The tent flap stirred, and he lifted his head just enough to see that it was Reness, naked and wet from her bath.
“I got the bandage wet—” a gasp and she was at his side. Hanstau could feel the warmth of her body against his. “What happened?” She asked as she untied his hands. He couldn’t seem to get a breath. His entire body felt cold, numb, and lifeless.
Reness gathered him up, held him close. “Hanstau?”
He clung to her, like a babe to his mother, trembling.
“Breathe,” Reness said, her voice the barest whisper in his ear. “Listen to my voice, breathe with my words. Fear is your enemy,” she chanted.
Hanstau tried to focus.
“Fear holds you still when you need to move,” Reness continued, but Hanstau clutched her tighter as the memory replayed.
“Hail Storm,” he whispered, and a shudder ran through him again.
Reness hugged him tighter. “Tell me,” she said.
“I am a Master Healer,” Hanstau hated the cracks in his voice, but he had to force out the words. “He should not be able—”
“I am the Eldest Elder Thea,” Reness admitted. “He makes my skin crawl. Tell me.”
Hanstau did, managing to calm even as he forced out the words.
Reness’s arms tightened around him as he finished speaking, and she took her own shuddering breath. “They always claimed to have strange powers,” she said. “They are evil.”
“No, not all,” Hanstau sat in the circle of her arms, and swallowed hard as he thought his way through his fear. “Snowfall, Wild Winds,” he looked to Reness, to see if she remembered them. “They did not have this feel to them. And the glow embraced Snowfall.” He shook his head. “There is something very different about Hail Storm.”
“We will find a way,” Reness said.
“And if we can’t?” Hanstau asked softly. “If he takes control of my body?”
Reness released him, settled back, and looked him in the eye. “I will send you to the snows before that happens,” she growled.
“Kill me?”
“Kill you.” she nodded.
Hanstau choked out a laugh, finding the determination in her eyes oddly reassuring. “It may be the only way to escape him,” he said ruefully.
“I would prefer another way,” Reness said.
Hanstau looked down at his hands. Snowfall and Wild Winds had said it was dangerous to experiment with the power he could see.
Maybe ‘dangerous’ was exactly what they needed.
Chapter Seven
“They spoke to you of the old paths?” Eldest Essa looked at Joden in shock, then his face twisted into anger. “It’s madness, is what it is,” he growled, staring down the rise behind Joden at the Ancient’s tent. “Madness.”
“Who are they?” Joden asked, looking over his shoulder at the large tent, standing alone against the Plains.
“Idiots,” Essa growled. He spun on his heel, and stomped up the rise.
Joden followed
“That ritual kills,” Essa continued. “And now? Wyverns fill the skies, the Council is sundered, and magic has returned to the Plains. They want what they have always demanded. Why not just take a torch to the withered grass in the dry season to see what happens? Pah,” Essa stopped at the top of the rise to take a breath.
Joden stopped beside him. In the valley below them were gathered the other warrior-priests, all turning to look, questions in their eyes.
“Those bracnects would lure you to your death,” Essa said.
Joden glanced back and then sucked in a breath. “The tent. It’s gone.”
He blinked again, and stared to be sure, but the tent was gone, with nary a trace to show it had ever existed.
“Every time,” Essa didn’t turn, didn’t even seem surprised. “Every stinking time.” He took a deep, slow breath. “I need kavage.” He strode off, calling to the Singers. “Kavage,” he commanded and kept walking, leaving Joden to follow behind.
Quartis appeared by his side. “He’s always in a foul temper after he speaks with them,” he said softly. “It doesn’t help that when he was attacked he lost his tent and gear as well.”
“Ah,” Joden remembered the Eldest Elder’s large tent, overflowing with trunks, clothes and weapons. “All of that lost?”
“He was lucky to escape with his life,” Quartis said. “Come. We’ve work to do. We will put that dung you gathered to good use, yes?”
“I call this Council of Singers to senel. Let our truths be known. Let our songs be shared.” Essa sat on a gurtle pad, surrounded by sixteen other Singers that fanned out around him.
Joden stood, facing them all. He tried for calm, tried to remain standing straight and confident before them.
His stomach fluttered.
“This is the time when Singers gather,” Essa continued. He looked calmer, stronger, every inch the Eldest Elder. “The Trials for Warlord are complete. The various armies move to war. This is our time to exchange news and truths. To sing old songs and new. And to consider new candidates before we too scatter on our chosen paths.” Essa’s face was unreadable. “As is our tradition, the candidates are presented to the Ancients, who offer blessing and then disappear into the grasses after dispensing their wisdom.”
Joden blinked. Essa’s face might be blank, but his tone was withering.
“But here, in this Season, with this candidate, the only candidate,” Essa’s voice grew dryer. “They decided to speak to him. Alone.”
Eyes widened, heads turned, but there was only the crackle of the fires to be heard.
“They spoke to him?” Quartis broke the silence.
“Alone,” Essa repeated.
Now all eyes were focused on Joden.
“They placed no restrictions on me,” Joden offered.
“Tell us, then,” Essa commanded. “Tell us what passed between you and the Ancients.”
Joden did. He started from the moment Essa left the tent, and didn’t soften the words the Ancients had spoken about the Eldest Elder.
He ended with the chant and the reference to Essa’s ruffled feathers. His last words floated out into the evening air and were met only with silence.
“That’s more than they have ever told me,” Essa’s voice was rough.
The deeper silence that followed let Joden work up his courage to ask, “Who are they?”
Head shakes all around.
“We do not know,” Essa said. “Those old bracnect have tortured three Eldest Elders with their silence and killed more than that with their talk of ‘old paths’. Denying us the songs only they know, and their knowledge of the past. Perhaps they were Eldest Elders in their time.”
“They didn’t have…” Joden stopped himself, thinking back. “They didn’t have the Singer tattoos. But now that I think on it—”
Quartis nodded. “The tent is shadowed and dark, their skin wrinkled and mottled with age spots.”
“Sexless, but not ageless, no, not them.” Essa shuddered. “I would fall on my sword before I would let that happen to me.”
“What is the ‘old path’?” Joden asked.
“None have attempted the old path since I became Eldest Elder,” Essa said. “The price is too high. Who can say if their songs are worth the price?”
“Has anyone ever heard the tales of the Chaosreaver and his Warprize?” Joden asked. “Or that they stripped away the magic from the Plains?”
More silence. Essa rubbed his hand over his face.
Para spoke from the back, “Usually when a Singer candidate is presented to them, they mumble something, bless you in the name of the elements, and then they seem to fade off to sleep.” She seemed angry. “Why did they speak to you?’
“Why do they do anything,” Essa growled. “It matters not. The ritual they speak of kills. And now? With wyverns flying, this odd power returned to the Plains, what will happen to any that walk that path? No one knows.” He took a deep breath. “So, Joden of the Hawk. You will begin the Trials of a Singer tomorrow at dawn. You will be tested for four days, one for each of the elements. You will be tested as a warrior, as a judge, and as a Singer.
“You will stand before us all, and show us your skills in combat,” Quartis flashed Joden a grin.
“We will present conflicts, and you will show us how you would resolve them in accordance with our ways.” Thron spoke up.