Simus stared up, blinking at the pillar that towered over them, swirling around and around like one of the deadly wind storms that came in the spring. Somehow he knew in the core of his being that it was so much more than light. It was power, vast and terrible and yet so beautiful.

Eloix threw up a hand to shield her eyes. Simus stood, enthralled, watching as the bright pillar swayed and twirled, linking the land and the stars.

A bell-tone sounded again. Simus had heard the big bells of the city-folk, but that had been nothing like this. This sound seemed to come from the land itself, from the very—

Something came rushing toward them across the grass, something deep in the grass.

Simus brought his weapons up, only to see a broad band of light flying toward them, expanding out. The thick band of pure sunlight looked like it was traveling under the earth, illuminating the grasses from below. It moved so fast, like fleeing deer.

Eloix took a few steps back, as if to run. Simus’s knees shook, but he locked them and gripped his weapons. The bell-tone was still sounding in his ears, trembling in his chest.

The light passed under them so swiftly that there was no chance of flight. For a moment, he and Eloix were covered in light. Then it was gone, climbing the rise behind them, passing beneath the other warriors. It left behind a sense of warmth...and joy? Yes, joy flooded through Simus, as if the earth and skies exalted together.

Simus turned to watch it go, and then turned back when another tone sounded, ringing through him as the light passed through him again. And again. But in the wake of the fourth wave of light, the horses returned from the Heart, prancing and tossing their heads.

The pillar of light was gone. Simus blinked, letting his eyes adjust as the stars came back.

As if nothing had happened, the Plains seemed to right itself once more. The stars returned in the night sky, the horses returned to their grazing. All that was left was the thumping of Simus’s heart in his chest, and his fierce grip on his weapons.

“Did you feel that?” Joden ran up beside him, his sword in hand. “Did you feel—”

Other warriors ran up, all talking at the same time. Simus sheathed his blades and gestured for them to kneel, so as not to be outlined against the night sky. The grasses and the horses would shield them.

More warriors joined them, staying low, some taking up guard positions around the group, watching the land that surrounded them, all with strained faces and questions in their eyes. The joy was gone, leaving fear and uncertainty.

Simus waited until they’d all appeared, in various states of dress, but all with weapons at hand. He raised a hand, signaling for their attention. “I do not know what has happened, but we will discover the truth of this. We ride for the Heart, and we ride as if for war.”

“Aye, Warlord,” came the responses.

“We will go in tight formation. Have your lances at hand.” Simus looked over his warriors, meeting their eyes. “I do not wish to shed the blood of those of the Plains. Let no warrior raise a weapon, except on my signal,” he continued. “But if we are attacked, we will answer in kind.”

His warriors all nodded their agreement. Their eyes held fear, but not doubt. Simus nodded, satisfied.

“Eloix.” Simus looked at the woman at his side. “I have a hard thing to ask of you, warrior.”

She waited, lifting an eyebrow.

“We will ride to the Heart, and I do not know what we will find there,” Simus said. “But whatever we find or learn, Keir and Lara must know of it. Gear yourself with extra food, and extra horses, for if we are attacked, if swords are raised against us, don’t wait for my command. Break off and ride for Xy.”

Her eyes went wide, then narrowed. “Warlord—”

Simus cut her off. “You are known to Keir of the Cat. More so, you know Xy and speak their language. Your tentmate, Elois, she remained in Xy. What little we know, they must be told. No matter how wild the tale is, you will be heard and believed.”

Eloix huffed. “I had hoped to contest to be your Token-bearer.”

“If you wish to hear the winds laugh,” Joden murmured, “tell them your plans.”

“Keir must know.” Simus glanced at the Heart. “He must hear the truth of this, and he knows you and will trust your truths. Stop at the border, where Liam of the Deer waits in protection of Xy. Tell him these truths as well, but do not linger.”

Eloix sighed and nodded. “Warlord, I obey.”

“Take this truth with you as well, when you go,” Simus said. “Tell Keir that if the warrior-priests have destroyed the Heart of the Plains, they will die at my hands.”

 

 

“Three scouts, to the front, right and left,” Simus directed as they started. “Stay within sight of us and each other,” he continued softly. “Keep an eye on us, as we keep watch on you.”

There was enough starlight to see by, and it was easy to follow the wide swath of flattened grasses left by the herds when they’d charged toward the Heart.

Three riders went forward, one at the fore, two off to the sides.

There was nothing about the night that set it apart from any other, silent but for the jingle of harnesses. Yet the tensions were there. Simus recognized the sharpened awareness of anticipated battle as the blood coursed through his veins. Even the breathing of the others seemed louder, harsher than normal. The colors were muted in the night, with only the occasional gleam of starlight off the armor and weapons of the warriors. Simus could feel his shoulders tighten as they grew closer to the Heart, the glow ever larger on the horizon.

The scout to the left signaled silently, and Simus led his warriors toward him.

The scout pointed. A man staggered through the grass, bare of chest, wearing nothing but trous, and leaning on a staff with a leather thong hanging loosely from its top, no skulls to be seen. Simus was willing to swear the man was a warrior-priest. But there was no arrogance now; the man’s breathing was ragged, almost sobbing as he lurched forward, his trembling hand stretched out for the scout’s horse.

But the horse, on its own, was backing away, ears flat to its head.

“What—” Simus started to ask but cut off his own words when the man lunged forward as if to catch the reins. The scout’s horse lashed out with its teeth bared, snapping them shut on thin air as the man yanked his hand back.

“Warlord, I don’t know why, but...” The scout struggled to regain control as the horse continued to back away. “But she’ll have nothing to do with him.”

Simus’s own horse came to a stop, its ears flat. All the horses did, as if they’d caught the scent of something foul.

The man fell to his knees, his face lifted to the sky with a long cry of despair. Simus saw tracks of tears glistening on his face and chest. He looked closer, recognizing the scar that ran along the side of the man’s face, catching the corner of his mouth. “You,” he said, almost questioning his own thought. “You were the warrior-priest that blocked us from the Heart. What happened here?”

“We can’t call them,” the man wept, his voice cracked and wavering as he babbled out the words, spit gathering in the corners of his mouth. “They will not answer, will not come.”

Simus urged his horse to step closer, but the animal stamped its foot and would not advance.

The man gasped, tried to catch his breath, then gave the warbling cry used to summon a mount from the herd. None responded, even the remounts that Eloix had brought with her. Not one animal advanced to his side.

Simus looked at the man in horror; all the warriors did.

“Our horses are one with us,” Simus said, his voice thick. “Xyians might name their horses, and think to own them, but we live with them. What have you done, that they would refuse you?”

“What in the name of the elements did you do?” Joden’s voice reflected Simus’s own thought.

“The Sacrifice, the Sacrifice called them and then,” the man collapsed to his hands and knees. “We have offended. We have—” The rest of his words were lost in his weeping.

Joden dismounted and went to the man’s side, kneeling down beside him. He looked up at Simus. “His tattoos are gone,” Joden said.

“Gone?” Simus asked.

“His skin is pale and new, as if the colors had been ripped away.”

“We brought down the wrath of the elements.” The man was choking and gasping out the words. “All of the elements, for it has returned and now I can see it. I can see it, but I cannot touch—cannot feel—cannot use.” The man cried out in anguish, fisting handfuls of grass and earth.

Joden leaned over, whispering questions.

Simus gestured for the others to back the horses off, and they went willingly, keeping watch on the plains around them. But other than the man’s cries, the night was quiet.

Joden finally stood, shaking his head. “His wits are gone,” he said sadly. “Maybe after he calms, he could tell us more, but I have little hope of that.”

“We will move on,” Simus said sharply.

Joden nodded and turned, but the warrior-priest reached up, and grabbed his arm sobbing out a plea. “Mercy. I ask mercy.”

Joden paused, and looked at Simus.

Simus returned the look, and shook his head. “Give him a dagger, Joden. With all that has happened in the past, with whatever has happened now, he does not deserve mercy at our hands.”

But Joden didn’t move. Didn’t look away.

Simus frowned. It mattered little, since a warrior of the Plains who could not summon a mount was as good as dead. “Leave him,” he commanded.

“I cannot,” Joden said. “Any more than I could have left you.”

Simus narrowed his eyes.

Joden returned the stare.

“Singers.” Simus huffed out an exasperated breath and nodded to Joden. “Do it.”

Two of his warriors dismounted, and approached as the trembling warrior-priest stretched himself out on the grasses at Joden’s feet. Joden pulled his dagger and knelt, as the other two pressed down on the warrior-priest’s shoulders and hands.

“The fire warmed you,” Joden began.

“We thank the elements,” came the traditional response from a few throats. The warrior-priest as well, his voice cracking as he bared his throat to the knife.

Simus did not join in the chant. He noted that others felt the same way. The warrior-priests had earned no friends among them. Besides, he knew Joden. He’d go for the heart thrust, a surer and far quicker death than the warrior-priest deserved.

Joden’s voice was a murmur now, the responses softer as the elements of water, air, and earth were invoked and thanked. The man pressed to the earth seemed calmer now, although his breathing still rasped in the night air. His sobs had quieted, and seemed more of relief than anguish.

Simus frowned. The warrior-priest had been strong and arrogant when he’d confronted them earlier. What would drive such a proud warrior to such depths? And they’d offended the elements? The horses? A chill ran down Simus’s spine.

“Go now, warrior,” Joden’s voice rang out, the ritual complete. “Beyond the snows and to the stars.” With a swift move, he thrust the blade between the man’s ribs and into his heart.

The silence was sudden and deep.

Joden cleaned his blade on the grasses as the others rose and returned to their mounts. He rose as well, and sheathed his blade.

Yers looked at Simus. “What did he mean, that all of the elements had returned?”

“I do not know.” Simus shook his head. “But I know where we will find an answer.” He looked toward the glow that still lit the horizon, and didn’t let his own fears reflect in his voice as he issued his command. “Mount. We ride to the Heart.”