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.
