“True, Soar.” Rafe said. “But it is the way of the Warprize. Fylin, remember when you all tended me during the plague?”
They nodded.
“That was not the way of the Plains either, yet the Warprize saved many of us.” Rafe straightened, his face set. “Unless Joden chooses or asks for mercy, we will aid him and Amyu.” he said.
Fylin shrugged sullenly, and pulled her hand back, sheathing her dagger.
“Let’s get him to the fire,” Amyu said. “Do you have gurt? We’ve had little food.”
Rafe and two of the women helped carry Joden to the fire, while others went to get food from packs. Amyu wasn’t sure she trusted their intentions, but her bigger concern was to get Joden conscious and get something in his belly.
Not to mention hers.
The first sip of kavage was wonderful, warm and bitter on her tongue. Joden roused after a bit, and sat beside her, blanket over his shoulders. He didn’t try to talk, didn’t meet her or anyone’s eyes. He shook his head at the food, but took a mug of kavage.
Amyu’s worry grew.
She stepped away from the fire and nodded to Rafe, who followed her. “We need to get Joden to Master Eln,” she said quietly. “And get word to the Warprize.”
Rafe nodded. “Easy enough. That’s where she is most days, tending to the old lady, the cheesemaker.”
Amyu swallowed hard, remembering Kalisa collapsing as she’d fled. Well, she’d face that when she had Joden safe.
Rafe looked over at Joden. “Can he ride?”
Amyu nodded, then thought better of it. “Not alone, in case he has a fit.”
“That frequent?” Rafe asked.
“No,” Amyu said. “That unpredictable.” Although that wasn’t quite true. She could tell when they were about to happen. “Why not get the horses ready. He can ride behind me.”
“As you say,” Rafe nodded.
Amyu cast a worried glance at Joden, staring into the fire, but nature called. She gestured to the Xyian small house set on the other side of the cave. “I will just be a minute.”
Rafe nodded, and walked off, calling to the horses.
But it was more than a moment. Between her nerves and the journey, she needed that time to gather her wits about her.
When she emerged, Joden was gone. The others were gathered at the fire, and would not meet her gaze.
“Where is he?” she demanded.
“He made his choice,” Rafe answered her glancing toward the path. “He has chosen the snows.”
Amyu started to run.
Joden waited until Amyu had slipped away, and then rose, shedding the blanket. He took the dagger out of his belt, and faced Rafe.
“I-I-I choose s-s-snows,” he said simply.
Rafe rose as well, his face a mixture of grief and understanding. “Safe journey to the snows, Warrior, and beyond.” he said in the traditional response.
Fylin nodded her approval.
One did not argue with a warrior’s choice, and for that Joden was grateful. He turned, and went up the path to that large boulder that marked the path. It was a good place, quiet, private and filled with sun. Another moment and his pain would be ended.
Why had he even come down the mountain?
It was time. Past time. He was nothing now, a burden, a Singer without words. It was a short walk to the boulder. The rock was warm as he put his back against it. He took a breath, allowing himself to grieve for what had passed. For his failures. Whatever the Ancients had intended, he was well and truly punished for his pride.
He could not even speak the ritual words. His thoughts would have to serve. Joden lifted his face to the sun, put the dagger point to his throat, and closed his eyes. ‘The fire warmed me. I thank the elements.’
Running footsteps, headed toward him.
Joden sighed, and opened his eyes.
Amyu stood there, breathing hard, staring at him. The sun brought out the highlights in her hair, the tan of her skin, and the anguish in her eyes.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice shaking and out of breath. “Please don’t.”
He’d put that pain there, in the eyes of a warrior who had only offered kindness and aid.
He couldn’t look at her, so let his gaze drop away. But she deserved to know the truth. His truth. He brought the dagger to his lap, opened his mouth and tried, one last time.
She stood there, so patient, as he struggled for words, for sounds that made sense.
It was torturous, but he got it out, finally. ‘I am worthless. Nothing without my voice, my words, my songs. I will gladly go, to end this….’
When the last of his stuttered, stammered words fell from his lips, Amyu nodded.
“We of the Plains say that only the sky is perfect.” Her voice wasn’t quite steady, and he noticed her hands were shaking. “But that isn’t really true. The Tribes expect perfection from each member of the Tribe. The broken or flawed are seen as a burden, to be shed as a snake sheds its skin.”
She looked up at the sky, and Joden took the moment to watch her, standing in the sun, her long hair hanging down her back, her face so solemn.
“How many newborns with partial limbs or harelips are sent to the snows by the theas? How many of the young ones who fail to pass the Rites of Ascension, like me? I was expected to take myself off to the snows as soon as my usefulness to the Tribe was ended.” Amyu took a step closer to Joden. “How many older warriors broken or flawed by battle ask mercy on the battlefield?” She broke off. “But I would not know, would I? Having never been permitted to enter battle since I am a child.”
Joden shook his head, but Amyu was having nothing of that.
“Oh no, Joden of the Hawk, in the eyes of the Plains I am a child and a burden, barren and unworthy.” Amyu’s voice broke. “You say that you are worthless, and nothing. The snows, you say, and as an adult and a warrior of the Plains that is your choice and your right.”
Amyu took another step, quiet strength in her very being.
“I may be just a child,” she said. “But hear a child’s truth. I think this is a mistake.”
She lifted her chin, as if to defy the world on his behalf. “I think you act too soon. The snows are always a choice, but they will wait, Joden. The Warprize is a healer, isn’t she? And Master Eln? Who knows what healing they may have for you? What harm in delay when there may be a chance that this, that this problem, will change?”
“W-w-worse,” he tried to explain.
“Or better.” She answered. “But death is final. There is no turning back.”
Joden considered her, then looked down at the blade in his hand. There was truth in her words. And, elements help him, he did not want to add to the pain in her lovely brown eyes. She deserved so much more.
“You did not kill Simus when he was injured in battle. You had hope for him,” Amyu added quietly. “Have hope for yourself.”
But there was a difference. Simus had still had his leg. Joden reached up to touch his throat.
“Also,” Amyu added dryly. “If you go to the snows, I will have to drag your body back down the mountain and tie it to a horse and haul it to Water’s Fall, because no one will believe our story that you were here.”
Joden laughed, strong and hard with no restraint. And when he was done he smiled at Amyu, who smiled back.
“Stay your hand, Joden of the Hawk. Walk with us yet awhile.”
“W-w-with you,” he said, standing and sheathing the dagger in his belt.
A shadow passed over Amyu’s face, but it was gone in an instant. “For as long as you wish.”
They walked down the path, emerging from the trees to find Rafe and the other warriors standing by the campfire. Rafe’s face lit up when he saw both of them.
Amyu walked up and gave him a nod. “We will go to Master Eln in the morning.”
Chapter Eighteen
To his shame, Hanstau squeaked when Reness killed the guard.
It happened so fast. One moment the guard was smirking, the nex
t Reness was lowering the body to the ground.
“Careless,” she growled softly. “Stupid. He—”
Before she finished her thought, the tent flap opened, and the other guard poked his head in. He stared at Hanstau, who stared back, frozen in horror.
Not Reness. She rose from the ground, dagger in hand, and plunged it into the guard’s throat. He jerked, and she grabbed his collar and pulled him in to lay next to the other one, twitching his last.
Before Hanstau could draw a breath, Reness was beside him, her fingers on his lips.
“We must move quickly,” she whispered. “But first there is a choice.”
“You killed them,” Hanstau stared at the bodies, unable to believe his eyes.
“I am a thea,” Reness said simply, as if that explained all.
“But our plans,” Hanstau sputtered. “We were going to try to finesse—”
“I do not finesse,” Reness said. “A choice, Hanstau,” she continued and raised his chin so his eyes met hers. “We can slip away, and get to horses. Or we can warn—”
“The children,” Hanstau whispered, his heart pounding in his chest. “We must protect them.”
“Good,” Reness nodded approvingly. “Help me.” she knelt by the guard and started to strip his armor and weapons.
Hanstau hesitated, then went for the boots.
“Antas will have war drums near his tent,” Reness whispered as they worked. “I will escort you. Those who know will expect you to come, dressed as a healer and fully cloaked. I can use the drums to signal the thea camps. Or—” she hesitated over the lacings. “Or I will go, and you can flee alone. You might have a better chance—”
“And be a city-dweller wandering lost on the Plains,” Hanstau muttered, shifting off the guard’s leather trous. “Might as well kill me now.”
Reness coughed back a laugh.
“No,” Hanstau said. “I go with you. If nothing else, I can ward your back.”
“Once I drum the signal, they will come for us,” Reness said, her face grim. “It will rest with the elements whether we live or die.”
“Better that than becoming Hail Storm’s puppet,” Hanstau said. “Just promise—”
“I will send you to the snows,” Reness reached out over the guard’s body and touched Hanstau’s cheek. “Know this truth, Hanstau of Xy. You excite my heart. If we should survive this, I truly wish to discover if I can curl those precious toes of yours.”
Hanstau gulped, and flushed. “That would be…” his mouth went dry.
Reness’s smile turned feral. “Yes, it would be. At the very first opportunity.” She drew a breath. “Now let us dress. There isn’t much time.”
The Token-Bearer stepped forward, the Warlord’s token in hand. “Rise and hail Antas, Warlord of the Tribes and Eldest Elder Warrior to the Council of Elders.”
Quartis rose with the rest, bowing his head, and waited for Antas to enter.
Singers were the knowledge of the Plains, or so it was said. His master Essa had sent him to this camp with instructions. ‘Watch, observe, learn more than they do.’
He’d learned more than he’d expected.
Antas would have it that his hold on his people was firm. But the air in this command tent felt overheated and nervous. All was not as it seemed, and for days Quartis had tried to learn more. He’d been treated with every courtesy, but every move had been watched. And all mouths were silent in Antas’s camp, with few willing to voice truths. Even to a Singer.
A wisp of cooler air preceded Antas as he entered the tent, followed by his Second Veritt and the Warlord Ietha. They made their way to their seats on the wooden platform. Quartis had been placed prominently before the platform, but not on it. Clearly put in his place.
“Be seated, all,” Antas stood as they all resumed their seats. “I have called senel to speak of events, and to make my decisions. Let us share kavage as we talk.”
Catha, the Token-Bearer and three others started to pass through the crowd with pitchers and wooden bowls for the handwashing ritual.
Quartis washed and dried his hands, thanking the elements quietly. He was a Singer, and had been for many seasons. His skin seemed to crackle with tension, and unspoken threat in the air. He’d kept his thoughts off his face and out of his voice.
But it was interesting that Antas hadn’t offered to listen to anyone’s truths. And his token wasn’t placed in the center of the room for any to use. Instead, it was by his side.
Ietha also did not seem comfortable. The tall dark-skinned woman had the slightest of frowns, and seemed to be looking about. She leaned over to Antas. “And your Warprize?”
Ah. Quartis had not yet glimpsed the Warprize that Antas claimed, nor talked to any warrior who had.
Once again cooler air surged into the tent. Hail Storm strode down the center aisle, cloaked and scowling, his face red and mottled, stripped of tattoos. But there was something that lingered in the air around him, something very dark. Quartis could have sworn that the flames in the braziers dimmed as he passed.
It had to be his imagination.
Hail Storm strode to the front, and Veritt rose and bowed, offering his seat. Hail Storm didn’t acknowledge him, just sat with a swirl of his cloak.
“Welcome, Hail Storm, Eldest Elder Warrior-Priest,” Antas’s expression didn’t change. “I was just about to tell the senel that my Warprize will be joining us later.” He glanced at Hail Storm, who gave him the slightest of nods. Antas settled back, seeming more confident. “After our discussion.”
Ietha leaned back as well, but didn’t seem all that satisfied. Neither was Quartis. If in truth, Antas had claimed a Warprize, that individual was entitled to certain ceremonies, certain rights. A Guardian, at the very least. Still, if the Warprize appeared this night, that would answer many questions.
If.
Quartis accepted kavage and gurt with a grateful smile and took the opportunity to glance around. Warriors filled the tent, both Antas’s and Ietha’s but no theas that he could see. The theas had kept their camps at a distance from the main one, and while they had not spoken much, it was clear to Quartis that they were not pleased with this break in tradition. Either by Antas or Keir.
Still, no theas at this senel was no theas. How much support did Antas truly have? Essa would want to know.
Antas started asking questions concerning the status of the army, the camp, and the herds, the usual start to a senel for an army on the move. Quartis listened with half an ear while watching faces.
The warmth of the tent, the familiar scents of kavage, all were comfortable and yet dangerous. Quartis could not afford to lose focus. The attack would come soon enough.
And it did.
“So, Singer Quartis,” Antas’s smile did not reach his eyes. “You have been here many days, but you have not yet taken my words to your master. Here sits the Eldest Elder Warrior, and the Eldest Elder Warrior-Priest. The Eldest Elder Thea will join us in the next day or so.” Antas shifted in his seat slightly. “Eldest Elder Singer Essa should join with us, so that we may form the Council again.”
‘And he knows full well all you need is a Singer,’ Quartis thought, as he took a sip of kavage. “Eldest Elder Reness has joined with you?” he asked. This was the first he’d heard of that.
“Soon,” Antas said crisply.
Quartis bowed his head in respect he didn’t feel. “I have waited, Eldest Elder, to meet your Warprize, and see that proper honor is given.” Quartis said. “You have spoken many times of your desire for him. But I have yet to know his name.”
“He is of Xy,” Antas shifted in his seat again. “He is not used to our ways. He needs time.”
Xy? Quartis struggled to keep his frown off his face as he signaled for more kavage from the servers, giving himself a moment to think. The only Xyian on the Plains that he knew of was the healer with Simus, and he had gone off with Wild Winds.
“What matter that?” Ietha crossed her arms over her chest, and glared
at both Quartis and Antas. “We have those gathered that are needed for a Council. Take word to your master so that he may come quickly.”
Quartis sipped fresh kavage, sat down his mug, then gave her the look all Singers give when someone tried to tell them what to do.
Ietha flushed, the red flare of heat dancing on her dark cheeks.
“I will take word, once I have met the Warprize,” Quartis said, keeping his voice respectful. “But I am glad to have seen Hail Storm,” he gave the warrior-priest a low nod. “Although I regret to learn that you are injured.” Quartis made a vague gesture toward Hail Storm’s missing arm. He’d heard the tale of Antas’s ‘mercy’ with the ax. Would to the elements he’d seen it.
“I live,” Hail Storm was polite but there was an edge to his tone. “I am the only living warrior-priest. As Eldest Elder it is my duty to the Plains.”
“Wild Winds lives,” Quartis said casually.
If the air in the tent had been tense before, it was now the silence before dark, sullen, storm clouds. Silence that went on, and threatened to go longer until Antas broke it.
“Wild Winds is dead,” Antas growled. “There was an encounter with my warriors. Wild Winds did not survive. A terrible accident.” Antas cleared his throat. “That is where I found my Warprize.”
“I see,” Quartis kept his voice neutral. “And has the Warprize been presented to your men? Offered a Guardian? Taken nothing except from your hand?”
Hail Storm snorted. Antas went red in the face. “Singer,” he snapped. “You go too far!”
“He has a point.” Ietha said pointedly, her anger fixed on Antas. “If, as you say, you hold with all traditions, then your Warprize should receive all honors.”
Antas turned on her, and—
A thundering BOOM filled the air.
Startled, everyone froze as the vibrations of a war drum echoed in all chests.
WARNING, boomed the drums in a familiar call.
CHILDREN DANGER WARLORD BETRAYS THEAS FLEE
Silence, the tent, the camp, the entire world was silent. Everyone was wide-eyed, and—
Warbles began in the distance from the thea camps, acknowledging the danger.