Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(43)

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.”