Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(11)

Quartis stepped forward. “Eldest Elder, Joden of the Hawk has met the initial requirements of the Singer Trials with his knowledge of the teaching chants and songs. I, Quartis, Singer of the Plains, declare the proof of this.”

Essa nodded. “Joden of the Hawk, if you had failed those initial tests, you would have been sent back to the Tribes, to try again another season.” Essa drew a deeper breath. “But now you would enter into the true Trials of a Singer. In these Trials you learn truths only held by the Singers. Fail in these Trials, and we will send you to the snows to preserve our secrets.”

It was a shock, but the grim faces of those that surrounded him told Joden the truth of those words.

“So.” Essa paused before continuing. “I would ask you once more, do you truly wish to enter the Trials of a Singer? Or do you wish to return to the Hear—” Essa caught himself as the others stirred around them. “Return to your fellow warriors, to serve the Plains in other ways? There is no shame in refusing.” Essa paused again, staring at Joden. “None can force your decision. Speak, and it will be as you wish.”

And the group was silent, except for the jingle of harness and the wind in the grass.

Joden looked down at his feet, thinking. Here it was, his chance, his dream. It came with a price, though. As all dreams do, he thought ruefully.

Essa stood, and the impatience he had displayed before was gone, as if he were willing to wait as long as it took.

Joden raised his eyes then, looking up and out at the wide grass of the Plains, looking north and beyond, to where Xy lay. He took a deep breath, and knew that he would answer this challenge, take this chance, for his people, all the people both of the Plains and of Xy.

But there was something more as well, something he also knew deep in his bones. He wasn’t just doing it for those reasons. He wanted this, wanted the bird wing tattoo, wanted the stature and respect it brought with it.

More than his life.

“I wish to enter the Singer Trials,” he said.

“HEYLA,” the Singers around him exploded in a cry that shook Joden’s bones, lifting their arms in celebration. There was only joy in their faces and hope for him that he could see, and he returned their smiles with a grin of his own as the tightness flowed out of his bones.

They moved in, clapping his back, shaking his hands, some dancing a sudden pattern around him, chanting his name.

Essa stood apart and did not smile. He waited for the exuberance to fade, then spoke. “So be it,” Essa said. “We ride,” he commanded, and everyone turned toward their horses.

“Where are we going?” Joden dared ask.

“We don’t know,” Essa said. “They will reveal themselves in their own sweet time.” He mounted, looking like he had eaten a bad piece of meat. “We will head south, and ride until we see a camp that consists of a single tent. There is no telling how far we will have to ride, or in which direction. They will appear when they see fit, and not before.” Essa grimaced, glancing at Joden. “The last time this took weeks.”

Essa started off, everyone else falling in behind, Quartis and Joden in the center.

“My thanks for your truths,” Joden said softly to Quartis.

“Do not thank me until you have your tattoo,” Quartis said, just as softly. “And heed this, The Eldest Elder hates this part of the ritual. His temper will be foul until we find their camp. And worse after.”

Joden looked ahead, but Essa was topping the nearest rise, far enough ahead not to hear their words. “Who do we seek?” Joden asked quietly.

Essa yanked on his reins, stopping his horse so hard the riders behind his had to pull to the side. They all sat, looking down the other side of the hill.

Joden and Quartis, exchanged a glance and then urged their horses, until they too could see a small camp with a single tent at the base of the hill.

“Bragnects,” Essa swore with venom in his tone. He leaned forward, stroking his horse’s neck as if asking forgiveness. “Joden,” he growled. “Prepare yourself to meet the Ancients.”




There was no one outside the tent as they rode in.

Essa dismounted. “Take the others off, and make another camp,” Essa told Quartis. “Back at the top of the rise.”

Quartis bowed.

“Come,” Essa said, and went into the tent.

Joden followed behind to be met with a wave of heat reeking of old kavage and fermented mare’s milk. Braziers burned brightly in each corner. The heat dried his nose and eyes, making him blink.

“Shut the flap, shut the flap,” came a quavering voice. “You are letting out the heat.”

At the far end of the tent, on the traditional wooden platform, were three bundles of blankets. In each, sat a… Joden had never seen anyone like them.

They were old, ancient, with wrinkled spotty skin and very few wisps of hair on their heads. Their eyes were milky white and rheumy with age. Joden couldn’t tell their sex, and their skin seemed so faded it was hard to tell what color it had originally been.

The three of them sat facing them, waiting.

“Ancient Ones,” Essa walked forward and bowed as low as Joden had ever seen him bow to anyone. “Greetings. I have brought—”

“Joden of the Hawk,” the one on the far left spoke with a soft whisper. “So wise, so knowledgeable, so smart. In his own mind, at least.”