Sword Singer-Sword Dancer 2 (32 page)

This, in turn, formed half-tunnels into the rock, which led into bigger caves.

It was a unique way of living, but I wasn't thrilled by it.

I bent down outside the hole. "Del?" It echoed into darkness.

I waited. No answer. So, sighing, I bent down very low and ducked into the opening.

Not a lot better here. I couldn't stand up straight. "Hoolies, I feel like an old man."

The tunnel extended farther on. I pushed my way through, bumping head and scraping shoulders, twisted sideways, pulled free, discovered the tunnel ceiling

was higher here. But the side walls were hardly wider than my shoulders.

It hit me then. Sweat broke out, and trembling, and I tasted the metallic flavor

of fear in my mouth.

The walls closed in, and suddenly I was back in Aladar's mine. No chains weighed

me down, but recollections did. And they were all incredibly clear.

The tanzeer had robbed me of months. The months had robbed me of me.

Oh, hoolies, will I never forget?

Forcibly, I collected myself. Looked ahead at the tunnel, knowing Del was not so

far. And managed to go on.

"Little men," I muttered. "Little men build little homes."

I walked on carefully in muted illumination that filtered in from the canyon behind me. The walls were gray but glittery, catching some of the light. The passage itself was short, for which I was thankful, and opened rather abruptly

into another archway. Beyond, the light was quite good.

Shadows stroked the archway. Del's head appeared. "This way," she said.

"Watch

out for your head."

I grunted, bent, climbed through. And stopped to gawk, for the cave was more like a cavern.

Candleight. Lanterns. Bright bits of glass and polished metal. I saw beakers, amphorae, cups, bowls, platters, all made of polished metal. Not silver, not copper, not gold. Not anything I'd seen.

I squinted. The motion of my entrance caused the candleflames to gutter, throwing back glints of light. "Some house, bascha."

"This is the songmaster's home," Del said. "He's hosting us for the night."

I glanced around. There were rugs and blankets, leather furniture, wooden flutes

and pipes, other things made of reeds or carved from gourds. Even some made of

mud with finger holes carved in hollow bellies, or small drums with heads stretched tight.

I spread inquisitive hands. "Well--where is he? I haven't seen any of these Canteada since I reached the bottom."

"Songcircle," Del answered. "Everyone meets to discuss things; I think they're

discussing us."

"Private, I take it."

"Very."

I had not expected privacy in the cave, much as I wanted it, which was just as

well. Already Adara and Cipriana were rising to make me welcome. The ceiling arched high overhead, swept down to meet the floor. Someone had painted the walls with muted pigments: melon, magenta and teal, offset with a trace of lilac. The patterns flowed together like the runes on Del's sword, line after fluid line, knot after tangled knot. Enough to confuse the eye.

Del saw my frown of incomprehension. "Music," she said, smiling. "I can tell you

more later; right now we should discuss what lies ahead."

Cipriana stood very close to me. "We'll go on, won't we?" she asked. "Go on to

Kisiri?"

"No horses," Massou said, staying behind in a tangle of blankets.

His sister shrugged and tossed back loose blonde hair. "Garrod can get us horses."

"Maybe," I said, "maybe not. Things are different, now."

In the glow of candles and lanterns, Adara's hair was bronze. "How different?"

she asked. "Will you forsake us after this?"

Oh, hoolies. Now we were forsaking.

Del's tone was carefully neutral. "Tiger and I must go on."

"No!" It was Massou, tearing free of his blankets to run and catch Del's hand.

"You can't leave us behind!"

She didn't try to disengage, but I saw the tension in her stance. "We have to go

on," she repeated. "Time is running out. Tiger and I must take a shorter route

through the Heights. Kisiri will be out of our way." The cave squashed voices and flattened tones. It made her sound harsher than ever.

"You're just jealous," Cipriana accused. "You're just afraid he'll decide he wants me instead of you."

Visibly, Del collected her patience. "No man owns a woman; no woman owns a man.

Tiger does as he pleases."

Cipriana was adamant. "And if it pleased him to take me?"

Oh, hoolies. Gods keep me from jealous women!

Still, I felt a flicker of deep-seated pleasure. Del, Cipriana, Adara. Three women for one man, and all of them willing women.

Then again, maybe two. Del was still loki-spooked.

Which, rather abruptly, made me testy. "Enough," I said shortly. "Sit down and

we'll hash this out." They sat, even Del, taking places on pelts and rugs. I remained standing, avoiding commitment entirely. "We are guests for the night of

these people. Come morning we'll leave the canyon." I thought briefly of the hounds, clustering in clouds to wait at the edge of the world. "We have one horse: mine; Del and I will ride him."

"What about us?" Massou asked, staring steadfastly at Del.

She, in turn, looked straight at Adara. "Your mother should have told you.

Your

mother should have made it clear. You three are bound for Kisiri. Tiger and I are not."

"But you can't leave us!" That from Cipriana. "How can you leave us? How can you

desert us? What are we to do?"

This was not the girl who had proved such a staunch foe against the loki.

This

was an entirely different girl. I didn't like this one.

"You'll do what you intended to do even after you buried your father," I said firmly. "You'll go on."

"Alone!" Tears glittered in her eyes. "Two women and a boy, without a wagon, without a horse... without even supplies!"

"Del and I will talk with the Canteada. They may know a solution." I turned toward the tunnel, thrusting out a delaying hand. "We'll go talk to them now.

You stay here."

I ducked out before Cipriana could raise another objection. I felt Del coming behind me, locked in silence. It wasn't until we were completely out of the tunnels that I felt free again, sucking in lungfuls of cool, damp air. The day

hadn't known much sun, but it was setting nonetheless. Shadows were deepening.

"She's frightened," Del said simply.

I grunted. "She's a pain in the rump."

"They're all frightened, Tiger. Even little Massou."

" 'Little Massou,' as you say, is as bad as his sister. In her own way, so is Adara." I scratched at stubbled scars. "I'll be glad to be rid of them."

"It's so easy for you, then? To turn your back on responsibility?"

I stared. "Hoolies, bascha, it's for your sake we have to leave them. Time is running out."

She turned away, waving a hand. "Never mind. Never mind. I shouldn't have said

it. I'm just--oh, hoolies, I don't know. I'm just all twisted up." She leaned back against the canyon wall, next to the tunnel entrance.

I'd grinned as she used the Southron term. But it faded when I thought about Garrod's words. Warped, he'd said. Twisted and misshapen. And a canker eating her soul.

"Del--"

"Listen," she whispered. "Hear it?"

I blinked, cut off in mid-stride. Shut my mouth and listened. Frowned a little,

then laughed. "It's Garrod," I said. "He's muttering to the stud."

"No, no--not Garrod. Listen to the song."

Song. All I heard was the same little humming melody Del had labeled a wardsong

sung to keep the hounds away. "I don't hear--"

"Listen, Tiger! Can't you hear anything?"

I sighed. "I've told you before, it's all noise to me. Yes, I hear something, Someone's out there tootling on a pipe. Maybe two pipes. Maybe ten. What does it

matter, Del?"

Del lifted both hands and pressed the heels against her eyes, threading rigid fingers into hair. "I despair of you, Tiger! Gods, how I despair. What am I going to do? How can you be what you must? How can I go before the voca confident they'll accept my blood-gift?" She drew in a noisy breath, let it out;

half sigh, half groan. "What am I going to do?"

Hoolies. I'd never heard her like this.

"Del. Bascha." I reached out to pull away her hands. "What are you talking about?"

Her fingers were limp in mine. Strain carved lines in her face. "I can't tell you."

"If you don't--"

"I can't."

"Del--"

"I can't."

It took all I had to stop asking. Instead, I turned the topic. "We could just light out of here on the stud come morning and head back down South. We could just forget all about this voca-thing and this blood-debt and blood-gift and all

those other things that are driving you half loki." I smiled, liking the phrase,

although all Del did was scowl. "We could just go back to being sword-dancers,

knowing the freedom of the circle."

Del took her hands out of mine. "There is no freedom now. There are things I have to do."

Something welled up inside me, of realization and frustration, then abruptly burst free. "I think Garrod's right! I think Garrod understands you perfectly,

maybe better than I do." I glared, "Hoolies, Del--do you ever stop to think about anything else? Anyone else? Do you ever stop to think there are other things in the world besides revenge and retribution?" Her face was still and white. "Do you even know what you're going to do once this voci-thing is over?

Have you thought past anything but the trial?" I shook my head. "No. You're so

locked into your course you give yourself no freedom to even think about anything else. You're like a horse who's been reined in so tightly all his life

that even once he's given his head, he keeps his neck bowed snug. Partly because

he's scared. But mostly because he can't make himself relax and become a horse

again."

I have never seen such a mixture of emotions in a woman's face and eyes.

Hoolies, even in a man's. There was shock, pain and anger, disbelief, resentment, realization, and an odd, renewed resolve. I saw Delilah build a wall

right in front of me, brick by brick by brick. Then she slapped the mortar in the cracks to make sure nothing could get through.

Once the wall was built, she reached for her deadliest weapon. "You love me,"

she said.

For a moment the words meant nothing. All I heard was the tone, made up of strange and confusing subtleties. She was angry, was Delilah, but it was a deadly, calm anger shaped of ice instead of heat, and an odd accusation.

I felt a little sick. Deep-in-the-gut sick.

Is this how it ends?

I drew in a slow, deep breath. "I ask you why--now, at this point, having done

so much to make yourself a person instead of a woman--do you turn to a woman's

weapon?"

It cracked the ice a little. Clearly I'd surprised her. "Weapon--"

"Weapon," I said firmly. "Now that it's out in the open, am I supposed to tuck

my tail between my legs? Am I supposed to roll over in submission and bare my belly to you? Or is it meant mostly to castrate me, so I'll still be occasionally useful?"

Even her lips were bloodless. "Is that what you think it means?"

"I think that's what you think it means."

Del's breath was ragged. She covered her mouth with one hand. The other clutched

the front of her wool tunic. "Tiger--" she said "--help me--"

Slowly I shook my head. "If you want me to hold you now, as if nothing has happened--no. Because something has happened. If you want me to reassure you and

tell you everything's fine, everything's forgotten--no. Because everything is not fine. You have to learn that not everyone can afford to be as single-minded

as you. Not everyone can hack off bits of himself because it makes the life he

chose easier." I wanted to touch her; didn't. "Not everyone," I said quietly,

"can force herself to be someone she isn't, even when her conscience tells her

not to."

"Conscience--?"

"I've seen you with Massou. I've seen you with other children. Only with him and

only with them have I seen the other Del."

"Other Del," she said bitterly. "That soft, kind-hearted fool... the sweet, gentle soul so many men desire their women to be."

"Some, yes. Maybe a lot. Down South, yes. And there are times when I wonder what

life would be like if you were another kind of woman." I shrugged. "But I don't

want to change you, Del. Not completely. Maybe just a little... maybe just enough so that horse can unbow his neck and be a horse again." Now I did touch

her. I reached out and put a hand on her right shoulder, closing my fingers on

the too-rigid tendons beneath her clothes. "I don't want you soft. But I don't

want you this hard. It's tearing you apart."

Del was shaking, a little. "You don't know--you don't understand--you can't know

what it's like--" She checked, shut her eyes a moment, dismissed the incoherence. "No man, especially a Southroner, can know how hard it is."

"No."

"No man can understand what it is to be a woman who doesn't belong because of her sex, and yet belongs because of her skill."

"No, bascha. He can't."

"No man can know what it's like to watch mother, father, uncles, aunts, sisters

and brothers killed... and then be raped and humiliated, made to feel like a thing, stripped of name, of soul, of self--" She checked again, still shaking.

"You don't understand what it is," she said, "to know almost every man who sees

you wants you--not you, not really you, just that body, because it pleases him... you don't know, Tiger, what it is to have men rape you with their eyes when they can't do it with their bodies... and then you go away and vomit."

It took all I had to speak. "No," I said, "I can't. But what I do know is that