Among them, humans and dwarves carried bundles of wood, flint, and steel. They arranged the wood in three large circles in the yard and lit fires from them.
At first the small golden blazes were lost amid all the dancing gray bodies, but then Neimal swept forward in her gray and black robes. She climbed into the back of a wagon near the iron fence so she could see over the crowd. She opened her arms and uttered words that were lost over the rush of shadar-kai cheers. Her lips moved, the crowd’s shouts built into a roar, and Ashok felt the heat rising in the air as the flames climbed and turned from orange to brilliant white.
Everywhere there was light. It was painful to look at, but it drove back the shadows in a way Ashok had never seen light do in the dismal Shadowfell.
The other races skittered back from the fire circles, but the shadar-kai formed their own rings around the blazes. Ashok stepped into the yard. The shadar-kai’s stomping feet and shouts invaded his mind, and Ashok found himself joining the crowd. The shadar-kai enfolded him-strangers he’d never seen before that night-until he could not tell his own body from the others.
The crowd moved in a slow circle, and Ashok found himself swept along with them. His feet joined the rhythmic pounding. Every stamp against the ground was a roar and sent a shudder of pain through his bones. As one, they could crack the earth, split it open, and expose another world, or so it felt to Ashok.
Fire surged before Ashok’s eyes, and his face became slick with sweat. He tried to pull back from the circles, but the crowd guided him inexorably forward, closer to the enchanted flames. There were hands on his shoulders, his hands were on other shoulders, and suddenly they were all running forward, one body, one mind, and jumping.
They passed through the flames and landed in the heart of the fire rings. Ashok could hear the triumphant cries from the other circles and see shadar-kai shadows dancing in the light. The men and women within his own circle bounded up and threw their heads back, screaming to the world above. Their clothing fire-blackened, the shadar-kai shed their garments and continued to dance naked, their feet always pounding the ground.
Ashok felt hands draw him up and into the dance. Bodies pressed together, slick with sweat, the heat unbearable but vital. They were in the heart of a forge.
Ashok let the shadar-kai pull his shirt over his head, strip away his armor until he was completely naked. The fire surged. Ashok shouted and danced with his people. They could be burned to ash, their skin seared off their bodies, but he’d never felt so utterly whole. He wasn’t being torn apart or cut to shreds with a blade.
He was Ashok. No: he was shadar-kai.
When the flames burned low enough, they leaped over the fire and collapsed upon each other, screaming, laughing like wild children.
Ashok fell on his back and closed his eyes. He could hold no thoughts in his head, had no room for doubts or pain or fear. There were too many of them. His flesh touched that of another, and another, with nothing to distinguish him from the whole. No one could see him; nothing could hurt him. For all his arrogance, he’d never been stronger than he was there, at that breath in time.
He could see the others shouting to each other, kissing, dancing. He sat up, wanting to take it all in, to remember this feeling always.
A hand touched his shoulder. He turned to see Chanoch kneeling on the grass, naked, his eyes shining with tears.
“I came to tell you,” Chanoch said. Ashok could barely hear him. “I wanted you to see.” The young one’s voice broke. He pitched forward on his hands, exposing his back to Ashok. “I’ve been given the mark. Praise Tempus!”
Ashok saw the black blade, the symbol of Tempus tattooed down Chanoch’s spine. His surrounding skin was deep red and raw from the work, but Chanoch’s body quivered with rapture.
Praise be, Ashok wanted to say, but he stopped before the words reached his lips. He touched Chanoch’s shoulder instead. He could hear the young one weeping.
Skagi and Cree found them sometime later. They were similarly adorned with the black swords, and though they did not weep as Chanoch had, both brothers wore the rapture on their faces. Ashok could feel the power radiating from them, the wholeness.
Ashok caught his breath. All around him, he saw the black tattoos, the warriors in training who had taken their oaths, the final steps that would bind them completely into service of Ikemmu and their leader. The swords were everywhere, yet Ashok’s skin bore no mark except the flames of the nightmare. He stood out from the rest, a pale blemish among the joyous celebration. No one spoke of it. They accepted him as one of their own, but suddenly, Ashok felt cold. The fire couldn’t touch him. He was a creature apart.
He turned, looking for an open space, a place to breathe and escape the press of bodies, the reek of sweat and dirt. Stumbling, he made it to the shadows of the tower. He fell on his knees and vomited. Pressing his face against a patch of cool ground, he breathed in and out.
Footsteps sounded behind him, barely discernible above the noise of the celebration. Perhaps he heard them because he knew, before he looked up, who would be watching him.
Vedoran stood armed and fully clothed, which made Ashok feel horribly exposed. He stepped forward, his movements graceful, and handed Ashok a bundle that included his bone scale armor and the weapons he’d thoughtlessly discarded during the dance.
Ashok wiped his mouth, took the clothing, and with a nod of thanks began to dress himself. When he’d finished, he turned to face Vedoran, who watched the celebration dispassionately.
“They form the circles on the eve of every long journey undertaken by the shadar-kai,” Vedoran said before Ashok could speak. “The ritual will last until the Monril bell, long after those making the journey have gone to rest.”
“An offering to Tempus?” Ashok said. “To ensure a successful mission?”
“A prayer for success, perhaps,” Vedoran said. “But mostly it’s a method of girding the soul for what lies ahead. We’ll be traveling on the open plain for many days before we reach the bog. Unless we encounter other dangers-and I pray we do-we’ll have no one but each other and the wind for company. The inactivity of a long march … ”
“We risk losing ourselves,” Ashok said. He remembered well his own solitary days on the Shadowfell. He’d sought danger for the same reason.
“The other races, especially the merchants who are used to long, monotonous caravan runs, mock us for creating such ceremony for what they consider an insignificant distance,” Vedoran said. He dipped his head, his lips quirking in some private amusement. “Your halfling friend would say as much.”
“How do you know Darnae?” Ashok said, his eyes narrowing. “Have you been following me?”
Vedoran shrugged. “I’ve been curious about you since we first met. I’ve wondered why you hide yourself away in ruined buildings and scribble on parchment, why you went after that shadar-kai in the tavern,” he said. “At first I thought you confronted him for amusement, but then I began to think it was something more.”
“Are you satisfied now?” Ashok said tersely.
Vedoran met Ashok’s eyes. They held each other’s gazes for a long breath. Neither spoke. Finally, Vedoran smiled again and went back to watching the shadar-kai dance.
Ashok started to walk away, but Vedoran grabbed his shoulder. Ashok resisted the urge to throw off his hand and merely turned to glare at the graceful warrior.
“Always remember exactly what you are and what you are not,” Vedoran said. “Otherwise, that’s where you’ll be left.” He nodded at the vomit-stained ground. “Weak and begging for guidance that will never come.”
Ashok reached up and calmly removed Vedoran’s hand from his shoulder. “May the gods, any and all, grant us success on this journey,” he said. “And may Vedoran lead us safely home again.”
Vedoran nodded. “Sleep well, Ashok,” he said. “Sleep dreamlessly.”
When Vedoran left Ashok he went to the trade district, to the small temple with the green-painted door. Traedis did not look surprised to see him.
“He’s lost to you,” the cleric said when Vedoran had finished telling him of Ashok. “Like so many others before him, he will take Tempus and Uwan into his heart. You must think of yourself now, Vedoran.”
“Uwan put me in charge of the mission,” Vedoran said. “There is still the possibility that I will be rewarded-”
