Riley slept through the night and the next day. She woke only to relieve herself and sip water. She dreamt of trampling hooves.
The drums woke her, but it was the haunting music that dragged her out of her cot. It sounded like a cello, but wavering, and a little flat.
An honor guard of Nomads in regal dress waited outside her tent. Their black-stoned swords formed an arch above her. She recognized the warrior she fought in the circle. She smiled at him, but his face was solemn. The path was strewn with petals that shone iridescent in the torchlight. Her breath caught and she tried to step lightly.
She followed the path and saw no one. The city of white tents was deserted until she reached the edge of the gathering. The applause was deafening. The drums exploded. The stringed instruments changed from mournful to exultant. The entire population, it seemed, stood on either side. The path of petals led between them.
My father never saw this, Riley thought, taking a trembling step.
Hundreds of torches flew in the air and the crowd opened around them. Jugglers caught them, and threw them again. The lights danced and flared around her, glittering off of eyes, hair, beads, petals. Her head spun and she worked hard to keep her back straight, walking with confidence through her injuries.
At the end of the aisle was an altar of bone. The ribs of the great beasts were carved and polished into a huge bowl. She approached, it was flanked by six elders and Lissie, who looked resigned.
Lissie walked toward her and stood in front of her, back to the altar. “They asked me to translate.”
The elder on the far left raised a staff made of carved black stone. The top had a crown of bone, skulls, glass. The music stopped at once. He let out a guttural scream. It poured into the air. It stopped and the crowd echoed it. Lissie was screaming too. When they stopped, there was silence. Lissie looked at her and nodded.
Riley’s eyes opened wide, and she took a deep breath. She refused to wince at the pain in her side and screamed as loud as she could. To her ear it sounded high and weedy after the roar.
When she stopped, the elder with the staff spoke. Lissie started translating.
“The wind is high.
She knows, she knows.
On this night
She grows, she grows
She knows your heart
She smiles your smile.”
Riley could see tears in Lissie’s eyes. The next elder raised a baton topped with a gold circle. The elder pulled up her hood. She dropped the flap of thin white fabric over her face.
Riley heard the sound of whispering cloth, and turned to see thousands of hoods being drawn. When she turned back, Lissie’s face was veiled.
Riley felt behind her shoulder. She pulled up her own hood, faltering. It was the first time she’d looked through the mesh. It was surprisingly clear.
The hooded elder spoke. Lissie translated.
“The sun is death
He sees, he sees.
The sun has set
He turns, he turns
You are hidden
You have another night.”
A reverent silence followed. No one breathed.
The next elder stepped forward, and drew out two closed fists. She raised them in a wide arc over her head, and glittering seeds erupted from her hands. They rained in an arc around Riley. She put her hands together, then leapt to the ground. Her hands splayed against the grass in front of her.
A returning thump blew a breeze against her from all directions. Riley glanced around, she was the only one of the thousands left standing.
She fell to the ground, catching herself on her spread fingers. The elder spoke. No one moved. Lissie’s shuddering voice followed.
“The earth is still
She bears, she bears
The fruit is ripe
It cracks, it cracks
You are an adult
You have broken and will grow.”
The air trembled with the sound of everyone standing. Riley forced herself to her feet, grateful the hood hid her wince.
The fourth elder stepped forward. He pulled out an ornate bone flute. He raised it under his hood, and the sound was eerie. The note wavered and followed the sound of the never-ending wind. They played in concert, blowing together and into harmony.
After a minute the lips of thousands rose together, whistling a rejoinder. Riley expected them to drown out the sound of the wind, but then it grew. She wished it would never end.
They stopped suddenly, and Riley took a breath and put her fingers to her mouth. The tone was piercing and high. Rhythmless.
I wish I knew any other way to whistle.
She fixed her mind on the wind and blew as long as she could. The wind gusted against her, blowing her robes. When she stopped, she looked up and the elder spoke. Lissie’s translation was shuddering now.
“Praise to the wind
We sing, we sing
Your song has joined ours
Our song, our song
It is louder for you
The wind rejoices”
The fifth to speak was not as old as the others. She was lithe, and her robes were tightly wrapped around each leg and arm. Her words were abrupt.
“Nothing to the sun
We run, we run”
Riley understood the words even before Lissie translated. She could not hear her friend over the trampling feet. She looked around her. After a moment of retreating white cloaks, she was left alone. Save for Lissie and the final elder.
Confused, Riley looked to her friend. She did not turn, and stood calmly. Riley waited.
From the darkness behind the altar, a figure in a black robe stepped forward. He pulled his hood back to reveal Alexander’s smiling face. He laid Ruskin’s Blade in the bowl of bone.
Riley stepped forward and saw the edge was glinting black. She did not have time to wonder at it before Alexander took off in a sprint. The last elder spoke.
“Water to the earth
We bleed, we bleed
The earth is hungry
We feed, we feed
Your blood is ours
Your blood is hers.”
The elder took out a small black shard. He pulled his sleeve over his right hand, exposing his forearm. It was a constellation of shooting scars. The elder drew the black stone over the ridged flesh.
A trail of ruby beads erupted from his skin. They merged into a slow trickle, the gap widening at the razor-sharp incision. He held his arm over Ruskin’s blade, turning the trickle to land on the wood.
The elder reached forward with his other hand, the shard of stone offered in his open palm. Riley reached across the altar, taking it. She held it in her hand; every side was a knife’s edge.
Riley lifted her left arm, and pushed the white cloth up. She could hear the soft sound of Lissie crying behind her. She closed her eyes for a moment, and a small tear escaped. She opened them and cut.
The wound parted like a purse. She took a breath.
Too hard, she thought, I always go too hard.
A smattering of dark beads splashed the wooden sword.
The elder spoke again. Lissie’s breath shuddered and she forced the words out.
“The weapon is chosen
You fight, you fight
Your life stands before you
You walk, you walk
Our people have grown
The earth has fed and now will we.”
The elder turned and walked away. Riley put her sleeve over her arm, pressing hard against the cut. She started to follow the elder, but Lissie was walking the opposite direction.