But I really couldn't remember that I'd dreamed. 'Wait—' I began, then broke into a paroxysm of coughing, which succeeded in drawing even more smoke into my lungs. The world coalesced into a tiny pinpoint of existence, then burst into a vast array of fragmented awareness. I felt parts of my body, my mind breaking apart, spinning away. 'Wait —'
Oziri laughed. 'The gods are not gentle to unbelievers, especially those who repudiate their gifts.'
I could barely see, could barely hang onto my senses. 'You told me to trust you.'
His eyes were like a dagger. His words opened my vitals. 'I said I would see you safely through. I did not say it would be a painless journey.'
I reached toward the sword. Then memory stirred. Stopped me.
Oziri was right: I had dreamed last night.
'I remember,' I blurted, startled. 'I—'
–remember.
And then forgot everything, including my name.
* * *
Del's face, when she dances—or even when she spars—wears one of two expressions: fierce determination or an oddly relaxed focus. The former comes from a true challenge, to prove herself and win; the latter from the knowledge that she will win, so the point is to refine her skill. Opponents and enemies have witnessed both. So have I.
But this time, for the first time, I saw fear.
We were yet again in the common area of the Vashni encampment, pretending a portion of it was a circle. After two more hard engagements Del stumbled back, regained her footing and balance, blocked my blow. Steel clashed. She was breathing hard. 'Let's stop.'
I repeated the series of maneuvers, pushing her harder. Waiting for her body to fail.
She blocked me again and again, frowning. 'Stop.'
I tried a new angle. Blades met, scraped, screeched.
Her teeth were bared in a brief rictus of sheer effort. The exhaustion was obvious, and oddly exhilarating. '—stop—'
Over the locked blades I looked into her widening eyes. I shook my head, on the verge of laughing joyously. 'You can't win by quitting.'
This time there was no determination. No relaxation. Not even fear. Just astonishment.
'Come on,' I jeered. 'We haven't even begun.'
Something flickered in her eyes. Then her mouth went flat and hard.
Laughing, I expected her to renew the match. Instead, Del pushed forward briefly, released her sword entirely, threw both splayed hands into the air and took three strides backward as the blade fell. The expression now was anger.
It wasn't surrender. She didn't yield. It was—cessation. And it left me standing in the middle of a circle I'd drawn in the Vashni common, clutching my sword while hers lay at my feet.
I arched my brows. 'Afraid, bascha?'
She was sucking air audibly. The single braid had loosened itself, strands straggling around her face. She was ice and sunlight, and much too tough to melt. 'What,' she panted, 'is wrong with you?'
'You asked me to spar with you.'
She managed one word. 'Spar.'
I shrugged. 'You've always preferred a challenge to mere practice. Let's not waste our time.'
Hands went to her hips and rested there as her breathing slowed. 'That wasn't sparring. That was anger, Tiger.'
I shook my head. 'I'm not angry.'
'Angry,' she declared. 'And bitter.'
'You're imagining things.' I bent, picked up her sword. 'Let's go again.'
Del shook her head with slow deliberation.
'Afraid, bascha?' I smiled, tossed the blade. 'Catch.'
She made no attempt to do so. She merely stepped back and let it fall into the sand. Sunlight flashed.
'That,' I said severely, 'is no way to treat a good blade.'
Winter descended. 'Nor is your behavior any way to treat me.'
'Oh, come on, Del! This is how it is. You work your body, work your mind, challenge everything about yourself, until the weakness is gone. It isn't easy, no, but it's the best way. I've spent months doing it—can't you at least invest a few days?'
Del bent, retrieved her sword, turned on her heel and walked away.
'Hey. Hey!' In several long strides I reached her. Reached for her. 'Don't turn your back on me—'
Del spun. I saw the blade flash even as my own came up. They met at neck level. My blade was against steel. Hers was against my throat.
She tilted her head slightly in an odd, slow, sideways movement almost like a cat preparing to leap. But there was no leap. She stood her ground. 'Angry,' she said very softly. 'Bitter. And vicious.'
I blurted a laugh of incredulity. 'Vicious!'
'And afraid.'
Laughter stopped. 'I'm not—'
'What did he do to you?'
'No one has—'
Her low voice nonetheless overrode my own. 'What did he do to you?'
I smiled. 'You really don't like to lose, do you?'
She made no reply. Just stared. Examined. Evaluated. I saw a series of expressions in her eyes and face, but none I could name. They came and went too quickly: the faintest of ripples in her flesh, a shifting in her eyes. Nearly nonexistent.
Delilah asked, 'What did he say to you to make you so afraid?'
I denied her an answer. I took a step backward, breaking contact with her blade, and lowered my own. 'Go,' I told her. 'We're done for the day. If you aren't willing to do what it takes, I don't want to bother.'
A multitude of replies crowded her eyes. She made none of them.
I watched her walk away. The anger, the bitterness drained away. I felt oddly empty.
Empty. And afraid.
'Stop it,' she said. 'Stop it, Tiger!'
I said nothing. Did nothing. The voice was very distant. I could ignore it. Did.
'Tig—oh, hoolies,' she muttered, and then a hand cracked me hard across the face.
She is a strong woman, and the blow was heartfelt. I came back to awareness abruptly, catching her wrist. Realized I sat in the hyort we shared. I blinked at her, shocked. 'What was that for?'
'To bring you back.'
'Bring me back from where?'
'From the dream.'
'I was dreaming?'
'Not now,' she said. 'You were awake. But—away. As if you returned to something you'd already experienced.' She indicated her head. 'Inside.'
I felt disoriented. Detached. 'I don't understand.'
She knelt next to me. Desperation edged her tone. 'You have to stop this. This dream-walking.'
I frowned, baffled. 'Why?'
Del pulled her wrist out of my hand. 'Because it's changing you.'
'Changing me! How?' I noticed then that it was nearing sundown. I couldn't remember where the day had gone. 'I don't understand what you're saying.'
'Five days ago you went to Oziri's tent after we sparred, and since then you've been—different.'
I frowned. 'I know you think I'm angry, but I'm not.'
'I didn't say you were angry. I said you were different.'
'And bitter, you said. Vicious, even. Just because you can't match me in the circle.'
