Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(21)

“Has anyone ever heard the tales of the Chaosreaver and his Warprize?” Joden asked. “Or that they stripped away the magic from the Plains?”

More silence. Essa rubbed his hand over his face.

Para spoke from the back, “Usually when a Singer candidate is presented to them, they mumble something, bless you in the name of the elements, and then they seem to fade off to sleep.” She seemed angry. “Why did they speak to you?’

“Why do they do anything,” Essa growled. “It matters not. The ritual they speak of kills. And now? With wyverns flying, this odd power returned to the Plains, what will happen to any that walk that path? No one knows.” He took a deep breath. “So, Joden of the Hawk. You will begin the Trials of a Singer tomorrow at dawn. You will be tested for four days, one for each of the elements. You will be tested as a warrior, as a judge, and as a Singer.

“You will stand before us all, and show us your skills in combat,” Quartis flashed Joden a grin.

“We will present conflicts, and you will show us how you would resolve them in accordance with our ways.” Thron spoke up.

“You will dance,” Para spoke as well.

“Most of all, you will sing, old songs and songs of your own creation. For four days and four nights.” Essa said. “After which, if you are worthy, we will tattoo your eye and you will be a Singer of the Plains.”

“But if I fail these Trials—” Joden began.

“You have been told our secrets,” Essa said. “And if you were to fail, we would slay you to keep those truths safe.”

“Few fail,” Quartis said quietly. “We do not share our truths with those that are unworthy.”

Essa gave him a glare.

“It is no less than a truth,” Quartis shrugged. “We have observed Joden, and know that he has it within him. The debate that rages about him is—”

“Enough,” Essa barked.

“And the ‘old path’?” Joden asked. “The chant they—”

Essa stood, drew himself up, strong and dignified. “Joden, before those gathered here, I would offer you this truth. I may not agree with what you and Simus and Keir would do, or how you would bring changes to our ways. But for all that, I would not have you go to your death.”

Essa turned then, to face the gathered Singers. “For that would silence his truth and that is not the way of the Plains, nor the way of the Singers of the Plains. If he is worthy, he is entitled to stand in our midst and have his truths considered with ours.”

A murmur arose from the group, some in agreement, some clearly not.

Essa turned back and faced Joden. “The Trials of a Singer are exhausting, invigorating and challenging. But the warriors who emerge as Singers serve the Plains with their hearts and souls. As will you.”

“And the ‘old path’,” Joden pressed for an answer one more time.

Essa’s eyes narrowed and his mouth grew grim.

Quartis glanced at Essa, then spoke. “The challenges are the same. Except we clear a challenge circle and—”

“You are tethered within,” Essa interrupted, clearly furious. “Naked, but for your weapons. Tied by the ankle with a thin strip of leather to a stake in the middle of the circle. The leather is decorated along its length with beads so that we will know it, and know if it is broken. You are tested for four days and four nights, but there is no food, no water, and as little sleep as possible.

“And when you collapse and cannot be roused,” Essa spat. “When you do not answer to the death ritual that we conduct, you are wrapped in a cloth shroud and the leather of your tent, and buried within the earth. Buried deep, as the dead are, and left there until the dawn.”

“‘Offer your body; be buried in earth’,” Joden murmured.

Essa glared at Joden. “Do you understand, Joden? We are told that when you emerge from the earth, when we pull you free from the grave, you will emerge as a full Singer, with the beaded leather cord around your ankle and the tattoo of a bird’s wing around your eye.

“Except you won’t,” Essa continued. “We will dig you up, and find you dead. The ritual kills.”

“Even now,” Joden asked. “With magic returned to the land?”

“I do not know,” Essa said simply.

“But the choice is mine,” Joden said.

Essa crossed his arms over his chest, and looked out over the Plains. “Yes,” he finally said. “The choice is yours.”

Joden nodded, crossed his arms over his chest, and rocked on his heels, considering the grass under his feet. To fail was a swift journey to the snows. But to succeed? What songs would he learn, that no other knew? How much stronger would his voice be in the Councils of the Elders? It would benefit all, Singers, the Plains. Simus. Keir. But the risk— “This choice does not have to be made today,” Essa started, but a few others shook their heads.

“The Trials for Warlord started late, thanks to the warrior-priests,” Quartis said.

“Even now, the armies move,” Thron reminded them. “And there is Antas as well to consider. Sooner is better than later.”

Essa sat back down. “They are right, of course. Speak, Joden.”

Joden looked at his hands, then raised his head. “Many of you know that I chose to deny mercy to Simus of the Hawk when he lay injured on the field before Xy. I tried to staunch his wound, and as a result we were taken captive by the enemy.”