I nodded, frowning. “But you’ll tell me if you’d like to go back, won’t you?”
Del’s smile kindled. “I’ll tell you, yes. I vow it.”
I couldn’t hide the relief in my voice. “All right, then.”
We spent the night at the small stopping place, then rode on in more haste. Now that we were bound for the canyon, our urgency was different than it had been going north. Quite apart from it being our home, Sula was there. She was deserving of a settled place, but if Del wished to move to the North at any time, I’d do it.
Without Mahmood’s caravan to attend, we made much better time. South again, we arrived at the big oasis with a few hours left before dusk. As always, plenty of people were there, but more yet would arrive with the sunset. The spring was thronged by people trying to fill buckets or water animals, so Del and I hunted down a tree and found a sparse-limbed one with modest shade.
As had been my habit in the past, I rode the stud around the perimeter of the oasis, through the tents and wagons. I saw no sword-dancers. I went back to Del and, as she had already done, completed the usual horse and human chores. I grabbed up two of the water buckets and went to the spring.
Where a sword-dancer had just arrived.
Ah, hoolies.
I very nearly turned to go back to our tree. But he had already glanced at me briefly, noted the sword above my shoulder, and nodded matter-of-factly to acknowledge a fellow sword-dancer. Apparently nothing alerted him to my identity. He watered his mount, then walked away. As I filled our buckets, I reflected that it was arrogance to assume that every sword-dancer knew me on sight. Many did, but probably there was a fair number of them who either hadn’t heard of me or did not recognize the scars on my face. Many of them were young. Alimat no longer existed. Other than by rumor, the younger men might not even know what elaii-ali-ma meant or that I’d declared it.
Then again, Khalid knew me. Kirit had known. Eddrith knew. Even Darrion was aware.
Other men crowded forward at the spring to fill buckets of their own. None were sword-dancers, merely family men driving wagons, merchants such as Mahmood, solo male riders. I saw no harnesses, no swords sheathed in them. Tension began to melt away. I had not yet taken off my harness and sword, which had marked me to the sword-dancer; I intended to, but were I unarmed, others could attack.
I moved away from the crowded spring and walked back with full buckets, trying to keep the water from slopping over the rims. I wasn’t entirely successful, but most remained in the buckets when I set them before the horses. Maybe later, in the dark, I’d lead the horses back to the spring when it was less crowded. Just now it was a mass of jostling as animals crowded to water, and the stud usually let everyone know he did not approve when he was in the middle of such things.
I found that Del had already laid a fire and was coaxing tinder. She nursed a flame carefully, and once it was established, she carefully laid larger branches on it.
As I arrived, she glanced up. “We have stew makings. We could boil one on the fire.”
I screwed up my face. “Stew again? I think that’s all we’ve had for days.”
“Well, short of begging for food at other fires, this is what we’ve got. Tamar sent the makings with me.”
“Tamar’s stew? Is that all we’ll ever eat for the rest of our lives?” I sighed heavily, feigning deep regret, and stripped out of my burnous. The harness and sword followed. I set the sword, unsheathed, immediately beside my blanket. “I suppose it will do.”
She then suggested I go to other fires and beg a pot. Apparently this was different than begging for food. When on the road we carried dried foodstuffs and hoped now and again to catch a sand coney, wild fowl, or, if we were fortunate, cattle or goats that had escaped their herds; even, occasionally, snakes. But many animals were scarce as we camped on the edge of the Punja. Del and I had a little cumfa meat left, journey bread verging on stale, fruit that was starting to spoil. But Tamar had sent more dried meat, tubers, herbs, onions, and potatoes. Mixed with water and heated over a cookfire, it would do nicely. We lacked a spit so we’d set the pot right down on the rock ring. That is, if I managed to borrow a pot.
“I have a better idea,” I said. “You go.”
She was tending the cookfire once more. “Because I’m a woman?”
Uh-oh. I turned on my heel and went off to scrounge a pot.
Chapter 36
THANKS TO AN ACCOMMODATING NEIGHBOR ONE TREE OVER, Del and I were able to eat Tamar’s stew—or at least an approximation of it. In addition, Del put out slices of softening apple, hardening journey bread, and some thick-rinded cheese. This time I drank water, not aqivi.
After eating, I lay back on my blanket with arms shoved beneath my head and sighed a heavy sigh. It felt good to be on the way home. Neesha’s desire for adventure had been fulfilled, if not quite in the way he expected, and Del and I had a chance to recall what our lives had been, and to know what they were now. Now was better.
“Your turn,” Del said.
“My turn what?”
“I cooked.”
“I found the pot.”
“You should return it, too. But best to clean it first, don’t you think?”
Ah yes, the legendary Sandtiger, given the task of cleaning a pot. Definitely added luster to the legend. I got up from my comfortable sprawl, took the pot from the cooling rocks set in a ring around what now were glowing coals, and grabbed a handful of sand. The easiest way to clean a pot in a desert is to use sand to scour out the bits of food a spoon or fork couldn’t quite get, and not waste water while doing it. As I scrubbed, gritty sand scratched against the metal. Eventually all that was left was a rime of sand dust, which I blew out, then ran my hand around the interior once again.
“All right.” I rose. “I’ll be back in a bit. I’ll take the horses to the spring before it gets too crowded again.”
The sun perched on the horizon. Daylight was gone. Now the evening slid up from the earth with dusk in accompaniment. I unpicketed the horses, led them away as I went to the next-door tree again and returned the pot with effusive thanks. Then I took the stud and Del’s gelding to the spring.
Del’s horse, as sunlight disappeared, took on a kind of glow, as if his coat gathered up what little light was left. He drew attention as we walked but less for that, I thought, than for the narrow strings of leather swaying against his face.
More and more wagons came in for the night and also a handful of men who rode alone. I quickened my steps and managed to stake out a good place at the spring before the onslaught, letting out lead-rope so the horses could drink. A large bucket was available, and while some used it to dip up water for animals, most let their animals drink directly from the spring. A few brought with them waxed canvas buckets like those Del and I carried.
As more animals were brought in, the jostling began. The stud pinned back his ears and slewed an eye sideways to take the measure of the horse next to him.
“Hey.” I snapped a finger on his muzzle with intended sharpness. “Not here and not now.” He offered me the equine equivalent of a scowl. “Don’t give me that. Now, quit. Just settle.”
He did not. He jerked his head sideways to nip at his sorrel neighbor, though he never made contact because I gave his halter a jerk. When that didn’t have much effect, I grabbed the bridle by a bit shank to insist with added vigor that he mind his manners.