Destiny's Star (30 page)

Arbon knelt down next to her. “Here. I found some crittney. It helps.”

She reached for the leaves and crammed them into her mouth, chewing as fast as she could. The familiar taste flooded her mouth, sweet and tingling. “Thanks,” she whispered.

Arbon sat in the grass next to her. She dared a brief glance, and her eyes went wide.

His armor was covered with vomit. His face, red and tear-stained. And he was chewing crittney, too.

“You, too?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Arbon’s head hung down, his face averted. “The warlord sent me over here, to get me out of the way. They’re all dead. She gave mercy to the one that was still breathing. His head . . .” Arbon swallowed hard and looked away.

Gilla focused on chewing. Anything but—

“Killing isn’t easy.” Bethral appeared and knelt in front of them, holding out wet cloths. “It isn’t supposed to be.”

“We’re warriors.” Arbon’s voice trembled.

Gilla took the cold cloth and pressed it to her face.

“You are,” Bethral said quietly. “And you did well.”

“I’ve hunted and killed.” Gilla pulled the cloth away from her face. “I’ve seen death before. The old die. Babies die in camp. There are accidents.”

Bethral nodded. “But it’s not the same, is it?”

“No,” Arbon whispered. “It is not.”

“It never will be,” Bethral said. She rose to her feet. “The warrior-priests have chosen to threaten us. You defended yourselves and each other. Do not forget that.” She looked toward where the others had gathered. “We need to keep moving. The others are rolling the dead in their own cloaks. We will leave them here with their gear.”

“Some warriors we are.” Arbon looked down at his leather armor, and wiped at it with the cloth. “The others aren’t crying like a baby after a teat.”

“The others haven’t killed,” Bethral said.

Gilla looked at Bethral, into blue eyes that seemed to understand exactly what she was feeling. She stood up on shaky legs, and looked at her warlord. “I’m ready.”

Arbon stood, too. “So am I.”

“Then let’s be about it,” Bethral said. “I want to be as far as we can get from this place before we rest for the night.”

“Can the Storyteller . . . is he well?” Gilla asked.

“He is unconscious,” Bethral said. Her face was calm, but her pain was in her eyes.

The others were gathered with their horses, reins in hand, waiting. Gilla expected some teasing, but Cosana just gave her a steady look as she handed her the reins.

Ezren Storyteller was already mounted behind El, slumped against his back and his hands tied around El’s waist. His slack face was exhausted. For a moment, Gilla thought about the warrior-priest standing over her, about to kill her. He’d had a gloating look on his face until the moment his flesh had burst into flames.

El interrupted her thoughts. “Are you well, Gilla?”

She nodded. “I will be.”

“Mount up,” Bethral said. “We need to go.”

WILD Winds looked over the Heart of the Plains, and raised an eyebrow. His horse shifted under him, as if sensing his displeasure.

“Hail Storm is not here?” he asked.

“No, Eldest Elder.” Morning Dew lowered his gaze respectfully enough. Just enough. “The Elder Hail Storm has not yet arrived, although word was sent to clear the warriors away from the area and to delay the start of the spring challenges. That has been done. Our people are the only ones within sight of the Heart.”

Wild Winds grunted.

“When will Hail Storm arrive?” Snowfall asked.

“I do not know,” Morning Dew answered carefully. “I was told that you were to make camp, and that he and those that travel with him will be here as soon as they are able.”

Wild Winds looked around. “Where are your tents?”

“Hail Storm directed that the area around the Heart be kept clear of all tents. The camps are beyond the rises, Eldest Elder.”

Clearing the ground for a dramatic ceremony, no doubt. Wild Winds shook his head at the thought. “Very well.” He turned to Lightning Strike and Snowfall. “See to the camp. I’ve something I need to do. A private ceremony.”

Lightning Strike gave him a nod, and he and the others turned their horses, leading the pack animals away. Morning Dew offered to show them where best to camp, and they all set off at a trot.

Snowfall sat on her horse, and considered Wild Winds.

He raised the other eyebrow for her benefit. “Yes?”

She just sat there, her calm, light gray eyes looking back at him.

“Very well. Come.” Wild Winds urged his horse forward and headed for the Heart.

In the spring and summer, this area was filled with tents as the tribes gathered around the Heart. But now it was bare, and Wild Winds let his horse walk at its own pace so that he could consider it well.

Before him lay the large circle of gray stone that was truly the Heart of the Plains. Large as it was, it was all one solid piece. It had been the gathering place of the tribes for as long as there had been tribes, yet its surface was unmarred and unstained.

When the Council of Elders was summoned, the entire platform was covered with a huge tent made of the skins of many ehats. The tent was so large, they used the trunks of enormous trees from far lands to support its weight. Those were stored for the winter in a special lodge, kept safe from weather and animals, waiting for the Council to convene.

Wild Winds wasn’t sure that would ever happen again.

They stopped their horses at the edge, and dismounted. Snowfall took up the reins of both horses as Wild Winds unstrapped his travel bag from the saddle. He pulled his staff free from its ties, cradled the travel bag in one arm, and stepped onto the huge stone.

The stone was the same as it always was, as never-changing as the Plains themselves. It was clear of debris. During the spring challenges it was swept almost hourly.

Wild Winds walked to the center, and paused. The last time he had been here had been for the Council of Elders that had erupted into violence, and he had seen the sundering of the Council and the Plains.

He turned a full circle, gazing over the wide grasslands beyond. The grasses were laced with flowers dancing in the slight breeze. That breeze brought the scent of water from the lake that lay to the east of the Heart, its shore but a short walk away. He turned again, and caught the scents of cooking fires and horses from the camps. He took a breath, faced north, then slowly lowered himself to the stone with the aid of his staff.

Wild Winds went to his knees, setting the staff gently to his right and the travel bag to his left. From the bag he drew a piece of red silk, one that he had used in many rituals in the past. He spread it on the stone, smoothing it carefully. Then he pulled out his sacrifice dagger, the one he had made under the watchful gaze of his elders when he had become a warrior-priest so long ago. Its stone blade was still as sharp as the day he made it, and the ehat bone handle was smooth in his hand.

He took up his staff, and with one stroke cut the leather thongs that bound the three skulls to it. Then he set the skulls on the silk, facing him.

“Well, old friends,” he said softly. “It would seem that the final days are upon me. The time has come, I think.”

Snowfall approached from behind, bearing a small brazier with a fire of dry grasses and tinder burning in it. She placed it before him, then bowed. “I will wait with the horses.” She bowed again, this time to the skulls on the red silk, and then retreated, leaving him alone on the stone.

Well, not completely alone. He felt the spirts of his friends gathering close.

“You have traveled with me for many seasons.” Wild Winds reached into his travel bag for a small cloth sack. He pulled out the pine cones and sprigs of balsam he’d acquired for this parting. “I thank you for your wisdom and guidance.”

Hands held high, he straightened his back and started to chant. “Birth of fire, death of air.”

Carefully, he added the fragrant cones to the tiny fire, letting the flames catch and strengthen.

“Birth of water, death of earth.”

Wild Winds dipped his fingers into water, letting it trickle into the bowl.

“Birth of earth, death of fire.”

He raised a lump of dirt, breaking it up to let the clods fall into the bowl.

“Birth of air, death of water.”

Now he blew on the coals, and the balsam he added caused a thin trail of smoke to rise.

“All life perishes,” Wild Winds said softly. “This I know all too well. Our bodies arise from the elements, and return to them when we fall.

“But we are also more than our bodies. This I know. That which is within each of us lives on. Our dead travel with us until the snows.

“I honor you, my friends and mentors, you who offered me your wisdom and guidance, to travel with me. But my path is ended now, and I offer my thanks as I release you to journey on.”

Wild Winds paused, then continued. “Skies above, earth below, hear my words. Let there be truth in what happens here, whatever it may be. Let us be guided by your wisdom and let all who come here act with honor.”

The only response was the popping of one of the cones in the fire.

Enough. He’d done what he could. He needed to finish this now.

He reached for the first skull, feeling the thin bone under his fingers. He ran his thumb over the dent over the brow ridge. “Twisting Winds, my elder, you were the first to offer your head to me. Go free now.”

He set the skull down, took up his blade, and used the handle and a tiny bit of his own magic to crush the bone into shards.

“Summer Sky, I still see your beauty instead of bone.” Wild Winds smiled as he took up the next skull.

“I have no doubt the stars will be brighter for your dancing.” He crushed this skull on top of the other, breaking it into small pieces.

“Stalking Cat, if you were here, I’ve no doubt you’d slaughter Hail Storm and use his guts for tent ties.” Wild Winds chuckled. “I suspect you are cursing me for a fool right this minute.” He settled back on his heels and stared at the last skull in his hands. “You are no doubt right, and I am wrong. You can tell me so when I see you again. But for now, old friend, go free.” The small burst of his magic, a sharp tap with the hilt, and the third skull shattered into the pile.

“It won’t be long, friends, and I will be with you.” Wild Winds gathered up the ends of the silk, and walked off the Heart, down to the shore of the lake. The pebbles shifted underfoot as he moved to the very edge of the water.

He twisted the silk about itself, then threw it as far as he could, putting the last of his magic into its flight. It arced high, then unfurled as it fell, dropping the shards deep into the lake.

Wild Winds returned to the center to retrieve his staff and travel bag. Snowfall had already cleared the bowls away for him. He staggered under the weight of the bag as he lifted it, but he drew a deep breath and walked slowly to where Snowfall waited for him.

He stopped then, breathing hard, unwilling to admit that he’d used up most of his strength with that simple ritual. But Snowfall merely took his bag from him and placed it on his horse.

“Done?” she asked.

“Done,” he confirmed as he mounted.

She mounted as well, and they both turned their horses toward the rise.

“When the time comes,” he said in a casual tone, “I would give you my staff, and offer my head to you to adorn it. If you would have it, that is.” Wild Winds snorted. “Perhaps you do not wish my spirit to travel with you.”

“You honor me.” Snowfall twisted in the saddle to look at him, and he could see that her eyes were glistening. “But I prefer your head on your shoulders, and not on any staff of mine.”

“As do I,” Wild Winds responded. “But that is not what is, as well you know.” He looked around. “Where do you suppose Simus of the Hawk is camped?”

“I wonder if there is any fresh meat to be had,” Snowfall answered. “I’m hungry.”

“It is to be hoped that you will obey me better after my death,” Wild Winds observed.

Snowfall raised an eyebrow, then urged her horse into a trot toward camp.

 

 

BETHRAL kept them moving until just after sunset. The skies were clear, and there would be no moon.

She dismounted first, and went to El’s horse. “How is he?”

“Still sleeping,” El assured her.

“There’s very little glow,” Ouse added.

“Good.” Bethral put her hand on Ezren’s knee, looking at his sleeping face. She’d have preferred to have him with her on Bessie, but if they’d been attacked, she would have been restricted.

Lander appeared, and the four of them got Ezren down without waking him.

There was little talk as the others dismounted. Everyone was too weary for anything other than setting up tents and watches. Soon enough, Bethral was tucked into their tent with Ezren by her side.