Sword Sworn-Sword Dancer 6 (45 page)

now he was content to nose and lip at grass. I humped my tack and pouches over to the lean-to and

dropped them outside.

"Wood," I announced tersely. "I'll be back."

"I'll go, too, when I'm done here," Nayyib offered.

"Not necessary." I stalked off, aware both were staring at me in startled bafflement.

Well, fine, so I'm prone to occasional bouts of jealousy. I'm human.

Maybe
that
proved I wasn't the jhihadi. Did messiahs get jealous? For that matter, did messiahs

sleep with women?

Feeling somewhat better, I began looking in earnest for appropriate deadfall.

I made two trips to gather firewood. Nayyib made one; he piled it next to the fire ring, then lingered

to talk with Del. From some distance away, it seemed an odd conversation. The kid stood with his head

lowered, shoulders poised stiffly. Not deferential exactly but not precisely happy, either. Del stood very

close to him, and
her
body language suggested she was doing most of the talking.

It was interesting to see them together from a distance. Nayyib was an inch taller than Del, and

certainly broader and thicker of limb, but, though larger in general than most Southroners, he was not

truly a significantly big man. Still, he was young yet; I didn't truly fill out until halfway through my twenties,

though I had my height. Del is no delicate flower, but a tall, strong woman who moves unencumbered by

the perceived requirements of femininity. They matched well together, Nayyib and Delilah.

His head came up sharply. Posture stiffened even more. He said something to Del, something

definitive, because
her
posture abruptly tensed. Then he turned and walked away, looking for all the

world like a house cat offended by the taint of splashed water.

Del watched him go—perhaps he was after more wood—then shook her head slightly. She knelt,

began building a fire.

All in all, it did not put me in mind of a lovers' quarrel. Or a woman withstanding the blandishments of

a man who wanted her. In fact, I couldn't put a name to it at all, save to say that he wasn't pleased by

what she had told him, and she was no more pleased by his response.

But how much of that was wishful thinking?

I went over with my second supply of wood, piled it by the fire, and looked at her questioningly.

"Something wrong?"

Del denied it crossly, then ducked into the lean-to to begin arranging her bedding.

Which left me even more confused than before. Wood delivered, I went off to check on the horses

and to water and grain them. When Nayyib came back, he dumped his wood on the pile and came over

to tend to his bay, though I had things under control.

The day was dying quickly, the way it does in the desert, but I could still see the stubbled planes of

his face and the hollows of his eyes. He was unhappy about something. It struck me as odd, since

Neesha seemed a mostly equable sort.

In view of my own sharp temper earlier, I didn't think it would help to inquire if he had a problem. So

I lingered as I tended the stud and Del's gelding, and eventually he sighed, let the tension go, and spoke.

"Why is it we're going to this chimney place?"

"Beit al'Shahar. It's a rock formation."

"But what's there?"

"Something I left behind." I collected emptied canvas buckets and set them out of reach, so

inquisitive equine teeth wouldn't chew them to bits. "Del and I were out this way about a year ago, give

or take."

"She said something about a sword."

"Jivatma,"
I clarified. "A Northern sword. Blooding-blade. Named blade." I smiled when I saw his

frown of incomprehension. "Northern ritual. Mostly, it's just a sword."

"You have a sword. Why go looking for this Northern one?"

"Something I need to do." "Like find the bones in the Punja?"

"Something like that." I smoothed a hand down the stud's neck. "Kind of hard to explain. There are

swords—and there are swords. If you own one long enough—if you form a partnership, odd as it may

sound—it becomes more than just a weapon or a means of making a living."

"Singlestroke."

"Ah, the infamous blade of the Sandtiger!" I dropped the melodramatic tone. "A good sword. Kept

me out of serious trouble many times."

"But you don't carry it any more."

So, he didn't know everything about the legend. "Singlestroke was broken a number of years ago."

His head came up. "So you want the Northern blade in its place?"

I remembered Samiel's begetting at Staal-Ysta, the days and nights I spent in Kem's smithy. "It too is

a good sword. A special sword." I shrugged. "It's hard to explain."

"Much about you is hard to explain."

"I'm a complicated guy, Neesha." True dark had fallen; there was nothing more to be read in

expressions, which couldn't be seen. Only in voices.

"Del told me some stories when we were with the Vashni."

Finished with the horses, we fell in together as we drifted back toward the fire. "It's been an

interesting life."

"And a dangerous one."

"I warned you about that."

"Yes." He sounded pensive.

"Thinking the horse farm sounds a bit better?"

His head came up sharply. "No."

"Then what's bothering you?"

He did not answer immediately. When he did, his tone was stiff. "You have your secrets. I have

mine."

By then we were at the fire. Del sat next to it, drinking from a bota and gnawing on dried cumfa. She

did not look at Neesha. She looked at me as if her eyes were knives. Seems we were
all
being

complicated tonight.

And it hurt.

Ignoring the thought, I squatted beside the fire. "First thing tomorrow morning I'd like to head out for

the chimney. You two can wait here if you'd rather—it's not that far—or come along and wait for me

there at the formation."

Del stopped chewing. "Why would we not come?"

I hooked my head in Neesha's general direction. "You and he appear to have some things to

discuss."

Their eyes met. Locked. Del seemed to wait. Nayyib's jaw and raised brows suggested
she
had

something to say.

"Fine." I pulled my pouches over, dug through until I found my share of burlap-wrapped cumfa. "The

kid said it best, I guess—we all have our secrets. I don't know if each of you has a different one, or if

you share the same one. What I
do
know is I'm left out of it. Which is probably for the best; I'm really

not in the mood to deal with childish nonsense."

Del's brow creased, but she didn't reply. Nayyib sat down and pointedly turned his attention to the

contents of
his
saddlepouches.

My jaws worked to soften the preserved meat. It's almost impossible to talk with a mouth full of

cumfa, so I didn't even try. We all just ground our jaws and thought thoughts none of us wished to share.

I've got to admit it: I've spent more companionable nights in the desert. But it didn't interfere when I

decided to go to bed.

Del and Nayyib, not talking, were still sitting by the fire as I unrolled my bedding in the lean-to and

crawled into it.

I sighed, turned over, tried to go to sleep. It took me a while, but I got there.

I awakened in the middle of the night, heart pounding against my chest. A residue of fear still sizzled

through my body. A dream . . .

Not one like the others. Nothing like the others. This was a normal dream in all respects, except for

its content.

I've always dreamed vividly. Maybe it was because of the magic in my bones, incipient

dream-walking, bone-reading, or some such thing. Sometimes the dreams were fragments, sometimes

connected scenes that told some kind of story. Often they entertained me; usually they confused me, in

that I could see no cause for them.

I saw no cause for this one, either.

I lay wide awake beneath a blanket, staring up at the haphazard roof of the lean-to. Del and Nayyib

were deeply asleep. I let my breathing still, my heartbeat slow, and considered what I'd dreamed.

Me, in the desert. Older, but not old. I wore dhoti and sandals, held a sword in my hand. All around

me were people I knew: Del, Alric, Fouad, Abbu, also Nayyib, and my shodo; even people from the

Salset, including Sula and the old shukar who had made my life a misery. My grandmother. A younger

woman whose features were obscured, but whom I knew was my mother. And any number of other

people I'd known in my life.

One by one they turned their backs on me and walked away. I was left alone in the desert with only

my sword.

Remembering it helped. Tension eased. Fear abated. I banished the images, relaxed against my

bedding, and let myself drift back into sleep.

THIRTY-THREE

IN
THE MORNING the air remained chilly, but it had nothing to do with the temperature. Del and

Nayyib both seemed out of sorts. Feeling left out but not sorry for it, I went about my morning routine.

Eventually I had the stud fed, watered, saddled, and packed, and I led him over to the lean-to. Del and

the kid were still repacking bedrolls. I suspected there had been a verbal exchange held too quietly for

me to hear; they seemed tense with one another, and they were behind on preparations.

"All right, children, how long are you going to carry on with this?"

My tone and implication annoyed Del, who'd heard it before. It always annoyed Del. She gathered

up her belongings and stalked past me on her way to the white gelding. It left Nayyib with compressed

mouth, set jaw, and sharp physical movements at odds with his normal economical grace.

So I came right out and asked it. "Does this have anything to do with Del?"

He didn't look at me. "Yes."

"And you?"

He stood up, hooking saddle pouches over one shoulder. Paused long enough to look me in the

eyes. "Ask her." And marched himself across the flat to his horse.

Oh, hoolies. And other various imprecations.

* * *

We wound our way along the wagon ruts, going deeper into the low, boulder-clad mountains. I led,

Del followed, and Nayyib brought up the rear. We were strung out, allowing the horses to pick the best

footing, since the boulders began to impinge on the tracks. Some things looked familiar, some did not;

but it was years since Del and I had been here, and we'd certainly been in a hurry to leave once the

chimney collapsed. Other than a slight delay as I was declared a messiah by Mehmet, part of a Deep

Desert nomadic tribe dedicated to worshiping the jhihadi, nothing had prevented us from leaving. Del had

purposely broken her
jivatma
after drawing Chosa Dei out of my body, freeing him to fight it out with

his brother sorcerer, Shaka Obre. We hadn't been certain how violent that fight would be since both had

been refined to essences of power, not physical bodies, so we'd departed the area as soon as we could.

More memories came back. I recalled Umir's incredible feathered and beaded robe, which he'd put

on Del when she was his prisoner. The whirlwind in the chimney had been been so powerful that it

stripped all the ornamentation from the white samite fabric. We had picked feathers out of our hair for

days.

I tried to stretch my senses, to get a feel for my own
jivatma,
buried in the ruins of the rock

formation somewhere ahead. Nothing answered. There was no compulsion to continue as there had

been to find my mother's bones; perhaps she trusted to me to complete the task without resorting to

walking my dreams. I wasn't aware of anything except heat, the smell of stone and dust, the stillness of

the air, the unceasing brilliance of the sun, and the sound of horses chipping rocks as the walked.

The wagon ruts were more difficult to follow as they passed over ribbons of stone extruding from the

earth. Someone not intentionally looking for them might miss them altogether. But it struck me as odd

that anyone would travel out here. There was no known road from Julah heading this way, the area

skirted Vashni territory, and there was no known destination. Or if there were, it was a Vashni place;

they had named the chimney decades be-

fore. In fact, I recalled being told they'd brought Del's brother to Beit al'Shahar, and when'he'd

returned he could speak again despite missing a tongue. Some kind of holy place, maybe. Except Vashni

didn't use wagons, so the tracks didn't belong to them.We rode on a little farther, and then the trail made

a wide sweeping turn to the left around an elbow of mountain flank. The stud abruptly pricked up his

ears, head lifting. I reined in. He stood at attention, almost vibrating with focus. He nickered deep in his

throat, then let it burst free as a high, piercing whinny.

In the distance, echoing oddly, a horse answered him.

Del, halted behind me, voiced it. "There is someone ahead."

"A horse, at least," I agreed. "Possibly two, or maybe a team of four; the wagon ruts got here

somehow."

"Who would be out here?" Del asked. "There's nothing."

I shook my head. "It's a bit more than a day's ride from here to Julah on horseback; it would take

longer with a wagon and team. Someone built that lean-to as a stop-over, a place to spend the night."

Nayyib brought his horse in closer. "So you're saying someone
did
settle out here."

"It's a guess," I said. "But we can find out." I brushed heels to the stud's sides and went on, more