The Woman Who Rides Like a Man (17 page)

"Tell me you love me," he said, trying to smile. "I need the encouragement."

She ran into his arms, hugging him as fiercely as he did her. "Of course I love you," she whispered. "That part of it is settled."

He said nothing, continuing to hold her so tightly her ribs ached. At last she ventured, "Jon? Why d'you want to be the Voice? You're already restless."

"I
need
to be the Voice," he replied softly. "If I can do this thing, become the leader of the Bazhir, there should be few secrets of the human soul I won't understand. The Bazhir aren't so different from us, Alanna. If I know them, how they think, I'll know how most people think. With that knowledge I can become the greatest—the
best
—ruler who ever lived."

"It's so important to you?"

"It's what I was born to do," he told her, his voice harsh. "It's what I
will
do. In spite of being restless. In spite of everything."

*

Jonathan and Ali Mukhtab stood at the summit of the hill with a fire between them, its flames reaching waist-high. Somehow the Voice stood alone—there was no one to catch him if he fell. Alanna waited with the other shamans some distance away: they were not permitted near until the ceremony was over; they were forbidden to use their magic.

Faithful stood on his hind feet, bracing his front paws on Alanna's thigh. Not taking her eyes off the scene before her, she picked him up, trying not to grip him too tightly. She was trembling with fear, because she had no control over what would happen.

Ali Mukhtab raised his hands, his voice suddenly strong as he chanted. The language was ancient, left from the time when the Bazhir lived in stone buildings on the other side of the Inland Sea; Alanna couldn't understand the words. She could, however, feel the power that began to fill the air: a dark, boiling force that drew answering chords from the crystal sword at her waist. She touched the hilt absently, mentally commanding it to quiet. The sound from the blade lessened, although she still could feel it quivering.

Ali Mukhtab ended his chant as suddenly-strong winds flicked burnooses across their owners' faces, raising little dust devils from the ground.

"Jonathan of Conté." Mukhtab's voice was soft, yet it rolled and echoed through the air. "You come, a northern stranger, seeking to be one with the Bazhir. For what reason should we permit you, son of the Tortallan King, to enter this most holy circle of our people?"

From the look on Jonathan's face, Alanna knew this wasn't part of the ritual. The Prince had to answer honestly, while the Bloody Hawk and the visitors from the other tribes listened.

Let it be the right answer,
Alanna pleaded the Great Goddess silently.

A sudden burst of light turned the entire scene a blue-white color, dazzling them all. From the circle of light that blotted their vision, the listeners heard Jonathan's voice. "Because I know and honor your history, and I know and honor your laws. Because I never wish to see the Bazhir hunted and slain by our warriors, even as I never wish to see our warriors hunted and slain by the Bazhir." A soft chuckle swept through the watchers farther down the hills from the shamans, and Alanna felt a small knot of tension loosen inside her. Her eyes were beginning to clear, revealing at least the outlines of the two men above her. Jonathan continued, "Because only together will your people and mine become great. Because—" his voice grew very quiet. "Because I want to know the
why
of men and women."

*

There was a silence; Alanna was sure the thudding of her heart was audible to everyone. Then Ali Mukhtab raised his hands once more, his belt dagger glinting in his left fist.

"As the gods will, so mote it be!" he cried. A thunderclap made the ground rock beneath them as the Voice of the Tribes laid open a long gash in his right forearm. It was far longer than the ones Alanna had received when she became a Bazhir and when Myles adopted her.
Merciful Mother!
Alanna thought in horror.
He can't lose so much blood!

Jonathan was opening a similiar wound in his own right arm, paralleling the one he'd received on initiation into the Bazhir. Faithful jumped
from Alanna's hold and raced up the hill to the two men. Alanna started to call him back, but Kara clapped a hand over her mouth, and Kourrem shook her head warningly. Alanna gritted her teeth, willing herself to stay where she was as Kara removed her hand. If either man saw the cat sitting now beside Mukhtab, they gave no sign of it. Their eyes were locked on each other's faces as the Voice stretched his bleeding arm across the fire to the Prince. Jon reached out and clasped the offered arm, both men drawing perilously close to the flames. The fire hissed as their
combined blood dropped onto the hot coals.

"Two as One." Ali Mukhtab's voice was a broken rasp that rang in Alanna's ears. The power in the air climbed; Kara and Kourrem clung shivering to each other. Umar Komm reached over and gripped Alanna's shoulder. She covered the old shaman's hand with hers, grateful for the contact.

"Two as One." Jonathan sounded soft and halting, almost as if he were in a trance.

"Two as One, and Many." Ali Mukhtab's voice held a whining note that made the hair on the back of Alanna's neck stand straight up.

"Two as One, and Many." Jonathan shivered uncontrollably. The fire suddenly roared higher than both men's heads, engulfing them in flames that were rapidly turning an eye-hurting white. Their burnooses began to smoulder. As if he sensed her urge to run to them, Umar Komm tightened his grip on Alanna. He had warned her before the ceremony that she must not speak or interfere, no matter what happened. The gods would protect Jonathan and Ali Mukhtab, if they were meant to succeed.

"One—as—Many!" Ali Mukhtab forced the cry out as the blue-white flames caused many watchers to look away. The words thundered with magic, making Alanna's bones hurt and the crystal sword shiver.

"One!" Jonathan's voice was thick with pain, but he forced the words out. "As—Many!"

There was a crash of sound that left them deafened. For a moment Alanna thought she heard thousands of voices cry out in exaltation. Suddenly the fire went out; the darkness was split by Jonathan's scream. Alanna heard one—or both—of them fall. Umar Komm held her now with both hands, and a tiny part of her was surprised at the old man's strength.

At last everything was silent. The winds stopped and were replaced by a desert breeze. Umar Komm relaxed his grip on Alanna as the feeling of power oozed from the air.

"Now we shall see," he announced, bending to pick up the staff he had dropped in order to hold onto her.

"Come," he ordered the shamans. They made their way to the summit of the hill. Others went to Ali Mukhtab as Alanna knelt beside Jon, feeling for his pulse with shaking fingers. His heartbeat was slow and strong. She seized his arm, preparing to tear a bandage from her robe—and stopped. Two scars, one reddish, the other blue-tinted, ran from the Prince's elbow to his wrist. The blue scar was warm to the touch, far warmer than Jon's body heat would have made it. She shivered. Ali Mukhtab had just such a scar on his right arm.

She looked up at Umar Komm. "He's all right." Glancing at the other shamans, who were lifting Ali Mukhtab, she whispered, "The Voice?" She knew the truth even as she asked.

Jonathan stirred and sat up, rubbing the blue scar. "I am the Voice of the Tribes," he rasped. "Ali Mukhtab, who was the Voice, has passed on. I remain." He stood, leaning on Alanna's shoulder, and the watchers below cheered until their throats hurt. Men came forward and took Mukhtab's body as Alanna rubbed away the tears flooding down her cheeks.

"He isn't gone," Jonathan told her. "He's here, inside me. They're all here—all the Voices." He looked up at a nearby man. "It won't be so bad, Amman Kemail. I am not wise, but I can always learn."

The big headman smiled thinly. "In your moment of becoming, we were each with you—" His eyes flicked to Alanna, "All save the Woman Who Rides Like a Man. You will do, Jonathan of Conté."

They gripped each other's arms. "If I succeed, I will owe it to the Bazhir and not to myself," Jon replied.

Halef Seif approached, bowing deeply to the Prince who had become their Voice. "It is time for our people to rejoice in a seemly fashion," the Bloody Hawk headman remarked. "Ali Mukhtab is delivered from his pain, and the Voice of the Tribes continues. Let us burn his abandoned shell, and send him to the gods with love. Come down to the village. We will remember Ali Mukhtab, and we will drink to our hope for peace."

*

"What was it like?" Alanna asked Jon. They were curled up together, Faithful lodged between them on top of the blankets. Dawn was slipping sunlight through the tent flap.

For a long time he was silent. "It was the worst thing that ever happened to me," he said at last. "Even worse than the place between life and death, when you saved me from the Sweating Sickness. Worse than fighting the Ysandir, in the Black City. It was as if—" He drew a deep breath. "As if thousands of people were screaming inside my head, each wanting to be heard first. As if I were all of those people, only everything bad in our lives hurt more, because the feeling was multiplied. I lived all the lives of all the Voices; there have been four hundred and fifteen of us, Alanna. And I saw my own death. I was a chain. All my links were trying to pull apart. I lost Jonathan for a while; I was everyone
but
Jonathan."

"No wonder you screamed," she whispered, holding him as close as the cat between them would permit.

"But the things I could
see."
He had forgotten her now, remembering. "I could see the magic Faithful gave Ali Mukhtab to keep him alive. I could see the palaces we once had, on the other side of the Inland Sea. I could see us fleeing the Ysandir, and building Persopolis. I could feel the wind in our faces as we rode the sands, free from all kings. I could see the gods as they watch us live our lives. The Mother is beautiful," he said, his sapphire eyes shining with awe. "The most perfect woman, and not a woman at all. Mithros was so bright, the Black God without brightness, yet radiating peace. I could never do it again. But I will never forget that I'm One, and Many. When my life becomes too confining, when I feel I have no freedom, I can look into myself, and be someone else. I can
go
somewhere else." He turned and kissed her deeply, then added, "Alanna, for the first time since I was named, I am free."

*

When she left Jonathan's tent the next morning, Alanna found Halef Seif seated on the edge of the tribe's well, as if waiting for someone. He rose and walked with her as she went to the corral, watching as she got out combs and began to curry Moonlight. Finally he spoke. "The Voice of the Tribes must return to his home soon."

Bending down to reach her mare's hocks, Alanna grunted. "He was lucky to be able to get away this long."

"It will be good to have a Voice who is the son of the Northern King, even as it is good to have a shaman who is the Woman Who Rides Like a Man."

Alanna glared at the headman from under Moonlight's neck. "You haven't been so formal with me since I first joined the tribe," she accused. "What's on your mind, Halef Seif?" When he hesitated, she added, "I thought you, of all people, would be honest with me."

"Will you leave the tribe now?" he asked. "Will you be returning with him, to live in his house and be his wife?"

Alanna swallowed hard; this was being honest with a vengeance! "I don't know," she admitted, busying herself with the mare's tail. "I've been thinking about it, but I haven't come to a decision."

"He ordered his horses for today," the headman said implacably. "Surely he expects you to accompany him, if you will be his bride." Seeing Alanna turn pale, he added, "He ordered that your horse be prepared, too."

Alanna felt the beginnings of irritation. "He had no right to do that. I haven't given him my answer yet."

"Perhaps he believes he knows what your answer will be."

Alanna put her combs away. "I'd better talk to him." She slipped beneath the rope that enclosed the horses, and glanced up at Halef Seif. "No one is to ready Moonlight for a journey until
I
say so." She strode off, telling herself that Jonathan was tired, and had probably forgotten to ask her if she planned to go with him when he left today. For that matter, she remembered, he hadn't even mentioned he was leaving.