Joden of the Hawk, Warrior of the Plains, knew that to become a Singer he would have to undergo Trials. He’d assumed that he’d be challenged physically and mentally to prove his worth. He’d have to prove his knowledge of the songs and chants of the Plains, prove his ability to create songs. Prove as well his understanding of the way of the Plains, and his ability to act as a neutral judge in conflicts. That was his goal, to be a Singer, to join with those who held the knowledge of the Plains in their hearts.

He just hadn’t thought there would be so much dried dung involved.

He must have spoken out loud, for a voice came from behind him. “What? You thought the fires of a Singer’s camp burned on their own accord?”

Joden straightened from his task, and looked over his shoulder. Quartis sat on a gurtle pad, repairing some armor. The young man looked at Joden through the curtain of his long brown hair, decorated with beads and feathers. His bright eyes were piercing, and around his right eye was tattooed the black wing of a bird. The tattoo of a Singer.

All around them spread the Plains, wide, green with the early grasses, and empty of all but horses and themselves.

Joden looked down at the basket of dried dung in his hands. “No, I didn’t think they burned of their own accord, but—”

“Dung must be gathered if we’re to have a fire this noon,” Quartis said, as if talking to a child. “Para and Thron hunt our dinner. I am repairing my leathers. You, the youngest and newest candidate for Singer, are gathering dung. All is as it should be, yes?”

No, Joden thought but didn’t say the word aloud.

“Unless you think you are somehow special.” Quartis’s voice was silky now, raising the hairs on the back of Joden’s neck. “That you are above doing this task?”

“No,” Joden replied firmly.

“Well, then.” Quartis gestured toward the basket. “And while you are working, continue to recite the teaching chants,” the Singer ordered.

Joden sucked in a deep breath, let it out slow. Patience, he reminded himself as he bent to his task. “Fear. Fear holds you still when…”

The words came easily as he recited from memory, striving to appear calm and focused without.

Within was a different tale. In truth, his stomach was knotted, and his shoulders tight.

Two days ago, he’d been aiding Simus in his quest to become Warlord, delaying his own Trials to help his friend. That is until Essa, Eldest Elder of the Singers of the Plains had come to Simus’s tent and confronted Joden.

Joden paused in his chanting, swallowing hard against the memory of his shame. He’d avoided Essa, avoided making the request to enter the Trials. Essa had rightfully called him to account for his actions. Once Joden confirmed that he did indeed wish to become a Singer, Essa had commanded him to go with Quartis, without so much as a farewell to Simus or any other.

His heart caught in his throat. What was happening, back at the Heart? How was Simus faring, against—

From behind, Quartis cleared his throat.

Joden resumed chanting.

He’d obeyed Essa, gathering his gear, and following Quartis out into the rain. There he’d found saddled horses waiting, with two other Singers, Para and Thron. He’d been told to mount and ride, and so he had. For two full days they’d ridden with only short stops before making this temporary camp, a small fire and one-man tents, hidden in the grass.

And now here he was, midmorning of the third day, isolated from friends and tent-mates, collecting dried dung and chanting teaching songs so basic he could do it in his sleep.

He looked at the dried patties in his hands, not quite so brown as his own callused skin, and sighed as he put them in the basket.

Two days ago, he’d been in the thick of things, roaming the camp, talking in support of Simus’s goal of being Warlord, and Keir’s goals of uniting the Tribes.

He glanced north. What was happening at the Heart? Had the trials begun? Had Simus become Warlord? And what of his warrior-priestess Token-bearer? Had she won her position? And how was Keir going to react when he learned of Simus and Snowfall?

Joden bent back to his task, gritting his teeth at the frustration of it all.

For that matter, what was happening in Xy? Lara had given birth, and he felt a smile creep over his face as he thought of that. Twins at that, and blessed by the elements for certain. Joden had no fears for her health or safety, not with Keir to watch over her. But there would be Xyians unhappy with the news that might prove a threat and—

He’d the barest of warnings, the merest whisper of a step behind him. Joden spun, throwing the basket at Quartis’s face, drawing his own sword, lunging—

Quartis danced back, laughing and sheathing his blade.

Joden stood amid the pile of spilled dung chips, breathing hard, his sword ready. “Why?” he demanded.

“Who is more likely to offend than a Singer telling truths?” Quartis said, brushing bits of dung from his leather armor. “A Singer must be prepared for defense, even in the midst of a song.” Quartis’s grin was bright against his tanned face. “You stopped singing, looking north as if it holds all the answers.”

“It does,” Joden growled, sheathing his blade.

Quartis reached for the basket at his feet. “We will have answers when Essa joins us, not before.”

“And when will that be?” Joden asked.

“When it is,” Quartis shrugged. “Focus on the task at hand. Sing the berry song. Gather dung.” He offered the basket to Joden. “Not the fresh ones, mind you.”

Joden puffed out a breath, and took the basket. “Yes, yes, something so obvious that there is not even a song about it.”

“Maybe you’ll write one,” Quartis chuckled, looking up at the sky. “I’m off to fill the waterskins. You might as well start a fire with your dung, the others should be returning soon. Hopefully with fresh meat, or it’s gurt and dried meat for the nooning.”

Joden grunted, spun and returned to where he and the other Singers had set their tents, hidden in the grass. Their saddles sat in a circle, quivers of lances resting against them. Their horses grazed close by.

Joden cut away the turf, clearing a spot for their fire, and started to work.

Quartis returned, dropping full waterskins at his side. “I think I hear—”

Joden stood. The sound of hoofbeats came over the grasses. “Riding hard,” he said.

“Too hard,” Quartis drew his sword. “What—”

Two horses burst over a nearby rise, Para and Thron in the saddles. Both riders were bent forward, the horses covered in sweat, foaming at the mouth. “Down, down,” the words screamed from Thron’s throat.

“What—” Quartis started.

From behind the riders rose a nightmare on the wind.

Winged, black, and huge, it blotted the sky, gaining height and soaring after the riders.

“Arrows are useless,” Para cried as they pounded past.

The monster glided past Joden and Quartis, focused on its prey. Joden heard it hissing as it slid overhead, a beat of its wings bringing a foul stench to his nostrils.

Joden leaped for his saddle, and the quiver of lances. He grabbed one, and threw another to Quartis. They both started after the monster.

The creature was beating its wings now, rising like a hawk gaining height on a mouse. Joden’s heart raced. There was no way they could give chase.

Para threw a glance over her shoulder. Joden saw her lips move, and then she and Thron parted, each horse veering off at an angle.

The monster followed Para.

Thron was circling back toward them, riding hard. Quartis stopped running, holding up his lance.

Thron grabbed it from his hand as he passed and raced after Para.

Joden kept running, angling to meet Para, who was circling back as well. The monster was over her, the long sharp claws of its feet close to her back, reaching out—

The creature lunged, missed her but scraped the horse’s hind end with its claws.

Her horse squealed, and kicked high. The creature swooped to the left, rose again with a beat of its wings, making a seemingly impossible tight turn, wings spread wide.

Para leaned in the saddle, urging her horse away to the right, in the opposite direction, racing past Joden. He caught a whiff of sweat and blood as they ran past, but his focus was on the monster, turning to pursue its prey.

Thron raced past him and threw his lance.

The sharp weapon flew, catching the creature on the downstroke of its wing, tearing the leathery skin. The creature let out a loud screech and floundered, falling into the grass and sliding, its good wing beating against the ground.

Joden hunched down, running in close, waiting for a chance.

The beast raised its head to the skies, trying to lurch to its feet. But Joden was close, close enough to take a risk. He ran in, and with a bellow, rammed his lance into the creature’s chest.

The monster went mad, thrashing in its pain, its tail now over its head.

Joden hit the ground, curled in a tight ball, and covered his head. He could hear air whistling from the wound. With any luck—

He heard the cries of the others as they taunted the monster in its death throws, causing it to lurch and move, dragging itself over him. The creature’s belly pressed down, cutting off air and light. The skin was leathery, smooth as it grated over Joden. The smell was enough to kill him.

The creature moved then, enough that he could roll free, running away as soon as he was on his feet, to the cheers of the others.

The monster took some time to die, but die it did.

In the end, they all stood there, around the body, breathing hard, looking at one another with hope and relief and terror.

“What the hell is that thing?” Quartis panted, bracing himself on his knees.

“I don’t know,” Para gasped, trying to catch her breath. “We tried arrows, but nothing hurt it, so we took a chance to lure it back to you. We thought the four of us could kill it, but look.” She pointed north.

Joden turned, squinting against the sun. In the far distance there was a disturbance in the air, as if hundreds of the beasts were flying, circling—

“Is that the Heart?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“I think it is,” Thron said softly.

“We should return—” Joden took a step forward.

“No,” Quartis coughed and spat. “No, we have strict orders. Straight south for two days then wait.” His voice strengthened. “Here we stay, candidate.”

“I thought that thing had me,” Para said. “I must see to my horse.”

“I’ve bloodmoss,” Joden said, releasing the urge to get on his horse and go. “It might aid it.”

“My thanks,” Para said, lifting a trembling hand to her forehead, smoothing back wisps of black hair that had escaped from her braid. “I thought for certain I was headed to the snows.”

“Look at the size of that thing,” Thron marveled. “It has to be, what, three horses? Four?” He walked over to the head, trying to pull it to its side. “See its horns?”

Joden could take the time now to wonder at its size, and the two curled horns that lay atop its head.

“You should take one for yourself.” Thorn grinned at Joden. “Yours was the killing blow. Make a good sounding horn, I should think.”

“Only if you take the other,” Joden said. “You brought it down.”

Quartis had started to walk around. “Mind the tail,” he called. “Something drips from that stinger.”

Thron nodded, probing the jaw with his dagger. “Look at the teeth,” he pried open the jaw. “Whatever it is, it eats meat, to be sure.” He looked up at Joden. “Let’s see what it tastes like, eh?”

 

 

It tasted rank, as foul a meat as they’d ever had.

“Almost like its already spoiled,” Para said, grimacing. They all stood around the fire, as the meat sizzled in a spit.

“Might be the ichor in the stinger,” Joden said, sniffing at his piece.

“Well, it was worth trying,” Quartis said.

“But the skin will make a fine, tough leather.” Thron was pleased. “Think there is enough time to skin the beast before Essa arrives?”

Quartis was looking north.

“He is there, isn’t he?” Joden asked. “With the others.”

Quartis glanced at him, then looked back to the north. “Yes, but we wait. We’ll set watch on the skies for another, if one comes this way. Skin the beast, see to Para’s horse—”

“That bloodmoss worked,” Para said, with a nod of thanks to Joden. “I’d heard the Warprize had brought it to the Plains, but I’d not seen it in action.”

“I’ve extra,” Joden said. “And I’m willing to share. You have to be careful though,” and explained to all of them the cautions that the Warprize had explained to every member of Keir’s army.

They moved the camp then and dug fire pits around the corpse, setting watch to fend off scavengers during the night.

In the morning they set about rendering the carcass, taking skin and bone and sinew. It was a messy, time consuming task, but they each took turns, watching the skies and the grasses for riders as the others toiled away.

When they took a break for a quick nooning, Thron handed one of the curved horns to Joden. “You have to make your own, you know,” Thron offered. “Part of the trials. These will be something special. Not sure what kind of sound they will make.”

“You boil it first, right?” Joden asked.

Thron nodded, running his hands over the deep black horn. “To remove the cartilage. Takes most of a day. Once it softens you carefully pick the insides clean, dry it, and then measure its depth to carve out a blow hole. Once that’s done, you sand it and then polish it with oil. I like to use sweetfat for a deer or ehat horn, but this might need—”

“Riders,” Para called.

Five riders, coming fast from the north.

“Is that Essa?” Joden asked quietly.

Quartis shaded his eyes, his beads rattling as he nodded.

Essa was riding hunched over, as if injured, his face a mottle of black and blue bruising on the one side. He pulled his horse to a stop, and he and his escort walked their horses forward. Essa glared at the carcass through swollen eyes. “You killed one?” he asked, clearly surprised.

Quartis walked forward. “We did, Eldest Elder, but it took all four of us. Joden had the honor of the killing blow. You know of these things?”

“Wyvern, the Xyians name them,” Essa said. “Something out of legend, or so that healer claimed. They attacked the Heart, destroyed the Council tent, and killed many.”

Gasps surrounded him, but Joden spoke, “And Simus?”

“Survives.” Essa seemed less than pleased. “And is named Warlord, to stifle your further questions.” He looked at Quartis. “Have you tested him?”

“Yes,” Quartis said. “He is qualified in the teaching chants, and in his fighting abilities.”

“And collecting dung,” Joden added dryly.

“Good,” Essa ignored him. “We must leave. Now.”

“But the carcass,” Para gestured toward the hulk, really only half done.

“I will give you an hour to gather what you wish, after that we ride,” Essa said. “We will aid you. The more we know about the monsters, the better off we are. Beware the sting in its tail. The poison is dangerous.”

His escort dismounted, and made offers to help as Para and Thron shared out kavage and gurt. Essa dismounted as well, and Joden confronted him. “Why do we ride? What is so urgent?”

“There are those that wait for us,” Essa said sharply. “More to the point, they wait for you, Joden of the Hawk.”