Sword Sworn

"Neesha isn't that foolish foreign kid. He is your son."

"I know. I know." I shook my head. "I just can't think, bascha. There's too much in my head. I need time to work through all of it."

"Why? You don't have to raise him. He's a grown man. All you have to do is acknowledge him."

That stung. "I didn't say he wasn't my son!"

"But you told him you weren't pleased."

"Because I wasn't! I wasn't anything. Hoolies, I was lucky I could find the words to say anything at all."

Del smiled faintly. "The Sandtiger—speechless. Truly a miracle."

I had to make her understand. "There is nothing, nothing in this world that could have stunned me more than what that kid told me. I don't know how else I could have reacted under the circumstances. I did the best I could. Maybe it wasn't enough, maybe it wasn't what he wanted, but it was all I had in me right then." I shook my head, still lacking words. "I've never claimed to be a perfect man, and I sure as hoolies wouldn't claim to be a perfect father. Especially when I didn't know I was a father at all."

I must have made some headway; her tone was kinder. "I did warn him not to have expectations."

"Well, I think he did!"

"Hopes, perhaps. How could he not? He has known since childhood you were his father. He's heard all the stories of the legendary Sandtiger. He has wanted to find you for all of those years. But he was afraid."

"Afraid?"

"That you would disbelieve."

"I did not tell him I disbelieved him."

"Nor did you welcome him." She put up a hand to halt more protestations. "It took him a very long time to find the courage to search for you. And even more to look into your eyes and tell you."

"He didn't 'tell' me. He yelled it at me."

"Sometimes yelling at you is the only way to get anything through your head. But that's not the point." Her eyes were sad. "He swore me to secrecy. I was not to say anything to you at all. It was his task."

"But you did threaten to tell me if he didn't get to it today."

Del nodded. "Because I knew what you were thinking."

"You did?"

"You were becoming more and more certain something was growing between Neesha and me."

"Ah, Del …" I planted my rump on the cool earth of the stream bank, rubbing hands through my hair. "He's twenty-three. He's a good-looking, smart kid with a head on his shoulders who's got his whole life ahead of him. What woman wouldn't be attracted?"

Del sat down next to me, left leg touching mine. "A woman who is content with what she has."

I didn't prevaricate. "Why?"

She leaned against me, put her head on my shoulder. "I can't define it. I just know it. Better than I know anything in this world."

I stared hard at the rushing stream, trying not to weep. "I don't deserve you."

"Probably not."

After a moment I smiled. "That time we talked about children wanting to know who they are, who their blood parents are—that was because of Neesha."

"That was part of it, yes."

"And as it turned out, I was searching for my mother. I just didn't know it at the time."

"But you knew how important it was that you find her."

"Yes."

Del nodded against my shoulder. "It was the same for Neesha."

I watched the water run. "You were so protective of him, so obsessed with his welfare. Always claiming we owed him a debt, insisting we rescue him from Umir. Because he was my son."

"And I like him, Tiger. There is that as well."

I sighed, nodded. "He's a good kid. I like him, too."

She lifted her head from my shoulder and leaned in to kiss my cheek. "Go tell him that."

I stared into water for a moment longer. Then pressed myself up from the earth, reaching down for Del. She rose as I pulled, and I wrapped her up in my arms. "Thank you, bascha."

After a moment she leaned away. Her smile was luminous. "He's out with the horses. They're picketed near the corral."

THIRTY-SIX

I DID NOT immediately go to find Neesha. I watched Del walk away, heading back toward Mehmet's house. Then I turned, stared pensively up at the broken chimney for a time, then into the rushing water.

I have a son.

Alien words. Alien concept.

I have a son.

I had believed it impossible. Not because I was incapable or infertile, but because at the core of my being a small, cold, piece of me remembered all too well how the Salset treated the get of chulas, if the women were unlucky enough to carry to full term when herbs didn't loosen the child. They were made slaves themselves, or sold to slave-dealers, or exposed out in the desert.

When you have lived among the Salset for sixteen years, you do not easily forge a new identity, a new view of yourself. I had spent far more years as a sword-dancer, but slavery had shaped me. A part of me would always be a chula in mind if not body.

I have a son.

Born into freedom, not slavery. Not sold. Not exposed.

Despite what I had told others, I had never not wanted children. I had simply never allowed myself to consider that I could.

Ihave a son.

I felt the kindling of a new emotion. Felt tears on my face. Praise the gods.

As Del had said, I found Neesha near the corral, grooming and talking quietly to the horses. It struck me yet again how good he was with them. Firm but not heavy-handed; calm, soft-spoken, yet clear on who was in charge. He had already groomed his horse and Del's gelding; now he worked on the stud. More than a little surprised by the stud's quietude, I watched without indicating I was nearby.

But he knew. Whether it was the stud's pricked ears or just an extra sense because of his background, he glanced over a shoulder as he smoothed the brush around the healing wound on the brown haunch.

It was too difficult to say what I wished to say. So I opened with a compliment that was also the truth. "You are very good with horses."

He looked away. "Is that your way of suggesting I should go back to the farm?"

Oh, he was indeed in a mood. "It was my way of saying you're very good with horses."

He ran the brush down to the stud's hock. "But you think I should go back to the farm."

I told myself to be patient, that I had set up this scene by my own reaction to his news. "If that was a question, I'll answer it: If you want to. If it was an accusation, then I'm denying it."

"Maybe you don't care enough to have an opinion one way or the other."

Anger flared; of course I cared. But how could he know if I didn't tell him? Even if I had no idea how to begin.

I let the anger die. "Maybe I have an opinion but don't care for people trying to put words in my mouth."

"I thought about leaving." He eased around the stud's rump, moved to his head to brush the far side. "I thought about saddling up and just going, with no word to anyone. But I decided that would be childish."

I smiled. "Well, yes."

"And besides, I really did come to ask you for lessons, and I really do want to be a sword-dancer."

Finally I had to ask it. "And when did you plan to tell me you were my son?"