The hairs on the back of her neck rose; it felt as if all of the Plains was waiting… watching…
The winds blew, rushing through the tents, setting the pennants flapping. They swirled around Haya and the babe. Haya heard…
The winds died down, as quickly as they had come, leaving silence and peace.
Haya looked down, smiling at the tiny sleeping babe. “The Elements have spoken,” she said. “You are named Joden. Joden of the Hawk.”
With swift steps, she left the circle and strode quickly to the nursing tent. Best to see that the babe was warmed and had a teat in its mouth before it started to fuss.
Seo greeted her as she entered the tent which smelled of melted gurt and dried milk. “Another this night? The Tribe indeed flourishes,” he gestured to a young life-bearer, her breasts heavy with milk. “Come, settle by the fire and give this one his first suck. Make sure your teat is clean, and watch that he can hold your nipple.”
“His name is Joden of the Hawk.” Haya gave up the bundle willingly, looking about the tent. “Two others?”
“Aye,” Seo grinned. “Two feisty males for that one to keep with.” He pointed his chin at a life-bearer nursing a dark-skinned baby who was clutching at her breast. “That one is named Simus, also of the Hawk” He knelt back by the brazier, and pulled a pitcher from the coals. “Kavage?”
An angry cry rang out from the other, a pale-skinned baby with a shock of fine black hair.
Haya glanced to make sure the life-bearer had settled down with Joden before she sat next to Seo. “That one will be trouble.”
“Probably,” Seo grinned as he offered her kavage. “That one is of the Cat.”
“His name?”
“The elements named him Keir.”
Chapter One
Joden of the Hawk, Warrior of the Plains, knew that to become a Singer he would have to undergo Trials. He’d assumed that he’d be challenged physically and mentally to prove his worth. He’d have to prove his knowledge of the songs and chants of the Plains, prove his ability to create songs. Prove as well his understanding of the way of the Plains, and his ability to act as a neutral judge in conflicts. That was his goal, to be a Singer, to join with those who held the knowledge of the Plains in their hearts.
He just hadn’t thought there would be so much dried dung involved.
He must have spoken out loud, for a voice came from behind him. “What? You thought the fires of a Singer’s camp burned on their own accord?”
Joden straightened from his task, and looked over his shoulder. Quartis sat on a gurtle pad, repairing some armor. The young man looked at Joden through the curtain of his long brown hair, decorated with beads and feathers. His bright eyes were piercing, and around his right eye was tattooed the black wing of a bird. The tattoo of a Singer.
All around them spread the Plains, wide, green with the early grasses, and empty of all but horses and themselves.
Joden looked down at the basket of dried dung in his hands. “No, I didn’t think they burned of their own accord, but—”
“Dung must be gathered if we’re to have a fire this noon,” Quartis said, as if talking to a child. “Para and Thron hunt our dinner. I am repairing my leathers. You, the youngest and newest candidate for Singer, are gathering dung. All is as it should be, yes?”
No, Joden thought but didn’t say the word aloud.
“Unless you think you are somehow special.” Quartis’s voice was silky now, raising the hairs on the back of Joden’s neck. “That you are above doing this task?”
“No,” Joden replied firmly.
“Well, then.” Quartis gestured toward the basket. “And while you are working, continue to recite the teaching chants,” the Singer ordered.
Joden sucked in a deep breath, let it out slow. Patience, he reminded himself as he bent to his task. “Fear. Fear holds you still when…”
The words came easily as he recited from memory, striving to appear calm and focused without.
Within was a different tale. In truth, his stomach was knotted, and his shoulders tight.
Two days ago, he’d been aiding Simus in his quest to become Warlord, delaying his own Trials to help his friend. That is until Essa, Eldest Elder of the Singers of the Plains had come to Simus’s tent and confronted Joden.
Joden paused in his chanting, swallowing hard against the memory of his shame. He’d avoided Essa, avoided making the request to enter the Trials. Essa had rightfully called him to account for his actions. Once Joden confirmed that he did indeed wish to become a Singer, Essa had commanded him to go with Quartis, without so much as a farewell to Simus or any other.
