Warsong

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  “Joden said they were dead, except for those that followed Wild Winds,” Lara reminded

  him.

  “Forgive me if I do not mourn for those dead,” Keir’s voice was flat, his anger clear. “But who in this do they support?” he continued. “All I have is questions. And…” His voice faded away. He rolled over onto his back, and pulled the blanket down from their heads. The cooler air made Lara shiver. She shifted closer under the blanket and put her head on his shoulder.

  “And all the answers are to be found on the Plains,” she finished for him.

  “I do not want to leave you,” Keir’s voice was a cracked rumble under her ear. His arms tightened around her. “I do not want to leave them.” His pain was clear.

  She brought her hand up to lay on his heart.

  “It is not the same as the thea camps,” he said. “In the thea camps all cared for all. There was no meaning, no connection with—” he struggled with his words.

  “There was love, but not like this.” She lifted her head, and her curls escaped to fall around his face.

  He nodded, then looked awed. “They change every day,” he whispered. “Their eyes focus, their tiny hands reach. Already, their spirits shine. I see you in them, in so many ways.”

  “As I see you,” Lara pressed her lips to his. “Keir, we always knew that you would return to the Plains.”

  “In the Fall,” he said with just a hint of desperation. “When they were older and you were fully healed. Not now, not so soon—”

  “You must go,” Lara said. She lifted her hand to brush back her curls. “And we will go with you.”

  “No,” Keir’s arms tightened around her.

  “My Council supports us, what with the promise of trade routes opening up, and the money flowing from Crown,” Lara said. “Heath will serve as the Warden of Xy, and keep the kingdom secure.”

  “No,” Keir repeated. “I want you here, safe, within stone walls, with as many strong warriors as I can spare.”

  “You can’t spare any,” Lara said. She smiled down into his blue eyes. “I followed you once before, my Warlord. I will do so again, with babes in my arms if I must.”

  “Flame of my heart—”

  “Hush,” she said. “We can argue it out tomorrow. Let’s enjoy our peace while we can.” She put her head back down on his chest. “Do you think that Amyu knows she is in love with Joden?”

  “Lara,” Keir said. “He is a Singer. In the eyes of the Plains, Amyu is—”

  Lara lifted her head and glared at him. “She is no child.”

  “In your eyes,” Keir said.

  “Firelanders,” Lara grumbled.

  “City-dweller,” Keir rolled them both over and pressed her to the bed. “Let’s not think on them.” He smiled. “Let’s think on us.”

  Lara wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down. They kissed for long, slow, glorious moments.

  A whimper, and then a cry, joined by another little voice, came from the cradle.

  They both groaned.

  By that evening, Joden was exhausted. Exhausted from the effort of speaking, of struggling to get the words out. Exhausted from the emotions of the day, not to mention sparring with Keir.

  Anna had one of her maids take him to his room, but only after she’d had him bathe, and fed him again.

  He recognized the room as Marcsi opened the door. “Th-th-this,” he forced out, grimacing with effort. “W-w-war—”

  “The Queen’s old room,” Marcsi smiled as she went straight in, checking the fire and pulling a pot from under the bed.

  Joden put his armload of armor and weapons on the bed. Anna had given him tunic and trous to wear for sleeping.

  Marcsi lit the candles on the mantle. “Sleep well, my lord,” she bowed out and closed the door behind her.

  Joden sat on the bed with a sigh.

  He knew this room, remembered it from the tour that Lara had given to Keir and his warriors. It felt like ages since then.

  He glanced at the window. He remembered that it overlooked the city, and the fields and burial mounds beyond the walls. Where the dead had been standing.

  He didn’t look out.

  He set about preparing to sleep, grateful for the warmth of the fire, and the smaller bed. It was one of the huge soft ones that Simus had told him about. Not as comfortable as gurtle pads, but Joden was fairly certain he would fall asleep on a bed of rocks this night.

  He organized his armor and put the weapons within reach. He stripped off the tunic and trous and slipped within the bedding. City-dwellers were still such puzzles. Imagine wearing clothes to bed.

  He settled, and closed his eyes, feeling that he was missing something. He reached out next to him, thinking…

  Amyu was not there.

  He pulled his hand back. His bed was empty, and his chest ached.

  Of course she wasn’t there. She’d been kind, getting him down off the mountain, and to Keir and Lara. Even kinder when she’d asked him to wait to go to the snows. So young to be so steadfast, not even a true warrior in the ways of the Plains. But in truth she was under no obligation to him, and what did he have to offer her?

  He wasn’t even sure who he was anymore.

  Joden rolled on his side, facing the fire.

  Keir had listened, but he wasn’t sure Keir had believed. He could see the doubt in those eyes, and the flicker of hate at the mention of warrior-priests. He’d tried making it clear to him, that Simus was loyal, and that he supported Keir, but the words, the words would just not come.

  Joden rubbed his face, feeling his frustration like a lump at the back of his throat. He owed it to Keir to stand with him. He needed to return to the Plains to find Essa. Even if his path to Singer was denied, even if he’d lost that chance, Essa needed to know what had happened.

  Joden closed his eyes, and felt sick at the idea of trying to tell the Eldest Elder Singer his tale, stuttering and struggling for words that didn’t come.

  Amyu was right. The snows could wait. He’d struggle through this, and then… well, he’d leave that to the elements.

  But he hoped she’d find her airions. He hoped she’d fly.

  Joden turned, and closed his eyes. He listened to the beat of his heart, the crackle of the fire, the sound of his breath. In and out and in… sleep finally came.

  At least, until the dead called.

  “Joden of the Hawk,” whispered an ancient voice. “Come to me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Joden threw back the blankets, pausing only long enough to pull on the sleeping trous.

  “Come,” the ancient voice called again.

  He knew the halls from that tour long ago but even if he hadn’t the call made his path clear. The corridors were dim and silent. No torches burned, no guards barred his way.

  The doors to the chapel were open, candles flickering at the base of the statue of the Xyian Goddess. The stone floor was cool beneath his feet, the room empty. Joden still thought it odd that they worshiped people in this way. The eyes of the stone woman seemed to follow him as he circled around it.

  “Come.”

  Past the statue was a flat surface for worship, and behind that a passage barred by an iron gate. It pushed open easily at Joden’s touch. White stone steps disappeared down into the darkness.

  Joden started down.

  It was colder here. He could see his breath. His skin prickled with a chill as he descended. There were no torches, no lanterns, but the stone itself glowed with a dim light.

  Deeper he went, and the corridor branched off to his left and right. But the call was straight ahead and he continued, past stones engraved with writing he could not read. Another odd custom, not to return the flesh to the elements, but encase them in hard rock. He paused at one, running his fingers over letters seemingly freshly cut. Was this—?”

  “Come.”

  Joden dropped his hand and obeyed, going deeper within the mountain, following an urge he could not deny. H
ere the stone felt older, the carved letters worn, more symbols than words. Crowns, swords, horses, and airions that reared up, their wings spread wide.

  The corridor narrowed, the walls rougher, the graves more frequent and the steps more worn in the center. Joden walked on until he reached a doorway, and stepped down into a round room with a domed ceiling. There was an elaborately carved stone box in the center, its side covered with robed figures, clearly weeping. On the ceiling, circling airions were carved.

  Beyond the stone box, a man sat on a throne, formed from the very rock.

  “Welcome, Joden of the Hawk.”

  The voice had an empty, echoing quality to it. The man wore a kind of armor Joden had never seen. Pure metal that encased his entire body, with a helm that framed his face. On his lap, over his knees, was a sword of crystal glimmering blue.

  “Do not think to disturb the others that sleep here, wise one. They will not rouse to your call.” The man had the same grayish light to him as did the surrounding stone.

  “I do not seek to disturb them.” Joden stepped forward. “I do not seek—”

  The warrior chuckled. “Such as you always seek.” His voice was a dark rumble against the stone. “It is your nature, your very breath.”

  “Maybe,” Joden admitted, feeling his questions all start to pile up behind his tongue.

  “A Seer, newly come into your power.” The man regarded him with flat eyes. “No control, no understanding. Who says the powers have no sense of humor?”

  “What do you call me?” Joden demanded.

  “You are with us, but not of us,” the man continued.

  “The dead,” Joden said.

  “The dead.” The eyes closed for a moment, then re-opened. “The dead, unseen and unknown, yet knowing and seeing.”

  “Those are ritual words of the Plains,” Joden said. The cold stale air filled his nose and throat.

  “Are they? Are you certain?”

  “Who are you?” Joden demanded.

  “Xyson.”

  Joden frowned. “Lara, she read to us from a book. The Epic of Xyson, she called it.”

  “The same.” the stone corners of the man’s mouth quirked. “That Warprize of yours, she has quite the temper. Gets it from me, I suspect.”

  “So all these,” Joden gestured back behind him. “They will all—”

  “No,” Xyson said. “The dead of Xy that lie within have gone beyond the snows, leaving only echoes. Only I remain.”

  “You are of Xy,” Joden said. “How do you know the way of the Plains?”

  “You walk in two worlds now, Joden of the Hawk. You speak with the dead, but the dead do not always speak the truth. You should always wonder about the dead’s reasons.”

  Joden narrowed his eyes. “What are your reasons?”

  The specter laughed but then grew solemn. “To put right a wrong I created.” Xyson glanced up, as if looking through stone. “We have little time,” he said. “Even now, the stones suck the heat from your flesh and life from your heart. Even now, the guardian seeks the snows, one who has not kept to their oaths.”

  “There is time,” Joden said trying to ignore the cold creeping into his feet and legs.

  “Two things I will tell you, Seer. Long ago there were two sisters, who loved as all women do, with their hearts and not their minds. They fell in love with two brothers, both powerful warriors within their tribes. But for the complications of their people, all would have been well. But conflicts arose and one of the brothers died and the other… broke two kingdoms for his love.”

  “Two kingdoms?” Joden asked.

  “Xy, and what you now call the Plains,” Xyson answered. “Tore the fabric of the world. Tore the power from its roots.”

  Joden wrapped his arms around his chest for warmth, tucking his hands within. “The Ancients said something about the Chaosreaver—”

  “Who left only destruction in his path and the cold and the silence,” Xyson nodded as he recited the words. “Those dried up turds still live?” he shook his head. “I am not surprised. Hate, like love, lingers.” He paused. “You have awakened old powers, Joden. Set in motion a chain of events you do not control. You bring change.”

  “Keir started it,” Joden protested.

  “One man with an idea makes no difference,” Xyson trailed his fingers over the flat of the blade in his lap. “But when another agrees with him? That shakes the world, for good or ill. Like water cascading down on rocks. The rocks will surrender to the water eventually.” Xyson sighed. “People can be perfectly rational, but then love turns to madness and hate.”

  “How do you know this?” Joden asked. “About the sisters? About the Plains?”

  “I was part of the… complications.” Xyson shifted in his chair. “Question the motives of those around you, Seer.”

  “That is vague enough to be a Singer’s answer.”

  “My father always said that the young never listen. How right he was,” Xyson chuckled. “For if they did, mistakes would never be repeated, hate would never build, and no one would risk the pain of loss for the joy of love.” He glanced over Joden’s shoulder, then spoke hurriedly. “When the destruction came down upon us, a guardian was established within Xy, the burden laid on her long ago. Her oaths have become distorted, for the guardian has turned bitter with age and pain. The loss of her powers, the loss of her lover.” Xyson dropped his gaze to the sword. “For the second thing—”

  “We haven’t finished the first,” Joden protested. “What does this mean, that you—”

  “Silence,” Xyson rose, an imposing figure, with sword in hand. The blue flamed and the crystal glowed clear. “If your watcher wishes to fly, tell her to re-forge the sword.”

  “But—” Joden protested.

  Xyson lunged.

  Before he could react, the point of the sword touched Joden’s chest. He was thrown back, against the flat stone coffin. His head hit cold stone and he knew nothing more.

  Amyu never knew what prompted her to check on Joden between feedings, but she roused the entire castle in her terror. Heart racing, she had every castle guard, every warrior searching every inch.

  Until someone shouted, and she ran into the chapel. The alert guard pointed at the open gate.

  “The crypts?” She grabbed up one of the torches from the wall and lit it from the candles.

  “It’s kept locked.” The guard was young, his face pale and frightened. “It’s a maze down there. Wait and I’ll get—”

  Amyu plunged down the steps, torch high. She paused, listening.

  Nothing. No sound, no light, just cold harsh air that stole her breath.

  “Joden!” she called, and waited.

  Nothing. Then she heard a faint noise, like crystal ringing on stone.

  “Get aid,” she shouted over her shoulder and ran toward the sound, then skidded to a stop. She forced herself to think, to use her wits. No use for two of them to be lost. She closed her eyes, remembering Othur’s burial here in the—

  There were lanterns at each crossing of paths, high, on chains.

  She dashed back, lit the lantern at the base of the steps, and then ran toward the sound. Each crossing, she lit the lantern, reaching high with the flaring torch. Leaving a path behind her of light and warmth, a path back to the living. Praying to every element that Joden lived.

  “Joden,” she called again, but there was no response.

  Another lantern and then another. Amyu cursed, fearing she had lost—

  That sound again, a faint ringing. She flew down the last dark passage to stumble down a small set of stairs and into a round room.

  Joden lay on the stone coffin before her, wearing nothing but trous, sprawled and unconscious.

  She darted to him, torch high, reached for—

  She stopped, her fingers hovering over his neck. No, no, for a moment she stood frozen, afraid he was dead and as cold as the stone.

  A statue of a man sat opposite on a throne, silent and dispassionat
e, a stone sword on his lap. Its gaze was cold, and her fear rose.

  Amyu prayed, and let her fingers rest on Joden’s pulse point.

  He lived.

  All her breath rushed out, and her shoulders sagged with relief, but it was short lived. His heart might beat, but he was cold, so cold to the touch. She cupped his face, his brown skin a contrast to her cold, pale fingers.

  Noise behind her, and voices. “Here,” she called out. “He’s here.”

  Heath burst into the room, his men behind him. Heath froze at the sight, and cast his eyes around the room. “Xyson’s tomb?” he sounded astonished. “How did he—”

  “We need to get him to the Warprize,” Amyu snapped out an order. The guards came forward and gathered Joden up, careful to support his head. Six of them carried him out, Heath leading the way.

  Amyu followed.

  Joden’s senses were filled with Amyu even before he woke.

  He was cradled in her arms, in blankets, in warmth with her scent in his lungs. Her heart raced under his cheek, thumping wildly, and her scolding voice filled his ear.

  “… idiot, but I am sure you are aware of that. So stupid to wander in and sleep on a tomb, but you know that as well. What you don’t know is that I need you to wake up now, wake up and tell me that you are—”

  Joden turned his head, still half-asleep and nuzzled her neck.

  Amyu gasped. Much to Joden’s dismay, she pushed back out of his arms and started to climb out of the bed. “Warprize, he’s awake.”

  “Excellent. We just finished feedings the twins, so—” both women stood glaring at him.

  Joden threw the blankets back and stood, wobbling slightly. “M-m-m,” he gave up. “G-g-go.”

  “You are not going anywhere,” Amyu scowled. “I am not done yelling at you.”

  “K-k-kalisa,” Joden said. “D-d-dying.”

  Lara and Amyu exchanged a glance. “I’ll order horses,” Lara said.

  They took two horses, and clattered through the night to Master Eln’s. Joden wasn’t sure Lara was up for riding, but Keir solved the issue by mounting and then taking her in his arms.