The Woman Who Rides Like a Man Read online

  Alanna, Myles, and the others watched as Jonathan underwent the ceremony that bound him to the Bazhir and the desert. Only a fool would not have noticed that the Bazhir were less happy with Jonathan’s becoming a Bazhir than the men of the Bloody Hawk had been when Alanna had joined them. They were quiet as Ali Mukhtab cut Jon’s arm and his own, and there was no feast afterward.

  “They welcomed you, didn’t they?” Jon asked Alanna when they were in bed.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “They’re still not convinced I’ll be a good Voice of the Tribes. I’ll simply have to prove it with my actions,” he commented. He hugged Alanna close. “I know I’ve been a bit difficult to be around lately,” he confessed. “I’ve been hemmed in and proper all my life, and lately it’s been bothering me. I want to break loose and do all the things I’m not supposed to. I’ll probably never do them, and right now I’m fighting it. Can you understand that?”

  “No,” Alanna replied frankly. “I’ve spent all my life trying to avoid getting caught in just that kind of trap.”

  “Well, my lovely Lioness, that’s the trap I was born into. I’ll get over this restlessness, I suppose. I really want to be a good king, and a good Voice of the Tribes.”

  “Then you’ll do it,” she reassured him. “I don’t doubt it for a minute.”

  After Jonathan’s initiation into the Bazhir, Alanna spent little time with Kara and Kourrem, leaving them to study with the visiting shamans. Her visits to Ali Mukhtab grew to twice a day, leaving her weary and sick each time. Only Farda and the Voice himself knew what she was doing. During her free hours, she talked with Myles, learning all she needed to know about Barony Olau, even as Jon studied late with Mukhtab.

  At last Myles admitted that Alanna had nothing left to learn about his estates. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to formally adopt you here. The Bazhir ceremony is simple, and quite legal.” He chuckled. “I think your desert friends would be happy if you gained a father, even a disreputable one like me.”

  Alanna hugged him. She was discovering that each time she hugged Myles, it got easier. It was one of the many ways in which living as a girl was far more pleasant; boys were not supposed to show affection openly. “You aren’t disreputable at all; well, not that disreputable. If only you’d wear nicer clothes. It’s not as if you can’t afford it.” She had discovered Myles was far wealthier than she dreamed, as a result of an unnoble-like interest in trade.

  “But I’m comfortable this way,” the knight pointed out. He added shrewdly, “Of course, if you married Jon, I would have to dress up from time to time.”

  Faithful uttered a small yowlp as Alanna stared at her friend. “How did you know?”

  “I’m not blind. All the way down here he was brooding. When he wasn’t, he talked about why a prince marries.”

  “Oh.” Alanna fingered her ember-stone. “I told him I’d think about it.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure he wants to marry me for the right reasons,” she admitted. “He seems angry that people expect him to behave a certain way because he’s the prince. He calls it ‘a trap’ he was ‘born into.’” Picking up Faithful, Alanna draped him around her shoulders. “I don’t blame him for wanting to rebel—that’s one of the reasons I left the Court. But I don’t like the idea of his proving he’s rebelling by marriage with me. That makes me into a thing that’s evidence he can do what he wants, instead of loving me as a person.”

  “He does love you,” Myles pointed out.

  She sighed. “I know he does. But I wonder if he’d have proposed if he weren’t—itchy. You know something else, Myles? I never liked people watching me and talking about me all the time, even when they were saying nice things. And I still haven’t learned to live with killing Roger.” The cat thrust his nose into her ear, and she winced. “I like it here. The Bazhir accept me. I’m myself with them. Well, as much myself as anyone can be when they’re a shaman and a warrior, and when they don’t want to hurt people’s feelings.”

  “Do you love Jon?”

  Alanna scratched Faithful’s ears, her violet eyes sad. “Love’s wonderful, but it is not enough to keep us together for years of marriage. I’m not sure if I’m ready; I’m not sure if Jon’s ready. I have to be sure, if I want to marry King Roald’s heir.” She smiled. “Yes, I love him. That’s the whole problem.”

  He stood, putting a hand on her shoulder. “The only advice I can give you, then, is to decide carefully. If you are so uncertain, you would make a bad decision if you married now. No can always be changed to yes, but it’s very hard to change yes to no. Come on. Smile. Let’s go see what your apprentices are up to.”

  The apprentices were easy to find. All of the shamans in the village, as well as Jonathan, Ali Mukhtab, Farda, and Halef Seif, were gathered around the well. In the open space before Ali Mukhtab’s tent stood Kara, her veils whipping around her as she raised a whirling funnel of dust in the air before her. Alanna had to grin with pride. The Bazhir maiden had come a long way from being unable to control the winds she summoned.

  Then Kourrem stepped forward, a bit of thread in her hands. Her lips moving, she tied a complex knot in the thread. The twister, which had been slowly growing toward the sky, halted. Dust fell slowly down its sides and was scooped in once more. Kourrem grinned and tied a second, harder knot: The dust collapsed to earth. The shamans applauded the two girls, who laughed and blushed behind their veils.

  “They know as much as any shaman,” Umar Komm told Alanna. “They must be initiated soon.”

  Alanna frowned. “They’re very young. If I leave, I’m afraid they’ll get into trouble.”

  The old man chuckled. “You worry over them as the desert grouse worries over her chicks,” he informed her. “But you are right. A shaman who is too young can lead a tribe to grief. I believe Mahman Fadul would like to be principal shaman of my tribe.” He nodded to the young man who had come with him, a handsome fellow who had a habit of watching Alanna with admiration. “If you wish, I will come to the Bloody Hawk and watch over your chicks, Woman Who Rides Like a Man. I can oversee this school of shamans while the young ones tend to the needs of the tribe.”

  Alanna nibbled her thumb. “I guess I’m worried that I’d be deserting my post,” she admitted.

  Umar Komm shook his head. “No one believes you will remain among us all your life. That you have stayed so long is an honor to our people. And you may always return.”

  Alanna felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. “If that is so, then I gladly accept your offer,” she said. “The full moon is in five days—the girls can be initiated then.”

  “Excellent.” Umar Komm nodded. “I shall tell the women of the tribe to prepare a feast we will long remember.” He was silent for a moment, then he drew her aside. “Alanna, how ill is the Voice of the Tribes?”

  Alanna glanced at Ali Mukhtab. He was leaning on a tall staff, his face grayish under his tan. “Why do you ask?”

  “The shamans speak of it quietly, among themselves. We have eyes and can see. He is dying, is he not?”

  Alanna nodded.

  “Our people begin to suspect. When we commune with the Voice, he feels old. And tired. His mind is a disciplined one, and he lets nothing else through, but had you touched his thoughts when he was in his prime—”

  “I’ve never communed with the Voice,” she admitted.

  Umar Komm smiled. “Of course not. You are afraid you will lose yourself if you join with another—even if you join only in love, as with your Northern prince.”

  “Does everyone know my business?” she demanded tartly, just remembering to keep her voice down.

  “The Bazhir have clear eyes,” the shaman replied. “And the lords from the North both love you, each in his own way. It would be a fine thing for our people if the Woman Who Rides Like a Man were to wed the Voice of the Tribes.”

  “And if I don’t?” she asked steadily.

  His face was surprise
d. “Why, then you are still the Woman Who Rides Like a Man, and he is still the Voice. If he passes the rite, of course.”

  Alanna excused herself, seeing that Ali Mukhtab needed to go inside and lie down. “If,” indeed, she thought.

  That night, after the evening meal, Halef Seif took her aside. “Sir Myles of Olau tells me he wishes to bring you into his tent as his heir,” he said. Alanna nodded, and a smile brightened the headman’s face. “I feel strange saying he wishes you to be his daughter, since a daughter cannot inherit all the father owns among our people. He says to me you have been friends a long time.”

  “He taught me everything I knew about the Bazhir before I came here,” she said. “In fact, he taught me a number of useful things when I was growing up. I’m honored that he wants to adopt me.”

  “Many strange things have happened to you since your birth,” Halef mused. “I believe finding a father when you are grown is no stranger than any. Do you wish the ceremony to be tonight?”

  “Tonight?”

  “Why delay? You have your tribe around you, your prince to give his blessing—”

  Alanna swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “Why not tonight, indeed?” she said bravely. “Uh—will this be like the time I was adopted into the tribe?”

  “Exactly like,” he admitted as he ushered her back into the circle of firelight. Alanna looked at the scar on her wrist from her initiation into the tribe and grimaced. She was vain enough not to want any more scars than she had, but sensible enough to know she would probably collect more in the life she had chosen. Halef Seif was holding up his hands, calling for everyone’s attention. Myles stood, dusting off the back of his breeches.

  “Tonight the northerner called Myles of Olau, the Friend of the Bazhir, desires to take Alanna of the Bloody Hawk into his tent as his daughter and heir.” He waited for the surprised murmurs to end before speaking again. “By our law, seven men must witness this rite. Who will witness?”

  Alanna blushed as nearly every man in the circle volunteered. Halef Seif picked Ali Mukhtab, Jonathan, Coram, Umar Komm, Gammal the smith—

  “Halef Seif,” Alanna said nervously. The headman looked at her. “I would like my apprentices to witness.”

  Again there was a murmur; women were not legally permitted to perform in ceremonies such as this. Alanna clenched her teeth. If they were to be shamans, the girls would have to take part in every tribal activity. Kara and Kourrem hung back, but the men urged them forward until they stood with the other witnesses. Halef Seif was heating his knife blade in the big fire.

  “Roll up your sleeve and smile,” Myles whispered as he did the same. Alanna rolled up her right sleeve, thinking that it was not the same as receiving a wound in battle: On those occasions it was often long moments before she even knew she was hurt, and the excitement of fighting acted as its own pain-killing drug. Now she could only brace herself as Halef Seif lightly cut Myles’s wrist, then hers, pressing them together as blood welled out. Once again Alanna felt odd joining-magic as Halef Seif commanded, “Become one with each other, with the Bazhir, with the desert we love.” The combined drops fell, soaking into the sand as the tribesmen cheered.

  “Now, was that so bad?” Myles asked her as Farda bandaged them both. Alanna grimaced and watched the witnesses sign the legal documents Myles had brought with him from Corus. Then she realized she now had a father who loved her, and she laughed as tears ran down her face.

  Jonathan found her later as she struggled once more with the crystal blade, forcing another spot of evil out of the sword’s makeup. She smiled up at him as he wiped sweat from her forehead with a cool cloth. “I think that every time I do this, my Gift gets stronger,” she gasped.

  He frowned at her. “Does it always tire you so much?” When she didn’t answer, he added softly, “Or does it tire you because you’re wearing yourself out keeping Ali Mukhtab alive?”

  “I have to do it, if you’re going to become the Voice,” she replied, turning the sword over in her fingers. “That’s what you want—and that’s what he wants. I think you could probably handle this, now.” She offered it to him. “It’s not as bad as it was when I took it from Ibn Nazzir.”

  He took the weapon, his eyebrows lifting as he felt its power. “It must have been terrible.”

  She shrugged. “I just wish I knew how it was related to Duke Roger.”

  He returned the sword, hilt-first, and she sheathed it. “I was asking Myles about that. He reminded me of something—did you know that Roger was a famous amateur jeweler when he was younger?”

  She stared at him, eyes wide. “No.”

  “He made hilts, pendants—I think he designed his sorcerer’s rod. I believe the hilt for this sword is his work.”

  “And the blade?” she wanted to know.

  He smiled grimly. “I’ve been going through Roger’s books and papers, those I can find. I know more about him than I did when he died. Yes, my love, I believe that blade is his work too. I wish you were carrying Lightning again.”

  “I do, too. I’ll just have to keep searching for a way to mend it.” She sighed, then put the sword down and let him give her a hand up from the pillow on which she sat. She had been working before the altar; now he led her back to the sleeping quarters.

  “Alanna?” he asked as she prepared for the night. “Do you still wear that charm Mistress Cooper gave you to keep you from getting pregnant?”

  She showed it to him, hanging half-hidden on the same chain that suspended her ember-stone. “I never go without it.”

  “I trust you’ll leave it off after we’re married,” he said with a yawn.

  I don’t want to have children just yet! she realized in a panic. Controlling her emotions, she replied dryly, “We’re not married yet, my prince.”

  He chuckled sleepily. “Of course not, my beautiful Lioness. Come to bed.”

  The day before the moon was full, Alanna roused Kara and Kourrem before dawn. She rode with them as their sole escort to the nearest oasis. After saying prayers over them, she sent the girls into the chilly water for the ritual cleansing. They were silent throughout. Neither of them was permitted to speak until the night’s ritual was over. Neither could use magic, or perform any tasks apart from dressing. Silently they returned to the camp and to Alanna’s tent, where they knelt before the altar. Two pairs of eyes fixed on the lamp that burned there; within moments they were in a light trance. They would remain like this for hours, thinking about the life they were about to begin.

  The sun was rising when she entered Ali Mukhtab’s tent. The Voice was already awake, accepting a cup of tea from Farda.

  “And so your chicks have begun the ritual.” Alanna made a face as she opened her healer’s bag; Umar Komm’s description of her apprentices was now known to the entire tribe. “How does that make you feel?”

  “As if I were taking the Ordeal of Knighthood all over again,” she admitted, feeling for his heartbeat in his wrist. “How did you sleep?”

  “Do you expect me to say I slept as an infant does?” His sense of humor twinkled out of his too-large eyes. His weight loss was now apparent to even the least observant members of the tribe, as was the grayish tinge of his skin.

  “I expect you to do me the credit of not lying about it.” She placed both hands on his arm and drew a breath, readying herself to beat back the pain once more. Each time it got harder, for her and for him.

  When she released him, she rocked backward and would have fallen if Farda had not caught her. She felt dizzy and sick; it was the way she always felt when she used the spell now, and she used it three times a day. She accepted the cloth Farda gave her and wiped her forehead. Already Muktab’s eyelids were drooping.

  “How much longer must Jonathan study?” she rasped, her voice as sick as the rest of her. “When will he be ready?” She had to place her ear by the dying man’s mouth to hear what he was saying. “In the dark of the moon. Fourteen days.”

  “What if he fails?”
The thought was horrible: If he failed, Jon would be dead, and Ali Mukhtab—

  The Voice struggled to smile. “Then I will wait to die. Alanna—”

  “Yes?”

  “Akhnan Ibn Nazzir survived the rite of shamans. Your chicks will do well.”

  The light of the full moon turned the desert sands an eerie white: A fit setting for an initiation, I suppose, Alanna thought as Umar Komm read the list of gods given honor by the Bazhir. The girls knelt in the sand, encircled by witch-fires that glowed Alanna’s violet and Umar Komm’s blue-green. Both apprentices looked tired but serene, and Alanna felt proud of them. They’ll be good for the tribe, she realized, even if they do want to keep their face veils.

  Umar Komm finished the names of the gods and nodded to Alanna. She stretched out her hands to the girls, conscious that everyone who had come to the tents of the Bloody Hawk in recent days was watching. The circle of fire lay solidly between Alanna and her apprentices. “If you are pure in heart and strong of will, come forth!” she summoned, using words Umar Komm and the other shamans had taught her that very day.

  Kara stood. For a moment she faltered, seeing the magical flames rear higher than her head. Then her mouth firmed, and she walked through the ring. Kourrem followed without hesitation. Alanna and Umar threw up walls of light, and Alanna summoned the apprentices again: “If you will do as the gods require, come forth!”

  The girls walked through the light together. Kara slowed, nearly stopping, for a moment, but both emerged. Alanna and Umar Komm created a deep trench in the ground before them. For the third time, Alanna summoned, “If you will do your duty by your people and your tribe, come forth!”

  This task was the hardest, because it required the most determination. Few sorcerers lifted themselves from the ground; it cost too much strength to go a very short distance. Alanna doubted that she could do it, drained as she was by keeping Ali Mukhtab alive.

  Kourrem hesitated, fighting to strengthen her resolve. She was forbidden to use thread, or to move rocks to fill the trench. She had to fly over it.