Simus may have accepted the invitation into Wild Winds’s tent, but he took nothing at its face. Especially a face of an adversary, covered with the ritual tattoos.

And there was also that woman, but Simus would not allow that to divert him from his purpose. After all, as fascinating as she seemed, she too wore tattoos.

He gathered his warriors around him, and ordered them to make camp close by and wait for him. He lowered his voice when he arranged the watches. His warriors had all given him understanding nods. They’d watch both without and within, and keep their blades ready.

Only then did he lead Joden, Eloix, and Yers into Wild Winds’s tent, already filled with warrior-priests in training and young warriors.

Wild Winds gestured Simus and his people to gurtle pads set to his right and offered mugs of kavage and bowls of gurt. Joden took the mug and drank. Simus took his and kept it in his hand.

Wild Winds settled cross-legged before the crowd, his staff on the ground, with no weapon in hand. Simus noted that the young woman with the cool, grey eyes knelt beside the warrior-priest to serve him kavage. “My thanks, Snowfall,” Wild Winds said.

The equal of a Token-bearer, then, with no token to bear. She was truly lovely, and despite himself, he couldn’t help but again compare her skin to the color of kavage with milk. Perhaps with a touch of honey for sweetness. How would her skin taste in the midst of pleasure?

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.