WarDance

  As if she’d overheard his thought, she raised her eyes to meet his. Those eyes considered him, giving nothing away.

  Simus widened his smile, and nodded at her.

  Her gaze passed over him like a north wind and was lost to sight when she lowered her eyes, her dark lashes hiding her thoughts.

  There was a slight snort off to his left; Joden had seen. Simus ignored him, and brought his mind back to the moment as Wild Winds raised his hand, his palm up in the traditional gesture.

  “May the skies hear my voice,” Wild Winds intoned. “May the people remember.”

  “We will remember,” said everyone, echoing his words.

  “This night, we share our truths together, with no exchange of tokens. Let no one take offense, let all listen with open hearts and minds,” Wild Winds said. “I would ask that all speak of what they have seen and what they have done. The warrior that has suffered the most this night, one Gilla of the Snake, now rests within the safety of her tents. But we have her fellow guardians, Lander of the Snake and Ouse of the Fox. They will start our tale.”

  A warrior stood, young and as nervous as a colt. But he stood tall and steady and spoke his words clearly. “For us, this started when we were still in the thea camp of Haya of the Snake, days before our Rites of Ascension,” he said. “For on that day the sky opened above our camp, and two people fell from the sky...”

  At the mention of Haya, Simus exchanged a quick glance with Joden. But the rest of the young warrior’s words left Simus amazed. The youth described the arrival of the Sacrifice and his Token-bearer to the Plains, along with a horse fully encased in metal and a small four-legged creature they called a cat. Of the attack by the warrior-priests, and the Sacrifice’s loss of control of the powers he carried. Of a desperate flight across the Plains, and then an even more frantic pursuit to try to rescue the warrior Gilla from Hail Storm and his followers. Until the final confrontation at the Heart of the Plains, and a pillar of light when the power, the magic was released.

  “In the moment when the Token-bearer summoned the horses to the Heart, not just the living ones answered her call. The dead, too, both horse and warriors.” Wild Winds went silent for a moment, his eyes distant. He heaved a sigh, and shrugged. “The Sacrifice cried out for justice, and the magic answered with a needle of power. Those that followed Hail Storm offended the elements, and they died for it. You have seen the results.” Wild Winds raised his hand, his palm up in the traditional gesture. “May the people remember.”

  “We will remember.”

  “The sun is well above the horizon,” Wild Winds said. “These truths will be repeated again and again as more warriors return to the Heart. For now, let us rest and sleep on the truths we have shared.”

  There was a rustle as the crowd roused and stood, yawning and blinking sleepily. They filed from the tent, their voices a soft murmur as they left.

  Simus didn’t stir. He sat and waited as the tent cleared, the mug of kavage in his hand long cold. Joden, Eloix, and Yers remained as well, until the only ones left were themselves, Wild Winds, and his Snowfall.

  “You have heard my truths, Simus of the Hawk.” Wild Winds shifted slightly so as to face him.

  “I thank you for your truths,” Simus replied, considering the man before him carefully, then made an abrupt decision. “Wild Winds, I would ask for your token.”

  Snowfall’s eyes went wide. Around Simus, Eloix, Joden, and Yers all started, Yers actually reaching for the hilt of his sword.

  Simus waited. Warrior-priests had never honored this ritual, never sought or gave tokens, always responded with silence or violence. If there was true change...

  Wild Winds gave Simus a wry smile. He nodded to the full mug of kavage in Simus’s hands. “You hold my token, Simus of the Hawk. What truths would you voice?”

  “You’ve told me what has happened,” Simus said. “For which I thank you. But you haven’t told me what it means. For the warrior-priests. For the Plains.”

  “I will speak to your truths.” Wild Winds sighed, his shoulders sagging. “I haven’t told you what it means, because I do not know,” he said.

  Simus leaned back, struck by the plain honesty of the words. Even more, it was the worry in Wild Winds’s eyes that made him think the older man was telling the truth. Simus glanced at Joden, who seemed to share his own confusion.

  “In truth, I never expected to see this dawn. The Warprize had a name for my death, slow and painful. ‘Cancer,’ she called it,” Wild Winds said.

  “Yet you live,” Simus said.

  “I was healed.” Wild Winds’s eyes flickered to the side and Simus knew there was more to that tale than what Wild Winds was telling.

  “You are not telling me everything you know,” Simus said.

  “Truth,” Wild Winds said. “We all have our secrets. But these events have come at me like a violent storm across the Plains.” Wild Winds shook his head, his long, matted braids moving around his face, “It happened so fast, I’ve had no time to consider the consequences.”

  Simus nodded slowly.

  “I know this much,” Wild Winds said. “There is work to be done.” He gestured with his chin toward the Heart.

  Simus grimaced, but nodded his agreement. “The bodies must be seen to, the camps cleared.” He frowned, considering the full mug of kavage in his hand. “Osa and Ultie are not far, with their warriors,” Simus pointed out. “Other candidates will be arriving. We will make short work of what must be done, and, if you are willing, share these truths with them as well.”

  “Yes,” Wild Winds nodded. “This truth must be shared with all.”

  Simus stared at him, still not quite sure he believed what he was hearing.

  Wild Winds chuckled then sobered quickly. “Do you know where Eldest Elder Reness is? Or Essa?”

  “Eldest Elder Reness left with Lara and Keir to aid with the birth of their child,” Simus shrugged. “I’ve heard nothing of Essa. Do you fear—”

  “I do not know,” Wild Winds sighed. “But always Essa has been the first to the Heart in the Spring. I feel the need for his truths now, and Reness as well. But I am too tired to think much past that thought.” He frowned, opened his mouth as if to say more, only to be cut off by a yawn. He chuckled, and shrugged at Simus ruefully. “It seems the night and day has caught up with me.”

  “With us all,” Simus agreed, suddenly feeling his own weariness.

  “Have I answered your truths?” Wild Winds gestured toward the mug, completing the ritual with a slight smile.

  “You have.” Simus drained the mug, and then offered it back with his own rueful grin. Snowfall advanced to claim it from his hand.

  “Then let us sleep on these truths we have told each other,” Wild Winds rose, and with him all in the tent rose as well, stretching stiff limbs.

  Simus nodded. His own exhaustion was creeping up on him; he needed to sleep. “Until tonight, then.”

  Simus led the others to where his tent had been pitched, greeting his warriors on watch. “The camp is set?” Simus asked.

  “Aye, Warlord,” the First responded.

  “Form a hunting party,” Simus ordered. “With any willing to go. The others are to grab what sleep they can, when off watch.”

  “Aye, Warlord,” came the responses as he ducked into his tent. He turned to face Joden, Eloix, and Yers as they entered behind him. He lowered his voice, not bothering with bells. “You heard it all. I’ve not the wits left to talk it out now. Eloix—”

  “There’s enough daylight for some hours in the saddle,” she murmured. “A few mugs of strong kavage, and I can be off.”

  “Good.” Simus smiled his approval. “Tuck yourself into the hunting party. Ride for Xy once you are clear of watching eyes.”

  “We should send two messengers,” Yers suggested. “By separate ways.”

  “I cannot spare a warrior,” Simus said. “There are few enough here with me that I trust, and the loss of another may mean failure on our
part. Little good that will do our cause.”

  Yers crossed his arms over his chest, but nodded his agreement.

  “Go carefully,” Simus said to Eloix. “Stop at the border and tell all to Liam of the Deer if he is there. Then make haste to Xy. Keir must be told of this.” He sighed. “I do not trust this sudden change, but for now we will take it as truth.”

  “I will tell him,” Eloix said.

  “Tell him this as well,” Simus stared at the wall of the tent, organizing his thoughts. Eloix waited silently.

  “We’d thought that this year would be spent in preparation,” Simus said. “I would build my army; Joden would become Singer. Keir would build his strength in Xy, and then he would return next Spring to reclaim the title of Warlord, and then to WarKing. I will continue with that goal, but I think he should consider returning to the Plains now. This season. His presence could make a difference.”

  “Even if Eloix rides like the winds themselves, Keir could not get here before the Trials are concluded,” Yers protested.

  “Truth,” Simus said. “But Keir’s presence gives us more choices than his absence.” He focused on Eloix. “He will have to decide.”

  “I will tell him,” Eloix said.

  “Say this as well to Lara,” Simus said. “Little healer, I regret pulling him from your side.”

  “From your lips to her ear,” Eloix promised.

  “The elements ride with you,” Simus said softly. Eloix bowed her head. Yers opened the tent flap and they both left together.

  Joden stood there, blinking in the shadows of the tent. “Such a song I could write,” he breathed.

  “Not now,” Simus said firmly. “Sleep, then we will see what the skies bring our way. Get to your tent, Joden. Or better yet—” Simus barked an order and one of the warriors threw back the flap and looked in. “Joden and I will snatch a few hours’ sleep. See to it that Joden returns to his tent,” Simus commanded, starting to remove his leathers. “And make sure he’s bedded down before you leave, else he will make songs in his head the rest of the day.”

  “I’ll see to it,” the warrior chuckled. “Come, Singer.”

  “Not a Singer yet,” Joden protested, as the warrior tugged on his arm.

  Simus snorted his amusement as he stripped and crawled into his bedroll. He settled into the furs with a willing sigh of relief, and closed his eyes. His old thea had always said that a warrior sleeps when he can, the better to be prepared. But his thoughts raced, filled with his own questions.

  With a huff, he rolled over and forced himself to think on something else. Something...distracting.

  Like the mysteries in the depths of cool, grey eyes.

  Those thoughts, that sense of curiosity. Simus smiled at himself. As if a warrior-priestess would share her secrets. That would be even stranger than the events of this day. He yawned and settled into sleep.

  And dreamed of kavage laced with milk...and just a touch of honey.

  Chapter Seven

  Wild Winds tiredly stripped and curled up on his bedroll. Snowfall fussed as she carefully covered him completely with his furs, as if he were still ill. Still dying.

  “So?” he asked sleepily, pulling the blankets to his shoulders. “What do you think of Simus?”

  “I do not understand,” she said softly, dodging his question and his eyes. “Why you would send me from your side.”

  Wild Winds rolled over onto his back, stretching under the bedding, then relaxing with a sigh as they warmed with his body heat. “Now it’s more important than ever.” He yawned. “And you are avoiding my question. Tell me your truths.”

  “He is a handsome, strong warrior, taller than most. But Simus does not trust you.” Snowfall shrugged. “He does not trust us.”

  “No reason that he should,” Wild Winds said. “One night will not change that. But I am still intent on my purpose. You must contest to be his Token-bearer.”

  “You have seen to my training,” Snowfall countered, her voice crackling with pain. “You will need my help with the others.”

  “No.” Wild Winds looked at her. “I need your help to win back the trust we lost with Hail Storm’s actions, for he has destroyed what the warrior-priests were. Now we must rebuild what we are, and how better than to offer one of our own to serve Simus? To learn more of the man who would stand at the side of one who would bring change to the Plains?”

  “He is an arrogant, over-confident wind blowing over the Plains,” Snowfall blurted out. “Over-sure of himself, and rude as well.”

  Wild Winds fought a smile. “You know so much of the warrior, having watched him listen to our truths?” He tucked his chin under the blankets, hiding his mouth.

  “He is all bluster and charm, with no substance behind.” Snowfall glared at Wild Winds as she knelt beside his pallet. “You are my master and mentor and I have followed your ways in the dark times,” Snowfall snapped. “Now the magic is returned, and you are healed, and you say to me, ‘leave my side.’ I feel like the rain is falling up from the ground.”

  Wild Winds pulled the blanket down from his mouth, and sat up. “Sit, Snowfall.”

  Snowfall sat beside his pallet.

  “The dead spoke to me, when they healed me. Three old friends, who had been my skull spirits,” he said.

  “You freed them.” Snowfall’s eyes were wide.

  “I did, but they returned to aid me.” Wild Winds smiled at the memory of them supporting him, speaking to him once again after long years.

  Snowfall waited.

  “They told me three things,” Wild Winds said. “And they bade me listen and learn well. That another battle looms.”

  Still she waited, silent and patient.

  “‘Magic is a blade that cuts both ways.’” Wild Winds could almost hear the echo of his friends’ voices as he spoke. “‘That which was taken is restored. That which was imprisoned is now freed.’” Wild Winds sighed. “‘Embrace the old. Preserve the new.’”

  “Master.” Snowfall’s tone was a gentle one. “You were ill and—”

  “No.” He shook his head. “They are my trusted friends, and while the words are cryptic, they are a warning. Since that moment, I have had this feeling of dread. The dead and the power that has returned are trying to warn me, but I do not have the gift to fully understand.” He rubbed his face with his hand, his tiredness returning. “The Eldest Elder before me told me that in the ancient days there were Seers of the Plains. Ones who could foretell the future. Who knows? Perhaps those gifts will return to us as well, but how will we learn to use them?”

  “You are tired.” Snowfall reached for his blankets. “You should—”

  “Who else can speak words of peace, Snowfall?”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it.

  “The warrior-priests who supported Hail Storm have paid for it with their lives,” Wild Winds continued. “Keir of the Cat would think that a good start, and were he here I fear he might be tempted to kill us all. But Keir’s Warprize seems more open to us.” He thought back on his meeting with that young woman, and nodded. “And I believe that Simus and Joden, the would-be Singer, would also consider our truths.”

  Snowfall’s face had fallen back into its usual, impenetrable mask. But he could see that she was considering his words.

  Wild Winds sighed. “This has all been too much, too soon. We will speak of this—” Another yawn caught him off guard.

  “Sleep,” Snowfall commanded. “We will speak of this later, Master.”

  “We will,” Wild Winds said firmly before he closed his eyes, and allowed himself to drift off.

  Snowfall set herself the task of cleaning the outer tent, gathering dishes and piling up the gurtle pads. She was far too wound up for sleep.

  But as even as her hands moved in familiar tasks, her thoughts raced like galloping horses, ranging over the Plains.

  She’d been so proud to be selected as warrior-priestess at her Rite of Ascension, so many years ago. Proud to learn the
power of her gifts, and how to use them with the limited resources the land offered. Wild Winds had explained, taught, encouraged her and Lightning Storm together.

  But the powers of the warrior-priests had been in sharp decline for years and were continuing to fade as the small amount of power in the Plains was being consumed.

  That aspect of being a warrior-priestess never sat well with her. The arrogance adopted by most, and the deceit of the true extent of their powers. Given that she was still in training, she’d had limited contact with warriors. Only those that had their full upper-body tattoos walked freely within the Tribes and were permitted to go to war. But still, her training was to conceal, to hide, and never show weakness or emotion.

  She glanced at the colorful designs on the tops of her shoulders, and ran a hand over the green and black vine pattern. Would they ever be completed now?

  The camp around her was settling for the afternoon, with many seeking sleep. Over by the tent of Simus of the Hawk, a hunting party was forming. The wind brought their words to her ears, talk of a herd of deer close at hand.

  Snowfall bent over the washing tubs, using sand and hot water to clean the mugs and bowls they’d used. She could feel those warriors’ eyes upon her, regarding her suspiciously. No special gift of power was needed to feel their confusion, and the weight of their mistrust.

  Would one of them come forward, to talk to her? Why would they, when all they had known of warrior-priests was contempt and disdain?

  Even before the Sacrifice, Wild Winds had asked her to seek out Simus of the Hawk and serve him as Token-bearer. The fact that he would be entering the Trials this Spring had long been known. Wild Winds felt that it was important that Simus come to understand warrior-priests, since he felt that the mind and heart of Keir of the Cat was filled with hatred of their ways.

  Was her master right?