Uppor wrinkled his nose as Summer Sky laughed and pointed at him. “The stories, I fear, have grown in the telling.”
“Then I am dead,” Joden said. “And these are the snows.” He looked to where the mug should be, shattered in a pool of kavage. There was nothing there.
“No,” Uppor said. “You are not yet with us. You walk between. Unlike the sleeper there,” he nodded toward the pile of blankets. “For some, the way is harder than others. Especially when death is brutal, swift and unseen.”
Summer Sky’s joy faded from her face. She leaned over to adjust the blankets on the sleeping man. His hand slipped out from the covers, the fingers moving in a slow squeeze. Summer Sky smiled softly and then tucked it once more within the blankets.
“Wild Winds,” Joden breathed.
“Known to you?” Uppor asked. “A friend?”
Joden opened his mouth, but no words came.
“Ally, then, perhaps?” Uppor lifted an eyebrow.
“Perhaps,” Joden said.
All four of them turned to look at him, expectation in their eyes. “Tell us,” Uppor commanded. “Tell us your truths, Joden of the Hawk.”
Joden rubbed his face, feeling the roughness of his own palms against his skin. “I don’t know where to begin,” he admitted.
Uppor nodded. “Every beginning is an ending. And yet, every ending is the beginning of something new.” He paused, shaking his head, his smile wry. “Choosing? That is the hard part.”
“Have you heard of the coming of the Warprize?” Joden asked.
“Tell us,” Uppor said.
So Joden did, through what felt like a night and a day, although the heat never waned, and he felt neither tired nor hungry. His words flowed, and those around him stilled and listened until it was only his voice to be heard in every corner of the lodge.
As he spoke, he stared at the painting on the wall of the lodge opposite him, so bright and colorful. As he spoke, it seemed the picture changed to reflect his tale, as armies moved over the lands, as warriors struggled to survive. A woman in a red dress, a four-ehat hunt, and—
“A Warprize,” Uppor breathed the word with reverence.
The images moved on, of a woman and horse encased in metal, and a pillar of light that seared and burned.
And when Joden spoke of wyverns, they filled the air, black darts against a blue sky, tall mountains behind. He blinked, hesitated, as mounted warriors on winged horses fought back.
“And then?” Uppor asked.
Joden glanced away, to find the picture changed to a large tent alone on the Plains. “I met the Ancients,” he continued. “And they spoke of taking the old paths to becoming a Singer.” Joden sat for a moment, watching himself go through the rites, only to collapse at Essa’s feet. “I took the old paths.” He repeated as memory flooded back.
“Ah,” Uppor added wood to the sullen coals in the brazier. “A Warprize,” he said, shaking his head. “Last time, that did not end well.”
“Lara is a true Warprize,” Joden said hotly.
Uppor raised a hand. “I am sure she and Keir have the best of intentions,” he said. “But trust me when I say that those do not always lead to the best of consequences.” Uppor snorted a laugh. “And the Ancients. Did those little dried turds tell you the consequences of your path?”
“Yes,” Joden said. “But—”
“Not in any detail,” Uppor finished for him. He reached out with his dagger, adjusting the wood, stirring the coals.
“No,” Joden admitted. “But they offered knowledge.”
“Of course they did,” Uppor growled. “As they have so often in the—”
Stalking Cat laid a hand on Uppor’s arm to stop his words, and shook his head.
Uppor heaved a sigh. “I am reminded of the last time I raised my hand to interfere. It too did not end well.”
The flames in the brazier were leaping up now, the heat pounding Joden’s face.
“Did they at least speak of sacrifice to you, Joden?” Uppor asked.
“They did,” Joden said. “And I am willing to make a sacrifice, if it aids the Plains.”
“Willing sacrifice, willingly made.” Uppor said. “Why?”
“Why?” Joden said. “To offer my knowledge to the people, to aid those that would lead them.”
Twisting Winds held moist clay in his hands, working it as he listened. Joden watched as he formed a small bowl, and then set it in the flames to harden.
“Why?” Uppor asked again, as the bowl changed colors in the flame.
Joden frowned. “Because change must come; because our ways will no longer sustain us.”
Summer Sky took the clay bowl from the flames, and poured water into it. Clear and cold the water flowed into the bowl, lapping at the sides.
“Why?” Uppor asked again, as the water splashed within.
“I would see our people flourish,” Joden said.
Stalking Cat produced a sheaf of stargrass and threw it on the fire. Sweet smoke started to rise.
Uppor took a deep breath of the sweet smoke, and Joden followed his example. Only to find the man looking at him with knowing eyes. “Why?”
“Because I want the truth,” Joden snapped. “Because truths have been withheld, hidden from all. I want to know what was, and how this came to be. And how we change without changing.”
Uppor laughed out loud, and glowed gold within the smoke. “Change without changing,” he chortled. “If only it were so.”
The smoke filled the lodge now, puffing from the brazier. Joden could only see Uppor seated beside him, his palms up lifted, glowing brightly.
“We wish you well on your path, Seer,” Uppor’s voice echoed. “May the fire warm you. May the earth support you. May the water sustain you. May the winds take you where they will.” The smoke continued to build as did the sound of the storm.
Out of the smoke, Uppor leaned in closer, his dark eyes intent. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Tell the Guardian I wait for her.” He pulled back, and disappeared into the clouds of smoke.
Joden coughed as the sacred smoke grew thicker and then started to swirl. Everything vanished and the heat faded.
“Uppor?” Joden called, but his voice was lost as the winds howled into the lodge, extinguishing lights and stealing the breath from his body.
Joden staggered up. The pallet was gone, the walls were gone, and the ice cut into him once again. Once again he raised his arms to protect his eyes from the sting of the pellets.
He was alone, naked, wandering the snows.
The winds lashed out, swirling around and around, trying to force him back, strong enough to knock him from his feet. Whatever respite he had was gone. There was only him now, and the struggle.
Joden pressed on against the wind, staggering through the drifts, fighting to… fighting to… fighting against—
He stopped and closed his eyes. “Some Singer I am,” he muttered, then shook his head. “He could have just told me.”
But the winds laughed in his ear as they circled around him in a tempest of snow and ice. ‘How then would you learn?’
Joden stretched out his arms. “Where the winds will,” he said.
He was turned, pushed, and started running with the winds, leaping drifts, almost losing touch with the earth below. There was something white ahead, a glowing expanse of rippling white cloth, waiting, ready—
He took one last leap, spread his arms and let the winds take him through the white light and into the darkness.
Chapter Twelve
As she struggled for another handhold, Amyu decided that mountains held little truth.
A place that looked close was in fact hard to reach. A path that seemed straightforward was in fact steep; the brush that you thought to push through fought back. The rock that looked trustworthy would slide away under your foot. The root that you grasped to pull yourself up gave way.
The climb she thought would take little time was taking far longer.
&nb
sp; Mountains were not to be trusted.
Amyu set her jaw and kept at it, out of sheer stubbornness. That flicker of white was still there, above her. Pure white and fluttering. Taunting her.
What was worse, it was now right above her, at the top of a wall of rock and roots. She would have to climb the sheer face to reach it, at the risk of falling.
Tired, hot, Amyu checked her footing, leaned against the rocks, and took a drink from her waterskin. She winced at the grit under her nails and the itch of sweat on her scalp.
She could turn back.
She should turn back.
Shifting carefully, she looked out, towards Water’s Fall. Unlike the rest of the mountain view, this one was blocked by thick green trees, heavy with needles instead of leaves. Birds darted and peered at her from the branches, scolding as if astonished to see a human this high. There was a small breeze, just enough to stir the trees. She lifted her hair off her neck to let it dry.
Even if she started down now, she’d be another night on the mountain. A cold, hungry night, but she’d at least be headed down, and back in the city before—
A snatch of song drifted through the air.
Amyu jerked her head up. That sound had stopped during the climb, but there it was again. Faint, irritatingly familiar, and yet she couldn’t name it.
It didn’t matter. She had to know. She secured her waterskin, and headed up.
Nothing worked with her, not rock, not branch, not root. She lost the sound of the music in her own rough breathing. Muscles straining, she blinked against the sweat in her eyes.
The bit of white was still there.
Amyu reached up again, and tested another hand hold, and then another until finally, finally, she reached and felt an edge with her fingers.
She heaved herself up and over, on her belly on the cold worked stone, breathing hard.
The white was… cloth.
Amyu stared, disappointment washing over her. She scrambled to her feet, cursing her stupidity. It was the corner of a piece of cloth that had somehow gotten twisted into a thick cord, leading to a bigger bundle of cloth in the depths of the cave.
She blinked against the darkness. Cloth, stupid cloth that—
—was pure white.
Amyu stilled. Any cloth left for any time wasn’t going to stay that clean. That white.
And this was no cave. As her eyes adjusted, Amyu saw that the opening looked more like a hall of the castle, only wider and taller. More of a passage, not a cave. She took a step further in, but the deep shadows didn’t let her see more.
The bundle in the cave shifted.
Amyu jumped, her dagger out in an instant. A creature had gotten tangled and twisted in the cloth.
She took a few steps closer.
A moan, and more movement made it clear it wasn’t a creature. It was a human, a man. The cloth was twisted around him, holding his arms close to his body. The man struggled weakly against the restraint.
“Wait, wait, don’t move.” Amyu said as she knelt next to him. “I’ll help.”
A faint moan was the only response.
She hesitated, unsure as to what to do. Cut the cloth? Try to unwind him?
But the man was tightly wrapped, and heavy enough she’d never be able to untwist the cloth without his aid.
Amyu grasped the cloth at the top of his head, pulling it up and away. She carefully inserted the tip of her dagger, and slit the cloth down slowly.
Black hair, brown skin was revealed as the cloth parted.
The man tossed his head. Fearing to hurt him, Amyu dropped the dagger and tore the cloth to free his face. Her heart froze in her chest.
She knew this man.
Joden?
Joden of the Hawk?
Amyu rocked back on her heels, jerking her hands away.
Joden of the Hawk.
It wasn’t possible, and yet here he was. He was thin, his lips cracked and dry. It was Joden, but his face… he was clearly exhausted, starved, and unaware.
Amyu sucked in a hard breath in amazement and wonder.
She’d met Joden for the first time when he’d stood before the Council of Elders. He’d been so brave, so strong, defying Antas of the Boar and explaining his truths to the Council. For the first time, she had seen a new kind of courage, one that had nothing to do with the weapon in a warrior’s hands. Joden had radiated power through his words and his truth.
Seeing that in him had given her the courage to defy her Elders and their command to kill the Warprize. Amyu had faked the attack and protected the Warprize with her own body as the tent around them erupted in chaos and violence.
But how had Joden come here? Last she’d known he was on the Plains, with Simus of the Hawk, about to undergo Singer Trials.
Joden’s mouth moved, bringing Amyu back to the moment. The sound was faint, and there were no words. He was singing.
“Joden?” Amyu reached out to cup his cheek.
Cold. Stone-cold. Thin, and his normally rich brown skin was pale. His lips were parched and dry, his eyes closed.
Water. He needed water and warmth.
Amyu tore the cloth the rest of the way down his naked body. How had he gotten so twisted and trapped in the cloth? She would need to—
Joden took a sharp quick breath, and stiffened. The next instant, he started to thrash about, his arms and legs flailing wildly, his head tossing back and forward.
“Joden,” Amyu cried, putting her hands on his shoulders, trying to hold him still. She watched in horror as the spasms continued, only to end as suddenly as they had begun.
Joden lay still now, as if dead. If he breathed, she couldn’t see it. She pressed her hand to his chest, but it was cold to her touch.
“Elements, no,” she whispered, more plea than prayer. “Not this warrior. Please, please don’t let him be dead.” Amyu swallowed hard, biting back fear and horror. Child of the Plains she maybe, but there was no one else here. If he was not dead, Joden could not be allowed to suffer. Mercy. She had to grant mercy.
She picked her dagger back up, gripped it tight to still her trembling hand.
She’d never done this before. She’d been trained, but she’d never killed anyone.
With her free hand, she reached for his right hand. His fingers were curled and cold in hers.
“Joden,” she called out. “Joden of the Hawk.”
There was no response, no change. She forced herself to reach over, to take his left hand.
“Joden,” she called again, loudly. Nothing. No flinch, no movement.
Her fear grew, but she followed her training. She reached over and grasped his left foot. “Joden of the Hawk,” and her tears started to flow down her cheeks. Elements, please—
Silence.
She sobbed, and reached for Joden’s right foot, squeezing hard, trying to remember all she’d been taught about a death strike, about avoiding the rib and piercing the—
There was a throb under her fingers.
“Joden?” Amyu blinked against her tears.
He was staring at her, and his chest moved with a breath.
Relief flooding through her, Amyu reached for his hand. His fingers moved in hers, still cold but alive. She half-sobbed, relieved and shaken.
His mouth moved in the barest of whispers. “T-t-they’re l-l-lovely,” he whispered, his half-opened eyes now focused on a spot behind her.
Amyu blinked back her tears. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, when she glanced behind there was nothing there. “What are lovely, Joden?” Amyu asked. “What do you see?”
“Airions,” Joden’s eyes fluttered closed. “H-h-horse-h-h-hawks.”
“What?” Amyu demanded sharply, but Joden’s eyes were closed and he didn’t rouse.
Which left Amyu weak with relief, frustrated, and with more questions than answers. She ground her teeth, and sat back on her heels.
She couldn’t kill him. Joden was respected, his truths honored. It wasn’t her place to make that dec
ision. If he’d been openly wounded, or asking for mercy, that was one thing. But this was Joden of the Hawk, and she would not be the one to silence his voice. Those tremors may be a passing thing. With food, warmth, and water he’d recover. She’d get him down the mountain and take him to the Warlord.
She jerked to her feet, and made a quick search of the passage. Her eyes adjusted, she walked back as far as she could, checking for signs of animals and possible threats.
The passage ended in a sheer rock wall. There were no side passages that she could see, and no debris that might indicate it was an animal lair. Satisfied, she sheathed her dagger and returned to Joden.
He was sleeping, his chest rising and falling normally. She made a nest out of the white cloth around Joden, leaving enough room for both of them.
She filled a bowl and managed to get water into him without spilling too much. He swallowed for her, but did not awaken.
After that, Amyu shook out her blankets, and got one under him with much tugging and shifting. Thin he might be, but Joden was still a strong warrior, and almost a dead weight. It took doing, but she got the blanket under him, enough to get him off the cold stone that could seep a man’s heat away.
Finally, she stripped down, put her weapons within easy reach, and climbed into the nest, covering both of them with her remaining blanket.
She put his cold hands crossed on his chest, and then covered his body with hers. She shivered at the touch of his frigid skin, but she pressed in tighter, willing her body heat into him.
There was no way to figure how long it would take to warm him. A fire wouldn’t do much good in this cavernous space, but she’d see to that later. For now, this was her best choice.
His breathing was soft against her neck, and his heart beat was steady in her ear. She’d have answers when he woke.
How in the name of all the elements had he come here? Amyu frowned as she shifted a bit, trying to get more comfortable. How could he have climbed the mountain ahead of her, leaving no trail? Even if he had, where was his gear and supplies? And the cloth? Where had that come from?
Amyu let out a slow breath, and tried to rein in her impatience. Answers would come, once Joden woke.
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