She wanted the giant lynx to leave them alone.
She wanted the blasted cat to go flying into the forest like the wolf.
She desperately wanted something—anything—to keep her and her brother alive.
Something inside of her snapped.
Abruptly, a pattern of colored strings popped into existence before her, hovering in the air above the campsite. Brilliant, pulsating white ones intertwined with a half-dozen sizzling yellow strands.
The giant cat’s eyes widened in surprise as it stared straight at the pattern. Nikalys ignored it entirely, continuing to wave his arms and shout at the lynx.
She released the tangle of strings, urging it at the golden-brown cat. The moment she let go, a searing pain ripped through her head, accompanied by a tiredness that was deeper and more complete than any she had ever experienced.
With a soul-wrenching scream, she went limp and collapsed, unconscious.
Chapter 11: Shapechanger
A blinding flash paired with a concussive boom filled the campsite. Nikalys flew backwards, straight into the thicket of fingerprick bushes. He screamed as hundreds of sharp thorns scratched, tore, and punctured his flesh. The thicket grabbed hold of him, suspending him in the air, and trapping him in its brambles.
He lay that way for a few moments, groaning in agony. Forcing his eyes open, he realized he could not see anything. The flash had blinded him. A tinny, persistent ringing filled his ears. He tried to move, but any movement only pressed the thorns deeper into his flesh. He yelled for Kenders, but could not hear his own shouts.
He blinked furiously, trying to clear the cloudy blackness blocking his eyesight. Slowly, his vision returned and he spotted the soft glow of the fire. Whatever had just happened in the glade had left the flames untouched.
He looked left—sending sharp shots of pain through his body as he did—and spotted the vague shape of a person embedded in the thicket beside him. As his eyesight recovered further, he saw for sure that it was Kenders lying in the brambles, her body a twisted heap. Dark, wet patches covered her shirt and skirt, spreading larger by the moment. Blood, rich and crimson, dripped from her hands and legs. Deep scratches and gashes covered her face, neck, and arms. Her jaw hung slack. Her mouth was open, her eyes closed.
“Noooo!!”
As his shout cut through the night, he realized he could hear again.
A pained mewling from the campsite drew his attention back to the fire. He instinctively turned his head and gasped at the pain as fingerprick thorns dug deeper.
The lynx stood before Nikalys, shaking its head as if something was caught on its whiskers. After a moment, it stopped, tilted its head to the side, and looked at Nikalys. It blinked once, slowly, and then turned its gaze to Kenders. The cat padded forward, striding unhurriedly to her.
Furious, Nikalys shouted, “Leave her alone!”
The cat paused a moment, glanced at him, and then resumed its walk toward Kenders. It brought its nose down to her bloody body and sniffed a few times.
Nikalys struggled to stand, intending to shove the massive cat from his sister, but the wracking pain of the thorns prevented him from doing so. He was helpless.
Dropping back into the brambles, he screamed, “Fine! Go ahead, eat us, you overgrown barncat!” Despair overwhelmed him. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Everyone’s dead.” Perhaps he would get to see his family in Maeana’s hall.
The lynx turned its watchful gaze to Nikalys, sat down, and tucked its chin to its chest. A moment later, it began to shimmer, to shift. Nikalys’ eyes went round.
The cat’s white-tufted ears retreated into its head and the ruff of fur along its neck shrunk as if growing in reverse. The giant paws twisted and morphed, each section thinning, growing longer. Strong, lithe front legs grew muscular and began to take the shape of arms. All of the aspects of the fearsome lynx disappeared, replaced with features that were unmistakably those of a man.
In relatively short order, Nikalys watched the largest lynx he had ever seen transform into the largest man he had ever seen, crouching in a form reminiscent of the cat sitting on its haunches. Once the shift was complete, the man stood upright.
Nikalys gaped. The man had to be a full seven feet tall.
The giant’s golden-brown hair matched the color of the lynx’s fur and the dark brown eyes were the same, as well. He was bare-chested—his skin a rich, bronze tan—but wore a pair of hide breeches. A large bag made of sturdy leather hung from a thick strap draped over his left shoulder. Turquoise and ebony stones dangled from the string used to tie the sack shut. A leather thong circled his neck, holding a pendant of white stone carved in the shape of a lion’s head with a flaring mane.
In a deep, rumbling voice, one that was vaguely reminiscent of the lynx’s growl, the giant said, “I have no intention of eating you, uori.” A slight smile crept over his lips. “I doubt you would taste good.”
Legends about Shapechangers abounded in Yellow Mud, people who had lived in the wilderness, away from civilization for so long, that they took on the form of their natural surroundings. The spirits of nature—or perhaps the goddess Lamoth herself—would approach them and offer great power if they agreed to defend the wilds from man’s hand.
Nikalys opened his mouth to ask or say something, but no words came out. He was speechless. Were it not for the pain from the thorns carving up his flesh, he would have thought he was dreaming.
The man reached into his bag and withdrew a light-colored jute shirt. Lifting the sack over his head, he set it on the ground and pulled on the shirt. Then he took a step closer and looked at Kenders.
He glanced at Nikalys and rumbled, “Does she normally faint like that?”
“Pardon?”
Nikalys had no idea what the man was asking.
“When she uses the strands. Does she often overextend herself like this?”
It took a moment for the man’s words to register. Realizing what the man was implying, he muttered, “She did that?”
The Shapechanger peered at Nikalys’ baffled expression. “You are surprised?”
Kenders had summoned lightning from a clear, moonlit sky. Surprise did not begin to name what he was feeling now.
The massive man glanced at Kenders, then back to Nikalys, a slight furrow splitting his brow. “Let us get you both free and have a look at those thorns. I am sure they must hurt.”
“Why bother?” muttered Nikalys. “She’s dead.”
“No,” rumbled the Shapechanger. “She is not.”
Nikalys winced as he stared back to his sister. Confused, he muttered, “But all the blood…”
“You should see what you look like, uori. The thorns make it look worse than it is. They are painful, yes. But lethal? No. Once we get her out and clean her wounds, she will be fine. You as well.”
A surge of hope filled Nikalys. “Truly?”
“Truly,” rumbled the Shapechanger. “You will recover. Both of you.”
Nikalys smiled wide as a relieved joy spread through his body, warming him all over, almost chasing his pain away.
The Shapechanger reached out a giant hand to Nikalys and greeted him. “Good days ahead, uori.” He seemed to study Nikalys as he added, “My name is Broedi.”
Pulling his arm free of the brambles, wincing at every burst of pain, Nikalys took Broedi’s offered hand and managed to complete the traditional greeting through gritted teeth. “And good memories behind.”
Broedi grasped Nikalys’ hand, engulfing it, and rumbled, “Now, this will hurt.” Without a moment’s hesitation, he pulled Nikalys from the thorny bushes.
Nikalys’ eyes went wide and he drew a hissing breath, sucking air through clenched teeth. Emerging from the fingerpricks hurt thrice as much as falling into them. Once free, he stood without moving at all, trying to ignore the thousand stabs of pain dancing along his back, arms, and legs.
Broedi studied him as he stood there, wincing. After a moment, the Shapechanger asked, “Will you give
me your name?”
Without looking up, Nikalys answered, “Nikalys.”
“And the girl? She is your sister?
Nikalys eyed the stranger, filled with sudden suspicion. “How could you know that?”
Broedi glanced between him and Kenders. “You look like one another.”
Nikalys hesitated a moment, decided the answer was plausible, and started to nod, but stopped as his neck and back cried out. Holding very still, he answered, “Yes. Brother and sister.”
“Where are your parents?”
Nikalys glanced up at the odd question, hissing at the pain. “Pardon?”
The man’s brown eyes bore into Nikalys. “Your parents, uori? Where are they?”
Nikalys dropped his gaze. Droplets of blood dripped from his hands onto the dirt below. “Dead. They’re both dead.”
Broedi was silent long enough that Nikalys looked up, curious. He had thought he might get a bit of condolence. The large man’s face was a mask of restrained sorrow and confusion.
“You are sure?” asked Broedi.
These questions were beginning to irritate Nikalys. “I’m quite sure.” Glancing back to Kenders, Nikalys said, “Can we help her now?”
The Shapechanger shifted his gaze to Kenders. “Yes. Of course.”
Immediately, the large man moved toward her. Stopping at the brambles, he bent over her, paused, and then peered back to Nikalys.“You will be safe now. I promise.”
Nikalys stared at the man, befuddled. Anxious to get Kenders aid and in no condition to do it himself, he shrugged off the man’s words, muttering, “Wondrous.” He nodded to his sister. “Can you get her out of there?”
Broedi held his gaze a moment longer before turning to Kenders, pulling her from the fingerprick bushes, and laying her on the rocky dirt. Kneeling beside her, he inspected her scratches, cuts, and piercings closely before placing his massive hand over Kenders’ forehead and closing his eyes. His hand around her head looked like Nikalys’ around an egg.
Worried, Nikalys asked, “What are you doing?”
“Ensuring she sleeps peacefully for now,” murmured the Shapechanger. After a few more moments, he opened his eyes, and said firmly, “Stay here, uori.” Standing, the giant grabbed Nikalys’ waterskins and strode from the glow of the fire.
“You’re leaving us here?” called out Nikalys. “What about the wolves?”
After sniffing the air a few times, Broedi said, “They are gone.” With a few giant, loping strides, he disappeared into the forest making nary a sound, leaving Nikalys to stare in the dark after him.
For a brief moment, Nikalys considered running. He stared down at Kenders, took a step closer to her, and winced. He could barely move. There was no way he could carry her. And even if he could and they ran, the Shapechanger could track them down, something Nikalys suspected the stranger would do. The man seemed oddly interested in them.
Frowning, Nikalys let out a long, weary, pain-filled sigh. He had no choice but to wait. Grinding his teeth, Nikalys decided that he would take the man’s help only as long as necessary.
Ignoring his agony, Nikalys sat on the ground next to Kenders. She, like him, had countless scratches everywhere, along with dozens of puncture holes, some with broken-off thorns still in them. Despite her horrid condition, Kenders seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Nikalys was grateful she was not experiencing the same pain as he felt. “Lucky you.”
Waiting for Broedi to return, he wiped the excess blood from her face, marveling at the fate Greya had handed him.
His family was dead.
His home was gone.
His sister was a mage.
And now, they were at the mercy of another mage, this one a blasted Shapechanger. A weary, worried sigh slipped from his lips. “Gods…what else could go wrong?”
Using the sleeve of his shirt, he dabbed at a cut on her chin that would not stop bleeding. As he did, the Shapechanger’s deep voice filled the quiet campsite. “Do not worry. She will be well.”
Startled, Nikalys’ head snapped up, the thorns in his neck cruelly reminding him of his own condition. Broedi stood on the opposite side of the fire, holding two full waterskins. The giant had not made a sound during his return.
“You keep saying that,” said Nikalys. “How can you be sure she’ll be fine?”
“She will because she must.”
“What does that mean?”
Broedi stared at him, but did not respond as he moved around the fire. Crouched before Nikalys, he said, “I will treat you first, uori.”
“My name is Nikalys. And I can wait. Help her first.”
Broedi glanced at Kenders. “But she is asleep. She feels no pain.”
Nikalys shook his head.
“Her first.”
With a nod, Broedi said, “As you desire.”
Turning his attention to Kenders, the Shapechanger used water to clean away blood and dirt while searching for any place a thorn was stuck in flesh. Nikalys watched his ministrations closely, ensuring Broedi was truly helping.
Once the wounds were wiped clean, Broedi placed his large hand over a hole on Kenders’ arm where one of the thorns had broken off, its woody nub buried deep below the surface. He hesitated, glanced at Nikalys, and seemed poised to say something. Instead, he pressed his lips together and stared back down to Kenders. After a long, quiet moment, he pulled his hand back. The thorn rested in Broedi’s palm.
Nikalys gaped at him. “How in the Nine Hells did you do that?”
Broedi stared at him, but remained silent.
Nikalys supposed the answer was obvious: more magic. More blasted magic.
Broedi continued to tend to Kenders’ wounds, removing one thorn after another, using magic to coax the thorns that could not be pried out with thumb and forefinger. Throughout the entire ordeal, a scowl rested on Nikalys’ face.
Once Broedi had removed all of the thorns, he retrieved his leather satchel from which he pulled a small pouch. Loosening the drawstring, he turned it over and dumped a few sprigs of a dried, green plant covered with small white flowers into his hand. He ripped a bit off and rubbed it between his fingers. A bitter, crisp scent tickled Nikalys’ nose.
Prying open Kenders’ lips, Broedi placed the crushed plant in her mouth.
Concerned, Nikalys asked, “Wait…what is that?”
“Mesingervo.” Broedi glanced up. “You might call it meadowsweet. It is to help blunt the headache she will have when she wakes.”
Nikalys had no idea what meadowsweet was. It surely did not smell sweet.
Holding up her head a little, Broedi poured water into her mouth. Kenders choked in her sleep, but swallowed the plant and water. Then, Broedi laid her on the ground and placed both of his large hands on the center of her chest. The mammoth man sat that way for a minute, not moving, eyes closed.
Nikalys was about to ask what he was doing when he noticed some of the superficial scratches on Kenders’ skin begin to smooth and heal. He stared in awe as new skin covered the wounds, sealing the cuts and scrapes. The more serious gashes and punctures faded, turning less red and angry, but they did not heal completely. After a few minutes, the Shapechanger pulled his hands back, peered up to Nikalys, and sighed. “Now it is your turn, uori.”
Nikalys eyed Broedi warily. While the idea of having the Shapechanger use magic on him was more than unpleasant, he could not travel in his current condition. He stared down to Kenders—she looked a hundred times better than a short while ago—then looked to his own bloody, thorn-strewn arms. After a long, drawn-out quiet, he muttered, “Fine.”
“Then give me your arm.”
Nikalys extended his right arm and endured the same inspection Kenders had undergone. When Broedi came across the first thorn that could not be removed by simply pulling it out, he placed his hand over the hole, and murmured, “This may feel strange.”
Strange was an inadequate term to describe what felt like his flesh pushing out the thorn while something else was ge
ntly tugging at it. A moment later, Broedi pulled back his hand, opened his hand, and dropped the inch-long thorn to the ground. Nikalys stared at the bloody barb in amazement. An exclamation of quiet surprise slipped from his lips. “Huh.”
Wearing a slight smile, Broedi resumed his examination. After a few more extractions, he glanced at Nikalys and asked, “This is unusual to you, then?”
Nikalys flinched as another thorn extruded itself. Broedi dropped it on the ground with the others.
“If you mean Shapechangers, summoned lightning, and…” He nodded to the giant’s hands over his arm. “Whatever you’re doing here? Yes. ‘Unusual’ is too mild a word.”
Broedi frowned and turned his attention back to Nikalys’ wounds. For the next hour, Nikalys patiently tolerated Broedi’s treatment. Neither of them said anything, although Broedi seemed on the verge of breaking the silence a number of times. Nikalys was glad he did not.
Once all of the thorns had been removed, Broedi said, “Lie down now, please.”
Nikalys complied.
A few moments after Broedi laid his hands on Nikalys’ chest, a slight warming sensation filled him and his heart began to beat faster, as if he had run from one end of Yellow Mud to the other and back again. He watched in pure wonderment as the shallow scratches on his arms sealed and faded. Wounds that should have taken more than a week to heal were soon gone. The deep punctures closed, but were not fully healed when Broedi withdrew his hands.
The Shapechanger said softly, “The rest you do on your own.”
Suddenly exhausted, Nikalys merely grunted.
Broedi reached back into his leather satchel and pulled a cloth pouch, different from the first. Opening it, he shook out a few green bundles that looked like small, soft pinecones. Handing one to Nikalys, he said, “Place this in your cheek. Do not swallow it.”
Nikalys stared at the herb, shook his head, and muttered, “Why?”
“It will help you sleep better.”
Fighting back a yawn, Nikalys said, “I don’t want to sleep.” He was not about to pass out in front of the Shapechanger, leaving himself and his sister helpless.
Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) Page 9
