Warsong (Chronicles of the Warlands, #6)(96)

With that, Marcus stomped away, and disappeared behind the tents, where he had placed his pallet.

Joden gave the coals another poke, and wondered how long Marcus could fight against his own truth.




Prest appeared the next morning before the kavage was even hot. “My forward scouts have reported,” he said as he slid from his saddle. “Wellspring is a day’s march.”

Wellspring. Joden felt his heart turn over in his chest.

The plague village.





Chapter Thirty-Three


The stone well was all that remained of Wellspring.

Joden walked beside Lara and Keir as they slowly approached the place where the village had stood. The field was covered in thick green plants with purple flowers on tall stalks. The air was filled with their perfume. No trace was left of the pyres of the dead that had covered the area, or the smoke that filled the air. No trace, except in their memories.

“We didn’t stop here on our way to Xy,” Lara said.

“You were asleep in my arms,” Keir said. “We rode past. I saw no reason to wake you.”

Lara frowned, running her fingers over a few flowers. “I don’t remember this lavender being here before. But we were here later in the year.”

Keir stood next to the well, his jaw clenched, a muscle pulsing in his cheek. He reached out to Lara. She reached back, and stepped closer to hug him and bury her face in his chest.

“S-s-safe?” Joden had to ask.

“Yes,” Lara lifted her head to face him. “As far as I know.”

“D-d-disrespectful?” Joden asked again, gesturing to the area around them. “T-t-to c-c-camp h-h-here?”

“No,” Lara said, but her voice held doubt. “But the memories…” her voice trailed off.

“We will march on,” Keir said. “Our dead are beyond the snows, and in the stars. But the living carry burdens of pain and sorrow. Joden, I would ask that you sing for our dead this evening. After we make camp.”

Joden reached out and touched the stone of the well. It felt cold and rough under his fingers. He found himself nodding yes before he could really think about it.

“You honor us. I will give the command,” Keir said, and tugged Lara away. They walked off together through the flowers, their arms wrapped around each other’s waist, Lara’s head on Keir’s shoulder.

Joden watched them, an odd longing in his heart, mingling with his sorrow.

“Would you drink, good sir?” came a cheerful voice from behind him.

A Xyian woman with a lovely smile stood there, a bucket and rope in hand. She dropped the bucket into the well. Joden heard it splash into the water.

“Clear and cold on the hottest day,” the woman continued. “It’s how Wellspring got its name.” She started hauling on the rope, bringing the full bucket up with ease. Water sloshed over the stones as she set it on the wall.

Joden dipped a cupped hand and drank. The water was as she said, crisp and sweet. “My thanks,” he said, the words flowing easily.

He looked around, at the village around them. It was as it must have been before the Sweat, before it burned. People going about their business, calling out well-wishes for the evening meal. The gates were shut tight for the night.

“Have you lived here long?” Joden asked.

“All my days,” she said. “With my Ma and Pa and now my husband and firstborn. We have a fine place…” her voice trailed off, and her eyes grew wistful. “But I cannot find them, for some reason.”

“Where are they?” Joden asked quietly.

“I do not know,” her voice was small and pained, her smile gone. “I felt ill, and I lay down with my babe and…” She looked over her shoulder. “There are voices calling me from the gardens, but I can’t go. I can’t find her.”

The village wavered, and started to fade.

“What is your name, lady?” Joden asked.

“Meara,” she said. “Meara of Wellspring.”

Joden drew in a breath. “Meara,” he said, and knew what he had to do. “I can tell you of your babe.”

Her eyes went wide as he told her what had happened, and that Lara had taken the babe into her care. “They did not know her name,” Joden said. “So they named her after you.”

“The Queen gave her my name?” Meara asked, covering her mouth with the tips of her fingers. “And she is well?”

“Well and happy,” Joden said.

“Show me,” Meara demanded and held out her hands.

Joden took them in his. “Meara, I don’t know how—”

“Show me,” she begged, and gripped his hands tight.

A vision rose up before his eyes, of Meara and Aurora in the kitchen gardens of the castle under Marcsi’s watchful eye. They were playing with the dogs, Aurora running, Meara toddling behind and laughing. She giggled as she plopped on her butt, the dogs wagging their tails and licking her face.

Joden blinked to find Meara crying, clasping her hands to her breast. “Oh, she is beautiful and brimming with health and joy,” she said, weeping silent tears.

“You’re crying,” Joden said.

“I weep for what we have lost, Seer,” Meara’s voice broke. “I weep for the days I will not see her grow, for the nights I will not watch over her. She will not hear my voice or see my face but I hope she knows of my love.”