Perhaps the best gift Joden could give his friend was the silence in which to find his own path.
“I hate the warrior-priests,” Keir’s voice was almost a hiss. “For what they have done, and not done for our people for years. Hidden their powers or lack thereof. Refusing to change, to the benefit of all the Tribes. I loathe them, and will never forgive their arrogance and treachery.”
Joden watched as Keir’s fists relaxed their grip on the reins.
“But,” the reluctance in Keir’s voice was clear. “But maybe my greatest enemy is my hatred, that blinds me to the truth.” He looked over at Joden, clearly seeking reassurance.
Joden hesitated, then shrugged.
“There is truth in that, friend.” Keir grimaced. “And ‘wait and see’ seems to be the only option.” He leaned forward to remove the bells. “Come. I feel the need to be with Lara this night.”
“She never once complains,” Marcus said quietly over the dying campfire.
The others had all bedded down for the night, leaving Joden and Marcus alone by the fire. Joden lifted an eyebrow.
Marcus jerked his chin toward the tents. “Anna. Poor lady is uncomfortable, unhappy, and as miserable as a person can be. But she never once has made a complaint, or said a word of her suffering.” Marcus shot Joden a look, a glint of humor in his one eye. “Even Herself complained on that first journey.”
Joden smiled at the memory.
Marcus continued, “Odd how even city-dwellers find the strength to endure when they act out of love.”
Joden blinked, glanced at Marcus and then just as quickly decided to poke the coals with a handy stick. Marcus had a temper and he was known for his sharp tongue and sharper daggers. Silence was the best option.
Marcus must have caught the look, because he glowered. “I know what you are thinking,” he growled.
Joden shrugged.
“You are thinking of Liam of the Deer.” Marcus stated flatly. “I know full well he holds the border for the Warlord, and I know full well he is at the keep we are heading to.” Marcus stood up. “I will not see him, will not speak to him. Our bonding severed when my ear melted away, and it is past time the damn fool saw the truth.”
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.”
“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.”