Of Blood and Bone (Chronicles of The One #2)(64)

“And with your back turned toward me, your foolish dancing, I could kill you half a dozen times.”

“Oh, let me have it, will you? Let me have my victory!” Then she stopped, swiped at the sweat on her forehead with the back of her wrist. “You didn’t let me take you down? You didn’t, did you?”

It shamed him to realize he wanted to claim he had. The girl, who’d come at him both fierce and wily, had wounded his pride and his arse in equal measure. But that was more foolish than her dance. True enough a girl of thirteen had bested him (this once), but he reminded himself he’d trained her.

So the victory was his as well.

“No. What would be the point of that?”

She hooted again, danced a little more, then rolled her shoulders. Set. Smirked. “Let’s go again.”

“When one acts cocky in battle, one loses.”

“I feel cocky, and I’m going to take you down again.”

He shoved to his feet, muttered, “Nid wyf yn credu hynny.”

Grinning, she took a two-handed grip again. “I yn gwybod.”

Mallick shoved his hair back, started to set. Then simply stopped and stared. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m taking you down, again.”

“No, after that.”

“You said you didn’t think so—all grumpy. And I just said I know. Like, I know I will. I’m ready.”

“I spoke in Welsh.”

“What?”

With his sword at his side he stepped toward her. “Ydych chi’n deall?”

She stared a moment, let out a breath. “Dwi’n gwneu.” I do. “How?” she demanded. “I understand the words, but I don’t understand how I understand.”

“An dtuigeann tú?”

“Tá. Same question, same answer, but that was Irish. How do I know that’s Irish?”

“Come ti chiami?”

“I don’t understand that, or what it is.”

“I asked your name in Italian. That will come.”

“What will come? This is crazy.” Panic punched through her. How could she know what she didn’t know? “I haven’t studied those languages, the Welsh or the Irish. How’s Irish a language anyway? How do I know it is? And now I know when you mumble damnar air, you’re saying ‘shit’ in Irish. I figured you were swearing in Welsh because you said you were born in Wales.”

“And I will now have to be more guarded with my cursing.”

“That’s not the stupid point. I don’t understand how I know. Wait, wait.” She squeezed her eyes shut, pressed a hand to the side of her head. “Scots Gaelic, that’s in there, too.”

“They have a root,” Mallick told her. “The root has sprouted in you.”

“How? How do I know what I don’t—didn’t know?”

He planted his sword, leaned on it, a man who’d waited a millennium for moments such as this.

“You are The One, Fallon Swift. It is inside you. The knowledge, the answers, even your ability to knock down your teacher. Do you think all you’ll meet, all friends, all foes, will speak only English? Those you lead, those you fight, those you protect? You must understand them, and they you. Language is only thoughts put into words, after all.”

He rarely touched her, but now put a hand on her shoulder. “This is another victory for you. I hadn’t expected it to come this quickly. That’s to your credit, not mine.”

They swarmed in her head, so many words, like bees building a hive. “I can’t think. It’s all banging in my head.”

“Quiet your mind. Knowledge is a blessing, and a power, and a weapon. For now, while the roots sprout, take the blessing. You can now curse me in several languages.”

That made her smile a little, and the smile pushed back the leading edge of panic.

“Sometimes I feel I’ll be ready. I’ll know what to do, how to do it. And other times … I just want to go home.”

So much, Mallick thought, for one young girl on a bright afternoon. He’d sworn to train and protect, but what were those without some tending?

“Do you hear the bees buzzing? Do you see the garden we planted flourishing? You can smell the earth, the growing things. Do you feel the air around you, warm from the sun? Listen, feel, look. Deeper.”

With his hand still on her shoulder, he waved the other in the air. And they stood on the rise where her mother had stood so many years before, looking down at the farm.

Her mother, taking in the wash. Sheets that rippled in the breeze. Ethan throwing a red ball for all the dogs to chase at once. His laugh bright on the air. Travis trying to walk on his hands while Colin taunted him. The exchange of jeers so normal, so real.

And her father striding up behind her mother to grab her, spin her, kiss her. The love, as true as anything she knew, struck her heart.

The bees buzzed, the garden flourished with the scent of earth and growing things. The sun warmed the air.

“The time will pass,” Mallick told her. “You won’t come back as you left, but you will come back.”

Her father’s shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. Ethan’s big, happy laugh as the dogs leaped for the red ball. Sheets billowing at her mother’s back. Travis’s face pink with effort as he walked on his hands while Colin danced in circles around him.