Page 38 of Wind Rider

“And I will be, but Nik, you should keep in mind if I had followed what you’re saying—to withhold my trust even when my instinct tells me elsewise—I would have left you in that river to die those weeks ago.”

She studied his face. She could see that he was struggling with his fear for her, and probably at his anger at what had become of his beloved Tribe. So, gently, she added, “I ask you to trust my judgment.”

“I do trust you!”

“No, not justme,myjudgment.Because, Nik, I do love you, but if you cannot trust myjudgmentwe can never be mates. A matriarchy isn’t just about women leading. It’s about women being respected as equals—valued as equals—even when fear wants you to disagree with our choices, and I must have a mate who doesn’t simply understand the ideals behind that way of life, but who actively embraces it bytrusting my judgment.”

Mari saw the surprise and the pain in his eyes, but she didn’t move to comfort him. This was something Nik had to work through, and if he could not, no matter how much she wanted him—or how much she loved him—she truly would not accept him as her mate. She was Moon Woman, one of the leaders of their Clan, and if her own mate did not respect her then they would be an ill-fitted match that would affect her ability to lead their Pack, and that was something she could not,would not,live with.

“I will respect your judgment, my Moon Woman.” Nik spoke somberly. “Though it will be difficult to temper my worry for you. I have lost much recently—my father, my Tribe—basically my whole way of life. I cannot bear to lose you as well.”

Relief bloomed within Mari. “Loss I understand. Loss is what brought us together, but it could also tear us apart if we cannot work through it.”

He nodded, and she felt him relax. “You’re right, my Moon Woman.”

“I love you, my Sun Priest.”

“And I love you as well.”

They sat in silence with their Companions and their Pack around them, gazing out at the seemingly endless river as they held each other and imagined the mysteries the future before them might hold.

***

Iron Fist jogged though the burned ruins of the Tribe of the Trees—silent and dark except for the sentry, Thunder, who challenged him as soon as he left the Channel and entered Tribal territory.

“Speak your name!”

“Iron Fist, Blade of the God!”

Thunder dropped from a blackened bough of a half-burned pine. “Iron Fist—Death has left word that you go to Him immediately. Keep following this stream into the burned area there before us.” He pointed. “When the stream turns to the right go left and walk until you see green again. Death is waiting at the big tree with the carved platform.”

“The battle is over?”

“Battle?” Thunder laughed darkly. “There was nobattle.The Others are weak, and those who are not are eager to ally themselves with the power of our God.”

“Did He kill them all?” Iron Fist asked.

“No, not yet. There is far too much work to be done, and as our God has promised, we shall rule here now, and not the pathetic Others. They are now our slaves!”

Iron Fist nodded. He was surprised that Death hadn’t wiped out the entire Tribe of the Trees, but Thunder’s words made sense. Why should the People struggle to rebuild the city in the sky when the original builders were so much better suited for the work? He saluted his fellow Reaper. “I go now to report to our Lord.”

“May your feet be swift. Death has been asking for you.”

Thunder’s words goaded Iron Fist into a run. He leaped over burned logs and blackened rubble easily, feeling the strength of the boar within him. He did not know how Death had merged the mighty beast’s essence with His Reapers, but Iron Fist was grateful He had. Gone were the bulbous pustules that used to cover so much of his body. Gone was thewrenching cough and the nausea that used to shadow his every moment—and he would be eternally loyal to Death for the gift of health and preternatural power.

Iron Fist turned to the left when the stream curved right. Soon he heard the sounds of celebration—the drumming and the singing—that marked a victorious battle. He followed those joyous sounds until the blackened city gave way to unscathed green. Singed tree houses that looked very much like enormous nests were now filled with celebrating People. Half-burned platforms held Reapers who were drinking and writhing in time to a sonorous drumbeat, and as Iron Fist watched, one Reaper almost fell to his death from too much revelry, though he seemed not to notice that the fast action of his fellow soldier had snagged his arm and saved him. Iron Fist frowned. It would not do to have the Reapers injuring themselves. He must speak to Death about warning the People to be more careful.

The young Attendants to the God were still back in the city, but the victorious Reapers would not be denied their pleasure. Women of the vanquished Tribe were being forced to service the soldiers. As Iron Fist watched, one Tribal woman escaped the forced embrace of a Reaper. Naked and bloody, she silently leaped from the half-burned platform high above them and landed, broken and still, not far from him.

Iron Fist didn’t waste time watching further. Women were chattel. It was simply their fate to serve man. He moved on and then halted on the fringe of the main part of the celebration.

The People were spread in a great circle around a huge old pine that held multiple ornately carved platforms. Just beyond the tree, outside the circle of drinking, dancing Reapers and the suffering women of the Tribe, Iron Fist could see the beginning of a huge roped-off area. Within it was what was left of the defeated Tribe of the Trees. He wondered who was guarding them, and then ceased wondering when he recognized Spider, Deep Water, and Gully walking a slow path around the circumference of the prisoners. The three were old men too ill to be made Reapers, but not so frail that they were unable to keep watch—especially over a Tribe that was so clearly and completely defeated. Even theirmighty canines lay silently beside their Companions—heads bowed in failure.

A roar drew Iron Fist’s attention back to the tree in the center of the celebration, and he saw Death stride to the edge of the platform. Several huge bonfires blazed below and around the tree, illuminating the God’s massive silhouette. He lifted His arms and His voice echoed with immortal power around them, easily being heard over the drums and the debauchery.

“Yes, my People! Celebrate! Dance, drink, fornicate! The night is yours—and come tomorrow we will begin buildingourcity in the sky!” Cheers sounded around Him as He bellowed the great roar of a stag.

Iron Fist jogged through the People, weaving his way around Reapers stumbling with drink and triumph. He almost ran into a soldier he didn’t recognize—then he took a closer look. It was a member of the Tribe—the small man who had been captured by them weeks ago and whom Death had used to spread poison to the Tribe. The man, whose name Iron Fist remembered was Thaddeus, had a drink in one hand and with the other held a young girl close to him as he forced her to dance. Her eyes met Iron Fist’s briefly, and what he saw there caused the Reaper to shudder. There was no light within her gaze—there was nothing there at all. It was as if he shared a glance with a corpse.