Sword-Maker(121)
If Chosa ever touched it—
No.
My bones ached. They itched. Blood ran hot and fast, too hot and too fast, surging toward my head. I thought my skull would burst.
Samiel was shrieking. The sword was protesting Chosa.
If we could work together—
Light flashed inside my head.
Go to hoolies, Chosa … you’re not beating me.
The blade began to smoke. .
You’re not beating me—
Rain stopped falling. Mud began to dry. The ground beneath me steamed.
If it’s a song you want, I’ll sing it … I can’t sing, but I will … I’ll do what I have to, Chosa … whatever it takes, Chosa … you’re not going to beat me, Chosa … you’re not going to have my sword … you’re not going to have me—
Parched mud began to crack.
I got off my knees and stood. Clutching the hilt in my hands. Watching the black creep forward, licking at the hilt.
I’m a Southroner, Chosa—you’re in my land, now.
A wind began to blow.
Do you really think you can win—?
The wind began to wail.
This is my land—
A hot, dry wind.
—you’re not welcome here—
A wind from off the Punja.
—I don’t want you here—
Blasting down through the alleyways, the streets, shredding silk burnouses, stripping makeshift roofs, drying eyes and mouths.
Go away, Chosa. Go back into your prison.
Dried mud broke and crumbled, blown northward out of the city.
Go back to sleep, Chosa. I’m too strong for you.
The sun ate into flesh.
Don’t be stupid, Chosa … you’re no match for me—
Black flowed down the sword and lodged again in the tip.
No, Chosa—away—
Chosa Dei refused.
No, Chosa—away—
Chosa withdrew a little … and then the firestorm engulfed me.
I came around to voices.
“Keep him covered,” someone said.
“But he looks so hot,” another protested.
“He’s sunburned. What he feels is cold.”
Sunburned? How could I be sunburned? The last I recall, the day had been full of rain.
I shivered beneath the blanket.
“I wish we could get him to let go of that sword.”
“Do you want to touch it?”
“After what it did? No.”
“Neither do I.”
Nothing was very important. I let it all drift away.
And then came back again, trying to make sense of the words.
“—what they’re saying about the Oracle … do you think it’s true?”
Alric’s voice now; I was beginning to tell them apart. “It’s why most of the people came here … to see the Oracle and the jhihadi.”
“But they’re saying he’s coming now.” That was Adara.
Garrod’s tone was dry. “Right this very moment?”
“No. But any day. Maybe even tomorrow.”
Lena’s quieter voice: “I heard he’s already here, but being hidden by the tribes.”
“Why would they hide him?” Garrod asked. “He’s what the people want.”
Alric’s tone was crisp. “There are those who’d like to kill him—or have him killed. And besides, would you show off your holy oracle before things were ready?”
Adara sounded puzzled. “What do you mean: things?”
Garrod understood. “If there really is a jhihadi, it would be more dramatic to have the Oracle appear not long before the messiah. If he arrived too soon, everyone would get bored.”
“People are already bored,” Alric observed. “The tanzeers—who are perhaps the most bored of all, and yet have the most at stake—have already taken to challenging one another. They’re pitting sword-dancer against sword-dancer, wagering on the outcome … I was at the circles earlier, trying to earn a wage. They’re talking about the Oracle there, as well—wagering on him, of course, and what kind of person he is. Rumor says he’s neither man nor woman.” Alric’s tone changed. “I’ll go back as soon as I know Tiger is all right.”
“Is he?” Adara asked.
Something I wanted to ask myself.
And then Del’s voice, raised, from a little distance away, responding to Massou’s treble comment in the other room. “What do you mean, he’s sick?”
I peeled open an eye. Saw Lena, Alric, Garrod, Adara—and Del, pushing through. The eye closed again.
“It’s the sword,” Alric told her. “It’s done something to him.”
She knelt down next to me. I realized, somewhat vaguely, I was lying on my own bedding in the room Del and I shared.
She stripped away blankets. “Done what to him?”
Alric shook his head. “I can’t tell you exactly what happened … I don’t think anyone really knows. But it was the sword. The jivatma—and Tiger. In the middle of some kind of battle.”