She settled in, folding her cloak as a pillow. It felt good, the gurtle pads beneath her cushioned the ground and she’d the pleasure of two blankets; the traditional gurtle fur of the Plains, and a warm woolen blanket of Xy. She wiggled about a bit, enjoying the feel of the cloth against her skin as her body heated her bedroll.
The fire flickered down to coals. She watched it with weary eyes.
She probably should do as she was taught, and remain battle ready since she was alone in unknown territory. But she shrugged off the idea. Being as high on the mountain as she was, it was unlikely that an attack would come.
The boys had said that Kalisa always gestured at this path when she told her tales. She would follow it as high as it went, and start there.
It was a hunt, just like any other.
But a wave of joy passed through her, and she grinned at the dying coals. She might be mad, but it was her madness, her truth. She was where she wanted to be.
She drifted off, and dreamed of blue skies and the beating of feathered wings.
Five days later, she’d lost some of that joy.
Amyu sagged down by her small fire, in another cave she’d found fairly early in the afternoon. The storm clouds had appeared over her head with little warning, another aspect of mountains she didn’t care for. But she’d enough warning to gather firewood and water, and made her small camp in this cave. She’d checked it thoroughly, but it was dry and empty, thank the elements. With plenty of wood, she set out dry, long sticks that would break if stepped on. If anyone or anything approached, she’d have warning.
The rain started before she had the fire going.
She took out beans from her precious stash and ground them for kavage. She’d earned it this day. She set the small pot in the fire, and then stripped off her leathers. The stones were cold under her rump as she examined her leg.
The gouge ran the length of her calf. Not deep, but painful. Amyu took some water and started to wash it clean.
Mountains weren’t flat; no single step was on even ground. Mountains had rocks that moved under your feet, and underbrush that tangled you and blocked your path. Young trees, sticky with sap and rough bark, that you had to make your way around. Old, dead trees with branches that tore through leather and ripped your skin.
And the wind… Amyu lifted her head as the wind picked up outside, moaning and sighing like the dying.
She drew a deep breath, and tried to ignored the sounds. She’d never been this alone before. On the Plains, there were always fellow warriors around, sharing tents and fires. There was little privacy, and one was rarely this alone. This isolated. Even in Xy, in the castle, you might be alone in a room, but there were sounds of others around you.
Here, the silence was what surrounded her. Silence except for the moaning of the wind, which seemed a constant in the mountains.
Amyu shivered, then grimaced as she rinsed her leg. Thanks to the foresight of the Warprize, she had bloodmoss in her pack. It would be a simple thing to heal.
The tear in her leathers was another thing. She’d nothing to repair that with.
Steam rose from the kavage pot. Amyu shifted it a bit deeper into the fire. Kavage would help, with her headache and her mood, and her overall soreness. Everything hurt. Her feet, her ankles, her hands, still sticky with some of that sap, and rough where she’d climbed over rocks.
She’d no luck hunting, and with the rain there’d be no meat for her meal this night. Her supplies were running low. She’d eat the last of the bread and hope for better luck early.
There was game, but the mountain rabbits were fast. The goats she’d seen, balanced on the sheerest of edges, had just looked at her with disdain and climbed impossibly higher.
She’d not thought to bring a bow.
Amyu pulled her leather trous over, and looked at the tear. She could cut strips and rig a sling. Skies knew there were enough rocks around for her to throw. But she didn’t want to widen that tear. Maybe she could sacrifice a strap from her pack.
Amyu shoved the pack away, her headache made all the worse for thinking about making a decision. The golden sparkles at the corners of her eyes glittered brightly. She resisted the urge to rub at the itchiness. That only made it worse.
The kavage was at a rolling boil. She used the edge of her blanket to pick it up, blowing at comforting steam as it rose to her face. The warm, bitter scent was a comfort all by itself.
Because, if truth be told, she needed comfort. She’d seen no sign of airions. Not on land, not in caves, not in the sky. She’d seen scat, and tree scrapings, and feathers, and tufts of fur, but nothing that she could justify calling signs of her prey.
She sipped her kavage, and the liquid stung her tongue. No comfort there, then, or in the truth. Amyu felt her confidence wane as surely as the moon.
She heaved a sigh, set the kavage aside, and dug through her pack to pull out the bloodmoss. See to her wounds, drink her kavage, and then sleep.
The sun would bring another day, and she would start again.
The crack of a stick outside.
Terror woke her.
Amyu rolled out of the blankets, crouching, her sword and dagger in hand, before she was even fully awake. She froze then, her heart racing.
There was something outside the cave. Something large.
The darkness within the deep cave was absolute. She couldn’t see her hands, her weapons or beyond. She stilled her breathing, straining her senses, listening.
Something shifted, snuffed at the air. Elements, there was more than one.
Her fright got the best of her. She longed to put her back to the cave wall, wherever it was, but she didn’t dare move or give away her position. Her heart thumped hard in her chest, and cold sweat rolled down her spine.
Light. She needed light. But to set her weapons down, to fumble with flint and striker was unthinkable.
Another stick cracked, as if the creatures were gathering themselves up to rush her.
Light, her mind screamed, but she crouched low, frozen in fear.
Small golden sparkles started to gather at her feet.
Sweat dripped into her eyes as she watched, seeing a narrow bit of glow that darted out, in a long line. It fled across the floor and encircled the lantern.
Something deep within her cried out in silent relief, as the motes flowed and flowed into the lantern. She could see her hands, see the blades, see—
One of the creatures snorted, drawing her attention back to the entrance. Deep, deep breaths, getting her scent.
Amyu’s heart leaped to her throat; she swallowed hard even as she braced herself.
The glow brightened, filling the lantern to overflowing, boiling up and—
With a roar, the animal charged within. Amyu caught a glimpse of small, cruel eyes, and lips pulled back along its long snout, white fangs flashing.
She brought her blade up, screaming her own defiance and anger and rage—
The lantern exploded, hurling her back, the glare blinding her—
When her vision cleared, there was nothing to be seen of the creature. The entire cave seemed to faintly glow gold.
Amyu just lay sprawled on the floor, trying to breathe, trying to understand. It seemed forever before she could get herself to move, before she finally gathered her legs under her and rose, breathing like a spent horse, her heart pounding. Cold sweat dripped down her spine.
The lantern lay on the stone, its sides bulged out, its little metal door broken off one of the hinges. With a trembling hand, she reached out to right it, and it wobbled where it sat.
Her sword was close, and her hand shook as she gripped it.
The glow of the walls started to fade, ebbing slightly and then more as she watched.
She dropped down by her fire pit, and took up the flint and steel, setting the tinder on fire. Just as well. The glow was gone now.
There was no sound of the creature, but for the life of her she couldn’t bring herself to go outside.
<
br /> Still trembling, she wrapped herself in her cloak and blankets, weapons close. She sat and fed the fire until the first faint light of dawn touched the mouth of the cave. The birds started chirping. She could hear the rustling of small animals in the undergrowth.
But it was still a long time before her fear allowed her to move.
On the eve of the tenth day, Amyu stripped down and crawled under her blankets. She was aching and weary, and just wanted the feel of the gurtle blanket against her skin for this night.
She settled in, lying on her stomach, her arms as her pillows.
This cave was different than the others, at the head of a stream, with ledges on either side. She’d placed her bedroll close to the wall, and built her fire close by.
The fire was dying now, the flames fading into glowing coals. She’d built a small one just to warm her kavage, and give light for her meal. She’d learned the hard way to feed the fire all night. There’d been no other attacks, but she’d take no chances.
She put her head down, determined to keep her thoughts at bay, determined not to think about what lay ahead. She was warm, safe, and… she’d failed.
She twisted around then, struggling with the blankets, and finally laid on her back with a huff. ‘A warrior faces the truth’, she whispered to the rock over her head, barely glimpsed in the dying light.
The rock was silent and still, as if listening.
“I’ve plenty of water,” she said aloud, and her voice echoed back. “I’ve flint and steel and tinder, enough to search a while longer. My gear is in good shape, and the weather seems to be holding.”
The rock expressed no opinion.
“It’s food,” she admitted, more to herself than the rock. “The hunting here is sparse. I’ve had no luck, and my supplies are gone.”
The rock stayed silent, waiting.
“And here is the truth,” she spoke slowly, softly. “I don’t think they are here.” She swallowed hard, and felt her tears start. “Airions are myths, creatures of dreams. They don’t exist.”
The rock absorbed her whispered words.
“I’ve failed,” she said, and saying it out loud made the pain of her admission that much worse. “In the morning, I’ll break camp and head back down the mountain to Xy. Tell them all my truths. Ask if they will let me return.”
She closed her eyes as the knot in her stomach grew. She wrestled back over onto her stomach, tugging the blankets this way and that, thoroughly frustrated, angry, tired, and scared.
She put her head down on her arms, and gave into the fear. Fear that the Warprize would reject her, that she’d be without a Tribe, without a people, without a purpose.
The flickering coals reflected on her dagger’s blade, placed by her side with her sword.
There was always the choice of going to the snows.
But even in the instant she had the thought, she rejected it. Her life had meaning, and she’d not spill it here on cold stone to no purpose except to end her pain. Her death could have other uses, and she’d make it a good one.
The coals shifted, and she fed more wood to them. Once the fire was bright, she closed her eyes. She’d head down tomorrow, and face whatever awaited her there.
Warriors did not weep. There was no one to see, no one to comment, but still she resolved not to cry.
Later, much later, while the wind set the trees to swaying and whispering, she eventually not-cried herself to sleep.
In the morning, she used the cold water to bathe and scrub the dried tears from her face.
It had been a foolish dream; a child’s dream. She’d no knowledge of the land or how to survive on her own here. She was lucky to have lived this long, and she was fairly certain she’d be reminded of that fact over and over.
At least she had tried. But that was cold comfort at best.
She filled the waterskin, rolled up the blankets, and packed her meager gear. It had taken her some time to come this high, but she’d been searching as she went. Going down would be fast, but she’d have to take care not to fall. She’d hunt as she went, that would help with the growling in her stomach.
She stepped out to find the sky above clear and blue in its beauty. The recent rains had caused the greens to seem greener somehow. She tried to appreciate what the elements had provided, but her failure sat in the hollow of her chest.
Best to be about it.
She stepped out on the path and the wind died down, leaving everything quiet and still. Even the birds seemed to—
A soft sound floated through the air. Someone singing.
Amyu frowned. The wind playing tricks again was her first thought, even as she turned in that direction. It wasn’t possible, but—
A flutter of white caught the corner of her eye, and she focused, looking further up on the mountain. There, above her. There was a darkness, clearly the mouth of a cave.
The wind picked up, and there was a brief flutter of white again.
Amyu bit her lip. A bird? Or perhaps… feathers?
She should go down. There were no airions; she was on a fool’s quest.
But what harm in one last cave? It wouldn’t take more than an hour to climb up, and the delay would only come at the cost of her empty stomach.
She paused, holding her breath, listening hard.
There it was again.
The merest whisper of a song.
Chapter Nine
“Cadr,” Gilla’s voice pulled him from sleep.
Battle tense, Cadr gripped the hilt of his sword even before his eyes opened.
“No threat,” Gilla said, although there was still tension in her voice. “Lightning Strike and the others are ready to offer Wild Winds’s body to the flames.”
The warmth that surrounded Cadr stirred and moved then, and two of the warcats rose to stand over him, stretching. Cadr tossed back the blankets to do the same, only to stifle a groan.
“I have kavage,” Gilla offered.
Cadr nodded. He was stiff and sore, but other than that—he touched his throat, feeling the scar, but no discomfort. He swallowed, hard. No pain.
Thanks to the elements. And bloodmoss.
He rose to his knees, then to his feet, and stood for a moment to get his balance. Gilla’s warcats head-butted him, rubbing against his bare legs, tails jauntily in the air.
“Not helping,” Cadr muttered, as Gilla stifled a nervous laugh.
She offered the mug of kavage. He took it, then arched an eyebrow at her.
She shrugged at his silent question. “The others are upset. Their anger has grown as they have prepared Wild Wind’s body for burial. Doesn’t help that a storm has brewed up.”
Cadr nodded, drinking deeply, then reached for his armor, only to hesitate. The pieces lay where he’d left them, caked with blood and dirt.
“Here.” Gilla handed him a tunic and trous. “Use these.”
He nodded, and dressed quickly.
Cadr could feel the crackle in the air when they emerged from the tent. It could have been the clouds that seethed above them, but Cadr had seen enough seasons of war to recognize warriors preparing for battle.
All eyes turned to regard him. The hair on Cadr’s arms rose as he took in the angry stares.
Gilla stepped up beside him, and the warcats clustered around, stretching and raking at the grass with long claws. The small momma cat plopped down on Cadr’s foot, and yawned.
Lightning Strike stepped forward. “Cadr,” he stood stiffly, his voice formal. “I would not offer insult, but you were of the warriors of Simus of the Hawk, and have served Keir of the Cat. I know that there is no love of warrior-priests among—”
“Whatever was, was,” Cadr interrupted Lightning Strike, looking him in the eye. He fought to keep his own temper in check. “I gave my sword oath to Simus of the Hawk, that is my truth. But then the night lit up with that pillar of light, and warrior-priests died. Simus of the Hawk listened to Wild Winds, and now walks with Snowfall at his side.
“A
s to what that means for the Plains, I do not know.” Cadr continued. “But between you and I and those gathered here, let there be no mistrust. That is also my truth. I would exchange truth for truth, mourn the dead, and—” Cadr frowned, and clenched his fists. “I would have vengeance, for my charge was taken from me.”
“On that, we agree.” Lightning Strike relaxed, and there were nods from those around him. “I would offer thanks again,” he said. “For bringing Wild Wind’s body to us. To that end, let us offer you these,” he gestured. Another warrior-priest stepped forward with a belt, a sheathed sword and dagger.
“My thanks.” A sense of relief swept over him as he belted them on. “You should know that I was in no fit shape to make any decisions after the attack,” Cadr said. “I was guided here, by one of the dead. A warrior, and tentmate.”
Lightning Strike’s eyes widened. “To have the aid of the dead for this. It means much.”
Two of the warcats started to tussle in the grass.
“Join us, both of you,” Lightning Strike gestured to where a platform had been raised. “We are about to give Wild Winds to the flames.”
Cadr glanced over at the pyre below. Impressive it might be, but to burn a body one needed much more fuel. “Will it suffice?”
“It will,” Lightning Strike said, and his tone was grim. “We await the return of those that went to gather more stargrass. They should be here shortly.” He walked off, helping others to pile more grasses beneath the platform.
Cadr looked down at the small cat at his feet. She was staring up at him with unblinking eyes. She plopped over on her side, and showed her stomach.
“How small, to have borne such children,” Cadr mused, and knelt to stroke the soft fur.
“I wouldn’t,” Gilla warned, but Cadr had already jerked back his fingers as the cat hissed, and lunged with claws extended. Deprived of her target, she leaped up and disappeared into the grass.
The large cats scrambled to their feet and followed. Cadr watched as they disappeared into the waist-high grass. He had the distinct feeling they were all amused.
Warsong Page 8