Warsong

  “Harder than it looks,” Amyu said.

  Joden just nodded.

  As the day wore on, Amyu started to think about shelter, and finding food. They were drinking as they went, and soon the waterskin would need refiling as well. She walked further ahead on the switchback path, just below where Joden was walking. “Watch this part,” Amyu said. “The way here is washed out and old—”

  Looking around, she tried to orient herself. Hadn’t there been a cave just—

  A sharp cry; a rattle of stones.

  She jerked around to see Joden falling toward her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Joden tried to focus on his footsteps, he truly did.

  Amyu was right, this was not a walk through a wide expanse of grasses. Here he had to watch each step, and test the footing with care. Each stone, each root, each branch all seemed determined to cause him to stumble. For the first few hours he managed well enough.

  But his thoughts were stampeding horses, running where they would, distracting him.

  Where were his words?

  His breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard not wanting Amyu to hear his grief. A Singer without words, without song, was not a Singer.

  If he wasn’t a Singer, what was he?

  Nothing. He was nothing.

  Joden stopped on the path, his heart heavy in his chest, his vision blurred as he faced the truth of that.

  This place was so strange, with the trees that swayed in the breeze, clinging to the sides of the slope. The taste of the air itself was different and disorienting. Joden stood, breathing, trying to find comfort in the midst of strangeness.

  Ahead, well, below him, Amyu paused on the path and looked back.

  She was lovely in the sun, her brown hair caught by the breeze. Strong and determined to get him to Keir and Lara.

  Keir…

  Joden looked out, through the trees. He could see the stone walls of Water’s Fall in the distance. Amyu had said that Yers claimed Simus had betrayed them. Never. The Heart of the Plains would wither to dust first. But why couldn’t he remember…

  “This is a hard part,” Amyu’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Let me help you.”

  And she did, tucking herself in under his arm, taking some of his weight as they maneuvered past a fallen branch. She released him after that, walking ahead. For a time, Joden was able to focus and they made good progress down the slope.

  But his galloping thoughts circled round, and round.

  Why couldn’t he remember?

  The fog around his thoughts continued as he trudged, slow and careful down the path.

  “Watch this part,” Amyu said. “The way here is washed out and old—”

  -the old paths-

  Memory returned, and with it a cold wind that blew through his body, freezing his heart.

  Was this the price? The cost the Ancients had warned of? What use was a Singer that could not sing of truths?

  Blinded by pain, betrayed and angry, Joden took a step and his foot found emptiness. He lurched, swayed and… fell.

  Amyu braced herself to stop Joden’s fall, and instantly knew it was a mistake. But it happened so fast; one moment he was above her, the next knocking her feet out from under her. She was down and tumbling after Joden in a breath.

  She’d fallen before on the Plains, tripped, stumbled, fallen from horses, tumbled to the grass but on firm, flat earth.

  The mountainside was relentless and unforgiving. It knew only down.

  She flailed as she fell, trying to catch herself against the rocks and brush as the mountain threw her with no regard to paths or obstacles.

  She tried to curb her fall, to slide as much as she could, grateful for her leathers. But she’d hit something hard and gone sideways, and there was no thought of control. All she could do was desperately reach out to try to grab something to stop her fall.

  Until an eternity passed and she found herself face down in leaves and branches, up against a tree.

  Bruised, battered and breathless, she lay there, struggling to gather her wits. A deep breath made her sob. It hurt to breathe, to think—

  A moan came to her ears, and it wasn’t hers.

  Forgetting her pain, Amyu scrambled to her feet. “Joden,” she called out, looking down the slope, hugging her ribs.

  A crumbled pile of white lay further down the mountain, sprawled below the path

  Amyu lunged forward, then stopped herself. He was directly below her, but she’d need to go slow or she’d cause more harm than good.

  Her pack was still on her back, but empty. The waterskin was gone. The bedroll was half unrolled and flopping behind her. She dropped it on the path to deal with later.

  She moved down the mountain, discovering new aches and pains as she limped. But nothing was broken that she could tell and she ignored her pain as she reached him.

  “Joden,” she knelt at his side, pulling away branches and leaves. He was curled up on himself, but to her joy he was breathing. “Joden,” she said. He was wedged at the base of two trees. She wasn’t sure she could lift him. If she could find those cloth strips she could—

  Joden moaned again, and turned his head slightly to stare at her.

  “Joden?”

  His face screwed up. “S-s-snows t-t-take t-t-t-his m-m-mountain.” He spat and coughed then started to curse again, a low steady stream, haltingly naming every element and then some.

  Amyu sat back on her heels, staring and then covered her mouth. The combination of his faltering words and the cursing was too much. Relief made her giddy and she started to laugh.

  Joden gave her an offended look, but then he coughed and choked on his own laughter. They both sat there, covered in leaves and sticks and bruises and laughed themselves speechless.

  “Enough, enough,” Amyu coughed and groaned. “Need to breathe.” She shifted back slightly. “Can you stand?”

  Joden shifted, and groaned and rose to his knees. He used the trees to pull himself up and held out a hand to aid her. She took it, and accepted his help, groaning and clutching her ribs as she did.

  “B-b-b,” Joden gave up, and made a gesture as if breaking something.

  “No,” she straightened slowly and took a deep, cautious breath. “Not broken. Nothing grates. You?”

  Joden twisted at the waist, breathing deeply, then shook his head.

  “Praise the elements,” Amyu said. “Let’s get back on the path, and see what we see.”

  They helped each other up the sharp incline littered with leaves and rocks, and then stood panting together. They were both filthy. Joden’s tunic was still suspiciously white to Amyu’s eyes, but the foot coverings they had rigged for him were tatters. She was in better shape, although the slash in her leathers had grown.

  Amyu caught her breath first. “I think,” she said slowly, dragging leaves and sticks out of her hair. “I think that there is a cave just down a bit, where I rested on the way up.” She hesitated.

  Joden raised an eyebrow.

  “I drove off a predator in the night,” she admitted. “It was a good cave, though, and with the two of us—”

  Joden nodded, and then gestured up the path.

  “I’ll see what I can recover,” Amyu said. “But let’s get you to the cave first. You can get a fire going. We will be warm, at the very least.”

  The cave was where she remembered it and thankfully empty with no signs that any animal was living there.

  The scorch marks were still there, though.

  She left Joden with a pile of tinder and kindling and a few long, dry sticks. It would take a long time to build a fire that way, but if she didn’t find the pack…

  Amyu didn’t want to think about that.

  Sometime later, she wasn’t really any happier. She’d found the blankets, her pack, and the waterskin. The stopper had come lose, the water was gone. But it was whole; she could find more water in the morning.

  The pack was torn, its contents scattered beyond
finding. Only a glint of metal in the setting sun had given away the old battered metal lantern.

  With the last rays of the sun, she headed back to the cave, to find light and warmth spilling out the entrance.

  Joden sat by the fire, a smug look on his face and a pile of wood he had gathered by his side. She showed him her finds, and he reached for the blankets, spreading them out by the fire.

  “We’ll be hungry,” she sighed. “But we will sleep warm.” She grimaced. “Sore and stiff come the morning, though.”

  He nodded and shrugged. “B-b-b—” he struggled. “B-b-b-”

  She waited.

  He grimaced, sucked in air, and tried again. “B-b-better t-t-than d-d-dead.”

  “Truth,” Amyu said. She went back outside and set up the driest sticks at the mouth of the cave, to give warning. She placed her sword on her side of the bedding and made Joden take the dagger. Better they each have a weapon.

  They both stripped, checking their scraped raw skin and bruises. Nothing openly bleeding, for which Amyu was grateful. They did not need the scent of blood in the air.

  Joden fed the fire, and they settled in together under the blanket, close for warmth. They both lay on their sides, facing one another.

  Joden pointed at the scorch marks on the ceiling. “S-s-story?”

  “Are you sure?” Amyu asked. “I am no Singer.”

  “B-b-b,” he took a breath. “B-b-better than wo-wo-worrying.”

  “Well, then,” Amyu said. “I had scattered sticks—”

  She told him everything, her fear, the terror, the golden light and how it exploded in fury. Joden listened, his eyes half-closed as she went through the tale, his head pillowed on his arm. When she reached the end, she smiled, and in jest gave the ritual ending. “May the people remember.”

  “We will remember,” Joden whispered back without effort, and then his eyes widened.

  Amyu held her breath.

  “R-r-r,” Joden scowled at the stutter’s return, slapping his thigh in frustration.

  “Relaxed,” Amyu whispered, sharing his disappointment. “It’s when you are relaxed that the words come, or so it seems.”

  Joden shook his head, his sorrow clear to her.

  “Give it time,” she whispered, then hesitated again. Did she dare? She took a breath.

  “The theas’s old pain remedy,” she offered tentatively. “If you would share?”

  Joden looked at her, really looked at her. He was older, wiser, a warrior of many campaigns. He wouldn’t want—

  “Please,” Joden whispered back

  Heat coiled within her. Still, she felt awkward and foolish. But for the first time in a long time she wanted this, wanted to share bodies with another.

  With Joden.

  Amyu leaned closer and kissed him.

  His lips were warm and dry. Perfect to her way of thinking. He tasted of smoke and dust and something uniquely himself.

  He let her control the pace, and she kept it slow, just lips at first. But then she could not resist, and she reached out to stroke her palm over his arm, long slow caresses.

  He reached out for her and did the same, following her lead. Her palms tingled as she ran them over his bruised and battered body. She opened her eyes, to see if maybe the tingle had something to do with the golden sparkles, but it was just her and him under the warmth of the blanket, to her relief. Somehow, it meant more that way.

  Her aches melted under his touch, and her bruises seemed to fade, Amyu knew well enough that when they woke, they’d hurt. But for now, there was rich slow pleasure between the two of them.

  Joden’s hands felt as warm as hers, and far more skilled. She arched her back against them as he teased her breasts with his breath, and her nipples with tongue and teeth.

  Her hands were not idle. She reached for him, stroking his length with her palm.

  His own fingers dipped lower, and when he felt her heat, he pulled her on top as he rolled to his back. The blanket fell back, exposing her heated back to the cooler air.

  Those wonderful hands cupped her buttocks, spreading her out. But then he paused, hesitating.

  Amyu looked down into his worried eyes. “Joden,” she pleaded.

  “F-f-foalsbane,” he managed. “I-I-I haven’t—”

  She laughed, but it was more a groan of pure frustration. “I have never borne, Joden.

  Never once conceived.”

  Still he held her, poised above—

  She took matters into her own hands, then arched down to demand her own pleasure.

  Joden relented, met her stroke for stroke, but the control was hers, the delight was hers, the pinnacle was…

  The peak hit, and she threw back her head, crying out at the joy. She rode out the waves, rocking back and forth until Joden’s cry of delight joined hers.

  They melted together, Joden pulling the blankets up as she rested her head on his chest.

  “… probably made enough noise to scare off any predators,” she whispered in Joden’s ear.

  Joden’s chuckle rumbled through her as she faded off to sleep.

  Amyu found a clear running stream early, so water was no problem. Food was a different issue.

  She talked with Joden, about whether taking the time to hunt versus getting off the mountain as soon as possible. His words were broken, but his thoughts were clear and he understood their predicament. He stumbled and used more gestures than words. In the end, they agreed to choose speed, with care on the paths. It seemed the right choice, except when their stomachs rumbled.

  But the water ran crisp and clear and they could drink as much as they pleased. Joden’s makeshift shoes fell apart over the next day, but Amyu didn’t think it a bad thing. It forced him to step with care, to slow down. She feared another fall more than hunger.

  He seemed to feel the blame for their predicament and the slowness of the pace. It was in his eyes, sometimes as he hesitated on the path. Or the way he looked away when he heard her stomach rumble. But he made up for it in the nights.

  As they reached the lower levels, the path got easier and wider. Amyu had cause to regret the end.

  It had been so long since she’d shared, she’d forgotten the pleasures of the flesh. But there was something about Joden, something about the care he took with her. He made her feel… alive.

  She would treasure each and every one of the nights they’d spent together. Joden was a respected and powerful warrior of the Plains. A Singer-to-be. He’d not—

  Amyu stopped. The wind had brought a scent to her, achingly familiar. “Is that kavage?” she asked, taking a deeper breath.

  Joden nodded.

  They both hurried down the path, Joden right behind her, stumbling out into the field where the cows were grazing. Amyu could see the cheese cave, and a campfire with an old battered kavage pot, a group of Plains warriors gathered around. The smell of kavage grew stronger.

  “Amyu!” came the shout, and Rafe of the Wolf headed toward her, with a wide smile. “The Warprize sent us to find—” he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide.

  “Joden?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Joden stepped toward Rafe, mentally practicing the words in his head. ‘Greetings, Rafe. Greetings, Rafe.’

  Rafe, a familiar face, with his dark hair, wide smile and the faint scar that ran down the side of his face. “Joden!” Rafe’s eyes were wide with astonishment. He reached out to clasp Jodan’s arm, joy suffusing his face at seeing an old friend.

  Joden reached out as well. ‘Greetings, Rafe. Greetings, Rafe’.

  “G-g-g,” the words caught in his throat.

  The warmth in Rafe’s eyes turned to concern, but in his despair, Joden didn’t see it. He grimaced trying to force the words out, but nothing, nothing…

  He was nothing.

  Amyu caught the sound in Joden’s throat, knew what it meant.

  Rafe backed away in horror as Joden’s eyes rolled up and he started to convulse. Amyu was quick enough, g
etting her arms around Joden and lowering him to the ground.

  The other warriors gathered and stared as Joden thrashed. Amyu got one of their blankets out and covered him, for warmth, yes, but also to block him from their prying eyes.

  “What has happened?” Rafe’s voice was hushed as he knelt on the other side of Joden.

  “I do not know,” Amyu said, watching carefully to see if she needed to turn Joden on his side. But the tremors were slowing, and his breathing was becoming easier. “I found him so, in the heights of the mountain.”

  Rafe shook his head. “That makes no—”

  One of the other warriors knelt at Joden’s side, her dagger flashed in her hand. “The fire warmed you,” she began the mercy ritual.

  The three other warriors had gathered round, all women from Rafe’s tent. They responded with the rote words. “We thank the elements.”

  Amyu grabbed the woman’s wrist. “No,” she snapped.

  The woman looked out at her from under her black bangs. Her green eyes were dismissive as she raised an eyebrow. “He is ill, and deserves mercy. I am Fylin of the Snake, warrior of the Plains. You are but a child. Leave this to us—”

  “No,” Amyu said again, squeezing Fylin’s wrist hard. “I will challenge, if you do.”

  “You cannot—”

  “Try me,” Amyu bared her teeth. “He needs food and drink, and not your stupidity.”

  “Fylin, hold.” Rafe reached over to put his hand on their locked ones. “Look,” Rafe continued. “He’s stopped shaking.”

  Amyu looked down. With her free hand, she touched Joden’s chest, feeling the strong heartbeat. His face was relaxed, as if sleeping.

  She looked up to find Rafe watching her. “He will wake soon, and be well.”

  “This has happened before?” The woman with the short curly hair asked, kneeling beside Fylin.

  “Yes,” Amyu said. “Repeatedly.” And then cursed herself for saying so as the others exchanged glances.

  “This is not the way of the Plains,” one whispered.