Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(27)

“Here.” Gilla handed him a tunic and trous. “Use these.”

He nodded, and dressed quickly.

Cadr could feel the crackle in the air when they emerged from the tent. It could have been the clouds that seethed above them, but Cadr had seen enough seasons of war to recognize warriors preparing for battle.

All eyes turned to regard him. The hair on Cadr’s arms rose as he took in the angry stares.

Gilla stepped up beside him, and the warcats clustered around, stretching and raking at the grass with long claws. The small momma cat plopped down on Cadr’s foot, and yawned.

Lightning Strike stepped forward. “Cadr,” he stood stiffly, his voice formal. “I would not offer insult, but you were of the warriors of Simus of the Hawk, and have served Keir of the Cat. I know that there is no love of warrior-priests among—”

“Whatever was, was,” Cadr interrupted Lightning Strike, looking him in the eye. He fought to keep his own temper in check. “I gave my sword oath to Simus of the Hawk, that is my truth. But then the night lit up with that pillar of light, and warrior-priests died. Simus of the Hawk listened to Wild Winds, and now walks with Snowfall at his side.

“As to what that means for the Plains, I do not know.” Cadr continued. “But between you and I and those gathered here, let there be no mistrust. That is also my truth. I would exchange truth for truth, mourn the dead, and—” Cadr frowned, and clenched his fists. “I would have vengeance, for my charge was taken from me.”

“On that, we agree.” Lightning Strike relaxed, and there were nods from those around him. “I would offer thanks again,” he said. “For bringing Wild Wind’s body to us. To that end, let us offer you these,” he gestured. Another warrior-priest stepped forward with a belt, a sheathed sword and dagger.

“My thanks.” A sense of relief swept over him as he belted them on. “You should know that I was in no fit shape to make any decisions after the attack,” Cadr said. “I was guided here, by one of the dead. A warrior, and tentmate.”

Lightning Strike’s eyes widened. “To have the aid of the dead for this. It means much.”

Two of the warcats started to tussle in the grass.

“Join us, both of you,” Lightning Strike gestured to where a platform had been raised. “We are about to give Wild Winds to the flames.”

Cadr glanced over at the pyre below. Impressive it might be, but to burn a body one needed much more fuel. “Will it suffice?”

“It will,” Lightning Strike said, and his tone was grim. “We await the return of those that went to gather more stargrass. They should be here shortly.” He walked off, helping others to pile more grasses beneath the platform.

Cadr looked down at the small cat at his feet. She was staring up at him with unblinking eyes. She plopped over on her side, and showed her stomach.

“How small, to have borne such children,” Cadr mused, and knelt to stroke the soft fur.

“I wouldn’t,” Gilla warned, but Cadr had already jerked back his fingers as the cat hissed, and lunged with claws extended. Deprived of her target, she leaped up and disappeared into the grass.

The large cats scrambled to their feet and followed. Cadr watched as they disappeared into the waist-high grass. He had the distinct feeling they were all amused.

He glanced up at Gilla. “Small but fierce,” he said ruefully as he rose to his feet.

“You should see the large ones hunt,” she said. “I swear they could pull down an ehat.”

Cadr nodded absently, watching as the last of the warrior-priests-in-training appeared with sheaves of long grasses in their arms. “That isn’t enough fuel to burn,” he said softly, nodding at the platform where Wild Winds’s body lay.

“I don’t think—” Gilla stopped as Lightning Strike summoned them to join the circle around the platform. He waited until all were in place before he started to speak.

“May the elements hear my voice. May the people remember.”

The response rose. “We will remember.”

“Birth of fire,” Lightning Strike began. “Death of air.”

One of the warrior-priests held out a bowl, and blew on the coals within, feeding a few stems of grass that caused flames to leap up. A shiver of awe ran up Cadr’s spine as he joined in the chant. A quick glance at Gilla showed she felt the same. Words and rituals taught by the theas resonated through him as the elements were invoked.

“Birth of water, death of earth.”

Another warrior-priest held out a small bowl, dipping her fingers in and let water trickle down.

“Birth of earth, death of fire.”

The third warrior-priest knelt, and crumbled a clod of dirt into the bowl in his other hand.

“Birth of air, death of water.”

The fourth stepped forward. She too blew on coals, but the fuel she added caused a thin trail of smoke to rise up.

All four then bowed their heads to the platform and placed their bowls at their feet, rising to re-take their places in the circle.

“We gather tonight in remembrance of the dead.” Lightning Strike’s voice cracked. “All life perishes. This we know. Our bodies arise from the elements, and return to them when we fall. Our dead travel with us, until the snows.”

Softly, the others began to chant. Cadr joined in, reciting the dance of the elements, as the theas had taught. “Death of earth, birth of water, death of water, birth of air, death of air, birth of fire, death of fire, birth of earth.”