—fromThe Odyssey of Goromount: A Play
He arrived early the next day, when the shadows ran deep and the moons still reigned in the sky. The smell of smoke lingered within the boulders. The two incisions seemed to pulse like sweating wounds as he traced the marks of her Agni. Elena could barely dissect her flames into separate formations and control each individually. Her inferno was a great blaze. Unruly, overwhelming—powerful. Wondrous.
After she had left, he had taken her chakram. The blade had still been warm, and he heard an echo of her Agni then, like the last note of a fading song. He imagined that song reverberating through his bones once he opened the connection between their Agnis. He did not want to take hers—simply to savor it. To feel its heady potency and becomevitalagain, his Agni boundless and full. It had been torture enough to simply stand there and not at leasttasteher Agni.
For a moment, Samson closed his eyes. He imagined the rush of warmth along his skin as Elena sent flames down the urumi. The pull of his Agni, responding to hers. By the time she arrived, he had checked the single-bladed urumi for the eleventh time.
“There you are!” He sprang forward, and perhaps something of his eagerness showed on his face, because Elena slowed. Her gaze flickered from his face to the suede bag in his hands.
She frowned. “What’s that?”
“A gift.” He forced himself to keep his anticipation from his voice. “I had this one made especially for you.”
She made no move to take it. Did she know? Did she feel his Agni tremble in want? Samson schooled his expression, pretending to sound indifferent.
“Or you could refuse. I can give this to one of my followers. I’m sure they’d appreciate their Prophet’s gifts.”
Elena scowled. Carefully, she took the suede bag and withdrew the urumi. Even curled, the silver blade was stunning. The edges were thin and sharp, nearly invisible, while the long tongue of the blade shone with a vicious brilliance. Tiny birds—Akino, that cheeky bastard—rose up the spine of the blade. Some carried flowers in their beaks. Others, fragments of the moon and sun.
“It’s beautiful,” she said softly.
She gripped the leather hilt, and Samson’s mouth ran dry. He needed only to make her rush the blade with fire, and then he would take it immediately after. With her flames still fresh, he could open their connection.
And then he would feed, slowly.
It took him a moment to realize Elena was watching him, eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with you?”
His eyes flicked to her hand, at the perfect, unblemished urumi. It seemed to taunt him: how close he was, how her fingers curled around its grip.
“N-nothing.” He pulled out his own urumi. Sparks flared down his wrist. He did not want to wait. “Ready?”
Her frown deepened, and he felt her Agni twitch as if in aversion. Samson cursed himself. He was moving too quickly. He crushed the sparks, which sent a dull pang up his arm, but he ignored it.
“You taught me your dance, now let me teach you mine.” He unlooped his sword, the twin blades whispering against the ground. “The trick with the urumi is to use momentum. As long as you keep moving, you’ll build power.”
He spun, whipping his arm overhead. The twin blades hissed as they whirred like the fins of a thopter, then slashed down. The earth cracked. Pebbles flew, but he did not stop. Turning, Samson drew his arm across his body, and the blades followed suit. They were a harmony. A blend of movement and power, flesh and steel, man and weapon.
He caught Elena staring, awe opening her expression as if she was drinking him in. He grinned. He swung his blade behind his back and then forward. He leapt to the right, then left, then swung down, leaving marks in his wake. With every step, he felt her eyes follow. And despite his earlier impatience, Samson relished this brief intermezzo. He realized he enjoyed her eyes on him.
Samson bent backward so deep that the crown of his head kissed the earth. His silver blades blazed above him, like wings. And then he was pulling up and up, his blade arcing through the air, hissing with power, and he etched a final groove in the ground.
When Elena drew up beside him, she gasped.
An image of the Serpent unfurled beneath them, slightly smoking.
“Show off,” she muttered, but he heard the astonishment in her voice. A hot pleasure blossomed in the pit of his stomach.
He stepped back, holding out his urumi. This time, Elena followed suit.
“Just copy me.”
He led her through the basics, from whipping out the urumi to hit an approaching target to reeling it in with a quick flick of the wrist. Advance and retreat. Elena grunted as she spun on her heel, slashing down.
“Again,” Samson said.
Her urumi slapped dully against the ground.
“You have to swing your entire arm.” He ran his hand lightly down from her shoulder to her wrist. She inhaled sharply. “Like this.” He took her hand and mimicked the motion, their arms moving in unison. If Elena felt anything, she did not show it. Her hand stayed steady, her gaze pointedly set away from him. But she could not mask her Agni. He felt itjudder, then pulse, and he knew without a shadow of doubt that if he felt for her pulse now, it would thud erratically.
