Progeny (The Children of the White Lions)

by Kaelin, R. T.

  “Oh, thank the gods.”

  Neither acknowledged Kenders’ sudden arrival nor the approaching water. Instead, the pair seemed to be enjoying a loving moment, hugging one another as they had countless times. Mist sprayed the back of the Isaac home, water thundered, wood shrieked and cracked, but Thaddeus and Marie Isaac appeared oblivious to it all. They seemed wholly content to stand there, waiting, accepting the inevitable.

  “Mother! Father! Let’s go!”

  They ignored her. Thaddeus leaned down and whispered something to her mother. Marie looked up, touched his face tenderly, and smiled back.

  Panic grabbed Kenders, squeezing her tight. She felt like a grape being squashed in a fist. In a matter of moments, the wall of water would be on top of them. She needed to do something.

  She stared at the looming wave and screamed. “No!”

  The thundering roar shifted in tone, deepening. Trees no longer cracked and popped with the suddenness of a snapped twig, but creaked and groaned as a too-small chair would under the weight of a heavy man. Peering north, she saw the wave was still moving toward her, but at an impossibly slow pace. Looking back to her parents, she found them as motionless as statues. Her mother’s eyes closed slower than a slug crawling up a tree. Moments later, they opened at the same glacial pace. “What is—?”

  She cut her murmured question short when a glimmering, glittering string of white popped into view before her, hanging in the air just beyond arm’s length.

  The filament dangled there, light and airy, waving as though teased by a soft breeze. Pulsating with bright, white light, it fluttered before her, almost beckoning Kenders to reach out and take it. The string appeared only a few feet long, although when she tried to judge the true length, she found she could not. As her eyes traveled up and down the twisting thread, the part she had just surveyed would diminish, weakening and fading from sight. She could not say whether she ever saw its start or end. Flickering beyond the lone strand pulled her attention to the yard. “Bless the gods…”

  Dozens of the strings hung in the air.

  Most of them were white, like the first, but she saw other colors, too. Vivid hues of blue oscillated like waves on a lake. Ruddy, earthy-brown ropes hovered near the ground, sturdier and firmer than the white and blue ones. Every string radiated a powerful, otherworldly energy.

  They were as beautiful as they were terrifying.

  She reached out to touch the nearest wispy white filament, but her hand passed right through it. The crackling, tingly feeling that ran up her arm reminded her of the sound straw made when it crumbled.

  With a fierce suddenness, the wave’s pounding roar resumed. She snapped her head up and looked north. The water was rushing toward them again.

  As she stared at the wave now, she saw countless glimmering strings tumbling and roiling within water and debris. Instead of hanging haphazardly like those in the yard, however, the strands within the creature were arranged in an intricate pattern that reminded her of a knitted blanket. The bulk of the strings were blue and white, but she also caught flashes of brilliant, glorious silver and gold within the weave.

  Without thought, she reached out with her mind and began to pluck the loose strings from around her. Not knowing how or why, she grabbed white and brown ones and wove them together clumsily, blindly. She had no idea what she was doing, or why she was doing it.

  She directed her misshapen tangle of strings toward her parents moments before the wall of water struck them. The wave crashed into the Isaac’s yard and the pattern she had made. For a split second, her white and brown weave held against the onrushing force. Her eyes widened with hope.

  With a resounding crack that she felt more than she heard, the tangle of strands gave way, bending, breaking, shattering.

  Her parents screamed as the oncoming wall of water engulfed them.

  Standing in her home’s doorway, Kenders threw her arms up to cover her face and shouted as the wave slammed into her. “Noooo!” She sat up, screaming and opened her eyes.

  It was dark. Firelight flickered. Drenched in a cold sweat, she held her arms in front of her face, taking quick, ragged breaths. The odor of fired pinecones filled the air.

  “Kenders! What is it?”

  She whipped her head around to find Nikalys scrambling to her side. His hunting knife was in his hand, gripped so tight that his knuckles were white.

  Disoriented, she looked around the campsite again. The fire was still going strong; Nikalys must have been adding logs as she slept. He was now scanning the edges of the woods, his eyes wide.

  “Did you hear something?”

  She shook her head, closed her eyes, and put her fingers to her temples, rubbing away the images of her parents’ faces caught in the wave.

  “No. Sorry. It was…it was just a nightmare. An awful, terrible nightmare.” Opening her eyes, she stared at her brother. “I was in Yellow Mud as the water came, looking for Mother and Father. I found them in the back of the house, just…just standing there. I tried to help them, but I couldn’t get the…” She trailed off, wondering what she was about to say.

  She had no idea what she had seen. Only that it probably had something to do with magic. She doubted Nikalys would like knowing that, even if it had been in a dream. Shaking her head, she mumbled, “You know, I’m already starting to forget the details.” She forced an embarrassed, tired smile, hoping he would accept her lie.

  He did, lowering the knife to his side and slumping to the ground next to her.

  “Gods, you stopped my heart. I thought the wolves had come.”

  “Hold a moment,” said Kenders, her eyes narrowing. “You said wolves would never come near a fire.”

  With a tilt of his head and a weak shrug of his shoulders, he said, “Actually, I said that I heard wolves would never come near a fire.”

  “From who?”

  He held her gaze for a moment before dropping it to an unremarkable tree root. Somewhat sheepishly, he replied, “William Holder.”

  “William Holder?” exclaimed Kenders. “That man says lots of things. Most of them mad.”

  “It makes sense, doesn’t it? Wolves don’t like to be burned, right?”

  Rolling her eyes, she said, “So? I don’t like getting burned either, but I don’t hide from fire because of it.” She shook her head. William Holder had once run naked through Yellow Mud’s streets screaming that “the lions are coming for us!” “Wondrous. We’re basing our choices on the ramblings of a madman.”

  Nikalys opened his mouth—most likely to say something smart—but stopped short as a lone, haunting howl echoed through the hills. Kenders turned her head, trying to determine from where the cry was coming. The forest and hills played havoc with sounds, however, and she could not. It seemed close, though.

  As the yowl began to taper off, a second, slightly deeper howl answered. Brother and sister spun around as one, facing west. There was no doubt from where that one came. A third, higher pitched whine joined the first two. As the trio of howls faded, Kenders glanced at her brother and said in a quiet, subdued tone, “That makes three now.”

  Nikalys nodded, his eyes scanning the dark forest past the fire’s glow.

  “Don’t worry. We’re fine.”

  Kenders shut her eyes and muttered a short prayer to Thonda, the god of Beasts and the Hunt, begging him to send his creatures away from here.

  Late this morning, they had heard the first wolf call of the day, but shrugged it off. After midday, another howl had pierced the relative quiet of the forest. Again, the pair ignored it until a second cry answered. Throughout the day, the wolves’ calls had periodically echoed back and forth, drifting through the hills.

  The Isaac siblings had again discussed the wisdom of traveling through the woods rather than on the road. They even had a brief yet intense argument when they spotted a large patrol of soldiers from the cover of the trees. Kenders wanted to move down to the soldiers, but Nikalys insisted they avoid everyone. He did not wa
nt to be seen coming from the direction of ruined Yellow Mud.

  Kenders looked to her brother. “We should have traveled on the road.”

  “We agreed not to.”

  Kenders hissed, “I only agreed because you said a fire would keep us safe!”

  Nikalys glared at her, silent.

  Pushing her irritation aside, she whispered, “What do we do now?”

  “I truly doubt they’ll come close,” replied Nikalys. Firelight glinted in his eyes as he stared around the glade. “I’m not worried.” The timbre of voice said otherwise.

  Another howl cut through the quiet night, raising the hairs on the back of Kenders’ neck.

  “Perhaps you should be.”

  Nikalys remained quiet, staring into the dark forest. With a sigh, he sheathed his hunting knife, stood, and crept to the fire. He grabbed the unburned end of a log jutting from the flames and scooted back to her, holding it over his head like a crude torch.

  When Kenders gave him a questioning look, he shrugged his shoulders. “Just in case.”

  “In case of what?”

  He did not answer.

  They had built tonight’s campsite in a small clearing nestled between three large trees—two oaks and one ash. A tall thicket of thorny fingerprick bushes with inch-long thorns ran between the pair of oaks. The rest of the clearing was surrounded by nothing but small, eminently passable bushes.

  Kenders caught a soft, scuffling of leaves in the forest, across the fire and to her right. She stared into the black, but could not see anything. The moonlight filtering through the canopy of leaves above and should have illuminated the forest, but the fire—while turning their camp bright—had made it difficult to see much beyond the reach of the flames’ light.

  She was searching in vain for a glimpse of anything when she heard a low puff of air, wet and throaty. Without saying a word, Nikalys grabbed Kenders’ hand, pulled her to her feet, and guiding her so their backs were to the fingerprick bushes.

  Once stopped, he leaned close and whispered, “Do you see anything?”

  Kenders could not, having made the mistake of glancing at the fire as Nikalys had pulled her to her feet, wondering if she should get a torch, too. Now, she had night blindness. Leftover, ghostly images of the fire danced in her vision everywhere she looked.

  “No.”

  A low, guttural growl drew their attention to the left side of the clearing. Staring into the nighttime forest, Kenders watched as a pair of yellow eyes emerged from the darkness, lit bright by the fire’s reflected light and only fifty paces away.

  She felt a sharp pinch in her calf and let out a quick, startled cry—part pain, part surprise. Without realizing it, she had backed into the fingerprick bushes and stuck herself in the leg. At her exclamation, the wolf’s growl picked up and a second, throaty rumble joined the first. Kenders looked to the right side of the clearing to spot another set of yellow eyes.

  “Nikalys?”

  “I know,” muttered Nikalys. He moved his right hand to his sheathed knife, gripped the handle, and slid the blade free. With his left, he held his improvised torch out to Kenders. “Take it.”

  “Why?”

  “Just take it.”

  Shifting her gaze between the wolves, she reached up and took the torch from her brother.

  Displaying remarkable calm, Nikalys spoke in hushed tones, saying, “Now, I’m going to charge the one on the left. The other will probably come after me. When it does, I want you to run.”

  She swiveled her head quickly to stare at her brother.

  “No! I’m not—”

  Nikalys hissed, “Don’t argue! It’s the only chance you have. If you hear them chasing you, climb a—” He cut off, his gaze snapping to the center of camp. “Hells.”

  Kenders looked across the clearing and found a third wolf—by far the largest she had ever seen—slinking from the blackness, into the circle of firelight. Standing four feet tall at the shoulder, the wolf was covered in shaggy, dark gray fur except for what would have been white paws if not for the dirt coating them. Its ears were alert and twitching, its lips drawn back to expose sharp teeth and blackened gums.

  Nikalys’ chances against a single wolf were terrible. His idea of taking on two wolves was preposterous. Against a pack of three, he would be dead in moments.

  Kenders murmured, “Now what?”

  Her brother remained silent.

  “Nik?”

  She wanted to look over, but could not stop staring at the center wolf as it padded closer.

  “Nik!”

  Nikalys hissed, “I’m thinking!” The steady calmness from before was gone.

  The large lupine approached the fire and, wholly unconcerned by the flames, circled the fire, its yellow eyes remaining fixed on them. It issued a low, quick growl, prompting the other wolves to creep closer, low to the ground. Neither were as large as the lead wolf, but they were fearsome nonetheless.

  Kenders stood, rooted to the ground, her heart pounding. She lifted the torch and waited, poised for a wolf to pounce. She thought she might be able to get off one blow before being torn apart.

  Suddenly, the lead wolf paused and stood a little taller. It raised its snout and sniffed the air. A strange, almost worried whine slipped from the animal.

  A moment later, the unusual crackling sensation she now associated with magic surged around and in her. This time she easily distinguished the colors.

  Green. Silver. Gold.

  And something else. Something that was not a color.

  Thinking the ijul was here now, she panicked and reached out to grab Nikalys’ arm.

  “Something’s happen—”

  A monstrous roar exploded from behind the thicket of fingerpricks, filling the forest night and rattling Kenders to her soul. Before she could react, the growl shifted, inexplicably soaring over their heads. She glanced up, cringing and expecting another wolf to come flying into the glade. Instead of lupine gray, however, a dusty gold streak flashed over their heads. With nary a sound, a mass of golden fur landed ten paces in front of Nikalys and Kenders, directly between them and the wolves.

  Kenders blinked, stunned. A lynx the size of a horse cart crouched in the forest clearing.

  She could see only the back of the cat, but what she saw was spectacular. Its coat was a glossy, golden brown with two lines of mahogany spots straddling its spine. A short, stubby black tail stuck up from atop its muscular haunches. Thick claws extended from its massive paws—all four of which were the size of Kenders’ head—and dug into the dirt as the cat flexed. Black-tufted ears lay flat against the cat’s enormous head as it stared at the wolf pack leader. Its loud snarl faded into a low, growling rumble.

  Nikalys muttered, “Blast the gods.”

  Kenders silently concurred.

  The lead wolf hesitated, glaring at the lynx, seemingly annoyed that the cat had dared to interrupt its pack’s hunt. Whether driven by bravery or hunger, the wolf moved forward, loping the few feet separating it from the lynx, let out a snarl, and leapt for the cat’s throat.

  With lightning speed, the lynx swept its right front paw across its body and batted at the wolf. An audible crunch filled the clearing as the cat’s paw struck the pack leader in the side, sending the wolf tumbling through the air, out of the firelight, and crashing into the forest brush. A soft, whimpering sound confirmed that the wolf was seriously hurt, most likely with broken ribs.

  Turning to face the next closest wolf, the lynx tilted its head and stared, almost daring the lupine to move. The remaining wolves were silent now, motionless. After all of the growling and snarling, the quiet of the forest was pronounced, interrupted only by the firewood popping and the soft whining of the injured wolf.

  The nearest wolf dropped his head and looked behind it, almost as if it were weighing its options. The lynx loosed a second bone-rattling roar that reverberated through the hills, ultimately making the wolves’ decision easy.

  Tucking their tails between the
ir legs, the pair immediately scampered away, kicking up dirt and leaves as they ran from the clearing. Kenders heard the whimpering pack leader running away as well, but not nearly as fast as the others were. The lynx padded to the far side of the fire and looked in the direction the wolves had run. It tilted its head, listening.

  Nikalys whispered, “That thing is three times bigger than any lynx I’ve ever seen.”

  “What if it means to have us for its own eveningmeal?”

  The lynx swiveled around, turning toward them and giving the pair the first good look at it from the front.

  Its face had an almost wise look to it. A clean, white ruff hung under its neck and long whiskers draped from its maw, glinting in the firelight. Tufts of white fur sprouted from the inside of its ears. Staring at the two of them with deep, dark brown eyes, the cat began to saunter to where they huddled by the thicket.

  Nikalys stepped forward, began waving his hands over his head, and called out, “Hey! Over here!”

  The cat stopped and stared at them both, its gaze dancing between them.

  “Nik, what are you doing?”

  “Getting its attention,” murmured Nikalys. Raising his voice, he called, “Over here, you overgrown tuft of hair!”

  The lynx instantly shifted his gaze to rest solely on Nikalys.

  Continuing to wave his arms, Nikalys said, “Run, Kenders.”

  Now, the lynx turned its full attention to her.

  “Go!” ordered Nikalys. “I’ll distract it!”

  The massive golden-brown cat began to pad toward Nikalys.

  Nikalys yelled, “Blast it! Go! Now!”

  She took a single step away from him and immediately stopped. “No.”

  Yellow Mud was gone. Mother, Father, and Jak were dead. She was not about to run away and let a giant cat kill her only remaining family.

  In that moment, the soul-draining events of the past few days caught up to her. A flood of emotions exploded inside of her. Anger, grief, hopelessness, frustration. Clenching her fists and gritting her teeth, she turned back to glare at the cat with burning eyes.