Golden mantled his wings, clacking his beak.
“Hunt,” Amyu said, getting a tight grip on the saddle. The airion slipped out from under it, and took off, wings flaring as it disappeared from view. She put the saddle upside down, and then brushed her hands off. “There is still so much to learn,” she said. “About the airions, about the powers—”
“About each other,” Joden sang.
Amyu gave him a smoldering look as she tossed his pack at him. “Just you set up our bedrolls,” she commanded. “And we will start on that.”
Joden grinned and hastened to obey.
Later, as their fire died, with the blankets thrown back to cool their hot, sweaty bodies, Joden turned to whisper in Amyu’s ear. He sang the words he wanted her to hear. “So I say this truth to you, Amyu of the— Amyu reached out, and placed her fingers on his lips. “No,” she whispered. “Too soon,” she curled in closer to him and smiled. There was no rejection in her eyes. “It’s too soon, Joden. Ask me again, when we have lived with the changes in our lives for a time. Ask me again, after the Fall Council.”
Joden pulled Amyu in close, and nodded.
“In the meantime,” she continued, her voice rough with the need for sleep. “Let’s talk about the stupidity of going to the Heart alone. What were you think—”
Joden stopped her mouth with a kiss, and then another, and another, until they found a different way to distract each other.
Chapter Forty
When the grasses of the Plains began to dry, the wyverns rose with their young and scattered in every direction, returning to their territories. With warnings and watchful eyes, the Xyians were ready. Amyu, Lightning Strike, and the others rose on their airions to meet them.
Wyverns quickly learned a lesson in blood.
When the grasses of the Plains turned red as fire, Keir and Lara once again organized a march to the border. But this time, the wagons brimmed with food, and clothing and bedding and leather and all sorts and sundry that the thea camps would need to carry them until Spring.
The Xyian forces bolstered those at the border, commanded by Liam of the Deer, with Marcus at his side.
Anna insisted, and Lara agreed, that this time the babes would remain at the City of Water’s Fall. Part of Lara’s agreement was the wonderful portal magic of Rhys of Palins. But all agreed that this secret was one to be kept for now.
Simus was the first to arrive outside the Heart, to claim the place for his tent and Keir’s and crow with delight when the Heart was cleared and the new Council Tent was raised over it.
Once again, the Heart beat with the life of the Plains, for every warrior, every thea, every Elder and Warlord came to witness this Council. Osa and Ultie were the last Warlords to arrive.
Gilla took one look at Osa of the Fox, and her mouth dropped open. “She’s beautiful,” Gilla whispered.
Cadr looked at her with concern. “Gilla, she’s a Warlord,” he hissed.
“She’s going to be my bonded,” Gilla insisted. Cadr just rolled his eyes.
Eldest Elder Singer Essa called the Fall Council unto session wearing his regular silks. The debates began the moment the last prayer to the elements was uttered.
The first matter was simple enough. Four Eldest Elders were required to conduct a Council, and so four Eldest Elders there must be. Reness was there, Eldest Elder of the Theas, proud and strong and ready with her opinions. Her bonded, Hanstau, was at her side when he was not teaching his healing skills and learning new ones.
For Eldest Elder Warrior, Niles of the Boar bowed to the will of the other warriors, and claimed the title. He had held the place after Antas’s betrayal.
But the debates grew hot over the Eldest Elder Warrior-priest, for both Snowfall and Lightning Strike swore that they were no longer warrior-priests.
All the wielders of power were brought into the tent, and questioned. Lightning Strike refused to give in to their demands for the old titles. “We will stand as witnesses to ourselves, carving out new truths. Some may choose to ride the airions of Xy. Some may choose to return to the Plains,” he said defiantly. “But in no way do we wish to return to the false truths of the past.”
Just when Joden was certain that Essa’s head would burst, Amyu rose from her seat behind Lightning Strike and Snowfall. “Let us be known as warrior-magi, then,” she said. “And let the new title reflect a new truth.”
There were head nods all around, which pleased Lightning Strike until he realized that he had been chosen to be the Eldest Elder. Snowfall insisted. “I have made other vows,” she said, glancing at Simus.
Simus puffed up with pride.
Essa was offended that the words of a child had been considered in Council, but he had already been offended when Joden refused to become a Singer.
Quartis had held out the wyvern horn, now hollowed and polished. Joden shook his head, and refused the gift and the title.
“What are you then?” Essa snapped in the privacy of his tent. “Bad enough the Ancients are slain, and their songs lost. Now you refuse—?”
“M-m-my t-t-truth is my own,” Joden shrugged and left without saying more. No amount of argument would change Essa’s mind, and Joden wouldn’t waste the breath.
He’d returned to their tent to find Amyu talking to Reness.
“I would offer her the Rite of Ascension,” Reness said, “You have more than earned the right, Amyu. The other Elders support me in this.”
“No,” Amyu smiled to soften her rejection of the offer. “Although I thank you for your offer. But,” she stood taller now, confidence in every inch of her body. “There is no need. I have proved myself to all, and—” her smile grew brighter. “More importantly, I have proved it to myself.”
At last, the full Council convened, with the Four Eldest Elders in place. The sides of the tent were rolled high, to allow more to see, and the Singers were spread out to echo the words so that all may hear.
Keir stood before them. “The ways of the Plains have not changed in living memory,” he said, standing tall and confident before them in gleaming black leathers and chain armor.
“Our old ways have kept us flourishing for that time. But now they fail us.”
Keir went on, talking of the diminished rewards from raids, of the deaths of babes in the thea camps, of the pain of the life-bearers required to provide future warriors. “We can no longer continue, and expect to thrive,” Keir said. “I stand here before you with a vision of the future that calls for the Tribes to unite under a WarKing. A WarKing to weave two peoples to the benefit of both. You have seen the wagons that I have brought from Xy. With things the thea camps need, and I offer it to all. My Warprize brings knowledge of healing, to aid all.” Keir took a breath. “True healing, not the false promises of the warrior-priests who now wander the snows at their own hands.
“We bring a new strength to the Xyians, a will to fight that they had lost, a need to grow and expand. New blood to blend with their wisdom. New trade routes that we will find, and guard with our strong blades. New ways of considering truths.” Keir paused, and glanced at Lara. “Weaving new patterns into both lands.”
“And if we don’t name you WarKing?” Ietha stood, her arms over her chest, her face tight.
“I will return to Xy, with Lara,” Keir said simply. “I will see to it that Simus, as Warlord of the North, has the supplies he needs to support his army and thea camps.” Keir lifted his chin. “And I will come again, next season, and the next and the next, as you diminish and we thrive.”
Joden kept a straight face but exchanged a sideways glance with Simus. Truth, yes, but a harsh truth. Perhaps too harsh.
“Enough,” Essa rose from his seat. “Let us exchange truths before we decide.”