wanted the life she didn't live.

The life she couldn't live.

Hoolies, what a curse.

"I'll get Del," Adara said, and slipped quietly out of the wagon.

Del came. She leaned against the wagon and peered in at me, hair hooked behind

her ears. She was beginning to lose her tan, turning creamy pale again. "So,"

she said, "it lives."

"More or less." My throat hurt, and my chest, but at least my head was clearing.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Off and on, for four days."

"Four days!" I frowned. "It was only a little cut, and burned closed, like you

said."

"Was," she agreed. "But those were loki-touched swords, and the wound turned bad. I opened it and drained it."

I twisted my head and inspected the arm, pressing chin into shoulder. It was all

wrapped up in cloth, but smelled clean enough. "Four more days lost, then."

Del shrugged. "Four more, six more... what does it matter? If I count each day

as a notch on my funeral stick, I'll die of senseless worry."

She sounded calm enough. "But, bascha--time is running out."

"Time does that." Del leaned in, snagged the bota, unplugged it and drank deeply. "When you're fit, we'll have to portion out the food and necessary belongings, then go ahead on foot."

"Belongings?" I frowned. "We've been lugging ours along well enough. Why change

now?"

"Not ours. Theirs." She shrugged. "They no longer have a horse."

I blinked. "You mean--you want the five of us to travel together?"

Del tossed the bota back. "It's been nearly six years since I came down the Traders' Road. Roadhouses and settlements move even as we move; I don't know them anymore. But I do know if we leave the Borderers here without protection,

telling them help lies over the hill, they could all wind up dead."

I suppose I'd known that ever since we'd met up with them. But somehow I'd assumed we'd go on after helping them with the wagon. Now that help was pointless; without a horse to pull it, they couldn't take the wagon.

"I told them to pack up what they need, once you're out of the way," Del said.

"I told them they can buy a horse at the next settlement, and another wagon, but

to consider this one gone." She stroked the wooden frame. "And it will be, by the time they have another. Thieves will strip this one clean, like carrion, and

use the wood for burning."

"They don't have money for a horse and wagon."

"We do." Her tone was level. "I took the coin off the borjuni."

I contemplated her expression. I knew Massou reminded her of her brother, just

as Cipriana reminded me of a younger, more innocent Del. And I suppose, in the

back of my mind, I hadn't ever really considered leaving them behind... at least, not seriously.

"What's the matter, Del?"

Her face was stark. "I brought them, Tiger. The loki. When I got so upset in the

valley... remembering my family--" She shrugged, oddly vulnerable. "It's what draws them: strong emotion. If I hadn't lost control--"

"It doesn't matter," I told her. "We defeated them, didn't we? We drove the loki

away."

"Maybe." She didn't sound convinced.

"And now we must deal with the Borderers." I nodded. "More delay, bascha."

"Yes," Del agreed, "but what else can we do?"

Which had also been my answer, the times I'd thought about it.

Fifteen

"First, there is the circle." Del pointed at the curving line drawn so carefully

in the turf. "And then there is the sword." She unsheathed Boreal. "Lastly, there is the dancer." She stepped over the line and into the circle, to stand in

the very center. "This is the sword-dancer's world."

I looked at two fierce, solemn faces. Northern faces, both, cream-fair and smooth, unmarred by a Southron sun. They'd left before it could bake them.

Massou and Cipriana had taken to Del's lessons with a vengeance, sucking up everything she told them and locking it away. For a purpose, too; Del had a habit of asking them, always when least expected, to repeat what she had taught

them. Willingly they would: Massou so quick and eager, Cipriana more reserved.

But she remembered everything, while Massou sometimes forgot.

We had left the wagon behind and headed north on foot. My fever was gone, my head unstuffed, most of the coughing abated, but I felt the stiffness in my bones. Surrounded by four who were younger than I, unappreciative of the weather, I was feeling distinctly old and generally abused.

In five days, we had developed a routine. Everyone carried his share without complaint, up the hills and down them, winding around the track, quietly accepting the burdens of the journey no matter how much he wanted to speak.

Adara was accustomed to hardship and adapted very well; her children, though used to having a father do things for them, nonetheless were young enough to look on it as an adventure. Massou had the boundless energy and enthusiasm of all boys his age. His sister wanted to please the adults, needing our approval.

In late afternoons, we halted, and then the lessons began.

Adara said nothing as, day by day, her children learned the arts of the dance.

Much of it was ritual, not an exercise of death; Del was careful in her phrasing

and cut short Massou's occasional lapses into bloodthirsty discussions. She was

honest with them, answering all their questions, but she taught them to honor the dance and not glory in violence.

They had only their father's sword, and so they took turns. Del could not loan

them Boreal, and I didn't extend them the opportunity to try Theron's sword.

Ever since I'd stuck it in the ground, only to have that ground explode, I'd been careful to keep it away from everyone. Del had said it wasn't truly keyed,

not like Boreal, but I didn't want to take a chance on injuring boy or girl.

One by one, they had their lesson. And then Massou, stepping out of the circle,

looked with bright eyes to me. "Why don't you dance with Del?"

I was sitting on a hump of ground, observing their education. "I dance all the

time with Del."

Cipriana's smile was sly. "We mean--with a sword."

I slanted her a baleful glance. She reddened, giggled, then drew herself up straight. Fifteen years old, was Cipriana; not a girl, but neither a woman.

Caught somewhere in between, yet fighting the constraints.

Hoolies, that's all I needed.

Del's smile was hooked down one corner of her mouth. "Why don't you, Tiger?

You

could use the conditioning."

Yes, well, I could. The cold and arm wound had laid me low and I hadn't danced

in too long. It was past time I put in some practice, no matter how good I was.

So I sighed, heaved myself up, and pulled Theron's sword out of the sheath.