not?"
"Probably not," she observed, "but that had better change."
I scowled. "Del--"
"It's been long enough, Tiger. Ysaa-den is a day away--and we have yet to dance."
Oh. That. I was hoping she hadn't noticed. "We could wait a bit longer."
"We could wait until we've ridden out of the North completely... but that wouldn't fulfill your promise." Del squinted up at me, shielding her eyes with
the edge of a flattened hand pressed against her forehead. "I need it, Tiger.
And so do you."
Yes, well... I sighed. "All right. Draw a circle. I've got to limber up a bit,
first."
What I had to do was remind aching joints and stiffened muscles what it was to
move, let alone to dance. We had ridden northeasterly for six days, and I was beginning to think tracking the hounds to their creator was not such a good idea
after all. It hurt too much. I'd rather be holed up in some smoky little cantina
with aqivi in my cup and a cantina girl on my knee--no, that would probably hurt
too much, too. Certainly it would hurt too much if I did anything more strenuous
than hold her on my knee, which meant why should I bother to hold her on my knee
at all?
Hoolies, I hate getting old!
Del tied her gelding to a tree, found a long bough and proceeded to dig a circle
into the earth, thrusting through deadfall, damp leaves, mud. Pensively, I watched her, noting how stiffly she held her torso. There was no flexibility in
her movements, no fluid grace. Like me, she hurt. And, like me, she healed.
On the outside, if not on the inside.
Del stopped drawing, threw the limb aside, straightened and looked at me.
"Are
you coming? Or do you want a formal, ritualized invitation?"
I grunted, unhooked foot from stirrup, slowly swung a leg over and stepped down.
The stud suggested we go over to the gelding so he could get in a few nips and
kicks, but I ignored his comments and tied him some distance from the blue roan,
who had done his best to make friends. It was the stud who was having none of it.
Slowly I unhooked cloak brooches, peeled off wool, draped the weight across the
saddle. It felt good to be free of it; soon, I hoped, I could pack it away for
good. I wouldn't feel truly free until we were across the border and I could replace wool and fur with gauze and silk, but ridding myself of the cloak was something. It allowed me to breathe again.
My hand drifted to the harness worn over the tunic. Fingers tangled briefly in
beads and fringe, then found their way to leather straps, supple and soft, snugged tautly against soft wool. Across my back, slanting, hung the sheath with
its weight of sword. My hungry, angry sword.
"Tiger."
I shut my eyes. Opened them again, turning, and saw Del in the circle, all in white, glowing in the sun. It was a trick of clear, unblemished light unscreened
by a lattice of limbs, but nonetheless it shook me. It reminded me of the night
not so long before when she had stood in fire of her own making and all the colors of the world. Then I had thought, however briefly, she was spirit in place of woman. Looking at her now, blazing so brightly, I wondered if maybe I
had killed her--
No. No.
You fool.
"Tiger," she said again. Unrelenting, as always.
You sandsick, loki-brained fool.
Del unsheathed. Light took life from Boreal.
She wouldn't sing. She wouldn't. And neither, I swore, would I.
Oh, hoolies, bascha... I don't want to do this.
Del's face was composed. Her tone divulged nothing. "Step into the circle."
A tremor ran through my limbs. Something pinched my belly.
Bascha, please don't make me.
Del began to smile. Bladeglow caressed her face. It was kind, too kind; she was
older, harder, colder. The light gave her youth again. Boreal made her Del again. The one before exile. And Kalle.
Something tickled the back of my neck. Not an insect. Not a stray piece of hair,
falling against bared flesh. Something more.
Something that spoke of magic, whispering a warning to me.
Or was it merely fear,
"Probably not," she observed, "but that had better change."
I scowled. "Del--"
"It's been long enough, Tiger. Ysaa-den is a day away--and we have yet to dance."
Oh. That. I was hoping she hadn't noticed. "We could wait a bit longer."
"We could wait until we've ridden out of the North completely... but that wouldn't fulfill your promise." Del squinted up at me, shielding her eyes with
the edge of a flattened hand pressed against her forehead. "I need it, Tiger.
And so do you."
Yes, well... I sighed. "All right. Draw a circle. I've got to limber up a bit,
first."
What I had to do was remind aching joints and stiffened muscles what it was to
move, let alone to dance. We had ridden northeasterly for six days, and I was beginning to think tracking the hounds to their creator was not such a good idea
after all. It hurt too much. I'd rather be holed up in some smoky little cantina
with aqivi in my cup and a cantina girl on my knee--no, that would probably hurt
too much, too. Certainly it would hurt too much if I did anything more strenuous
than hold her on my knee, which meant why should I bother to hold her on my knee
at all?
Hoolies, I hate getting old!
Del tied her gelding to a tree, found a long bough and proceeded to dig a circle
into the earth, thrusting through deadfall, damp leaves, mud. Pensively, I watched her, noting how stiffly she held her torso. There was no flexibility in
her movements, no fluid grace. Like me, she hurt. And, like me, she healed.
On the outside, if not on the inside.
Del stopped drawing, threw the limb aside, straightened and looked at me.
"Are
you coming? Or do you want a formal, ritualized invitation?"
I grunted, unhooked foot from stirrup, slowly swung a leg over and stepped down.
The stud suggested we go over to the gelding so he could get in a few nips and
kicks, but I ignored his comments and tied him some distance from the blue roan,
who had done his best to make friends. It was the stud who was having none of it.
Slowly I unhooked cloak brooches, peeled off wool, draped the weight across the
saddle. It felt good to be free of it; soon, I hoped, I could pack it away for
good. I wouldn't feel truly free until we were across the border and I could replace wool and fur with gauze and silk, but ridding myself of the cloak was something. It allowed me to breathe again.
My hand drifted to the harness worn over the tunic. Fingers tangled briefly in
beads and fringe, then found their way to leather straps, supple and soft, snugged tautly against soft wool. Across my back, slanting, hung the sheath with
its weight of sword. My hungry, angry sword.
"Tiger."
I shut my eyes. Opened them again, turning, and saw Del in the circle, all in white, glowing in the sun. It was a trick of clear, unblemished light unscreened
by a lattice of limbs, but nonetheless it shook me. It reminded me of the night
not so long before when she had stood in fire of her own making and all the colors of the world. Then I had thought, however briefly, she was spirit in place of woman. Looking at her now, blazing so brightly, I wondered if maybe I
had killed her--
No. No.
You fool.
"Tiger," she said again. Unrelenting, as always.
You sandsick, loki-brained fool.
Del unsheathed. Light took life from Boreal.
She wouldn't sing. She wouldn't. And neither, I swore, would I.
Oh, hoolies, bascha... I don't want to do this.
Del's face was composed. Her tone divulged nothing. "Step into the circle."
A tremor ran through my limbs. Something pinched my belly.
Bascha, please don't make me.
Del began to smile. Bladeglow caressed her face. It was kind, too kind; she was
older, harder, colder. The light gave her youth again. Boreal made her Del again. The one before exile. And Kalle.
Something tickled the back of my neck. Not an insect. Not a stray piece of hair,
falling against bared flesh. Something more.
Something that spoke of magic, whispering a warning to me.
Or was it merely fear,
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