Simus almost laughed out loud, but decided not to. The Warprize had forced a supply of bloodmoss on every warrior. He could offer Wyrik some bloodmoss to stop the bleeding.
But then again, maybe not.
“What say you, Simus of the Hawk?” Nires asked. Simus watched as everyone focused on him. “Where is Wild Winds?”
“I do not know,” Simus said. “But he was here, and the warrior-priests were responsible for all that occurred. Joden and I can tell you the truths that were told to us; you can believe as you so choose.” Simus eyed the clouds on the horizon. “There is a storm brewing. I can offer you the comfort of my tent, with hot kavage and food, or we can tell it here so that none are tainted by my courtesy.”
Ultie snorted.
Nires frowned. “Take no insult, Simus of the Hawk. Sunset comes, and with it the winds bring a storm. I would hear the basics now; the rest can wait for another day.”
“I would ask Joden to speak then,” Simus said. “For he has witnessed all that was said.”
“I will start with our approach to the Heart, after the needle of light pierced the sky,” Joden said. His ire was still up; his tone was sharp, words clipped and terse. Joden recited the story as it had been told. Simus stood, listening, playing with his kavage mug as the wind began to rise. Clouds off in the distance promised rain soon to come.
“These are the truths I was told by Wild Winds,” Joden finished, his voice once again slow and reasonable.
“I confirm the tale,” Simus said firmly.
“I do not know what to make of this,” Ultie rumbled. “Warrior-priests turning on each other now? Becoming more powerful, and telling the truth of such?” Ultie pointed a finger at Simus. “What has Keir wrought upon the Plains, with that Warprize of his?’
Joden jumped in before Simus could open his mouth. “You cannot lay all of this at Keir’s feet. The warrior-priests seem to have brought this upon their own heads, no fault of the Warprize.” Joden shrugged. “Other changes, yes. But this?”
“I would offer no offense, Joden of the Hawk, but I’d not believe a word of this tale,” Ietha said. “Except my own eyes witnessed the fire in the night, and see the dead in the field.”
“A field that needs clearing,” Osa pointed out. “And with so many they must needs be given to the earth.”
“There’s truth to that, Joden,” Nires said. “In all my seasons, we have always left the battlefield to the enemy. Now I find it here, on the Plains, at the very Heart.” He shook his head, his face a mix of frustration and confusion and disgust.
“What of the Council?” Reht asked gruffly, picking at her gloves. “Will the Council form? Wild Winds is apparently here, but where is Essa? Reness?”
“And there is no Eldest Elder of the Warriors,” Zioa said pointedly.
“Eager for the title, Zioa?” Reht asked.
“Antas holds that place,” Loual growled.
“Antas of the Boar was stripped of the title when he called for violence against the Warprize in a Council meeting,” Simus said firmly. “Nires was named in his place.”
“But only for the Outcasting,” Nires reminded them all. “A new Eldest Elder of the Warriors must be named by the Elders. I can lay no claim to the honor now.”
“So what shall we do?” Reht asked as the wind began to rise, bringing the scent of rain.
Simus could see the uncertainty and fear rising, even as the storm did. He let loose with a laugh, as strong and confident as he could make it, and caught their attention. “We shall do as we have always done,” he said. “Once the Heart is cleared, we shall set our tents, and raise our banners high. During the day, we shall offer and accept challenges and gather the armies of the Plains. And as the sun sets, we shall take down the banners, and dance as warriors dance, well into the night.” Simus turned back toward camp. “That will bring the stragglers, if for nothing else than to join in the dancing and singing.”
“Now is not the time for dancing,” Loual snapped.
Simus looked back over his shoulder at the cluster of them, and gave the man his widest smile. “When better?” he laughed, throwing out a challenge to all of them.
As soon as he’d discovered that Hail Storm still lived, Wild Winds had ordered his camp broken and had his followers slip away quietly, under the protection of a veil. It had taken all their efforts, and a lot of power, but they’d managed to leave the Heart without raising any alarm. He required them all to hold themselves unseeable and silent once they were mounted and away, so that no eyes might track them.
“You will make them fear us,” Snowfall protested.
Wild Winds had wondered how long it would take her to confront him, and he’d not been far off. They were mere hours away from the Heart and their camp, the storm clouds hanging heavy over their heads.
“They already fear us,” Wild Winds replied as he rode at the back of the group, watching carefully for signs of pursuit.
“Is this wise?” Snowfall asked, riding beside him. “For us to flee?”
Wild Winds turned to look at her, the wind dancing the curling twists in her black hair. Snowfall studied him, with a thin worry line between her brows.
“Simus and Joden have heard our truths, and they will spread the tale. It will take time to clear the Heart of the dead, and one of us can return to confirm the telling once we’ve hidden away.” Wild Winds urged his horse on. “Hail Storm is a threat to the young and untrained. He walks the blood paths. He didn’t just kill Mist. He took her soul. Her life. In doing so, he has chosen a way that he can spread, if he wishes to.” Wild Winds grimaced. “I suspect he will not want to. He will want all the power for himself.”
Snowfall said nothing; a particular trait of hers. She could say more with silence than anyone he knew.
He sighed, meeting her gaze. “Snowfall, we are not who we were, but we can become who we truly are.”
“If you are done being cryptic,” she said, without a change of expression, “we’d best keep moving. The rains come.”
He snorted, but gave a nod and urged his horse to a trot, Snowfall just behind. He pulled up when he realized that Lightning Strike wasn’t paying attention; his horse was drifting off to the side. “Lightning Strike?”
The young man kept his seat, but he’d let the reins go slack, and was studying the sky, his head thrown back.
“Lightning Strike,” Wild Winds called again, and the lad’s head snapped back, a dazed look on his face. With a shamefaced look, he gathered up his reins and rode over to them.
“Where were your thoughts?” Snowfall asked as he drew close. “You seemed lost with them.”
“The clouds dance with power,” Lightning Strike explained.
Wild Winds glanced up, frowning. He could see no power in the skies above them. The land, though, that he could see, pools of sweet magic scattered all about them.
“And I see nothing,” Snowfall said ruefully. There was envy in her voice.
“We all have different skills, different levels of talent,” Wild Winds said. “Different ways we see and apply the power. We must learn and train those skills to the best of our ability, and learn control.”
“I wonder,” Lightning Strike looked up at the sky. “Would the magic control the storms? Call the lightning?”
“I wonder,” Wild Winds said mildly, “what one would do with it if one did?”
That brought the lad’s gaze down from the sky. “I hadn’t thought of that,” Lightning Strike confessed.
“Do so before anything else,” Wild Winds said as they moved off. He urged his horse back to a trot. “You must think things through, Lightning Strike. That more than anything else, we must teach the others.”
“I will,” Lightning Strike said.
“And you,” Wild Winds said to Snowfall. “You must challenge for Simus’s Token-bearer.”
“I do not see why I should leave your side,” Snowfall said calmly as she retrieved her cloak from her saddlebags. The wind was coming up f
iercely now; the rains would start soon.
“You must. If our people—not just what is left of us but the people of the Plains—are to survive, there must be change. And that is no easy thing.” Wind Winds urged his horse forward. “I would have you return to the Heart. Watch Simus, Snowfall. Hide yourself, and watch him. You will see another side to him.”
“I do not wish—” Snowfall started.
Wild Winds cut her off. “Keir, Simus, and Joden lead the herd in this. They must come to trust us.”
“They would trust you,” she argued.
Wild Winds barked out a laugh at that. “No, that deer has bolted. Simus must needs come to know us, and how better than to offer him your service? Besides, with Hail Storm alive, there is the issue of protection.”
That brought a frown to her lovely face. “You think Simus needs our protection?”
“No.” Wild Winds shook his head, his dreadlocks dancing over his back. “I think we may need his.”
Pain filled Snowfall’s heart. “Master.” She slowed her horse, and met her master’s eyes. “I have no wish to leave you.”
Wild Winds stopped his horse. Snowfall did as well, letting her gaze fall to the reins in her hand. The others continued on. The wind was picking up, and the rain was starting to splatter Snowfall’s hood.
“Snowfall.” Her master’s voice was a rumble. “I do not wish this either. You have been an excellent student, and we both know you are close to attaining mastery, closer than any other.”
“Master.” Snowfall didn’t look up, letting the pleasure at his words mingle with her pain.
“This is a path you alone can walk to try to bring peace back to the Plains,” Wild Winds said.
“Lightning Strike—” Snowfall started.
“Has a temper he still struggles with,” Wild Winds said smoothly. “Can you see him trying to deal with Simus?”
Snowfall allowed herself a small snort. “No,” she admitted.
“You have the patience and the cool head. Your skills, your use of the power lies more in protection and defense of others,” Wild Winds said. “You are my truth that I send to Keir and Simus. My truth, my teachings—you have learned them well. Stand at his side, and let there be no more secrets. You can offer your blade, and your knowledge, and provide Simus with your truth.”
Snowfall raised her eyes. “My oaths are sworn to you.”
Wild Winds nodded, and gave her a bittersweet smile. “No longer can I hold you at my side, warrior-priestess in training. Dismount.” He slid from his saddle to stand at her horse’s side.
She obeyed from long habit, and they stood, facing each other, sheltered by their horses.
Wild Winds held out both his hands, palm up. “Give me your hands.”
She placed her hands on his, and then with a long sigh, slid them up his arms to grasp his elbows. His warm fingers grasped hers as well.
“Snowfall, warrior-priestess of the Plains, let the elements witness that I release you from my service. Your training is complete, your powers under your control. Your tattoos are free from my control and—”
Golden light surged up from the ground, dancing along their bodies. Snowfall looked into Wild Winds’s startled eyes, wide as her own as the light surrounded them.
Deep within, as if settling next to her heart, a feeling grew. Joy, and a feeling of wild freedom. But then an urgency, a sense of dread.
Their tattoos moved, powerfully. Wild Winds’s writhed all over his body, the colors dancing as they watched. Snowfall’s vines stayed on her shoulders and upper arms, but they danced as well, growing and adding new leaves.
Wild Winds licked his lips and continued to speak, his voice hoarse with emotion. “—and your gifts are your own to use in the Service of the Plains. Serve them well.”
The golden light twirled about them once more, then sank within the earth.
“Does that happen?” Snowfall whispered.
“Never before,” Wild Winds whispered back.
Snowfall tightened her grasp on his arms. “That feeling you spoke of, of uncertainty, of dread.” She looked north again. “I feel it, Master.”
“Master no longer.” Wild Winds looked at her with a soft smile that set her heart aching. “Every ending is a beginning, and every beginning an end.” He released his hold, and turned to mount his horse. Once in the saddle, he looked down at her. “Seek out Simus. Look deeper, Snowfall.”
“And if he is not worthy?” Snowfall asked.
Wild Winds gathered up his reins, and urged his horse on. “Return to me,” he said over his shoulder and left her there, following the others.
Snowfall sat, watching him disappear into the grey rain, lifting her face slightly so none would know if it was rain or tears on her cheeks.
So here was the sorrow of her heart, and yet pride as well, for she was a full warrior-priestess now, if that was what they still were. So many questions, so many changes to explore, and she wanted to do so at her...at Wild Winds’s side.
But...an itch of curiosity turned her head toward the Heart. Toward Simus. Toward a new path. So many questions lay there as well, so many challenges, including the challenge to her fighting skills.
She could ignore Wild Winds’s command. She was released, her choices were her own. She could mount and follow and take the path that walked at his side.
“Who else can speak words of peace, Snowfall?”
She stood for some time, in the sprinkling rain, fighting duty and her own desires, letting them war in her head, until her horse stamped in frustration.
She mounted, and turned her horse’s head back toward the Heart.
For the first few hours of her ride, Eloix wallowed in her resentment and allowed it to fester. She’d had great plans to contest for Token-bearer, and yet here she was, returning to Xy with messages for Keir of the Cat, a task unlooked for and unwelcome. Destal was probably even now planning her challenges, and Eloix was certain she could’ve defeated her and claimed the place by the Warlord’s side.
There were clouds on the horizon behind her, but she’d out-ride them easily.
When it grew too dark to see, she stopped for the night. She made a cold camp after she’d seen to the horses. After a few gulps of cold kavage, and a handful of gurt, she’d rolled herself into her blankets, and lay for a moment, letting herself relax.
She could hear the horses chomping at the grass, which rustled as they tore the shoots with their teeth. The scent of crushed greens surrounded her. She heaved a deep sigh, and let the hurt and disappointment go. There would be other times, other chances. The winds knew that there would be challenges again next season, and next, and the season after that.
Rolling over, she admired the field of bright stars overhead. She’d a task at hand, one that showed Simus’s faith in her, so that bode well. While Xy was strange in its custom and ways, it was interesting. And the food was good. And she’d see Elois, and hear of her adventures.
Besides, she’d witness first hand Keir’s reaction when she brought word of the events on the Plains. Perhaps the Warprize had delivered her babe by now. Had the theas allowed her to keep the babe? Eloix rather suspected they had. She stretched under her blanket, glancing down at her own arm, wondering if the Warprize had gotten the traditional tattoo.
A smile drifted over her face as she settled down, fingers on the hilt of her sword next to her, and willed herself to sleep. She’d be up and riding at the first hint of sun.
Chapter Ten
Antas waited in one of the deeper gullies for his scouts to report.
The alders with their fresh green leaves hid him, and the stream that trickled past gave his horse a chance for a good drink. Antas dismounted, held the reins and patted the horse’s neck as it slurped at the clear water.
Time was he’d have never hesitated to approach a thea camp openly, certain of a warm welcome and the courtesy of its tents.
But times had changed, now, hadn’t they?
Keir and Simus had
seen to that.
Antas stared at the leather reins in his hands, absently checking them for cracks or weak spots. He’d watched Keir and Simus and that foresworn Joden too. Watched as they advanced as warriors, through campaigns and the Trials.
He’d seen their loathing of the warrior-priests, listened to their first rumblings of change, but he’d thought nothing of it. Even when Keir had become Warlord, he’d shrugged. What could one fool young one do?
Keir had taken the northern most city of Xy as his target, and then announced to all his intent. Made no secret of it. Bad luck to him and good riddance had been Antas’s first thought, and who could blame him that? Who was Keir to speak of conquest? Of holding, occupying? Of dancing new patterns?
Foolishness.
Yet Keir had done just that, with Simus at his side. Against all odds. And then, to add insult to injury, he’d claimed a Warprize.
A Warprize. Antas growled under his breath as a sudden rage swept through him. Here he was, Antas of the Boar, a warrior, a Warlord, and Eldest Elder of the Warriors, and he’d no Warprize. How many seasons had he seen in battle, with no sign of such a prize.
Then for Keir to claim that his Warprize had healing powers that challenged the might of the warrior-priests? It was outrageous and an offense to the elements.
Antas rolled his shoulders, and twisted his head, trying to ease the knots of tension in his shoulders.
His horse sensed his anger, and stamped its foot. He reached out, stroking its neck until it relaxed and started to tear at the browse it could reach.
When Joden, that false Singer-to-be, had shifted like the winds to support the Warprize, that had been the last blow. The Council had forced his choice, forced him to take sword in hand to protect the Plains. Pity his blades hadn’t brought Keir down, and Simus and Joden for that matter.
But the elements had not been with him, and he’d withdrawn with his warriors and those that agreed with him. Withdrawn to spend the winter in their lodges, discussing, planning, talking.