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 similar 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, he 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 smolder. 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 on to 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.