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.
