“Now, let’s get this up and see if there is anything inside worth taking.”
Together, they lifted the chest up and went through the drawers, finding ruined knitting supplies, old rags, and, luckily, a change of clothes for them each. Nikalys stuffed everything of use into his satchel. The bottom drawer held a pair of women’s boots that looked as if they might fit Kenders. Grabbing them, she moved off to see what else she could scavenge.
Not too far away, she found a tinderbox still sealed tight. She opened it and was surprised to find the firesticks inside were dry. Unlike traditional flint and steel that most people used to start a fire, these sticks could be struck on the rough interior of the lid and would catch fire immediately. The wagon merchant who had brought them had needed to work hard convincing the townspeople they were not magic. A handful of people had bought some, but most were too afraid the Constables would hunt them down.
After carefully sealing the box, she dumped the firesticks into Nikalys’ leather sack.
A screech from overhead pulled the pair’s attention to the sky. Circling above them were three birds, their silhouettes black against sky.
“Blood vultures,” mumbled Kenders.
“We should leave,” Nikalys said. “We’ve been here too long.”
After a bit more hurried scavenging, they found some snare wires, a simple leather sling, and a pair of waterskins, one of which she removed from the boy with whom she had danced during Horum’s Leisure Time festival only a week past. He had been a good soul, polite and honest. Father had liked him. Closing his eyes, she said a quick prayer for him.
They collected a small sum of coin from the mud: three silver ducats and seventeen copper. More was surely scattered in the debris, but they did not have the time to look for it.
The shrieking cry of the blood vultures cut through the air again. Kenders stared up just in time to watch two birds swoop down, gliding to the ground. As horrifying as it was to be standing in a wet, muddy field filled with her dead neighbors, the thought of watching the carrion birds pick the corpses clean was worse. Kenders looked to where Nikalys had been rummaging through a dead horse’s saddlebag. The horse was still there, but Nikalys was not.
“Nikalys?!”
“Over here.”
Scurrying around a large pile of rubble, she found her brother standing on the other side, staring upward. A lone tree had somehow survived the raging torrent and was still standing, most of its branches stripped bare.
Nikalys glanced over as she arrived and said, “This is where our house was.”
Seeing only debris and the remains of broken buildings, Kenders asked, “How can you even tell?”
Nikalys pointed at the trunk. “That’s the ash tree.” Turning west, he gestured to a pile of stones, saying, “And there is the water basin that was between our house and the Turners.”
Once she got her bearings, she realized he was right. “Gods, Nik.”
Not a single log, board, or timber remained.
“We need to get moving,” muttered Nikalys.
He took her hand and led her east, back in the direction from which they had come. Neither of them said a word. When they reached where Widow Johns’ house had been, Kenders stopped. Halting beside her, Nikalys stared at her, his eyes full of worry.
“What is it? More magic?”
She shook her head.
“No. No magic.”
She turned in place to face the remnants of the town. She stared long and hard at the Yellow Mud’s destruction, burning the image into her mind. “That mage will answer for this, Nik. I swear it.”
Spinning around, she marched away, leaving Yellow Mud behind her. Setting her eyes straight ahead, Kenders strode east, down the muddy road.
Nikalys followed.
Chapter 7: Loss
The road leaving Yellow Mud ran east for a few miles, through vineyards and olive groves, before giving way to the wilder, natural terrain of the area. Upon reaching the pinnacle of Baldtop Hill, the way swung south and they began their trek back down to the well-traveled Southern Road.
Nikalys trailed Kenders, one eye on her and the other searching for any sign of danger, despite having no idea what to do if something happened. As they trudged along in silence, Nikalys’ mind churned. They needed a plan.
In town, he had taken charge of the situation because instinct told him they needed to move. Now that they were out of immediate danger—or so he hoped—he had no idea what to do next. They had no other family to whom they could run. There were no grandparents, cousins, uncles, or aunts. The entirety of the Isaac family had been five people.
Thaddeus had been an orphan and Marie’s parents had died in a massive fire in Fernsford, a city in the distant Southlands. The tragedy had happened less than a year after Nikalys’ parents had married, forcing the young couple to leave the city and head north to Lakeborough. There, Thaddeus worked as a blacksmith and Marie as a tailor. It was there that Jak, Nikalys, and Kenders were born. Shortly after Kenders’ birth, the young family left Lakeborough, came to Yellow Mud, and lived a good life. A life that was gone now.
Nikalys looked ahead to his sister’s back. “Kenders?”
She answered without turning around. “What?”
“I think we should head to Lakeborough.”
She still did not look back. Sounding surprised, she asked, “Lakeborough? Why Lakeborough?”
“Well, Mother and Father lived there. We were born there. Perhaps somebody will remember us. Or them, at least.”
Kenders glanced over her shoulder. “And how exactly does that help us?”
“Perhaps we could find work there?” replied Nikalys. “Day laborers? You could see if—”
Halting in the middle of the road, Kenders wheeled around and glared at him, her eyes burning hot. Nikalys was forced to stop or else run into her.
“How can you turn the page so quickly, Nik? Someone just killed our entire family! What’s wrong with you?” She punctuated her point by stabbing him in the chest with her index finger.
Rubbing the spot she had poked, Nikalys fired back, suddenly angry himself. “Trust me, I’d like nothing more than to see that ijul hang!”
“Then how can you just walk away?” demanded Kenders. “Gods! You’re already talking about finding a blasted trade!”
As much as he wanted to shout at her—to scream and yell—he pressed his lips together, muffling his rage. Kenders did not deserve his anger. Letting out a heavy sigh, he shook his head, stepped around her, and started to walk down the road. “Forget I said anything.”
Kenders hurried and fell in beside him, staring at him. “I’ll do no such thing. I cannot believe you—”
He cut her off, snapping, “I said forget it! We’ll just keep—”
A rabbit burst from the brush a half-dozen paces ahead of them, dash across the road, and reenter the forest on the other side. Nikalys tilted his head back and stared at the sky, exhaling in frustration. “Wondrous.”
He should have had the sling ready. Digging into his satchel, he pulled it free and unwound it. Feeling Kenders’ hot gaze on him the entire time, he bent over, he selected a round stone and armed the sling. Eyes straight ahead, he set to walking again.
“Nikalys!”
He took a few more steps before he stopped, scuffling his feet on the road. He stared at his boots for a moment. The mud from the village had dried into a crusty, yellow coating.
Kenders persisted, asking, “Are we just going to run away?”
There was another option, one he did not want to mention. He knew Kenders too well. Impulsive, stubborn, a little short-sighted. The moment he shared his idea, she would run with it and never look back.
“Nikalys?” prompted Kenders. “What is it?”
He should keep his mouth shut.
“Nik!”
Lifting his head, he turned to face her. “There’s another option, but it’s sour. Much too sour. I’ve decided against it.”
Kend
ers’ eyes widened. Jamming her hands on her hips, she asked, “Have you, now? Well, as you don’t get to make decisions for me, how about you tell me what that option is, Lord Nikalys, and I’ll decide how sour it is?”
Her sarcasm dug at him. Annoyed, he shot back, “Fine. We could go to Smithshill and tell the Constables what happened! They’d know how to deal with those mages. Perhaps we could gain some sort of justice.”
Kenders nodded her quick approval at the idea.
“And exactly why aren’t we doing that? That sounds better than hiding in Lakeborough.”
Vexed, Nikalys took a step closer to her.
“Think, Kenders. If we go marching into the Constables’ office and tell them what happened, there will be questions. Questions about what we saw. Questions about who we saw. Lots and lots of questions about magic and mages.”
The anger drained from her face. “Oh.”
With raised eyebrows, Nikalys nodded. “Exactly. ‘Oh.’ If they get curious—and I’m sure they will when we tell them an entire village was destroyed by a giant water creature summoned by an ijul and nine men walking on the lake—they may discover things we don’t want them to.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Look, I’ve already lost my mother, father, and brother today. I would like to keep my sister safe.”
“I’m sorry, Nik. Truly, I am.”
Sighing, he reached out and patted the top of her head. “It’s fine. No matter.”
“Still not a barncat, Nik.”
Nikalys withdrew his hand quickly. “Sorry.”
The pair stood in the middle of the road for a few moments, surrounded by trees and silence.
Finally, Nikalys nodded east and said, “Come on, let’s keep moving.”
He turned and continued down the slope, praying she would remain quiet for a time. Thankfully, she did.
As they walked along, Nikalys kept alert, alternating his gaze forward—looking for more rabbits—and behind, searching for any flash of red robes and yellow-white hair. His luck evened out. He never spotted a rabbit or the mage.
Upon cresting a small rise, Nikalys spotted the long, meandering line of the Southern Road that ran east and west. Eyeing the sun, he estimated they had a few hours of light left.
“I think we should head into the trees and follow alongside the road. If we meet someone this close to home, stories could travel.”
Kenders looked over and asked, “What about wolves?”
Wolves were common in the hills surrounding Yellow Mud. Widow Johns had become Widow Johns because of one.
Nikalys said, “We’ll stay close to the road—just not on it. Wolves don’t come close to the road. It smells too much like people.” He spoke with a confidence he did not feel. He was concerned about wolves, too.
After a moment’s hesitation, Kenders agreed. “If you say so.”
Happy they had at least a short-term plan, Nikalys said, “Good. Let’s find a place to camp before nightfall. And keep your eye out for rabbits or we’re going to sleep hungry.”
“You just make sure you hit them.”
Glancing over, he spotted the tiniest of smiles on her face. Smiling back, he said, “I will.”
The pair walked down the road, side-by-side.
Chapter 8: Plan
Kenders sat against the trunk of a tree, resting her head against the bark and peering upwards, through the leaves and into the night sky. Both moons were visible tonight. White Moon was nearly full while Blue Moon was in the midst of waning, just a thin, cobalt crescent in the sky.
She and Nikalys had eaten, but her stomach was nowhere near full. Eveningmeal had been a lone rabbit seasoned with a bit of foraged hillsage and roasted over the fire. Nikalys had buried the carcass and guts so no scavengers or wolves would be drawn by the smell. Distant howls of wolves had echoed through the forested hills throughout the day as they traveled. There was no need to leave an open invitation.
Their tiny campfire crackled and popped in the dark, sending up curls of wispy, white smoke into the boughs overhead. It was dying, but that was by choice. The night would not be cool enough that they would need the warmth.
Kenders was tired, but every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was the devastation of Yellow Mud. After a time, she had given up and scooted over to rest against a tree trunk. She had not moved since.
Digging into their sack of scavenged items, she sought something to occupy her mind. Pulling out the tinderbox, she opened it and withdrew a firestick. She had used one to start the fire, but she had barely looked at it. Now, she held up the thin, red-tipped stick before her and studied it.
Father had never bought any from the traveling merchants, but not because he feared the sticks were magical as the other villagers did. In fact, he had repeatedly called such thoughts “the most backwards thing” he had ever heard. He claimed that he simply preferred the feel of flint and steel.
Kenders ran the firestick against the inside of the lid. The tip flared and ignited with a small puff of smoke that smelled like rotten eggs. She stared at the little flame, watching it slowly consumed the stick.
“Don’t waste those,” grunted Nikalys. “We’ll need them.”
She looked over to her brother and found him staring at her through cracked eyelids. He was leaning against a fallen oak trunk, his legs outstretched and hands folded across his chest. He looked as if he was taking a nap on a Seventhday afternoon. She eyed the hunting knife resting on his belly, already unsheathed. People did not take naps with knives at the ready.
Tossing the remainder of the firestick into the campfire’s meager flames, she closed the tinderbox. Nikalys eyed her for a moment before shutting his eyes again.
Kenders stared at him for a long time, thinking. After their brief confrontation in the road, she had made a decision and had spent much of the afternoon and evening trying to figure a way to broach the subject with her brother.
“Nikalys?”
Without moving a muscle and with his eyes still shut, he muttered, “Yes?”
“Remember the year that you threw a fit when Father and Jak went to Smithshill? You insisted you were old enough to go, too?”
A wistful, embarrassed grin spread across Nikalys’ face.
“Sure. I was…ten? Eleven?”
“You were thirteen.”
“Was not.”
“Yes. You were. I remember because I was twelve and excited about my Maiden’s Day.”
Every girl in the Oaken Duchies marked her thirteenth yearday by having an intimate celebration with her family, the day a girl is no longer a child, yet still not a woman. In a couple of years, when her eighteenth yearday arrived, a much larger celebration—Matron’s Day—would denote her entrance into womanhood.
Nikalys cracked open his right eye and looked across the dying fire. “Are you sure?”
Raising a single eyebrow, she said, “Nik.”
He gave a conciliatory shrug and mumbled, “Perhaps I was thirteen. What about it, though?”
“Do you remember the small package Father brought back with him?”
Nodding, Nikalys said, “Sure. You thought it was for you for Maiden’s Day.” Both his eyes were open now and staring at her.
“I did,” admitted Kenders. “I snuck it from their room and opened it.” She smiled, recalling how pretty the painted glass dove had been. “It was so beautiful. The colors were brilliant, like a rainbow after a spring shower. I held it up to the sun, just to see it sparkle.”
“And then you dropped it.”
Kenders winced, remembering the horror she had felt as the figurine slipped from her fingers. Upon hitting the floor, the dove broke into three solid pieces.
“I wrapped it up quickly and put it away. No one knew I had broken it.”
Nikalys said, “I remember when Father gave it to Mother, he was so disappointed. He couldn’t figure out what had happened.”
“Gods, I felt awful about it,” said Kenders. “It gna
wed at me for a week.”
Nikalys was quiet for a few heartbeats, peering at her. “What made you think of that?”
“Do you remember what you said when I told you I had broken the dove?”
His eyebrows drew together slowly. “Vaguely.”
The worried expression on his face betrayed him. He knew exactly what he had said.
Brushing a few strands of hair from her face, Kenders said, “You told me that I needed to tell them what had happened. That I shouldn’t let fear stop me from doing what was right.”
Nikalys sat up quickly. “No! We are not going to the Constables! They might—”
She interrupted him, rushing to get out what she needed to say. “And you were right! It was the right thing to do! It was hard and I was afraid, but I did it!”
“Kenders, this is not—”
“And do you remember what you did, Nik? You stood by my side as I told him. We did it together!”
Nikalys stood, agitated, his face angry. “This is different, Kenders! Much different!”
“How? The right thing to do is to tell the Constables what happened!”
“Kenders! You are a mage!”
While she had already accepted the awful truth, hearing the words aloud was like a slap to the face. Shaking her head, she shouted, “That changes nothing! We need to report this!”
Nikalys was beside himself. Shaking his head, he exclaimed, “If the Constables find out you’re a mage…they’ll…they’ll…Hells! We don’t know what they’d do! You know the stories!”
“Perhaps they won’t be able to tell anything about me! Perhaps all that stuff at the lake was my imagination!”
“Your imagination? You felt colors before we saw the blasted thing!”
Kenders pressed her lips together, unable to refute his point.
Stepping closer, Nikalys said, “Kenders, if we go to the Constables, they will take you.”
“But—”
“No!” He shook his head vehemently. “We aren’t going!”
Undeterred, she pressed on, “It’s the right thing—”
Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) Page 6
