WarDance (Chronicles of the Warlands #5)(16)

Wild Winds fought a smile. “You know so much of the warrior, having watched him listen to our truths?” He tucked his chin under the blankets, hiding his mouth.

“He is all bluster and charm, with no substance behind.” Snowfall glared at Wild Winds as she knelt beside his pallet. “You are my master and mentor and I have followed your ways in the dark times,” Snowfall snapped. “Now the magic is returned, and you are healed, and you say to me, ‘leave my side.’ I feel like the rain is falling up from the ground.”

Wild Winds pulled the blanket down from his mouth, and sat up. “Sit, Snowfall.”

Snowfall sat beside his pallet.

“The dead spoke to me, when they healed me. Three old friends, who had been my skull spirits,” he said.

“You freed them.” Snowfall’s eyes were wide.

“I did, but they returned to aid me.” Wild Winds smiled at the memory of them supporting him, speaking to him once again after long years.

Snowfall waited.

“They told me three things,” Wild Winds said. “And they bade me listen and learn well. That another battle looms.”

Still she waited, silent and patient.

“‘Magic is a blade that cuts both ways.’” Wild Winds could almost hear the echo of his friends’ voices as he spoke. “‘That which was taken is restored. That which was imprisoned is now freed.’” Wild Winds sighed. “‘Embrace the old. Preserve the new.’”

“Master.” Snowfall’s tone was a gentle one. “You were ill and—”

“No.” He shook his head. “They are my trusted friends, and while the words are cryptic, they are a warning. Since that moment, I have had this feeling of dread. The dead and the power that has returned are trying to warn me, but I do not have the gift to fully understand.” He rubbed his face with his hand, his tiredness returning. “The Eldest Elder before me told me that in the ancient days there were Seers of the Plains. Ones who could foretell the future. Who knows? Perhaps those gifts will return to us as well, but how will we learn to use them?”

“You are tired.” Snowfall reached for his blankets. “You should—”

“Who else can speak words of peace, Snowfall?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

“The warrior-priests who supported Hail Storm have paid for it with their lives,” Wild Winds continued. “Keir of the Cat would think that a good start, and were he here I fear he might be tempted to kill us all. But Keir’s Warprize seems more open to us.” He thought back on his meeting with that young woman, and nodded. “And I believe that Simus and Joden, the would-be Singer, would also consider our truths.”

Snowfall’s face had fallen back into its usual, impenetrable mask. But he could see that she was considering his words.

Wild Winds sighed. “This has all been too much, too soon. We will speak of this—” Another yawn caught him off guard.

“Sleep,” Snowfall commanded. “We will speak of this later, Master.”

“We will,” Wild Winds said firmly before he closed his eyes, and allowed himself to drift off.




Snowfall set herself the task of cleaning the outer tent, gathering dishes and piling up the gurtle pads. She was far too wound up for sleep.

But as even as her hands moved in familiar tasks, her thoughts raced like galloping horses, ranging over the Plains.

She’d been so proud to be selected as warrior-priestess at her Rite of Ascension, so many years ago. Proud to learn the power of her gifts, and how to use them with the limited resources the land offered. Wild Winds had explained, taught, encouraged her and Lightning Storm together.

But the powers of the warrior-priests had been in sharp decline for years and were continuing to fade as the small amount of power in the Plains was being consumed.

That aspect of being a warrior-priestess never sat well with her. The arrogance adopted by most, and the deceit of the true extent of their powers. Given that she was still in training, she’d had limited contact with warriors. Only those that had their full upper-body tattoos walked freely within the Tribes and were permitted to go to war. But still, her training was to conceal, to hide, and never show weakness or emotion.

She glanced at the colorful designs on the tops of her shoulders, and ran a hand over the green and black vine pattern. Would they ever be completed now?

The camp around her was settling for the afternoon, with many seeking sleep. Over by the tent of Simus of the Hawk, a hunting party was forming. The wind brought their words to her ears, talk of a herd of deer close at hand.

Snowfall bent over the washing tubs, using sand and hot water to clean the mugs and bowls they’d used. She could feel those warriors’ eyes upon her, regarding her suspiciously. No special gift of power was needed to feel their confusion, and the weight of their mistrust.

Would one of them come forward, to talk to her? Why would they, when all they had known of warrior-priests was contempt and disdain?

Even before the Sacrifice, Wild Winds had asked her to seek out Simus of the Hawk and serve him as Token-bearer. The fact that he would be entering the Trials this Spring had long been known. Wild Winds felt that it was important that Simus come to understand warrior-priests, since he felt that the mind and heart of Keir of the Cat was filled with hatred of their ways.