“Let me try,” came her voice, like rippling water over stones. “Simus, stand here.”
And then the image folded and expanded. Simus of the Hawk took shape, a big man, taller than Snowfall. His arm was wrapped around Snowfall’s waist.
“Don’t move,” Snowfall said, looking up at him, her lips brushing his cheek.
“Why would I want to?” Simus laughed, rubbing his nose in her hair.
The room went silent, except for a strangled choke that came from Lightning Strike.
Snowfall and Simus were bonded.
Cadr huffed out a breath of surprise at their ear-weavings. He’d seen them together in the Heart, so it wasn’t that much a of a shock to him.
It was to the others, that much was clear.
“Snowfall?” Lightning Strike’s voice was almost a squeak.
Snowfall turned toward Lightning Strike, giving him a nod. “Yes. I have bonded with Simus of the Hawk. Wild Winds will want to know—”
“Wild Winds is dead.” Lightning Strike said harshly.
Snowfall’s lips parted in a small gasp. Even though her image was colorless as water, Cadr could see the pain wash over her. Cadr dropped his gaze, and he wasn’t the only one. Others looked away, reminded of their own grief.
“Dead?” Simus frowned. “How?”
Cadr took a deep breath and pushed forward, to kneel before Simus’s likeness. “Warlord, I would report.”
“Cadr,” Simus’s voice was deep. “What happened?”
Cadr described the attack, of not being able to find Hanstau, of taking up Wild Wind’s body and being led by the dead.
Lightning Strike started in then with the pyre lighting, the appearance of a portal, and Sidian and Rhys.
“How do we know,” Snowfall said, her voice both calm and pointed. “How do we know you are truly a warrior-priest?”
“From all I have heard, and all you have been through, I understand your doubts.” Sidian removed his tunic, baring his ritual tattoos. “It has been many a year since I have done this,” he said as he spread his arms.
Patterns of red, black, and blue appeared, the riot of colors that were the traditional tattoos of a warrior-priest. They covered his arms, chest and face. But then they faded again, and Sidian stood before them with only the scars. “Where I have traveled, they were dangerous to have. And I have since returned to find them dishonored.”
“You are Eldest Elder then,” Snowfall glanced at Lightning Strike as if seeking confirmation.
“No,” Sidian said. “Long has it been since I have had access to the power, much less used it. I am a teacher, nothing more. Nothing less.” He shook his head, those white bushy eyebrows meeting over his nose. “And with this Hail Storm I have heard speak of, you will need aid.” He exchanged a glance with Rhys.
“Come to Xy.” Simus said, and Snowfall nodded. “We are headed there, to the fortress at the border. Liam of the Deer awaits us, holding it in defense of any that might come against Xy.
“Liam of the Deer?” Sidian asked. “I know that name. And he will know of me.”
Lightning Strike stared at Snowfall as if he could not make sense of her. “I do not know,” he said slowly. “I do not know who to trust, now.”
Simus opened his mouth, but Snowfall raised a hand to press her fingers over his mouth. “Lightning Strike, please consider.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I know this seems over-swift.”
“When you left here, you could barely speak his name.” Lightning Strike’s pain was clear.
Snowfall nodded. “As Wild Winds asked, I looked deeper. And saw something—”
“Marvelous,” Simus drawled out the word.
Snowfall cast him a look.
Simus grinned, but then grew serious. “Lightning Strike, in bonding with Snowfall, I am pledged not just to her, but to all that share her history. We both know of the hatred between Keir and the warrior-priests. But our world changed the night of the Sacrifice. Come to Xy.”
Lightning Strike straightened. “It is more than my voice. We will consider.”
Simus frowned, but Snowfall nodded. “This same time, tomorrow.”
“Agreed,” Lightning Strike said, and gestured with his hand. The water images collapsed down to splash around the bowl.
They talked that night, Lightning Strike making sure that all truths were considered. Cadr and Gilla mostly just listened as meat, drink, and talk were passed about.
Even Sidian had something to add. “I knew Liam long before he was a Warlord. Always one of honor, and his truth was always strong. If, as you say, this Keir of the Cat hates warrior-priests, Liam would not be one to see us killed without honor.” Sidian glanced at Rhys.
Gilla stood at that point, and crossed her arms to glare at Sidian. “There are truths you are not telling,” she accused. “Something you know that we do not.”
Sidian sat silent for a long moment, then shrugged. “Ezren said you were clever, Gilla. Yes, we have not spoken all our truths but not to conceal. To protect.”
“What?” Lightning Strike glared.
But it was Rhys that spoke. “We have dealt with one that engaged in blood magic,” he said. “I have been checking, to see if any of you bore the taint. You do not.”
Gilla narrowed her eyes as she spoke. “When Ezren Storyteller was among us, he told a tale of Orrin and Evelyn. How they defeated an evil sorceress. One who created horrible monsters from the dead. He called them odium.”
“We were there,” Rhys confirmed. “Both of us.”
“There is another thing,” Sidian admitted. “If we go to Xy, if things turn out badly, we can escape. Rhys knows how to create portals. I would not bring him to the Plains, unless I knew he could get home again.”
Everyone reacted at that. “You can go anywhere you wish?” Lightning Strike asked.
“Well, to a place I know well,” Rhys said. “This, these Plains? You may see landmarks, but all I see is grass.”
“Still, it is a way to flee,” Sidian said.
Lightning Strike stood. “Are there any that would add to our truths?”
No one offered more; many shook their heads.
“I do not know if there is any safety anywhere,” Lightning Strike said. “But Antas killed Wild Winds and that is enough for me. I say we take the chance, and travel to Xy. Under the protection of Simus and Liam and Keir, maybe we can grow to what Wild Winds wanted us to be.” Lightning Strike looked around. “What say you?”
“Heyla!”
Hanstau looked up when one of their two guards entered, and threw a bundle down at his feet.
“Antas summons you,” the guard growled. “He would present you to the Warlord Ietha and others this night.”
Hanstau’s stomach tightened, and his heart started beating faster. He glanced at Reness, standing off to the side, but she was staring at the guard with an odd look.
“Hurry,” the guard said, ignoring Reness, gesturing at the cloth.
Hanstau reached for the bundle to find a hooded cloak, boots and the Xyian robes he’d been wearing when they had taken him.
Hanstau flushed, for the man clearly wasn’t going to turn away. So he stood, striped off his tunic and trous, more aware than ever of his soft belly. At least this one was male.
“Hanstau,” Reness spoke, in the language of the Plains. “I do not fully understand your ways.”
“How so?” he asked, pulling the trous on, grateful for the distraction.
“We have been in this tent together for some time, but you have made no move toward me, no request to share my body.”
Hanstau froze, his gaze firmly locked on the ground, heat rising on his neck. He risked a glance at the guard, who was smirking at him.
Reness took a step shifting behind the guard. “You have given indications of interest. And you have taunted me with glimpses of your nakedness, and those small white toes of yours. Yet you do not speak. Do Xyians not ask?”
“I—” Hanstau was frozen, his heart speeding up. “Reness, I
—” he stammered.
The guard snorted, taking a great deal of pleasure in Hanstau’s discomfort.
Reness moved again, coming up behind the guard, and slightly to the side. “You excite my heart,” she said simply. “I wish to share our bodies. I wish to see if I can curl those precious toes of yours.”
The guard snickered.
Reness struck swiftly. With a crack, she broke the guard’s neck.
Chapter Fourteen
Joden awoke to darkness and the warmth of a woman.
He was stretched out alongside her, wrapped in blankets. His head was on her shoulder, his hand on her stomach. Her scent surrounded him, her skin warm against his.
His body felt odd, strange, aching in every muscle, with a tightness that promised cramps if he moved. His eyes felt gummy and gritty. He blinked, trying to clear them. But the effort was too much. Instead he lay still, trying to absorb the pain and trying to remember… but memory wouldn’t come.
Whoever she was, she was sleeping, her breathing soft and her heartbeat rhythmic under his ear. She cradled him in her arms. There was kindness there, a strong sense of caring.
He had no idea who she was… but then he wasn’t quite sure who he was, for that matter.
A sound came to him then, a scraping against stone.
He opened his eyes.
Winged creatures filled the stone corridor, dancing in their excitement, their saddles and harnesses bright and gleaming. Winged horses with the features of hawks, sharp beaks and claws.
Airions, he knew, and yet knew not how he knew.
Wings flashed as they moved, feathers flickering and stretching up and out. Fabulous creatures, of various colors, strong and healthy, their crests raised in their eagerness to fly. Joden marveled at the size of their claws and beaks. Both looked strong enough to cut through flesh and bone.
Their riders walked among them, talking, laughing, checking their tack and the reins, tightening buckles and chains.
The closest airion tossed its head, flared its wings, and uttered a shrill cry, clearly impatient. The sound echoed on the stone, but did not rouse the woman that slept in Joden’s arms.
“Hold there,” a woman cried, then emerged from between the beasts, laughing and smiling, wearing the leathers of a warrior. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” She pulled herself into the saddle, making an odd gesture over her lap as she settled down.
Her appearance was striking; not beautiful really, but memorable. Something teased at the back of his mind. He knew her somehow.
A male warrior mounted the creature beside her, and then all the airions were mounted. The woman was clearly in charge. All looked to her for command.
“Fly, my magi,” she called out. “Fly for Xy!”
With her shout, the great creatures surged toward the opening, launching themselves and their riders from the edge of the stone, flying out into the great white light.
Joden jerked up, throwing off the bedding, struggling to rise. He wanted to follow, see them in flight see their wings spread in the glorious sun and—
“Joden, no!”
He staggered forward as the sun blinded him, seeing the last few launch, dip down and then rise into the sky, their flight spiraling higher, and higher. He shaded his eyes against the sun, shuffling forward, straining to see—
Warm arms wrapped around his waist. “Joden, no, stop.”
He staggered back and looked down. He was at the very edge of the stone, and below him was nothing but a sheer drop.
“Step back,” the woman urged, pulling at him.
Joden blinked again, and the sun was gone. The sky was dark, the stars blocked. Now the wide expense was filled with trees, their branches blocking the view.
Where had they gone?
The cave grew silent, with only the sound of his companion’s ragged breathing. “Come,” she urged. “Back to bed.”
Joden closed his eyes, and shivered in pain. His muscles cramped and every joint ached as he shuffled back, letting himself be pulled down to the bedroll and covered up. He was grateful for the warmth and the comfort. Sleep tugged at him as he curled under the bedding. He could rest for a bit longer, slip back into sleep. The edge of it crept over him—
“Scared the life from me,” she said, although through half-closed eyes he could see her smile. She scolded as if she knew him, or he knew her.
Did he?
She kept calling him ‘Joden’ as she stoked up the small fire, feeding it bits of wood from a nearby pile. It felt like that might be his name, but it was like fog settling on grass, with the tips of the blades hovering above wispy clouds of mist.
She was lovely as she worked, her breasts taut, her skin glowing in the light. She was brown of hair and eyes, with skin paler than his own. Her right arm carried the tribal tattoos of her bloodline, her left arm was unmarked. Which meant, which meant…
He could not remember.
Joden buried his face in the blankets, to hide his confusion. He breathed, taking in the scents of their bodies.
“We’ll get some more sleep,” she said, her voice soft and so achingly familiar. “Dawn is still a few hours away,” she glanced out over the edge, her face puckered with worry. “I’ll have to gather more wood and hunt again.”
Joden frowned.
She caught his look. “Joden?” she seemed amused and yet there was caring there. “You usually rouse, and then fade back to sleep before my next breath.”
Joden pulled the blanket away from his mouth. “Who are you?” he asked.
Except the words didn’t come. “Wh-wh-wh-” The word ‘who’ caught in his throat like a bone.
“Joden,” the woman inched forward, reaching out.
Joden heaved a breath, and then another. Memory returned. He was Joden of the Hawk, Warrior of the Plains, hope-to-be-Singer—
—the old paths.
Flashes of images, of the snows, of visions, all of it flooded into his mind, stampeding over him. The shock of it brought him upright with a jerk, spilling the blankets aside, the cold air hitting him like a blow.
“Wh-wh-wh—” His throat cramped as he strained, his eyes wide with the terror that seized his heart. Pain washed over him, in every fiber and muscle in his body, fueled by his panic.
Where were his words?
A sense of relief washed over Amyu when she saw the sense in Joden’s eyes.
Until he spoke.
“Wh-wh-wh—” Joden’s face distorted, the muscles in his neck taut. It hurt to see, and yet he still struggled to speak.
“Joden,” she moved closer, afraid that—
“Wh-wh-wh—” Every muscle stiffened, his eyes screwed shut with the effort. With a gasp, his head snapped back, and he collapsed into convulsions.
“Skies,” Amyu swore, and jumped forward to aid him. Not that there was much she could do. She’d learned in the time that she’d watched over him that it was best not to restrain, and to watch that he didn’t do harm to himself, or choke on his own spit.
But the contact of skin to skin did make a difference, and so she waited, stroking his face and arms, warming his hands. Until the shuddering and jerking faded. She covered him then, and crawled in beside him, pulling him close.
She drummed his back gently, humming an old lullaby that her theas had sung, over and over.
All she could do was wait.
Joden finally lifted his head, blinking at her. Confused, but there was recognition in his eyes.
“Wait,” Amyu said. “Don’t try to talk.” She slid out of the blankets, into the chill air.
“W-w-w—” Joden’s face screwed up.
“Stop,” Amyu commanded. “Don’t try to talk. Water first.” She fumbled with a small bowl and filled it from the waterskin.
Joden shifted, leaning on his elbow. He took the bowl with a shaky hand and drank eagerly.
“Easy,” she said as she refilled the bowl. “There’s plenty. But too fast, and you’ll sicken.”
Joden nodded even
as he finished the bowl.
“Now listen,” Amyu commanded, relieved when Joden let her push him back down on the bedding. She pulled the covers up around him. “I’ll tell you my truths, and then you tell me yours.”
He nodded, his eyes intent on her face, but his hand fumbled in the bedding. She reached out and took it, his fingers were cold against hers.
“You are in Xy,” she said. “High on one of the mountains close to the City of Water’s Fall.”
Joden’s eyes went wide, his fingers tightened on hers.
“I am Amyu of the—” she bit her words off but his gaze had moved to her shoulder. Oddly, that didn’t hurt as it usually did; she wouldn’t have to explain herself to him. “I am in the service of Xylara, the Warprize.” She took a breath, and plunged on. “I came up here, seeking airions—”
Joden’s eyes widened, and he looked out toward the sky.
“And I found you,” Amyu continued. “Here, in this cave, wrapped in this cloth.” She grabbed a corner of the white material to show him.
Joden’s fingers tightened again, then relaxed as he frowned, letting his gaze drop to the cloth. Amyu waited for a moment, then continued on.
“I don’t know how you got here,” she admitted. “But as I was about to give up my search, I heard you singing. When I climbed up here, you were delirious, cold and naked, with only the cloth, nothing more. I have watched over you for two days now and this is the first that you have been alert enough to understand me.”
Amyu looked away. “Singer, I must tell you that you have been very ill. You have these spells where your arms and legs tremble and shake and you throw your head around like a wounded animal. I need to get you back to the castle, to Xylara and the Warlord Keir. The last any of us knew of you was when Yers arrived, telling of your disappearance.” Amyu hesitated. “Yers claims Simus has betrayed Keir.”
“N-n-no,” Joden said, his lips twisted as he shook his head.
“Hush,” Amyu reached out to cup his face. “So the Warprize said, and Keir has agreed to wait until he speaks with Simus directly.”
Joden eased onto his back, still clutching her fingers. He coughed, clearing his throat. “I kn-kn-kn—” his face twisted again, as he struggled desperately for sound.
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