“We thank the elements,” his people shouted in adulation.
Simus grinned in shared pleasure, and his words echoed in the air. “We thank the elements, for their gifts to the People of the Plains.”
“Heyla,” was shouted by all.
Simus waited for them to settle. “We have fought together for many a season under Keir of the Cat,” he said. “We have faced dangers and enemies no other warriors of the Plains have confronted, and we have emerged alive, our weapons still sharp.” He took a deep breath and let his smile grow wide. “It is fitting then, that I declare my intent to you, to enter the Trials and become Warlord in this season.”
Shouts of “Heyla,”erupted from all around. Simus couldn’t resist a glance at Joden, seated at his side. His friend met him grin for grin.
“Joden of the Hawk intends to take the path to Singer this season as well. As such, as is our way, he takes no sword oaths to any warrior. His oaths will be to the Plains themselves if he succeeds in his Singer Trials.” Simus bowed his head toward his friend. “Until such time, we will have his company and his truths—”
“Not to mention his songs!” Yers added, his white skin, dark brown hair, and crooked nose gleaming in the firelight. Simus joined the laughter.
“Truth!” Simus said. “Now, as is tradition, I would ask that Joden recite the rules of the Spring Trials for us.” Simus settled back down on his gurtle pad.
Joden rose, his broad face flushed with pleasure. “I am honored,” he said, and then raised his right hand, palm to the sky. “May the skies hear my voice. May the people remember.”
The response rose from every throat, including Simus’s. “We will remember.”
Joden lowered his hand. “Now begins the Spring Trials, when all may challenge for a place in the armies of the Warlords of the Plains.”
His audience was still, and silent.
“Battle is for survival, for gain.” Joden’s voice was a melodic chant. “Battle is vicious, brutal, and no quarter given.” He looked at the crowd. “Here, now, in the flowering of the Plains, in the new grass and the early rains, here is where we emerge from the winter lodges, sharpen our weapons, and show our skill.” Joden paused, and took a breath. “For in the Trials, we appreciate the beauty of the blade in motion, the finesse behind the blow. The Trials display the best of us.”
A soft murmur of appreciation came as the warriors nodded.
“So let it be that in our Trials we value more the grace and skill of the warrior. Each fight is to the first blood, but let that blood be no more than a trickle or a trace, the slightest whisper of metal parting skin. Let the contest within the circle of challenge be a dance, a display of all that is in the best of us,” Joden continued. “Bring into the circle only your sharpest blades.”
Blades, and not maces or warclubs. Blunt weapons meant to crush heads and break bones had no place within a challenge circle; pulling out a weapon of that kind signaled an intent to kill.
“The challenges take place within the circle, upon the bare earth, under the open sky, with water and fire as witnesses,” Joden said. “In no other place are challenges permitted, except within the circle, under the challenge banners. And with a Singer as the judge, neutral and unquestioned in their truths.”
Joden gave a small smile. “When we were children in the thea camps, our wooden weapons would be taken if we challenged and lost. Now, as adults, once the Singer has rendered judgment, the defeated warrior surrenders only their dagger,” Joden said. “Gone are the days we spilled blood and lives in the challenge circles. Now we look for the skillful to lead us into battle. Now we form our armies for the Season of War. Long it has been so, and long will it continue.” He raised his right hand, palm to the sky. “May the people remember.”
Again, Simus joined in the response, “We will remember.”
Joden sat.
Simus picked up the leather bundle by his side, and rose back to his feet, using his height to draw attention as he pulled back the folds to reveal his new token. “Here is my formal token that I will use during the Trials, for any to take up and share their truths with me.” Simus lifted the gleaming, curved bone high. It was adorned with feathers, beads, and bells. “Keir gifted me with the tip of an ehat rib, from the four ehat hunt that occurred last season. I could not attend, but some of you were there—”
“I was honored to be on a musk team,” Yers chortled.
“And I, on a kill team,” Tsor laughed. “It was glorious!”
Simus lowered his token and gave them all a mock scowl. “I’ll not hold that against you.”
Laughter broke out then, for Simus had complained bitterly that he’d missed the hunt.
“Are you still crafting that song, Joden?” one of the warriors called out.
Joden nodded. “For use in my trials,” he said.
“Which means we cannot hear it this night,” another moaned as others expressed their disappointment.
Amidst the laughter and complaining, Simus knelt and placed the token on the gurtle pad that had been set before him. The white bone gleamed, and he could just make out the small hawk figure that he’d carved into the very tip.
The warriors grew silent as Simus rose back to his feet. “I seek to form an army,” he said, “but not for the usual reasons.” He turned serious, as did his listeners, focused on his words. “And this truth must be clear,” he said. “It must be a truth spoken under the open sky before I take any warrior’s sword oath this night.” Simus settled his feet in the ground, swept his eyes around the campfire. “I support Keir of the Cat in his goal of breaking the warrior-priests’ claims to power. I support him in the effort to join with Xy to bring new ways to our people.”
