"May Elu guide your steps on treacherous paths. May your hearts stay strong when your bodies weaken. May your minds open up when the thin air brings visions and accept that not everything is as it seems. Purified, you will be ready for the truth that awaits you at the end of your journey. Go forth now, children of the mountains. Whether you are gifted or not, you are all part of Elu's grand design. The summit awaits."
Moki suddenly reappeared on his shoulder and chittered something in his ear.
Smiling, Saphir nodded. "Moki wishes to remind you to check your bootlaces twice, because nothing ruins a sacred journey quite like tripping over your own feet."
As the tension broke with scattered laughter, I leaned toward Kailin. "Is he always like this?"
She nodded. "According to my brother, yes. Dylon says the shaman's sense of humor takes some getting used to, but there's always wisdom hidden in his jokes."
I studied Saphir more carefully. Was this apparent whimsy a carefully constructed façade to put the pilgrims at ease? Or was he truly as eccentric as he appeared? Neither option quite fit with the stories I'd heard of his fierce defense of dragonkind and Elucians, and his iron will in facing down the Shedun's attempts to destroy both the dragons and his people.
Moki chittered something else in the shaman's ear, his tail unwinding briefly to point at different sections of the crowd.
"Oh my," Saphir said, affecting shock. "Moki tells me we have some Elurians among us this year." His eyes seemed to find me unerringly in the crowd. "He says you are the two tall ones with manicured fingernails."
A chill ran through me.
Had we been discovered?
Only the men of the Elurian nobility had their nails done, and it was one of the first things Codric and I got rid of.
I forced a smile and lifted my hands to show my ruined fingernails. "Not these Elurians."
"You have my thanks for the valuable aid you provided after the explosions."
I dipped my head to the shaman, and as he dipped his back, there was no malice or suspicion in his eyes.
"Now then," the shaman clapped his hands together, "Moki has kindly agreed to help Commander Theron divide you into your climbing groups. Though he warns that anyone who complains about their assignment will have their ears pulled, and he's not joking."
Moki nodded sagely, his golden eyes scanning the crowd as if memorizing faces.
The commander I'd met at the lodge stepped forward, and I felt a jolt of recognition. Of course, he would be here—he'd been evaluating us that night, probably reporting back to Saphir himself. Someone of his level wasn't needed for the simple task of assigning groups, so the only reason he was here was to get a first impression of this pilgrimage's crop.
"He can't really do that," Kailin whispered, though she sounded uncertain. "The ear pulling. Can he?"
The dragonia behind him made a sound that might have been a laugh, a deep rumbling that vibrated in my chest. The light reflected off her scales in dazzling patterns, creating a dramatic backdrop for Saphir's performance.
And it was a performance, I realized. Every joke, every seemingly random comment, was carefully calculated to ease the tension and help us move past yesterday's horror without forgetting it entirely.
As Commander Theron assigned groups, I found my attention divided between studying the dragonia and trying to understand the strange creature on the shaman's shoulder. Moki moved with a liquid grace, his tail constantly in motion as he whispered to Saphir or gestured at the crowd. His fur seemed to shift colors depending on how the light hit it, creating an effect similar to the dragonia's scales.
"The shaman must be at least a thousand years old," I murmured to Kailin, "but he acts like a youth."
"Appearances are misleading," she whispered back. "Everyone expects grave wisdom from Saphir, so they're caught off guard by his humor. I certainly was. But watch those eyes. I don't think they miss anything."
She was right. Behind the twinkling humor and seemingly random lame jokes, Saphir's eyes were sharp and alert, taking in every detail of the gathering. Even Moki, for all his theatrical gesturing and chattering, seemed to be observing us all carefully.
"My dear pilgrims," Saphir said, "it is time for you to begin your climb, and for me to return to my bed and take a long nap. I know, it's not fair, but that's life." He mounted the dragonia with a swift motion that belied his years, and people scattered to clear a path for her to take off.
I had come expecting a stern religious leader, someone who would solemnly pronounce our fates like the oracles of old. Instead, I found myself facing a man who could switch from grief to humor in the space of a breath, and who commanded both dragons and laughter with equal ease.
The question was: which was the true face of Saphir Fatewever?
The spiritual leader who had guided his people through countless attacks? The mischievous elder who joked about his pet pulling people's ears? Or was the truth somewhere in between?
As if sensing my thoughts, Moki turned those golden eyes directly on me. For a moment, they seemed to hold the same ancient wisdom I had seen in the dragonia's gaze. Then he stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes, causing several nearby pilgrims to laugh.
I shook my head, smiling despite myself. If this was madness, it was a very calculated sort. After all, humor might be the largest loophole in the Elucians' strict adherence to the Precepts of Truth.
