Sword-Maker(49)

Music; all of it music; the song of desert life. The music of the Punja; the music of my life.

—dull chiming of the chains binding me into the mine—

—chink of chisel on rock; the crumble of falling reef thick with the promise of gold—

—squealing and snorting and stomping as the stud protests my wishes—

A personal, powerful song no one else can sing.

—the sobbing of a boy with a back afire from the lash, trying to hide his pain; trying to hide humiliation—

No one else knew these things.

—the song of a blued-steel blade; the song of Singlestroke, gifting me with freedom; with life and pride and strength—

And the scream of an angry cat flowing down from a pile of stones.

Only I knew these things.

Only I could sing my life.

Only I could unmake Chosa Dei—

Scirocco. Simoom. Samiel.

Try your best, Chosa Dei—you can’t unsing this song.

Dimly I heard the hounds. The whine of Boreal. The snatch of Delilah’s song as she hewed through flesh and bone.

Dimly I heard Chosa Dei, but I couldn’t make out his words. Everything in my head was part of my personal song.

Everything in my song was part of Samiel.

Take him. Take him. Take him.

Dimly, Del shouted.

Take him—take him—take him—

Del was shouting at me.

—take him—take him—

—unmake him—

“Tiger—Tiger, no … you don’t know what you’re doing—”

—sing him into your song—

“Tiger, it’s forbidden—”

Samiel splintered ribs.

Flesh, blood, muscle and bone; Samiel wanted it all.

“Tiger—Tiger no—”

Samiel sang his song.

All I could do was listen.

Muscles spasmed. Arms and legs jerked; so did my head. I smacked it against the chamber floor.

Why is my head on the floor?

Why is any of me on the floor?

Opened eyes: saw chamber ceiling. Saw several chamber ceilings, until I could focus again.

Hoolies, what’s wrong with me?

I sat up, wished I hadn’t, lay back down again.

Hoolies. Oh, hoolies.

What have I been doing?

Much as I’m a man for keeping my aches to myself, I emitted a raspy groan. As well as a favorite obscenity, followed by a string of lesser favorites, until I ran out of breath.

By then Del was back.

“So,” she said, “you survived.”

I waited a beat. “Did I?”

Del’s face was blood-spattered. Hair hung in ruddy ribbons. “I had my doubts at first when I saw you weren’t breathing. But I punched you in the chest and you started right up again.”

Thoughtfully, I rubbed a sore spot. It was right over my heart. “Why did you punch me?”

“I told you: you weren’t breathing. It was your own fault, and I was angry.” She shrugged. “It seems a valuable trick, this punching in the chest.”

I explored my blood-crusted chest which seemed to be sore in more than one place. There were bite wounds and claw welts in addition to stinging scrapes. “Why wasn’t I breathing?”

“Because you were a stupid, senseless, deaf, dumb and blind fool … a man so full of himself he has no time for others, and gives no heed to others when they’re trying to save his life, since he seemed bent on losing it. And you nearly did; Tiger, you are a fool! What did you think to accomplish? Sacrificing yourself or your sanity is not a useful thing. Not a useful thing; did you spare no thought for me? Did you think I wanted you dead just to pay you back for nearly killing me?”

From the floor, I stared up at her. Her anger was truly awesome. “What did I do?” I asked.

“What did you do? What did you do?”

I nodded. “What did I do?”

Del pointed. “That.”

It was hard to see from the floor. So I very slowly and very carefully levered myself up and leaned on one elbow. Looked at where she was pointing.

Someone—something—was dead. The remains were sprawled on the floor.

“I did that?”

Del lowered her arm. “You have no idea, have you? You truly don’t know what you did.”

“Apparently I killed someone. Or something; what is that?”

“Chosa Dei,” she answered. Then, ominously: “Chosa Dei’s body. His spirit is somewhere else.”

“Hoolies, not here, I hope. I’d just as soon not tangle with him again any time soon.” I sat up all the way. Glanced around the chamber. “I see you did in the hounds.”

“I did. You did. What is important is that they are dead. I think all of them are dead.” She shrugged. “Not that it matters now, since Chosa Dei is—gone.”

I rolled shoulders gently, rubbed at tension in my neck. “Well, it’s what we came to do. Now Ysaa-den is safe, and so are all the jivatmas.”