Reness gasped. He could tell that she was forcing herself to breathe.
“That warrior-priest,” he started to talk. “Hail Storm—”
“No names,” Reness hissed in Xyian. “They listen.”
Hanstau nodded. “There is something wrong with that one. He stared at me as I worked on his arm, as if looking into my soul.”
“They are said to have powers,” she replied.
“Not anymore,” Hanstau said. “Supposedly.”
“What?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Tell me,” she said. “Tell me the news of the Plains.”
“I wasn’t there for all of it,” he told her.
“Tell me your truths,” she demanded.
So Hanstau talked as he washed the wound and dug for splinters. He spoke of what he had heard about the warrior-priests losing their tattoos and their powers. He mentioned the
warrior-priestess with the partial tattoos that had offered to serve Simus.
He told her of Wild Winds’s death.
Finally, he sat back, satisfied. “We will wait until tomorrow, when the swelling has gone down. Then we can decide if we want to risk the bloodmoss. Faster healing, but if there is debris within it will cause greater problems.
But Reness was staring at the ceiling above them, her brows drawn together. “So Antas has a warrior-priest, one that claims to be the Eldest Elder. He has me, the Eldest Elder Thea. And now you, his Warprize.”
“Why does he think I am his warprize?” Hanstau said. “From what I understand of the all the requirements, I am not.”
“Truth is no obstacle to Antas.” Reness shifted her gaze to look at him. “For him, the truth is what he says it is.”
There was a spark back in her eyes, and her color was much better. Hanstau felt the deep pleasure that came from aiding another as he reached to start cleaning his mess.
“Antas really only needs one thing,” Reness continued.
“What is that?” Hanstau asked.
“All he needs now for his own Council of the Elders?” she said. “Is a Singer.”
Chapter Four
It didn’t take long to break camp, but they weren’t fast enough for Essa. Joden watched the man pace impatiently around the carcass of the wyvern, studying the animal as if he hadn’t seen one before.
“Careful,” came a quiet voice. Quartis was standing next to him, offering a full waterskin. “This part of the ritual always irritates him.”
“My thanks,” Joden wondered and would have asked questions, but Quartis just strode off.
Joden secured the waterskin to his saddle. Well, at least there was some support there. The other Singers seemed to avoid him as they worked around him. He focused on tightening his saddle girth.
It felt like they knew something that he didn’t.
And they were all Singers. Joden tried to look around casually, double-checking his first impression. Everyone, Quartis, the others, the warriors that Essa had arrived with, all bore the bird-wing tattoo around their eyes. His heart started beating just a bit faster. The Trials. His Singer Trials.
He looked back at Essa, to find the man staring at him.
Joden dropped his eyes and concentrated on his task.
“Gather,” Essa barked the command at everyone.
Joden looked up to find Essa striding toward him, to find all the Singers moving into a circle around him, leading their mounts. He drew a breath, let it out slow, trying to be calm.
Essa stood next to him, impressive despite the bruising. “Joden of the Hawk, Warrior of the Plains,” he intoned. “You have served the Tribes in battle and are free to take any path you choose. There are many paths that such of your standing may take. You can continue to serve in the Armies of the Plains. You can return to the thea camps and guard and teach the heart-blood of the Tribes, our children. Or you can enter the Trials to become a Singer, one who keeps the knowledge of the Plains. What is your wish?”
Joden’s mouth went dry, for here it was, his goal, his dream. “I wish to become a Singer, Eldest Elder.”
Quartis stepped forward. “Eldest Elder, Joden of the Hawk has met the initial requirements of the Singer Trials with his knowledge of the teaching chants and songs. I, Quartis, Singer of the Plains, declare the proof of this.”
Essa nodded. “Joden of the Hawk, if you had failed those initial tests, you would have been sent back to the Tribes, to try again another season.” Essa drew a deeper breath. “But now you would enter into the true Trials of a Singer. In these Trials you learn truths only held by the Singers. Fail in these Trials, and we will send you to the snows to preserve our secrets.”
It was a shock, but the grim faces of those that surrounded him told Joden the truth of those words.
“So.” Essa paused before continuing. “I would ask you once more, do you truly wish to enter the Trials of a Singer? Or do you wish to return to the Hear—” Essa caught himself as the others stirred around them. “Return to your fellow warriors, to serve the Plains in other ways? There is no shame in refusing.” Essa paused again, staring at Joden. “None can force your decision. Speak, and it will be as you wish.”
And the group was silent, except for the jingle of harness and the wind in the grass.
Joden looked down at his feet, thinking. Here it was, his chance, his dream. It came with a price, though. As all dreams do, he thought ruefully.
Essa stood, and the impatience he had displayed before was gone, as if he were willing to wait as long as it took.
Joden raised his eyes then, looking up and out at the wide grass of the Plains, looking north and beyond, to where Xy lay. He took a deep breath, and knew that he would answer this challenge, take this chance, for his people, all the people both of the Plains and of Xy.
But there was something more as well, something he also knew deep in his bones. He wasn’t just doing it for those reasons. He wanted this, wanted the bird wing tattoo, wanted the stature and respect it brought with it.
More than his life.
“I wish to enter the Singer Trials,” he said.
“HEYLA,” the Singers around him exploded in a cry that shook Joden’s bones, lifting their arms in celebration. There was only joy in their faces and hope for him that he could see, and he returned their smiles with a grin of his own as the tightness flowed out of his bones.
They moved in, clapping his back, shaking his hands, some dancing a sudden pattern around him, chanting his name.
Essa stood apart and did not smile. He waited for the exuberance to fade, then spoke. “So be it,” Essa said. “We ride,” he commanded, and everyone turned toward their horses.
“Where are we going?” Joden dared ask.
“We don’t know,” Essa said. “They will reveal themselves in their own sweet time.” He mounted, looking like he had eaten a bad piece of meat. “We will head south, and ride until we see a camp that consists of a single tent. There is no telling how far we will have to ride, or in which direction. They will appear when they see fit, and not before.” Essa grimaced, glancing at Joden. “The last time this took weeks.”
Essa started off, everyone else falling in behind, Quartis and Joden in the center.
“My thanks for your truths,” Joden said softly to Quartis.
“Do not thank me until you have your tattoo,” Quartis said, just as softly. “And heed this, The Eldest Elder hates this part of the ritual. His temper will be foul until we find their camp. And worse after.”
Joden looked ahead, but Essa was topping the nearest rise, far enough ahead not to hear their words. “Who do we seek?” Joden asked quietly.
Essa yanked on his reins, stopping his horse so hard the riders behind his had to pull to the side. They all sat, looking down the other side of the hill.
Joden and Quartis, exchanged a glance and then urged their horses, until they too could see a small camp with a single tent at the base of the hill.
“Bragnects,” Essa swore with venom in his tone. He leaned forward, stroking his horse’s neck as if asking forgiveness. “Joden,” he growled. “Prepare yourself to meet the Ancients.”