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.”

“I will see to it,” Joden promised.

The village faded away from around them. Meara looked over her shoulder again, then scooped up her apron to dry her eyes. “My family, my loved ones, they call me. They have been waiting so long.” She smoothed her apron down, and smiled at him through watery eyes. “Thank you, Seer. I am grateful.”

She turned away, took a few steps and then stopped.

“They tell me, Seer, to tell you,” Meara turned back, her eyes distant as if seeing something beyond him. “The Sweat waits. It will return. Warn the House of Xy.”

Joden went cold. “When?”

“I do not know,” she said with a shake of her head. “But it will come. Blessings on thee, Seer.”

Before he could say a word, she took another step, and was gone.

“Joden?” a worried voice this time. He turned to find Ksand staring at him. “Joden, are you well?” She gave him a squinty look. “Are you going to fall down?”

“N-n-no,” Joden said, then smiled at her disappointment.

“Come then,” Ksand said. “The army moves on without us.”

 

 

Lara stared at him, white-faced. “She did not tell you when?”

Joden shook his head. “S-s-she d-d-didn’t kn-kn-know.”

Lara pressed her lips together, then shook her head. “There’s not much we can do,” she said. “We will spread the word, and make sure that everyone knows the signs. If any sicken we will know. There are healers in with the Xyian forces, and there’s fever’s foe aplenty in the wagons.” She gave Joden a weak smile. “At least we are warned.”

Joden nodded, and went to step from the tent, but she stopped him with a gesture. “Joden, about tonight—” she hesitated, and he could see the blush rising on her cheeks. “I remember the ceremony from before, but we have Xyian warriors with us. I think it would be best if—”

“N-n-no s-s-sharing,” Joden said solemnly.

Lara relaxed with a nervous laugh. “No sharing.”

 

 

The stars were out when Joden took his place before Keir and Lara, and faced the crowd. It was all Plains warriors. Warren had come to Keir with an offer from his men to take the watches so that all could mourn. Which was a kindness, but additional pressure Joden didn’t really want or need.

Voices had been lowered as they went about the business of setting out tents and building cookfires. All were affected by the memories of this place and the losses they had suffered.

The torches and fires were lit, and a dancing area cleared before the platform. The drummers were ready. The dancers were ready. That left only the signal to begin.

Joden raised his face to the stars, and lifted his right palm to the sky. “May the skies hear my voice,” he chanted, a wave of relief washing over him as the words came out strong and clear. “May the people remember.”

The response rose, “We will remember.”

Joden lowered his arm and spoke again, “Birth of fire, death of air.”

One of the dancers knelt, and blew on the coals within a brazier, feeding fuel that caused flames to leap up and dance.

“Birth of water, death of earth,” Joden chanted.

A second dancer knelt, dipping her hands in the brazier at her feet and letting the water trickle back down.

“Birth of earth, death of fire.” Joden filled his lungs and chanted the next part, letting his voice rise to the skies.

The third dancer knelt, raised a lump of dirt, breaking it up to let the clods fall back into the brazier.

“Birth of air, death of water,” Joden sang the words, letting them ring out.

The fourth dancer knelt. He too blew on coals, but the fuel he added caused a thin trail of smoke to rise up.

The four dancers stood, bowed to their elements, and waited.

“We gather tonight in remembrance of the dead,” Joden spoke-sang, keeping his voice deep and projecting as far as he could. “All life perishes. This we know. Our bodies arise from the elements, and return to them when we fall.”

There was a deathly silence as he paused. All eyes turned to him, and Joden felt the power he wielded over them, felt the impact his words were having. He gestured, and the drummer started a beat then, a slow but steady pulse.

“But we are also more than our bodies,” Joden reminded them. “This we know. That which is within each of us, lives on. Our dead travel with us until the snows, when they rise to the stars. They do not—”

He cut himself off from the traditional words, but then continued, “They do not linger here.”

No one seemed to notice. He took a deep breath, seeing some of the faces around him relaxing in the firelight. He nodded, to reassure one and all, then took up the ritual words, “How can we mourn then? How can we sorrow for what must be? If our dead are with us, and we will join with them when our bodies fail, how then do we weep?”

The drummer’s beat continued, slow and steady.

“We grieve for what we lost. For the hollow place within our hearts. For the loss that is felt each time we turn to confide a secret, to share a joke, or to reach for a familiar touch.” Joden kept his voice steady, but his anger grew. Anger for the loss of so many lives to something that could not be fought. Anger at old hatreds that had shaped the Plains in ways that no one knew. Anger at his own loss. “This is our pain, the pain of those left behind. This is our rage, that death must exist at all. Let us share it.”

He raised his fists, and the other warriors roused and stood, raising theirs as well. Joden felt their pain and grief, and their anger like a wave over his body.

“Death of earth, birth of water,” he chanted as if it were a curse, and the crowd joined in their voices and their pain, repeating the words. “Death of water, birth of air, death of air, birth of fire, death of fire, birth of earth.”

Over and over until the earth seemed to shake. Joden opened his fists, and the crowd went quiet, opening theirs.

“Dance with me,” he sang. “Death and pain are a part of life. But not all of it, People of the Plains! Joy is also there, to be enjoyed and shared! Rejoice! Dance with me!”

The crowd as one started to step to the drum beat. They formed patterns they’d known since the thea camps, lifting their hands to the skies and pounding the rhythms on the earth with their feet. Keir and Lara were also standing, their hands high, dancing with each other. Xyian warriors were pulled into the dance, welcomed by those of the Plains.

This then, was the true power of a Singer. To bring the people together, to aid them in their sorrow and their joy. Joden’s tears streamed down his face, but he did nothing to stop them.

“Heyla,” Joden roared.

The crowd roared back their response. “HEYLA!”

The drums continued, and Joden repeated the call and response for long glorious moments under the night sky.

Joden dropped his hands, and the drums ceased.

The warriors froze, all eyes on him.

Joden dropped his words into the silence. “May the skies hear my voice,” he chanted. “May the people remember.”

“We will remember,” came the response. With that, the warriors started to disburse to their tents, with a quiet reverence.

Joden stood sweating, exhausted, filled with his own joy as he watched them leave.

He was no longer the man he had been.

Maybe, just maybe he was something more.

He started toward his tent, passing various warriors that whispered thanks, or gave him nods of respect. He returned them, but didn’t linger.

There were whispered invitations to share as well, but he declined those with a shake of the head and a regretful smile. The euphoria he’d felt was fading, and he ached. He might be something more, but at a cost. The sacrifice of his voice. The sacrifice of Amyu at his side.

That hurt the worst. Her face flashed before his eyes, brown eyes welling as she pushed him away. The price of his dream.

Joden shook his head, clearing his thoughts, tired and drained and too weary for words.

He stripped, made quick work of a wash, and crawled into his one-man tent with a sigh of thanks. Dawn would come, and with it more questions, more challenges. He took a deep breath and let his body ease into the gurtle pads below him. Perhaps Prest was right. Perhaps it was an obstacle to be faced every day. He yawned, and pulled up the blankets.

Joden turned, and closed his eyes, deliberately seeking sleep. 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.

Until he heard his name called.

“Joden of the Hawk,” whispered an ancient voice. “Come to us.”