darkened blade_ A fallen blade novel - Kelly McCullough Page 0,87

aid. In either case, the time has come to see if you have proven worthy of the swords of justice.”

Faran nodded grimly. She was covered in sweat, and the blood from her lip had run down her chin and neck all the way to the tip of her right breast. Without speaking, she tightened the muscles in her shoulders and chest, pulling. . . .

For nearly a minute nothing seemed to happen. Then, with a low grating sound, her wrists moved an inch or so out from the stone, dragging the swords with them. Faran paused for a moment, visibly relaxing her arms. Blood flowed more freely now, though still only a fraction of what I might have expected. Ten seconds she waited, breathing slowly. Then she strained again. This time the response from the swords was faster. The hilts moved a good ten inches, pivoting forward as well as sliding outward, without leaving any obvious marks in the stone head.

Another brief pause. Faran’s breath came quicker and more erratic now, and the blood from her bitten lip dripped faster. Her eyes found mine then, and held as she pulled again. I willed her success as I matched her gaze and refused to look away.

With the faintest of pops the swords came free of the stone—later, I would look and find that they had left no marks there. I bit my own lip nearly bloody as Faran brought her arms around in front of her and took the hilt of the sword that pierced her right wrist in her left hand.

“I am Faran Ghostwind and I claim this sword in the name of justice.” She pulled it free of her flesh in a long smooth motion that must have cost her dearly in pain.

The blood that should have burst from such a suddenly opened wound didn’t come as she turned her right hand and caught the hilt standing out from her left wrist before pulling it loose as well. “This sword, too, I claim as mine by right of ordeal. What say you, Challenger?”

Siri stepped forward and rubbed the blood away from Faran’s wrist. There was no wound, only a narrow scar that looked as if it had been there for years. Healing without spell-light and beyond anything a mortal healer could manage. It smacked of god-magic.

“I am Siri Mythkiller and I speak for the challenge. The sword has accepted its master. I say that the petitioner has earned the right to call herself Blade. Sponsor?”

I repeated Siri’s performance with Faran’s other wrist, exposing a second scar. “I am Aral Kingslayer, First Blade of Namara, and I speak for the order. Welcome, Faran Ghostwind, Blade of Justice.”

Faran sheathed her swords. “Blade of Justice . . . I like the sound of that.” She smiled at me, then swayed alarmingly. “Can I pass out now?”

“Only if you really want to.”

“Will you catch me?”

“Of course.”

She fell into my arms and darkness together.

16

A scar is a history of pain written on skin. Mine are palely drawn, cream on sepia—the book of my past reversing the typical colors of ink and paper. But then, my whole life reverses the order of day and night and so many other conventions.

Such were my thoughts while I waited for Faran to wake. Scars and what they say about us seemed terribly important as I contemplated the fresh marks on Faran’s wrists. Once Siri and the others released the wards, I had carried Faran to the grass beyond the stone circle and gently lowered her to the ground, placing her head in my lap.

Kumi brought over a couple of ponchos to make a blanket for the unconscious girl, covering her from toes to chin. For reasons she didn’t choose to share, she had very carefully crossed Faran’s arms on her chest above the fabric, exposing her new scars to the moonlight and my contemplation. I don’t know how long I sat there ruminating on the way the past writes itself into our flesh, but after a time Siri came and stood above me. I didn’t really notice her until Triss gave me a mental nudge.

I looked up. “Yes, Siri?”

“We’ve cleaned up from the ritual and figured out how we can improve it next time. Now we need to start looking for those lost swords. Do you want to leave Faran here, or should we start without you?”

Before I could answer, Faran stirred, roused perhaps by the speaking of her name. She looked up into my face and smiled.