Solivagant

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Someone was singing. The melody trickled through Asher's muddled thoughts, quiet and hauntingly familiar. It was an old song, about a lone wanderer as he watched night creep across the land. Simple, really, but every word rang with meaning. A song of emptiness, of loss. Asher had always been fond of it; the lyrics rose unbidden in his throat as he listened, submerged in his own darkness.

Then, without warning, fear surged through Asher's veins, jolting him from the welcoming embrace of sleep. His senses returned in quick, painful flashes—bitter air against his face, dry dirt beneath his fingers, rough bark pressed into his cheek. The song came into a sharper focus; a new voice, close and tinged with annoyance, soon joined it.

"He's still fighting me."

A spark of recognition broke through Asher's daze. He began shaking himself awake, memories flooding through him. Screaming. The Valkir. Kain.

Hannah.

The singing faded just as the realization struck Asher, leaving a gaping hole in his heart. He heard a few footsteps, and then Rivas spoke. "Wake up, boy. I know you can hear us."

Not eager to be kicked again, Asher slowly turned his head and forced his eyes open. Rivas was kneeling on his left, Kain his right. His gaze slipped past them to the forest, unfamiliar and drenched in shadows. He was propped against the stump of a tree, with nothing to protect him from the bitter wind but his ragged clothes. Somebody had untied him; Asher stared at his wrists for a long moment, befuddled. How much time had passed?

Rivas sat back with a yawn. "There. He's awake."

"Lucky me." Asher's words were slurred and distant; he closed his eyes and mumbled a curse. He felt so very, very tired.

"Pity," Kain sighed. "I enjoyed the silence."

Another flood of unnatural terror raced through Asher. He sat up with a gasp, instinctively scrambling away from Kain before he was once again struck by crippling exhaustion.

"What are you...?" he gasped, struggling into a sitting position.

"Waking you up." Kain glanced at Rivas. "Most of the drug's gone now."

"Good. Let's not waste any more time." Rivas stood and met Asher's eyes, extending one hand. Asher reached up without thinking, and the Valkir pulled him to his feet. Asher's legs buckled; he staggered a few steps forward before righting himself.

Four horses stood a few yards away, their pale coats nearly gleaming in the darkness. Asher slowly raised a hand to his head, sure he was hallucinating. But no, Idris stood right beside one, rummaging through its saddlebags.

"Skies, where did they come from?" he finally managed.

"Soren." Kain placed a hand on Asher's shoulder, pushing him toward the nearest horse. Asher flinched away, but, still clumsy with sleep, tripped over a root. Kain seized the neck of his shirt; for one horrible moment, Asher was suspended midair, choking.

Laughing, Kain wrenched Asher upright and shoved Asher back at the horse. Asher fell against the beast's side, coughing and gulping the freezing air. Sick humiliation rose in his chest, unfamiliar and disarming. He curled his fingers into the horse's fur.

"Get on," Kain ordered, amusement tilting his words. Asher shuddered at the sound of his voice, another, different wave of memories breaking through him. A shadow, flitting through the market crowd like a ghost. Hannah's eyes when she spotted it—not fearful or angry, but sad. Endlessly, achingly sad. She had looked so old.

"No," Asher growled, his voice breaking.

A sharp crack was Asher's only warning before the world exploded into a blinding flash of light. Searing agony shredded through his body, seizing his muscles and filling his veins with fire. He howled and wrenched himself sideways, but the light followed. He hardly even noticed striking the ground—there was nothing but that terrible pain.