Stone of Tears

“Du Chaillu, I told you the killing must stop.”

“It is easy to proclaim the killing must end, when you are the one about to die.”

“How dare you say that to me! I risked my life to stop the killing! I risked my life for you!”

She spoke softly. “I know, Richard. For that I will always honor you. I would have borne your sons, had you asked it of me. I would lay my life down for you. For what you have done, you will live on as a hero to my people. I will tie a prayer to my dress, that the spirits take you tenderly to their hearts.

“But you are a magic man. The old law says that we must practice every day, and be better with a blade than any other people born. We have been told that we must kill every magic man we can catch, or the Spirit of the Dark will take the world of life into the dark.”

“You can’t go on killing magic men, or anyone else! It must stop!”

The killing cannot end because of what you have done. It can only end when the spirits dance with us.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we must kill you or what has been spoken will be brought to pass—the Dark Spirit will escape his prison.”

Richard pointed with the spear. “du Chaillu, I don’t want to kill any of you, but I will defend myself. Please stop now, before anyone else is hurt. Don’t make me kill any of you. Please.”

“Had you tried to run, we would have put spears in your back, but since you choose to stand, you have earned the right to face us. You will die anyway, as have all before whom we have caught. If you do not fight us, it will be made quick, and you will not suffer. You have my word.”

She turned her hand in the air and the chanting started again. The outer ring of men drew their swords—long, black-handled weapons, each with a ring at the pommel holding a cord that looped around the swordsman’s neck to keep the sword from being lost in battle. Each blade was curved, widening toward the clipped point.

The men spun the swords, passing them from right hand to left, and back again. The blades never stopped spinning. The two rings began moving in opposite directions again. The inner circle of men began twirling the spears like staffs.

Richard had known guides who carried staffs. No one ever bothered a guide with a staff. These people were better than any guide he had ever seen. The shafts of wood were a blur in the moonlight, the steel points a circle of dull reflection.

Richard broke the spear shaft over his knee and drew his sword. The sound of steel rang above the sound of the whistling spears and blades.

“Don’t do this, Du Chaillu! Stop it now, before anyone else is hurt!”

“Do not fight us, witch man, and we will grant you a quick death. I owe you at least that.”

Richard’s chest heaved; the muscles in his jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth. The chanting increased in speed, and the circles of men moved faster.

Richard glared at Du Chaillu as she stood on the rock. “I disavow responsibility for what is to happen, Du Chaillu. It is you who presses this. What happens is your responsibility. You bring it!”

She spoke softly, her voice filled with regret. “We are many. You are but one. I am sorry, Richard.”

“Only a fool would have confidence in those odds, Du Chaillu. They are not what they seem. You cannot all come at me at once. You can only attack one, or two, or at most three at a time. The odds are not what they seem to your eyes.” Richard wondered dimly where his own words had come from.

He could see her nod in the moonlight. “You understand the dance of death, witch man.”

“I’m not a witch man, Du Chaillu! I am Richard, the Seeker of Truth. I’m not going with this Sister to learn to be a witch man by choice. I’m a prisoner. You know that. But I will defend myself.”

Du Chaillu watched him in the moonlight. “The spirits know I am sorry for you, Seeker Richard, but you must die.”

“Don’t be sorry for me, Du Chaillu. Be sorry for those of you who are going to die this night, for no good reason.”

“You have not seen the Baka Ban Mana fight. We will not be touched. Only you will taste steel. Dismiss your concern; we are safe. You will have no killing to regret.”

Richard loosed the sword’s magic, the rage.

The two circles moved and chanted faster, spun their weapons faster. The storm of the sword’s anger thundered through the Seeker. Even in the grip of the rage, the wanton need to kill, he knew it wasn’t going to be enough. They were too many. And he had never seen anyone handle weapons the way these people did.

Heedlessly, he pulled more of the magic to him. Pulled until the mercilessness of the hate pounded in his head and nearly made him sick. He drew it into the depths of his soul.

Richard stood still in the center of the moving circles. He touched the gleaming blade to his forehead. The steel was cold against his hot skin, against his sweat.

“Blade, be true this day.”