Sword Maker-Sword Dancer 3 (40 page)

Color flared in her face. "What I do is my own concern."

"Yes," I agreed. "I'm not arguing that. What I'm saying is, the tribes are full

of superstitions. If a nanny bears twin kids, the year is supposed to be generous. And when it isn't, if it isn't, something else is blamed." I sighed and scratched at scars. "If a man discovered a way of uniting the tribes in a common goal, he could claim the South for himself. That's what I'm saying."

Alric was frowning, considering implications. Thinking about tanzeers, who would

want the jhihadi dead. Who would want the Oracle dead. And all the sword-dancers

they could hire in order to win a holy war.

Del shook her head. "Would it matter? How do you know it wouldn't be better for

the South if one man did rule it, instead of all these tanzeers?"

"Because who's to say what this one man will do?" I countered. "For one, if he's

got the tribes on his side he wouldn't need to hire sword-dancers. We'd be out

of a job." Del's expression was sardonic. "All right," I conceded, "aside from

that, what if the tribes decided the rest of us didn't deserve to live? That we

profaned the South? What if this jhihadi declared holy war and made the rest of

us his enemies, fit only for execution?"

"He wouldn't," Del declared. "An entire people? An entire land?"

Alric's tone was odd. "The Vashni are killing foreigners."

Del's color faded.

"If the sand is changed to grass," I said, "the South becomes worth having."

Del frowned, thinking. "But if the South is changed so drastically, it alters the way the tribes live. Would they want that? You yourself said they're trying

to protect their way of life."

"There is that," I agreed. "But there's also the knowledge that, for his god--or

gods--a man will do many strange things."

Alric nodded slowly. "The khemi, for instance. How many men do you know would willingly give up women?"

Del's tone was disgusted. "I know about khemi," she said. "Giving up women is one thing... claiming we are excrescence and not worthy of speech, of touching,

of anything is carrying things too far."

"They interpret the Hamidaa'n a bit too literally," I agreed. "Those scrolls don't really say women are completely worthless, just inferior to men. If you talk to anyone of the true Hamidaa faith--not the khemi zealots--they'll tell you how things are."

Del's brows rose. "And that makes the opinion right?"

"No. What it does is prove what I've been saying: religion is a method of control."

Del tilted her head. "If you allow it to be. It can also offer security, a focus

for your life. It can make your life worth living."

I looked at her harness, lying next to mine. At the intricate, twisted hilt of a

dangerous, spell-bound sword. "You worship that. Does it make your life worth living?"

Del didn't even blink. "What it promises does."

Alric dismissed our argument. "If what you've said is true, something should be

done."

Del overrode me before I could get started. "What if what the Oracle has said is

true? Do you mean to argue with a messiah?"

"Right now," I said, "I need to go buy another sword."

Alric shook his head. "I have the Vashni sword. I would be pleased to loan it."

Del waited until he went in the other room. "You are a fool," she said.

"You're

avoiding your jivatma when you should be learning to control it."

"That's right," I said sharply, and bent to pick up the sword. "Here. You won the wager. The sword is now forfeit."

"Tiger, no--"

"You won, bascha. You said I couldn't last." I put the sword in her hands. I knew she was safe; Del knew his name.

She closed fingers over the blade. Knuckles shone white.

I frowned. "You know better, bascha. You'll cut your fingers like that."

Del said nothing. Her eyes were wide, and black; color drained out of her face.

"Bascha--?" I thought again of how Sarad's sword had been broken. "Here, let me

have--"

"It wants me--"

My hands were on the sword. "Let go, Del... let go-"

"It wants me--"

"Let go--"

"Boreal," Del whispered.

It shocked me. It turned me to stone.

"He wants us both--"

I took one hand off the sword and stiff-armed her in the chest.

Del fell away, releasing my sword, hands springing open. She tripped over the bedding, landed sprawled on her back, gazed up at me in horror.

Not because I'd hit her. She understood that. But because of what she'd learned.

Because of what she'd felt.

"You have to kill it," she said.

"How can I--"

"Kill it," she repeated. "You have to discharge it. You have to strip it of Chosa Dei. You have to--"

"I know," I said. "I know. Haven't I been saying that?"

Del gathered herself, rearranged herself, remained sitting on the damp dirt.

"He

wants me," she said. "Do you understand? He is a man; he is a sword... do you realize what that means?"

It was a hideous thing to consider. Bile moved in my belly.

"Kill it," she said again. "Before it does worse to me."

Six

Del didn't like the idea. "It should be watched," she declared. "It should never

be left alone."

Quietly I continued wrapping the jivatma in a blanket, wincing as I jarred my swollen little finger. We had determined it wasn't broken, but it hurt like hoolies. Tight wrapping protected torn flesh, but didn't do much for the pain.

I set the bundle aside, next to the wall, and rose. "I'm not taking it with me.

I've got the Vashni sword to use; this one can stay here."

"You saw what it did."

"When you touched it. If no one knows it's here, it can't do anything."

"The girls--"

"Lena has them well trained. They won't come in here because they've been told

not to, and they respect privacy."

Del was unconvinced. "It should be attended to."

I sighed. "Yes. Why do you think I asked about the jhihadi?"

Eyes widened. "But you don't believe--"

"Right about now, I'll try anything. I think this messiah is probably nothing more than an opportunist, but why not give it a try? The tanzeers will demand proof of his divinity... they'll ask for specific signs, give him specific tasks. Why not ask him to 'cure' my sword."

"Because maybe he can't."

"Maybe he can't. Maybe he can." I shrugged. "I figure it's worth a try."

Del frowned at me. "This isn't like you, Tiger."

"What isn't? My unwillingness to agree with you, or my willingness to let the jhihadi try?"

"You're almost never willing to agree with me; that's not what I mean. I mean the latter. You're the one who claims religion is nonsense."

"I used to say the same about magic, too, and look where it got me." I hooked arms through my harness, settled my borrowed Vashni sword. "Look, bascha, I'm not saying I believe in religion--I really don't think I could--but who's to say

this jhihadi, if he's real, isn't something more than a messiah?"

"More?"

"If he's supposed to change sand to grass, I'd say he's got something more than

divine charm going for him." I grinned. "Maybe he's a sorcerer. Maybe he's Shaka

Obre."

It startled her. "The jhihadi?"

"Well? Isn't Shaka Obre the one who once held the South? Who made it green and

lush? Doesn't it make sense that if he really did create the South, he might want to restore it to what it once was?"

"Chosa Dei imprisoned him."

"And he imprisoned Chosa. But Chosa's out now--sort of--and maybe Shaka is, too.

He could be the jhihadi. He could be the man the Oracle's spouting about."

Del considered it. "If he is--"

"--then he owes me."

She raised a skeptical brow. "And you think he'd be so grateful he'd do you a special favor."

"Chosa Dei was on the verge of destroying the wards. He had who knows how many

jivatmas he was collecting magic from, as well as a few other tricks. Given a bit more time--or your sword--he'd have broken through. I may have sucked him into my sword, but at least he's not roaming free. If I were Shaka Obre, I'd be

grateful to me."

Del sighed wearily. "It makes as much sense as anything else."

"And if this jhihadi isn't Shaka Obre, what does it matter? He might still have

the ability to discharge my jivatma."

She glanced at the tightly rolled bundle. The sword was completely hidden.

"It

deserves to die," she said flatly.

"I sort of thought you'd agree... once you saw my point." I resettled the harness and turned toward the door. "Do you have plans for today?"

"Seeking out word of Ajani."

Something pinched my belly. "But not the man himself."

Del shook her head. "I need to learn about him. I need to learn who he is; what

makes him think. It's been six years, and I never really knew him. Just what he'd done." She shrugged. "I need to see him without him seeing me. Then I will

talk to my sword."

"You don't mean--ask for your focus again? Now?"

Del smiled. "You had last night, didn't you?"

"We had last night. And I'd like for it to continue."

The smile went away. She was calm, controlled, commited. "It will... if I win."

I left the stud behind because trying to pick my way on horseback through the increasing throngs of people would try my patience, and might even result in a

fight if the stud decided to protest. And besides, you can overhear gossip better if you're on foot with everyone else; if I wanted to learn the latest about the Oracle or the jhihadi, I'd do better to mix with the others.

By the time I'd fought my way through the alleys, streets and bazaar, I knew a

little more. The Oracle, it was said, was busily foretelling the jhihadi's arrival soon. Of course, soon is relative; by oracular reckoning, it still might

take a year. And I sincerely doubted anyone would wait that long.

But the Oracle was also foretelling a few other things. He was mentioning specifics, things about the messiah. Things like power: a power newly gained.

A

revelation of identity: a man of many parts. And an unwavering commitment to make the South what it was.

No wonder the tanzeers were worried.

I approached the tribe side of the city with a twinge of foreboding.

Generally

an individual tribe, on its own, can be dealt with one way or another, through

trades, gifts, agreements. Some tribes, like the Hanjii and the Vashni, tend to

be a bit more hostile, and are generally avoided. Except when you're riding through the Punja--where the tribes, being nomads, go wherever they feel--sometimes it's hard to avoid them. But it was very unusual to have so many

different tribes all clustered together. It changed the rules of the game.

I wasn't certain my visit would do any good. For one thing, the Salset might not

be present. For another--even if they were--they might simply ignore me. The adults all knew very well what I'd been. And none of them let me forget it.

Certainly not the shukar, who had his reasons for hating me. But maybe he was dead. If the old man was dead, I might have an easier time.

But the old man wasn't dead.

I found the Salset mostly by accident. After picking my way through goats, sheep, danjacs, children, dogs, and chickens, winding through the clusters of hyorts and wagons, I came to the end of the hyort settlement beside the city.

I

wavered uncertainly a moment, thinking about approaching another tribe, then swung around to go back. And saw a familiar red hyort staked out beside a wagon.

The Salset had settled behind a cluster of blue-green Tularain hyorts. Since there were more of the Tularain, it wasn't surprising the Salset were hard to see. So I wound my way through the Tularain cluster, then stopped at the shukar's hyort.

He was sitting on a blanket in front of his open doorflap. His white hair was thinning; his teeth were mostly gone; his eyes were filmed and blind. Not much

life left in the old man. But he knew me anyway, the moment I said a word.

"We gave you horses," he snapped. "We tended your ailing woman. We gave you food

and water. You have no more claim on us."

"I can claim courtesy. You owe that to anyone. It's a Salset custom."

"Don't tell me what Salset custom is!" The quaver of his voice came from age and

anger, not fear. "It was you who revoked custom and sought aid from an unmarried

woman."

My anger rose to meet his. "You know as well as I do that was Sula's decision.

She was free, bound to no man; Salset women take who they will, until they accept a husband. You're just jealous, old man--she took a chula, not the shukar."

"You forced her to say you'd killed the beast--"

"I did kill it," I said flatly. "You know it, too... you just don't want to admit a chula succeeded where you'd failed." A glance at the shabbiness of clothing and hyort told me times were no longer easy. Once he'd been a rich man.

"Is your magic all used up? Have the gods turned their eyes from you?"

He was old, and probably would not last a year. A part of me suggested I not be

so bitter, so harsh, but the greater portion of me remembered what life with the

Salset had been like. I owed him no courtesy. I owed him nothing but honesty; I

hated the old man.

"You should have died from the poison," he said. "Another day, and you would have."

"Thanks to Sula, I didn't." My patience was at an end. "Where is her hyort, shukar? Direct me to Sula, as you are required to do in the name of Salset courtesy."

He peeled back wrinkled lips and showed me his remaining teeth, stained brown by

beza nut. Then spat at my feet. "When the jhihadi comes, you and others like you

will be stripped from the South forever."