There was much commenting on this. I frowned, a bit puzzled. Oone still had bishops on the board at her command. Yet she was looking at them with distrust. And the warriors portraying them were standing with their arms crossed, glaring at all and sundry from beneath lowered brows.
Keir’s bishops had been taken from the board, long before this. Yet he didn’t have the ability to force a checkmate. It was clearly a draw. Why were they—
Oone nodded her agreement. “I concede the loss, Warlord. My warrior-priests are not to be trusted.”
Stunned, I watched as the crowd erupted into cheers and Keir raised his arms in victory. I didn’t understand what had just happened, but I knew somehow that it was important. What kind of power did the warrior-priests hold that they would refuse to support a leader?
Movement distracted me, as Keir was lifted on the shoulders of some of the warriors and carried high above the heads of the cheering crowd.
I cheered as well, but groaned mentally. There’d be no living with him now.
Keir had announced a mourning ceremony for the evening before we were to leave. There had been no new cases of the Sweat since Gils had died. A full forty days had passed, and we were free of our invisible enemy.
Free of the disease, but not free of its effects. These people had been changed profoundly by what had happened here, each marked in different ways by the experience. They had confronted something unknown to them, and learned new skills as a result. I knew that I too had been affected. Never again would I walk into a situation so sure that I had a solution. A loss of confidence, perhaps, or maybe more of facing the truth of my limitations that I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge before.
As the sun started to sink behind the mountains, everyone began to gather for the ceremony along the shore of the lake. This time, a minimal guard had been set, for all would mourn together. I watched the sun as I stood outside the command tent, wrapped in my cloak. The gathering warriors were bringing blankets to sit on, filling in the area, sitting close together, side by side.
Keir emerged from the tent with blankets and a bundle in his arms. He’d released my guards to join the grieving, and Marcus had indicated that he would remain in the command tent with Meara. Without a word, Keir took my hand, leading me toward the rise that overlooked the edge of the lake.
I saw Iften and the Warrior-Priest standing outside Iften’s tent. It almost looked as if they were hiding something, the way they looked about them as they talked. Iften threw open the tent flap and vanished inside. The Warrior-Priest walked off, disappearing behind the tent in the directions of the herds. I was surprised that they didn’t join in the ceremony, but it certainly didn’t bother me.
Keir stopped. I looked around to find that we weren’t far from our tent, and were really at the fringes of the crowd. “Aren’t we going to sit closer?” I asked.
Keir shook his head. “I think for this ceremony, we’d be better off here.” He shook out one of the blankets and spread it on the ground. “Besides, we are not the focus of this gathering. The dead are.”
I sat next to him, and he pulled me close, drawing an-other blanket over us. He leaned in, and spoke for my ear alone. “When you grow uncomfortable, we will leave.”
An odd statement. I would have questioned him, but a drummer had stepped out into the clear area at the lake’s edge. He sat, a large drum before him, and pounded sharply four times.
Everyone stopped talking.
Joden stepped forward, followed by four warriors, carrying small braziers. He faced the crowd, the warriors placing their burdens at the compass points around him, with Joden at the center.
Joden raised his right palm to the sky. “May the skies hear my voice. May the people remember.”
The response rose. “We will remember.”
Joden lowered his arm and spoke again. “Birth of fire, death of air.”
One of the warriors knelt, and blew on the coals within, feeding fuel that caused flames to leap up and dance.
“Birth of water, death of earth.”
The second warrior knelt, dipping her hands and letting the water trickle back into the brazier.
“Birth of earth, death of fire.”
The third warrior knelt, raised a lump of dirt, breaking it up to let the clods fall back into the brazier.
“Birth of air, death of water.”
The fourth warrior knelt. He too blew on coals, but the fuel he added caused a thin trail of smoke to rise up.
The four warriors stood, bowed to their elements, and melted back into the crowd.
“We gather tonight in remembrance of the dead.” Joden spoke again, his voice melodic and beautiful. In the silence, every word carried, clear and firm. “All life perishes. This we know. Our bodies arise from the elements, and return to them when we fall.”
The drummer started a beat then, a slow but steady pulse.
“But we are also more than our bodies. This we know. That which is within each of us, lives on. Our dead travel with us, until the snows.”
Joden paused, then continued. “How can we mourn then? How can we sorrow for what must be? If our dead are with us, and we will join with them when our bodies fail, how then do we weep?”
The drummer’s beat continued behind Joden’s words.
“We grieve for what we lost. For the hollow place within our hearts. For the loss that is felt each time we turn to confide a secret, to share a joke, or to reach for a familiar touch.”
My eyes filled. I remembered Epor, his flashing grin. Gils’s serious face. Father’s joy when he won at chess, his mind sharp even as his body failed.
“This is our pain, the pain of those left behind. Let us share it.” Joden began to sing then, lifting his face and voice to the sky. It was the same song that he’d sung in the throne room of Water’s Fall, and my tears flowed when I recognized the words.
I was not alone. Others, too, wept, clinging to those around them, offering and receiving comfort. I sheltered a bit deeper within Keir’s arms and felt his rough breathing as his eyes sparkled in the fading light.
At the end of the song, Joden started a chant, similar to the one that I’d heard when I’d been ill. The phrases repeated over and over, to the rhythm of the drummer’s beat.
“Death of earth, birth of water, death of water, birth of air, death of air, birth of fire, death of fire, birth of earth.”
A movement caught my eye, and I turned my head to see Isdra rise and walk past us, away from the area. Her face was stoic, but her sorrow hung about her like a cloak. She staggered slightly, but walked swiftly away.
I moved to follow, but Keir held me back. “Don’t.”
“But she’s so sad,” I started, but Keir shook his head.
“Nothing you can say will ease her pain, Lara.”
I eased back into his arms with a flash of guilt. I had my heart’s fire. Living, breathing, sitting beside me, his arms around my waist. Isdra had lost that. Keir was right. I’d probably just remind her of her loss.
Keir drew me closer, and pointed toward the lake.
Two cloaked warriors stood, and were making their way down to stand at Joden’s side. He bowed to them, and they dropped their cloaks. Each was dressed in plain black tunic and trous, no armor or weapons. Joden stepped back to stand at the drummer’s side. As the last of the chant faded, the standing warriors threw back their heads, and wailed, lifting their arms and crying out. They started to dance, using their bodies to express their grief, tearing at their clothing until they were nearly naked, crying out for their loss and pain.
The drumbeat grew faster, and their wails turned angry, now howling their rage to the skies. The crowd joined in, shouting and cursing the elements and the skies. Even Keir spit out a curse. The emotion startled me, but I felt my anger too, at a disease that I knew little about and had no way to defeat.
The man kicked over the brazier of fire, and stomped out the flames. The woman overturned the brazier of water, and then did the same to the one with the earth, stomping the clods flat to the ground.