Marcsi lit the candles on the mantle. “Sleep well, my lord,” she bowed out and closed the door behind her.
Joden sat on the bed with a sigh.
He knew this room, remembered it from the tour that Lara had given to Keir and his warriors. It felt like ages since then.
He glanced at the window. He remembered that it overlooked the city, and the fields and burial mounds beyond the walls. Where the dead had been standing.
He didn’t look out.
He set about preparing to sleep, grateful for the warmth of the fire, and the smaller bed. It was one of the huge soft ones that Simus had told him about. Not as comfortable as gurtle pads, but Joden was fairly certain he would fall asleep on a bed of rocks this night.
He organized his armor and put the weapons within reach. He stripped off the tunic and trous and slipped within the bedding. City-dwellers were still such puzzles. Imagine wearing clothes to bed.
He settled, and closed his eyes, feeling that he was missing something. He reached out next to him, thinking…
Amyu was not there.
He pulled his hand back. His bed was empty, and his chest ached.
Of course she wasn’t there. She’d been kind, getting him down off the mountain, and to Keir and Lara. Even kinder when she’d asked him to wait to go to the snows. So young to be so steadfast, not even a true warrior in the ways of the Plains. But in truth she was under no obligation to him, and what did he have to offer her?
He wasn’t even sure who he was anymore.
Joden rolled on his side, facing the fire.
Keir had listened, but he wasn’t sure Keir had believed. He could see the doubt in those eyes, and the flicker of hate at the mention of warrior-priests. He’d tried making it clear to him, that Simus was loyal, and that he supported Keir, but the words, the words would just not come.
Joden rubbed his face, feeling his frustration like a lump at the back of his throat. He owed it to Keir to stand with him. He needed to return to the Plains to find Essa. Even if his path to Singer was denied, even if he’d lost that chance, Essa needed to know what had happened.
Joden closed his eyes, and felt sick at the idea of trying to tell the Eldest Elder Singer his tale, stuttering and struggling for words that didn’t come.
Amyu was right. The snows could wait. He’d struggle through this, and then… well, he’d leave that to the elements.
But he hoped she’d find her airions. He hoped she’d fly.
Joden turned, and closed his eyes. He listened to the beat of his heart, the crackle of the fire, the sound of his breath. In and out and in… sleep finally came.
At least, until the dead called.
“Joden of the Hawk,”whispered an ancient voice.“Come to me.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Joden threw back the blankets, pausing only long enough to pull on the sleeping trous.
“Come,”the ancient voice called again.
He knew the halls from that tour long ago but even if he hadn’t the call made his path clear. The corridors were dim and silent. No torches burned, no guards barred his way.
The doors to the chapel were open, candles flickering at the base of the statue of the Xyian Goddess. The stone floor was cool beneath his feet, the room empty. Joden still thought it odd that they worshiped people in this way. The eyes of the stone woman seemed to follow him as he circled around it.
“Come.”
Past the statue was a flat surface for worship, and behind that a passage barred by an iron gate. It pushed open easily at Joden’s touch. White stone steps disappeared down into the darkness.
Joden started down.
It was colder here. He could see his breath. His skin prickled with a chill as he descended. There were no torches, no lanterns, but the stone itself glowed with a dim light.
