It left him to thoughts of what was happening to him, or what had happened. Seeing the dead, the visions… Xyson and Uppor had both implied that he could learn control. So far Joden hadn’t figured out how to do it, but there was an itch of curiosity deep within. What could he do? What could he learn? What could he see, if he was in fact a Seer?
But worse than the loss, worse than the itch, was his pain at leaving Amyu. She was right; if he would be a Singer with any honor she could not stand at his side. And yet, she was there, in his thoughts and dreams and sweet memories.
But in the nights, in the flames of his fire, he could see her lovely face and hear her laugh.
When he woke in the mornings to face the day, he wanted to gallop his horse past the ghostly figure and get this over with as quickly as possible.
Yet… the days and nights of steady travel, over the wide expanse of the Plains steadied Joden. The sun rose and set, the winds blew, and late at night the stars glittered in the sky.
Until finally, as they drew close to the Heart, Wild Winds stopped, looked back, and gestured Joden forward.
Joden rode up the rise and stopped his horse next to him. They were looking down at the Heart and the lake beyond.
“Learn, Seer,” Wild Winds’s voice echoed. “The path between life and death is forbidden,” his eyes were bright. “Except to you. Walk it at your peril.”
“W-w-w—” Joden started, wanting to ask all of his questions. But before he could get the words out, Wild Winds faded and was gone.
Helpful, Joden thought wryly. He took a deep breath, then studied the scene below him.
The lakeshore beyond the Heart was covered with wyverns, feeding their young. There were none in the air, thank all the elements. Two of the adults had their heads up, staring at the Heart, as if keeping watch. But they did not take flight. Elements keep it that way.
The Heart was still there, the dead body of a wyvern draped over it as Simus and Snowfall had described. The flesh was torn and rotted. White bone shone through places where the leather skin had burst. The wind was from the north for now, and Joden was grateful for that.
The mounds of the burial pits were obvious, not yet flat to the land. The grass there was green where Simus and his warriors had placed the sod. At first glance, all appeared as it had been left.
Except for the dead.
The hairs on the back of Joden’s neck rose as the ghostly spirits of the dead warrior-priests turned and stared at him with a burning rage he could feel on his skin. Yet the anger was not for him.
“Joden,” Hail Storm emerged from behind the dead wyvern to stand on the edge of the circular stone. He wore the trous of the warrior-priests, but his tattoos were gone, stripped from his body. One arm was but a stump, but with the other Hail Storm gestured. “Come and join me,” he called, his voice echoing over the distance.
Joden urged his horse into a walk.
The dead spirits didn’t move, but they turned as Joden passed. Joden could see their skin shorn of tattoos, their faces grim. Could Hail Storm not see this?
He rode closer, until his horse stopped, trembling, and refused to move any closer.
Hail Storm chuckled as he walked forward, stepping down from the Heart. “I am afraid you will have to walk,” he said, stopping between two of the burial mounds.
Joden did. He had his sword and daggers, and he drew a lance before he set the horse free. He did not close the gap between them, but stood, waiting.
Hail Storm seemed amused. “I expected Snowfall,” he said casually. “Or Simus’s warriors, perhaps. Not you.”
“I have walked the old paths,” Joden said. “I have walked the snows. The dead rage against you, Hail Storm.”
“Interesting,” Hail Storm said. “But how will you stop me, Joden of the Hawk? Without powers of your own? How will you stop these?” He gestured toward the mound. “Come forth,” he called.
The earth moved, bulged. The sod parted on old seams, and the dead bodies of warrior-priests rose from within, climbing out of the pits. There was rot and the stench reached Joden, making him cough and retch.
“You get used to it,” Hail Storm laughed.
The dead bodies crawl out, rose and walked forward at Hail Storm’s command. The spirits around Joden cried out in anguish and anger. But the rotten bodies moved forward, reaching for Joden.
Joden hefted his lance to throw.
Hail Storm laughed again, reached out as if catching a bug in his fist.
Joden froze, unable to move.
Hail Storm walked closer as the dead bodies surrounded them. He gently took the lance from Joden’s hands, and unbuckled his sword belt, letting it drop to the ground. Joden strained, but could not move.
“Your Ancients gave me so much more power,” he said quietly. “And the dead here? It’s almost overwhelming.”
Joden glared.
“I wonder what power I will drain from you?” Hail Storm reached out and stroked Joden’s neck. His finger left an ice-cold trail and Joden shivered.
“Come,” Hail Storm said. “Walk with me to the Heart.”
Joden struggled, but his feet moved. He staggered behind Hail Storm.
The dead bodies followed, making no sound but the shuffle of feet through grass.
But the spirit dead followed as well, and the wind began to rise.
The wyverns were stirring, heads lifting, wings partially spread. They hissed and snapped, their long necks weaving back and forth like snakes.
“They will not approach,” Hail Storm chuckled. “They fear me, fear my power over them. Come.”
Joden fought for control of his body as they walked closer to the Heart. He’d weapons at hand, but couldn’t raise an arm to wield them. Frustrated, he fought despair and his bonds.
“I will clear the Heart,” Hail Storm didn’t even look back, or pay any attention to Joden’s useless struggles. “It will take my servants a while but there is time. All must appear well before the Fall Council. The Warlords, the Elders, they will approach thinking the only threat is the wyverns. Think of the power I will gain from their deaths.”
“Wr-wr-wrong,” Joden forced out the word.
Hail Storm looked at him in shock. “Was that the sacrifice required of you?” he asked, and Joden felt the bonds on him ease slightly.
“Yes,” he finally had the breath to sing. “Wrong to use death this way.”
“Were you told of the cost?” Hail Storm tilted his head, seeming almost as if he truly cared. “Isn’t it wrong to ask that price of someone who wishes to be a Singer?”
Joden froze at the memory.
Uppor looked at him with knowing eyes. “Why?”
“Because I want the truth,” Joden snapped. “Because truths have been withheld, hidden from all. I want to know what was, and how this came to be. And how we change without changing.” The realization hit him like a blow to the heart. He hadn’t asked to be a Singer. He’d asked for so much more.
“In truth, it does not matter,” Hail Storm’s voice brought Joden back.
The undead bodies shuffled to a stop all around them. Hail Storm frowned, and then seemed to concentrate on them to get them moving. He turned back to Joden and shrugged. “Life and death are one. I rather think it depends on how you use the power.” He smiled again. “And I intend to use it, Joden.” He gestured to the edge of the stone platform. “Here, I think. Come forward just a little.”
Joden was forced forward, kneeling at the edge of the Heart. The dead wyvern was not far, its eyes gone from their sockets.
Beyond the wyverns were rising on their haunches, hissing and flapping their wings, but keeping back.
The dead spirits continued moaning around them, furious, their hands outstretched begging Joden for aid, for— Hail Storm pulled a bone-handled knife from his belt, its edge glittering in the sun. He placed the cold, sharp edge against Joden’s neck. “I doubt your sacrifice was worth the pain it brought you,” Hail Storm said.
Joden looked past him, to the ghosts, who were asking for… asking for permission.
“I traveled to the snows,” Joden chanted, crying out the words. “I walked the old path. Take the path, through me.”
The spirits howled their delight, and fled to their bodies.