Their riders walked among them, talking, laughing, checking their tack and the reins, tightening buckles and chains.
The closest airion tossed its head, flared its wings, and uttered a shrill cry, clearly impatient. The sound echoed on the stone, but did not rouse the woman that slept in Joden’s arms.
“Hold there,” a woman cried, then emerged from between the beasts, laughing and smiling, wearing the leathers of a warrior. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” She pulled herself into the saddle, making an odd gesture over her lap as she settled down.
Her appearance was striking; not beautiful really, but memorable. Something teased at the back of his mind. He knew her somehow.
A male warrior mounted the creature beside her, and then all the airions were mounted. The woman was clearly in charge. All looked to her for command.
“Fly, my magi,” she called out. “Fly for Xy!”
With her shout, the great creatures surged toward the opening, launching themselves and their riders from the edge of the stone, flying out into the great white light.
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—
