The only sound was Keir’s breathing. Keir stood there, blood dripping from his weapons and wounds. Joden had expected elation, a shout of triumph.
But Keir looked down at Antas’s body with satisfaction tinged with regret.
“What now?” Essa’s voice was silk as it broke the silence. “What now, Keir of the Cat. Will you declare yourself WarKing?”
Ietha growled.
Keir looked up, and to Joden’s eyes, looked more commanding then he ever had in battle.
“No, Eldest Elder Singer.” Keir stepped out of the circle to face him. “It shall be as it always has been. When the grasses of the Plains turn red and the raiding season ends, the Fall Council will gather. I will attend, my warriors will have full saddle bags and be loaded with supplies for the needs of the theas. I will speak my truth before the Council, and then, yes I will ask the Council to name me WarKing.”
“I will be there,” Ietha snarled. “And I will raise my voice against you.”
“Each will speak their own truths,” Keir said calmly. “And the Council will decide.”
Ietha turned on her heel and left.
“I would ask for assistance.” Veritt gestured to Antas’s body.
Keir went to Simus, who took one of his swords and started cleaning it with a handful of grass. There was joy in their eyes, but they kept their celebration of the moment to themselves.
Two of the Singers heaved Antas’s body on the back of a horse. Joden picked up Antas’s sword and shield and walked over to offer them to Veritt.
Veritt took them. “My thanks,” his voice was a soft whisper. “You helped me face my truths, Singer.”
“Not Singer yet,” Essa’s voice came from behind them. “A word, Joden.”
Veritt bowed his head to both of them. “I will take Antas’s army. The raiding season is not yet over, and we will go to aid the other Warlords. I will see you at the Fall Council, Eldest Elder,” and with that he led the horse off with its burden.
“Joden,” Keir called, letting his pleasure show. “Come, let us return.”
Joden nodded toward Essa. “I’ve Singer business,” Joden called back, using the sing-song voice. “I will follow.”
“You just don’t want to face the Warprize,” Simus rolled his eyes but his smile never faltered. “Don’t be too long, for you should share in her wrath.”
Keir mounted, and pulled his horse around to face them. “Farewell, Eldest Elder Singer,” Keir said. He looked every inch the victor. “I will see you in Council.”
“And have no fear,” Simus grinned. “We will have the Council tent well repaired for you when we reach the Heart.”
Essa snorted, but the two men just grinned, turned their horses and galloped back toward Xy.
As they mounted, Quartis gestured and the Singers bent to replace the sod in the circle. Joden watched as the grass covered Antas’s blood.
“Joden,” Essa asked, and there was pain in his voice. “Where did the old paths take you?”
“T-t-to t-t-the s-s-snows,” Joden forced the words out. He faced Essa, well aware that Quartis and the others were listening as they worked. “T-t-then t-t-the w-w-winds b-b-blew m-m-me t-t-to X-x-xy.”
Essa winced. “They took your voice,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“And opened my eyes,” Joden sang.
Essa’s eyes widened. “You can still sing?”
“And chant,” Joden said. “But my true, strong voice? The Warprize says it may improve with time, but I know the truth. It is gone.”
“You must complete the rites,” Essa said. “Become the Singer you were destined to be.”
“Without a voice?” Joden shook his head. “S-s-speaking l-l-like t-t-this?”
