“Take it!”
“Steal it,” I confirmed. “They weren’t much interested in me, just in the sword.”
Del’s frown deepened. “I don’t understand.”
“What’s to understand?” I wrestled with the stud, who was showing signs of reacquainting his teeth with the roan’s rump. “Originally all they wanted was your sword, remember? And then mine … once I’d blooded it. Once I’d killed that cat.” Memory was a spasming in my belly. “Even once—” But I cut it off.
Del’s brows shot up. “‘Even once’ what?”
Memory blossomed more fully. I stood on the overlook by the lakeshore, staring down at Staal-Kithra, Place of Spirits, where Northern dead lay entombed in Northern earth, honored by barrows and stone dolmens.
I stood by the overlook by the lakeshore, staring down at Staal-Ysta, Place of Swords, the island floating in water dyed black by winter’s embrace. And I had thrust a naked blade into the earth.
Naked when it went in. Rune-scribed when it came out.
A chill pinched my spine. “They’ve known since I named it.”
Del waited.
“They must have,” I mused. “They were one large group originally—I followed the spoor for days … and then the group split up. Some tracks went on. Others circled back …” I frowned. “Those hounds must have known.”
After a moment, she nodded. “Names are powerful things. With jivatmas, one must be careful. Names must be closely guarded.” And then her expression softened. “But you know that. You would never tell anyone the name of your blooding-blade.”
“I told you.”
Del was astonished. “Told me! When? You have said nothing of it to me. Nothing of its name.”
I scowled at the stud’s ears. “There on the overlook, above the island. After I pulled it free. I just saw the runes, read the name—and told you.” I squirmed slightly, knowing how foolish it sounded. “I didn’t really expect you to hear. I mean, I wasn’t even sure you were still alive—” I cut that off abruptly. “I just—said it. There on the overlook … for you.” I paused, needing to explain. “You’d told me the name of your sword. I thought I should do the same. So we’d be even.” I exhaled heavily. “That’s all. That’s why. So we’d be even.”
Del didn’t say a word.
The memory was so clear. “There it was,” I told her. “Spelled out. His name … in the runes. Just as you and Kem had promised.”
“Runes,” Del echoed. “Runes you don’t know how to read.”
I opened my mouth. Shut it.
It had not occurred to me. The runes had looked so familiar I hadn’t even thought about it. Not ever. I had just looked at them—and known. The way a man knows the shape and texture of his jaw when he shaves every morning. The way his body knows the fit of a woman’s without requiring lessons.
Oh, hoolies.
Abruptly I unsheathed. Balanced the blade across the pommel of my saddle and stared at alien runes.
Stared hard. Until my eyes blurred and the shapes ran together. The shapes that had not existed in the blade originally. Not when Kem had given it to me. Not when I had dipped it in the water, asking, very cynically, the blessings of Northern gods.
Not when I had sheathed it in Northern earth, at the brink of the overlook.
Only after I had drawn it out.
Del sat next to me on her blue roan. Like me, she stared at the blade. But she was smiling, if only a little; all I did was glare.
“So,” she said, “once again the Sandtiger walks his own path. Makes his own path, as you have made that sword.”
My tone was curt. “What?”
“Do you recall when Kem nicked your hand and had you bathe the blade in blood?”
I nodded sourly; I hadn’t liked it much.
“It is part of the Naming ceremony. Ordinarily the runes show themselves then. Mine did; all jivatmas do.” She paused. “Except, of course, for yours.”
I recalled Kem saying something of the sort. I also recalled him saying something about belief being a requisite; that until I fully believed in the magic of a jivatma, its true name could not be known. Which was why, at that specific moment, there had been no runes.
But there on the overlook, so frightened Del was dead, I had believed. Because it had been the sword, not me, that had tried so hard to kill her.
And so, in that moment of belief, the sword had revealed its true name. In runes I couldn’t read.
I said something very rude. Very violent. It had to do with things I would like to do with the sword. Do to it; things that would give me great pleasure, great relief; things that would resolve all potential future problems because if I did them—one, or even all of them—there would be no future for the sword.