Warsworn

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 per-ishes. 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