“Whatever was, was,” Cadr interrupted Lightning Strike, looking him in the eye. He fought to keep his own temper in check. “I gave my sword oath to Simus of the Hawk, that is my truth. But then the night lit up with that pillar of light, and warrior-priests died. Simus of the Hawk listened to Wild Winds, and now walks with Snowfall at his side.
“As to what that means for the Plains, I do not know.” Cadr continued. “But between you and I and those gathered here, let there be no mistrust. That is also my truth. I would exchange truth for truth, mourn the dead, and—” Cadr frowned, and clenched his fists. “I would have vengeance, for my charge was taken from me.”
“On that, we agree.” Lightning Strike relaxed, and there were nods from those around him. “I would offer thanks again,” he said. “For bringing Wild Wind’s body to us. To that end, let us offer you these,” he gestured. Another warrior-priest stepped forward with a belt, a sheathed sword and dagger.
“My thanks.” A sense of relief swept over him as he belted them on. “You should know that I was in no fit shape to make any decisions after the attack,” Cadr said. “I was guided here, by one of the dead. A warrior, and tentmate.”
Lightning Strike’s eyes widened. “To have the aid of the dead for this. It means much.”
Two of the warcats started to tussle in the grass.
“Join us, both of you,” Lightning Strike gestured to where a platform had been raised. “We are about to give Wild Winds to the flames.”
Cadr glanced over at the pyre below. Impressive it might be, but to burn a body one needed much more fuel. “Will it suffice?”
“It will,” Lightning Strike said, and his tone was grim. “We await the return of those that went to gather more stargrass. They should be here shortly.” He walked off, helping others to pile more grasses beneath the platform.
Cadr looked down at the small cat at his feet. She was staring up at him with unblinking eyes. She plopped over on her side, and showed her stomach.
“How small, to have borne such children,” Cadr mused, and knelt to stroke the soft fur.
“I wouldn’t,” Gilla warned, but Cadr had already jerked back his fingers as the cat hissed, and lunged with claws extended. Deprived of her target, she leaped up and disappeared into the grass.
The large cats scrambled to their feet and followed. Cadr watched as they disappeared into the waist-high grass. He had the distinct feeling they were all amused.
He glanced up at Gilla. “Small but fierce,” he said ruefully as he rose to his feet.
“You should see the large ones hunt,” she said. “I swear they could pull down an ehat.”
Cadr nodded absently, watching as the last of the warrior-priests-in-training appeared with sheaves of long grasses in their arms. “That isn’t enough fuel to burn,” he said softly, nodding at the platform where Wild Winds’s body lay.
“I don’t think—” Gilla stopped as Lightning Strike summoned them to join the circle around the platform. He waited until all were in place before he started to speak.
“May the elements hear my voice. May the people remember.”
The response rose. “We will remember.”
“Birth of fire,” Lightning Strike began. “Death of air.”
One of the warrior-priests held out a bowl, and blew on the coals within, feeding a few stems of grass that caused flames to leap up. A shiver of awe ran up Cadr’s spine as he joined in the chant. A quick glance at Gilla showed she felt the same. Words and rituals taught by the theas resonated through him as the elements were invoked.
“Birth of water, death of earth.”
Another warrior-priest held out a small bowl, dipping her fingers in and let water trickle down.
“Birth of earth, death of fire.”
The third warrior-priest knelt, and crumbled a clod of dirt into the bowl in his other hand.
“Birth of air, death of water.”
The fourth stepped forward. She too blew on coals, but the fuel she added caused a thin trail of smoke to rise up.
All four then bowed their heads to the platform and placed their bowls at their feet, rising to re-take their places in the circle.
“We gather tonight in remembrance of the dead.” Lightning Strike’s voice cracked. “All life perishes. This we know. Our bodies arise from the elements, and return to them when we fall. Our dead travel with us, until the snows.”
Softly, the others began to chant. Cadr joined in, reciting the dance of the elements, as the theas had taught. “Death of earth, birth of water, death of water, birth of air, death of air, birth of fire, death of fire, birth of earth.”
Tears ran down Lightning Strike’s face. “We grieve for what we lost. But our loss is as a result of betrayal, by those who themselves are of the Plains.
Cadr hesitated, as the chant became harsher, angrier. He exchanged another glance with Gilla, but she was taken aback as well. This was not the normal.
The warrior-priest with the bowl of flame, took it up again, and set flame to the pile of dried grasses under the platform. He returned to his place as the flames mounted. Cadr frowned. There wasn’t enough fuel to—
“We return Wild Winds to the elements.” Lightning Strike was screaming now, his voice hard and broken. He lifted his face and voice to the sky, raising his hands. The others did as well. “We grieve, but we will also seek to avenge.”
“Death of earth, birth of water,” the chant was hard, fierce, and the hairs on the back of Cadr’s neck rose. The storm clouds above roiled, as if in response.
Lightning Strike’s eyes were closed, all of their eyes were closed, as if they were concentrating, summoning the new powers. But the chant continued, speeding up now, faster and faster.
“—death of water, birth of air, death of air—”
Cadr fought the urge to step back, to flee a danger that was unnamed and unknown. The flicker of fire drew his attention to the mound below the platform. The flames were growing, changing—
“— birth of fire,” screamed the voices as one.
White hot fire roared up, blinding with a flash that burned the eyes.
Cadr raised his hand to ward his eyes, blinking as vision returned. The platform was gone, the body, gone. The ground below was bare and scorched, and tiny wisps of smoke rose from the soil.
But the rage still lingered.
“Aid us,” Lightning Strike cried out, and his voice echoed oddly against the clouds.
Cadr stepped back now, a wary eye on the clouds, on the warrior-priests. Gilla retreated with him, both of them instinctively moving slowly so as not to attract attention. Cadr had been there when Wild Winds had warned Hanstau of the dangers of this power. If that rage fell on he and Gilla, they had no defenses.
“Aid us,” Lightning Strike cried out again. The clouds above him lit up with streaks of light. “By the powers that were released by the Sacrifice, aid us to avenge—”
A yowling sound cut through his words.
“What—?” Lightning Strike looked down.
The mother cat was seated at his feet, her tail wrapped around her feet, her shoulders hunched, her head down. She was yowling, a long low mournful cry.
The cry was echoed as the six warcats rose from the tall grass, all around the circle, as if copying the humans.
The air crackled as the clouds rolled above, and the wind picked up.
Gilla stopped, her eyes wide, reaching out to catch Cadr’s arm. “That sound,” she gasped. “Like when the Sacrifice fell from—”
The air over the earth swirled and tore, and a circle of white appeared and expanded. The inside glowed, and rippled like the side of a tent in a storm.
With a cry, the small mother cat ran forward, a blur against the grasses. Cadr saw her leap into the white, disappearing into the glow.
Gilla cried out in dismay.
“Take cover,” Lightning Strike called out and everyone scattered into the taller grass. Even the warcats, who showed no sign of following their life-bearer.
Gilla took a step toward the portal, but Cadr pulled her flat beside him. “What are you doing?” He hissed.
“I think—”
A man stepped through the portal, carrying a saddle on his back, and packs over both arms.