Warsong

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  “Tell me what you see,” Snowfall demanded.

  “Joden is riding toward the Heart,” Amu shifted as others crowded around. “There is a man, dressed only in trous. He is surrounded by…” she trailed off, unsure what she was seeing.

  “Odium,” Rhys breathed. Sidian sucked in a breath as Rhys continued, “Those are the undead he has brought back and controls.”

  “Undead warrior-priests,” Lightning Strike said grimly. “See? They are shorn of their tattoos.”

  “Skies above,” Amyu swore. “That man is an idiot.”

  “We cannot reach him,” Snowfall said. “The distance is too far. He goes to his death.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Amyu strapped on her weapons belt. “Night Clouds, pull the image back. Rhys, open a portal.”

  “Portal?” Snowfall demanded.

  “We will all go,” Lightning Strike stood.

  “No,” Amyu turned grim. “We cannot risk all of us. I will go, get him out of there, and we will flee. We cannot leave Xy undefended.”

  Lightning Strike stopped, the conflict clear on his face. But he gave her a nod. “I will get you extra lances,” he said and ran off.

  “Keir agrees,” Snowfall said. “But how will you—”

  Amyu whistled.

  Golden lifted his head, and rose up, stretching his wings in the sun.

  Snowfall gasped. Other heads were trying to peer from behind her, and voices were raised.

  “Lightning Strike will explain,” Amyu said over her shoulder s she grabbed up her saddle. “I need to go.”

  “Will Golden fly through a portal?” Rhys asked.

  “We’ll find out.” Amyu called as she raced to her airion. Heart pounding, she threw on the saddle and forced herself to slow her shaking hands.

  “I’m coming, beloved,” she whispered. “And if it’s to both our deaths, at least I will be at your side.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Wild Winds never approached Joden as they traveled toward the Heart.

  Each night Joden would make camp, and each night Wild Winds stood guard at distance on the southernmost rise. Leaving Joden to his thoughts.

  Which left Joden to his thoughts. To his grief, over the loss of his voice. Those thoughts were confusing, for he had a voice, but it wasn’t what it had been. Still, he had it, but it wasn’t perfect, wasn’t what it was.

  It left him to thoughts of what was happening to him, or what had happened. Seeing the dead, the visions… Xyson and Uppor had both implied that he could learn control. So far Joden hadn’t figured out how to do it, but there was an itch of curiosity deep within. What could he do? What could he learn? What could he see, if he was in fact a Seer?

  But worse than the loss, worse than the itch, was his pain at leaving Amyu. She was right; if he would be a Singer with any honor she could not stand at his side. And yet, she was there, in his thoughts and dreams and sweet memories.

  But in the nights, in the flames of his fire, he could see her lovely face and hear her laugh.

  When he woke in the mornings to face the day, he wanted to gallop his horse past the ghostly figure and get this over with as quickly as possible.

  Yet… the days and nights of steady travel, over the wide expanse of the Plains steadied Joden. The sun rose and set, the winds blew, and late at night the stars glittered in the sky.

  Until finally, as they drew close to the Heart, Wild Winds stopped, looked back, and gestured Joden forward.

  Joden rode up the rise and stopped his horse next to him. They were looking down at the Heart and the lake beyond.

  “Learn, Seer,” Wild Winds’s voice echoed. “The path between life and death is forbidden,” his eyes were bright. “Except to you. Walk it at your peril.”

  “W-w-w—” Joden started, wanting to ask all of his questions. But before he could get the words out, Wild Winds faded and was gone.

  Helpful, Joden thought wryly. He took a deep breath, then studied the scene below him.

  The lakeshore beyond the Heart was covered with wyverns, feeding their young. There were none in the air, thank all the elements. Two of the adults had their heads up, staring at the Heart, as if keeping watch. But they did not take flight. Elements keep it that way.

  The Heart was still there, the dead body of a wyvern draped over it as Simus and Snowfall had described. The flesh was torn and rotted. White bone shone through places where the leather skin had burst. The wind was from the north for now, and Joden was grateful for that.

  The mounds of the burial pits were obvious, not yet flat to the land. The grass there was green where Simus and his warriors had placed the sod. At first glance, all appeared as it had been left.

  Except for the dead.

  The hairs on the back of Joden’s neck rose as the ghostly spirits of the dead warrior-priests turned and stared at him with a burning rage he could feel on his skin. Yet the anger was not for him.

  “Joden,” Hail Storm emerged from behind the dead wyvern to stand on the edge of the circular stone. He wore the trous of the warrior-priests, but his tattoos were gone, stripped from his body. One arm was but a stump, but with the other Hail Storm gestured. “Come and join me,” he called, his voice echoing over the distance.

  Joden urged his horse into a walk.

  The dead spirits didn’t move, but they turned as Joden passed. Joden could see their skin shorn of tattoos, their faces grim. Could Hail Storm not see this?

  He rode closer, until his horse stopped, trembling, and refused to move any closer.

  Hail Storm chuckled as he walked forward, stepping down from the Heart. “I am afraid you will have to walk,” he said, stopping between two of the burial mounds.

  Joden did. He had his sword and daggers, and he drew a lance before he set the horse free. He did not close the gap between them, but stood, waiting.

  Hail Storm seemed amused. “I expected Snowfall,” he said casually. “Or Simus’s warriors, perhaps. Not you.”

  “I have walked the old paths,” Joden said. “I have walked the snows. The dead rage against you, Hail Storm.”

  “Interesting,” Hail Storm said. “But how will you stop me, Joden of the Hawk? Without powers of your own? How will you stop these?” He gestured toward the mound. “Come forth,” he called.

  The earth moved, bulged. The sod parted on old seams, and the dead bodies of warrior-priests rose from within, climbing out of the pits. There was rot and the stench reached Joden, making him cough and retch.

  “You get used to it,” Hail Storm laughed.

  The dead bodies crawl out, rose and walked forward at Hail Storm’s command. The spirits around Joden cried out in anguish and anger. But the rotten bodies moved forward, reaching for Joden.

  Joden hefted his lance to throw.

  Hail Storm laughed again, reached out as if catching a bug in his fist.

  Joden froze, unable to move.

  Hail Storm walked closer as the dead bodies surrounded them. He gently took the lance from Joden’s hands, and unbuckled his sword belt, letting it drop to the ground. Joden strained, but could not move.

  “Your Ancients gave me so much more power,” he said quietly. “And the dead here? It’s almost overwhelming.”

  Joden glared.

  “I wonder what power I will drain from you?” Hail Storm reached out and stroked Joden’s neck. His finger left an ice-cold trail and Joden shivered.

  “Come,” Hail Storm said. “Walk with me to the Heart.”

  Joden struggled, but his feet moved. He staggered behind Hail Storm.

  The dead bodies followed, making no sound but the shuffle of feet through grass.

  But the spirit dead followed as well, and the wind began to rise.

  The wyverns were stirring, heads lifting, wings partially spread. They hissed and snapped, their long necks weaving back and forth like snakes.

  “They will not approach,” Hail Storm chuckled. “They fear me, fear my power over them. Come.”

  Joden fought
for control of his body as they walked closer to the Heart. He’d weapons at hand, but couldn’t raise an arm to wield them. Frustrated, he fought despair and his bonds.

  “I will clear the Heart,” Hail Storm didn’t even look back, or pay any attention to Joden’s useless struggles. “It will take my servants a while but there is time. All must appear well before the Fall Council. The Warlords, the Elders, they will approach thinking the only threat is the wyverns. Think of the power I will gain from their deaths.”

  “Wr-wr-wrong,” Joden forced out the word.

  Hail Storm looked at him in shock. “Was that the sacrifice required of you?” he asked, and Joden felt the bonds on him ease slightly.

  “Yes,” he finally had the breath to sing. “Wrong to use death this way.”

  “Were you told of the cost?” Hail Storm tilted his head, seeming almost as if he truly cared. “Isn’t it wrong to ask that price of someone who wishes to be a Singer?”

  Joden froze at the memory.

  Uppor looked 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.” The realization hit him like a blow to the heart. He hadn’t asked to be a Singer. He’d asked for so much more.

  “In truth, it does not matter,” Hail Storm’s voice brought Joden back.

  The undead bodies shuffled to a stop all around them. Hail Storm frowned, and then seemed to concentrate on them to get them moving. He turned back to Joden and shrugged. “Life and death are one. I rather think it depends on how you use the power.” He smiled again. “And I intend to use it, Joden.” He gestured to the edge of the stone platform. “Here, I think. Come forward just a little.”

  Joden was forced forward, kneeling at the edge of the Heart. The dead wyvern was not far, its eyes gone from their sockets.

  Beyond the wyverns were rising on their haunches, hissing and flapping their wings, but keeping back.

  The dead spirits continued moaning around them, furious, their hands outstretched begging Joden for aid, for—

  Hail Storm pulled a bone-handled knife from his belt, its edge glittering in the sun. He placed the cold, sharp edge against Joden’s neck. “I doubt your sacrifice was worth the pain it brought you,” Hail Storm said.

  Joden looked past him, to the ghosts, who were asking for… asking for permission.

  “I traveled to the snows,” Joden chanted, crying out the words. “I walked the old path. Take the path, through me.”

  The spirits howled their delight, and fled to their bodies.

  Hail Storm shook his head. “This is almost a mercy on my part.” He leaned in and pressed—

  A dead hand took his wrist, and yanked it away from Joden. A female warrior-priestess stood there, her rotting jaw in a grimace of joy. “Vengeance,” was the sound that issued through rotting flesh.

  “What?” Hail Storm staggered back, onto the Heart itself. “Mist?” he cried out in recognition, then tried to fend her off with his dagger.

  Joden collapsed, free of restraint but drained of strength as the dead used him in a way he didn’t understand. Like an open door, the snows blew through him and out of him and the dead spirits within their bodies shrieked and turned toward Hail Storm, arms reaching with sharp rotting fingers.

  “No, no,” Hail Storm snarled, scrambling back. He glared at Joden as Joden raised his head. “They come through you,” he spat. Hail Storm raised his stump high. “Aid me,” he cried out.

  With strong sweeps of its wings, a wyvern rose in the air. It hissed as it leaped forward to Hail Storm’s side, its stinger dripping foul poison. It swept its head in front of Hail Storm, knocking aside the dead that threatened him.

  “Now,” Hail Storm crowed. “Now I will have you.”

  Joden found himself locked in again, unable to move. Hail Storm approached, his dagger out, his eyes gleaming in anticipation.

  A hawk cried above them, clear and loud.

  “What now?” Hail Storm demanded, turning, shielding his eyes from the sun.

  Joden managed to look up, blinking against the glare.

  To see Amyu, on an airion, plunging down from out of the sun.

  “A-a-Amyu?” Joden gaped at the sight, certain he was dreaming.

  The airion struck the wyvern, sharp claws digging into its back. Amyu had a shield in one hand and reins in the other. She sat boldly in the saddle, as calm as she could be, a warrior in every sense of the word. Strong, confident, with a look of grim determination.

  Joden’s heart swelled, even as it beat faster in fear for her.

  The wyvern heaved, no longer guarding Hail Storm as it lashed out at the weight on its back. The tail arched in, but Amyu blocked it with her shield. It hit with a resounding clang.

  The wyverns around the lake stirred, taking notice.

  The wyvern whipped its head back, but the airion clung on. After a moment of struggle Amyu barked a command.

  The airion sank its beak into the wyvern’s spine and snapped it in half.

  The wyvern collapsed.

  “No,” Hail Storm roared, but it was too late. The dead warrior-priests were on him, reaching, grasping, pulling. He screamed once, a high-pitched wail of terror.

  Joden staggered back, and watched in horror as they tore Hail Storm to pieces. In their midst, the one Hail Storm had called Mist stood triumphant, the stone-handled dagger raised in her fist.

  Joden was conscious of Amyu landing close by, and dismounting. But it was the dead that had his attention, the dead souls in dead bodies, who turned to him now.

  “My thanks,” he said.

  “Our thanks, Seer,” came a great whisper and a wave of gratitude.

  “Return now,” he commanded. “The snows await, and beyond, the stars.”

  There was a sigh, first of reluctance and then acceptance. The bodies staggered back to the pits, and began to crawl within.

  “Joden,” Amyu was tugging his arm.

  The last Joden saw was Mist and the dagger disappearing into the dark earth, and the sod replacing itself.

  “Joden, come back to me,” Amyu’s voice sounded desperate, and there was another sound of a beak clattering. She was kneeling beside him, the scent of her hair surrounding him as he looked into her worried eyes.

  “Beloved,” his heart leaped as he reached up and took her help to stand. “B-b-beloved—”

  “No time,” Amyu jerked her chin toward the lake.

  Wyverns hopped toward them from the lake, their wings half out with young ones underfoot, their long necks weaving back and forth, staring.

  “Stay low,” Amyu hissed as she pulled him away. “Golden, come.” Her airion clacked its beak, casting threatening looks back, but it obeyed, following them on foot.

  “You found them,” Joden chanted, his voice filled with awe.

  “Focus,” Amyu warned, but she flashed him a smile, her eyes filled with joy.

  The wyverns stopped at the dead beast, flapping their wings to perch on top. After long suspicious looks, they started to feed, tearing out hunks of rotten meat. But two of the adults were still focused on them, eyes bright.

  “Don’t run,” Amyu panted. She had one hand buried in the airion’s mane, urging him on.

  “My horse,” Joden sang, pointing ahead. His horse was calmly grazing where he had left it. But next to it was a glowing circle of white. “What is—?”

  “Friends,” Amyu said. “Go, go.”

  They emerged to a crowd of over-joyed warriors, welcomed with shouts and back-pounding hugs for Amyu.

  “Y-y-you w-w-watched?” Joden asked, too astonished to sing.

  There was laughter at that, and explanations that tumbled from so many mouths that he just shook his head in astonishment.

  Amyu watched him, and just when it seemed that the people, noise and news threatened to overwhelm him she stepped in. “Enough,” she said. “Sen
d word to Heath, and Snowfall, and tell them Joden is safe. If the Warlord calls senel tomorrow, Joden can tell his tale once, for all to hear. And hear ours in return.” She tilted her head at Joden. “For this night, he is mine.”

  That met with agreement, and smiles, and a few knowing looks. Joden was willing to endure it all, when Amyu turned to him. “Come. Let’s fly.”

  Golden flew them both up to the tunnel cave, winging back to land on the ledge.

  “T-t-that was scarier than Hail Storm,” Joden released his death grip on Amyu’s waist and dismounted.

  “I held you safe.” Amyu released their packs from the harness, and slid from the saddle.

  “Isn’t he beautiful,” Amyu asked as she scratched Golden under his jaw. The airion clacked in appreciation.

  “N-n-not a-a-as b-b-beautiful.” Amyu flushed and waited as he finished. “A-a-as y-y-you.”

  Amyu dropped their packs, stepped over, and pulled him into a kiss. Joden returned it with enthusiasm, using his lips and hands to express everything his voice couldn’t.

  They parted, breathless, still clinging to one another.

  Amyu stared up at him. “I have so much to tell you, so much I want to talk with you about. I will steal this night, and any other nights I can before you must go. It might not be right, it might risk you becoming a Singer, but—”

  Joden put his fingers over her mouth and shushed her, shaking his head.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Amyu said. “The Plains need your truths, and as a Singer.”

  Joden shook his head again, and took a breath. “I cannot live this lie, for there is no honor in denying what is. I love you,” his voice trembled in the melody. He reached out and took her face in his hands. “That is the highest truth of all, Amyu of the Skies. I would ask you to bond with me in the traditions of the Plains, yes, even when our traditions dictate that you should go to the snows.”

  Amyu was crying. She turned her face into his palm, and kissed it.

  “I will stand by your side, for to do any less is to deny the truth of my heart. And if I deny this about myself, how can I stand before our people and speak any truth that will be believed?”