Sword-Bound Read online

I looked at each suspiciously. “Did Neesha talk to you?”

  They both turned genuinely puzzled faces to me. In unison: “No.”

  And so our daughter’s immediate future was settled. And also my son’s; I need not, after all, have a discussion with him about speaking out of turn.

  Not that it would have stopped him.

  Alric smiled. “I believe you would do well to have some ale. Apologies. I have no aqivi.”

  I waved a hand. “I’m not much for aqivi any more.”

  “Just a memory from your youth, is it?” He laughed in genuine amusement when I scowled at him. Then he gestured. “Come on. I’ve got some jugs soaking in the pool. We’ll go sit by the water and exchange memories of what we once were.”

  “Stop with the suggestions we’re aging!” I followed him out of the house and fell into step beside him. “Hoolies, Alric, we’re not that old!”

  “But our best days are behind us.”

  “No, they’re not!” We strode comfortably together. He was a Northerner, tall as I was. We could look at one another eye to eye. “And I’m beginning to think Neesha did talk with you about this.”

  Alric shook his head. Blond hair, pale as Del’s, brushed his shoulders. “Truly, he did not. But he’s been fidgety of late.”

  “What do Neesha’s fidgets have to do with me? In particular, what do Neesha’s fidgets have to do with age? My age, specifically?”

  “The sap is running in him. Running fast and rising.”

  I glanced at him sidelong. “Why are we speaking of trees?”

  Alric laughed. “It’s a saying we have in the North.”

  “You have a lot more trees in the North,” I said, recalling thick forests. And cold. And snow. “We don’t have that saying down here.”

  “Our sap,” he continued, “yours and mine, is somewhat more sedate now.”

  “My sap is not sedate!”

  We’d reached the stream. Alric stepped over the pool surround, bent, found the pegged out twine, and pulled a jug up from the water. As one, we sat down and leaned against the sun-warmed bricks, swigging down cool ale. After a few substantial swigs, I felt somewhat more companionable.

  “You may be sedate,” I noted, “but not me.”

  “Then let’s say we’re wiser than we used to be, and somewhat more deliberate in certain movements.”

  It was true I didn’t leap out of bed in the morning. But then, Del was in it.

  “We don’t spend ourselves unnecessarily,” he added.

  I grunted. For all my denials, I knew very well what he meant. I even knew what sap was, despite my protestations. I took the jug as he handed it over and swallowed deeply.

  “But you may have to,” Alric said.

  I took the jug away from my mouth, savoring the robust taste. “May have to what?”

  “Spend yourself.” He retrieved the jug from me. “Just come home again in one piece.”

  It was true I’d lost a couple of pieces before: the little finger on each hand. I didn’t even notice they were missing anymore. I’d found that by going inside myself, in summoning absolute belief, I felt the fingers when I danced.

  “How old are you?” Alric asked idly.

  Glumly, I said, “Forty-two.” Which I only knew after my visit to Skandi, where I learned a great deal about myself. And lost two fingers. “What about you?”

  “Thirty-four.”

  I looked at him sharply. “You’re joking.” I’d thought him nearer my age.

  He shook his head, smiling faintly. “Having children keeps you young.”

  “Not when you have a litter of them, like you and Lena.”

  “Another’s on the way.”

  My mouth fell open. “Another one?”

  “We’re hoping for a girl.”

  “You have several girls.”

  “Another would be nice.”

  “Alric, you don’t have any boys. Wouldn’t a boy be nice for a change?”

  He shrugged. “I guess.”

  I hefted the jug, shaking it. Nothing sloshed. “Is there more where this came from?”

  “Of course.” Alric picked up the twine and hauled another jug out of the pool. He unwound the loop from the narrow neck and handed it over. This one sloshed nicely. I uncorked it and poured ale down my throat. It was a heavy brew, with a sharp tang to it. Not aqivi but more than drinkable.

  I felt a presence behind us. “Uh-oh,” Del said.

  I cranked my head around to look at her. “Why uh-oh?”

  “You’re drinking.”

  “Why, yes. So I am.”

  “You’ve had nothing to eat.”

  “No, not when I’m dancing. Neesha and I were in the circle.”

  “But you’re drinking on an empty belly.”

  “Why, yes. So I am.” I held the jug out. “Want some?”

  “No.” Del was never one for drinking much. “You’d better come up and I’ll fix something for you to eat before you keel over.”

  I grimaced. “Very domestic.”

  “And you can bathe Sula again while I do that.”

  “Again? I just bathed her a while ago!”

  “She’s dirty.”

  “She’s always dirty.”

  “She got into dog piss.” Del paused. “Fresh dog piss. In the dirt.”

  Beside me, Alric snickered.

  A thought occurred. I smiled up at her. “I’d best not. I’m drunk.”

  Del narrowed her eyes.

  “Drinking on an empty belly,” I reminded her.

  She glowered at me, hands on hips. “Then you fix the food. That, you should be able to accomplish without risk of drowning our daughter.”

  As she walked away, I sighed and thrust the jug at Alric. I got to my feet, as Alric laughed. “Ah, yes. Domestication.”

  I said something extremely impolite and swung around to follow Del but stopped short as I nearly ran into Neesha.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “Well, what?”

  “Are you going?”

  “Going where?”

  “Out.” He waved a hand. “Out there. Out wherever.”

  I scowled at him. “Yes.”

  “And Del?”

  “Yes.”

  Neesha laughed, sounding unconscionably pleased. “Hah! I knew you would. That bit about adding luster to the legend…”

  But my mind was on other things. “I’ll have to go into Julah…pick up supplies, let Fouad know we’re going.” Fouad was a partner in the cantina Del and I had accumulated along the way. “He’ll be on his own.” Which usually resulted in less income for us and more for him.

  “I’ll tell him,” Neesha offered. “I’ll take the wagon and team and pick up supplies. I wanted to go to town anyway.”

  Of course he did. He’d accomplished what he’d set out to accomplish. Dryly, I said, “Do examine the latest batch of aqivi, won’t you?”

  Neesha grinned. “The only way I know how. From the inside out.”

  I watched him walk away: tall, lithe, limber. From behind me, Alric noted idly, “He’ll do.”

  So he would. Smiling, I headed for the house. Feeling the ale, I took a couple of off-balance steps. Empty belly. And I’d danced three and one-half dances with my lithe, limber son. Food would be welcome, even if I had to fix it myself while Del bathed Sula.

  Two baths in one day. Well, it was better than the three required two days before. Our daughter managed to find the messiest, smelliest things to get into. I suggested once that we put a lead-rope on her and tie her to the bench, much as one would a horse, but Del’s frosty stare suggested the jest wasn’t appreciated. Of course it was only half a jest, but I didn’t tell Sula’s mother that.

  Even in the desert, Del could freeze a man.

  Chapter 2

  THE FOLLOWING EVENING as the sun climbed down from the sky, my lithe, limber son walked into the house with an odd expression on his face. Then I saw his left forearm was tightly wrapped with a bloody length of cloth, and
the tips of his hair were dried into stickiness. Now I knew what the expression meant: embarrassment.

  Del was putting Sula to bed; I’d lighted lanterns. Two hundred paces away, beyond our window, Alric’s windows glowed. Twilight gave way to increasing darkness. In the desert, night comes quickly.

  I finished chewing and swallowed the final bite of mutton, arched brows, asked mildly as I waved my meat-knife, “One of the ladies did not appreciate your company?”

  Neesha went to the kitchen barrel, unwrapped his forearm, wet a rag and began sluicing blood over the ewer on the board. He said nothing.

  “Or was it a man who didn’t appreciate you stealing his woman?” Of course it wasn’t that Neesha set out to steal anyone’s woman; they just seemed to like him better the minute he stepped into the cantina. Any cantina. Any woman.

  He muttered something indecipherable against the sounds of splashing water. I rose, shoved back the bench, looked over his shoulder. A slice through the layers of skin, but the muscles were untouched. It wasn’t pretty, the wound. But it wouldn’t kill him, either.

  “Hmmm,” I said. “Sword.”

  Neesha stopped cleansing and examined his arm. He bobbed his head briefly, acknowledging my observation.

  “Not a dance, was it?”

  Grimly, he said, “It was.”

  “And from the tone of your voice, I’m assuming you lost.”

  He muttered confirmation.

  “Was it your challenge?” I thought it likely; he wanted very much to test himself against men other than his sparring partners here. Other than me.

  That brought his head up. He turned to look at me. “No. His.” His lips were compressed. “Some comments were made about ‘a sword-dancer who came to town in a wagon.’”

  “So they knew you on sight. You were in harness.” Only sword-dancers wore swords sheathed across their backs.

  Blood welled up. “Yes,” he answered, distracted as he washed the arm again.

  He wasn’t wearing his harness now. “Where is it?”

  “In the wagon.”

  Several comments occurred to me. I said none of them. But he knew very well what I wanted to say about a sword-dancer who removes his harness after a dance. Especially if he puts the sword and harness in a wagon.

  “That,” I said, “wants stitching. Let me get the kit, and I’ll do it.”

  Neesha grimaced. “I’ll just wrap it again. Two days. Three. It will heal well enough on its own.”

  “If you were a horse,” I observed, “you wouldn’t say that.”

  No. He would not, and he knew it. He’d grown up on a horse farm and took exquisite care of our mounts. Even the stud tolerated him.

  “I’ll do it.” Del had heard us; she carried the kit in her hands. “Sit down, Neesha. And don’t protest, or I will let Tiger do it. You know perfectly well my hands are defter than his.”

  Well, that was true. Neesha went directly to the table and sat himself down. So did Del, and pulled the lantern closer.

  “So,” I said, “who was this sword-dancer?”

  Neesha’s gaze flicked up to mine, then returned to Del as she threaded a curved needle. “No one I knew. But then, I haven’t been out much, have I?”

  Ah, accusation. “Perhaps I accorded you a level you haven’t yet reached.”

  That told. He glowered at his arm as Del prepared to stitch, ignoring my comment.

  “What does he look like?”

  Neesha’s head snapped up. This time he met my eyes and didn’t look away. Color rose in his face. Between gritted teeth, he said. “Don’t you dare.”

  “I’m just curious.” I shrugged. “I might know him. That’s all.”

  “That’s not all—ow! Ow-ow!” He sucked in air between his teeth. “That hurts.”

  “Of course it does,” Del said matter-of-factly. “I’m sticking a needle through your flesh.”

  “Ow!” Then he glared at me. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do it. Don’t—ow!”

  “Did you pick up the supplies?”

  Color bloomed in his face again. “No.”

  “Then I’ll be taking the wagon into town tomorrow.” I paused. “That is, if you still think we need to go out there—” I waved a hand, as he had earlier, “to find adventure.”

  Del glanced up at me, then studiously returned to her stitching. Only rarely did she take part in the arguments between son and father, unless we were too loud, at which point she told off the both of us.

  Neesha muttered, “Yes.”

  “Well then.” I shrugged. “We still need supplies. In the meantime, I’ll go unhitch the team.”

  “I did that.”

  Of course he had. Horses came before his own welfare. “Then I’ll bring in your harness and sword.”

  He looked away from me, eyes latched onto Del’s work. He was embarrassed. Ashamed.

  I smiled. Two things had been accomplished: Neesha had lost a challenge, and he’d gained his first scar. Both were necessary, were he to name himself a sword-dancer.

  Or, for that matter, my son.

  Come morning, as the sun rose, I stuffed bread and eggs down my throat, swallowed all with goat’s milk, took down my sword and harness, and slipped into the leather straps, buckling myself in. I wore leather dhoti and sandals, no tunic, and pulled on a faded green-and-orange striped burnous. I made sure the triple-stitched slit in the shoulder seam accommodated my sword hilt, and then I went out to hitch the team.

  Neesha, as expected, was nowhere to be seen. Since he was a student like the others, he called one of the small mudbrick cells, built against the canyon walls, his own. A length of somewhat tattered blue cloth was still pulled across the low doorway. Usually he was up with the sun, milking goats, collecting eggs, pulling vegetables, tending the horses in the small pole corral, and limbering up for training. There were mornings he slept in, leaving Del or me to handle the chores, but I didn’t think this was one of them. He was very likely wide awake, listening to me hitch up the team.

  Well, I should give him the opportunity, so he wouldn’t continue to assume I was overprotective and intent on teaching a lesson to the sword-dancer who’d defeated him. I strode across grass kept short by the goats and went straight to his cell. I accorded him his privacy and spoke through the rough curtain.

  “You coming?”

  There was no sound for a moment. Then he pulled the fabric aside. He, too, wore a dhoti. “To town?”

  “That was the plan, yes.”

  I saw him think it over. A myriad of fleeting expressions crossed his face. He finally settled on a mild bemusement. Would I invite him along if I meant to challenge the man who defeated him? What would happen if he accompanied me? Would the sword-dancer challenge him again? He had a legitimate reason to turn down a challenge, but would he? It wasn’t part of the codes to dance when injured.

  “Arm hurting?” I asked, to remind him of the codes.

  He could save face with that. Besides, I knew exactly how much it hurt. He wouldn’t want to do anything with that arm for some time, though of course, he’d insist on doing so. Del had wrapped a soft cloth around his forearm, warding the stitches, and I noted that fluid had seeped through.

  Neesha glanced at the bandaged limb. “Well,” he muttered, “yes.”

  I noted his red-rimmed eyes. “Didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?”

  He twisted his mouth. “None.”

  “That’s to be expected.” Even without a sword in my hands or a circle around my feet, I felt like a shodo. “This won’t be the first time, so you’d best get accustomed to it.”

  “Or else become quicker? Better?”

  I smiled. “That helps. In the meantime, have Del look at it again, rebandage it. She’s got some salve that will help the swelling.” I paused, then asked the question he’d been waiting for. I kept my tone even, putting no emotion into it. “Why did you lose?”

  He very nearly flinched. But he did not avoid the question, nor the lesson I w
as teaching. “I slipped.”

  “Barefoot?”

  “Of course.” Sandals could turn on a foot, interfere with motion. Before a dance, they were always removed, as was the harness. We danced nearly naked, clad only in a dhoti.

  “Footing?”

  “Dirt.”

  “Where?”

  “In front of the cantina. Your cantina.”

  “Why did you slip?”

  It took him a moment to answer. Color crept into his face. But he did not avoid my eyes. “A puddle,” he said, “of horse piss.”

  A puddle of horse piss. It appeared both of my children had an affinity for such puddles. “Why on earth was there a puddle of horse piss inside the circle?”

  Neesha sighed. “I let him draw the circle.”

  “So he knew where it was, how to avoid it, and how to force you into it.”

  He nodded.

  “Well,” I said, “you’ve learned to always be certain of the footing before the dance commences.”

  His tone was grim. “I have.”

  I nodded. “This happens, Neesha. It’s all part of being a sword-dancer. You’ll get cut. Even stabbed, sometimes. And you will lose.”

  He nodded, not meeting my eyes. Then, realizing that I might infer from it something he didn’t want inferred, he raised his head and looked me square in the eye. “I’ll see Del.”

  “It won’t interfere once it’s healed,” I told him. “It’s flesh, not muscle.”

  His tone was dry. “I guess you would know.”

  I smiled crookedly. “Oh, yes.”

  With a lifted chin, he indicated the sword hilt showing above my shoulder. “You’re in harness.”

  “I’m often in harness when I go into town.”

  He couldn’t argue with that, much as he wanted to; it was true. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”

  One might observe that made no sense, except I knew exactly what that single word meant. It was less an instruction than a request. Maybe even a wish. “I’m going for supplies and to talk to Fouad. I don’t want him robbing us blind while we’re off on our adventure.”

  He wanted to say more. He did not.

  “Go see Del,” I reminded him. “Have some breakfast while you’re at it. Healing wants fuel.” And before he could reply, I turned on my heel and left him.