by Kylie Leane
“I am glad to see you up and about. You had us worried.”
She took his paw, rubbing it to her cheek.
“I do apologise for appearing before you in such a dishevelled state.” He touched his chest. The ache of infection still wrapped itself about his throat, and fatigue was creeping into his limbs. Nixlye motioned him quickly into a nearby chair. She shook her head and clasped his paw tightly.
“Please! Sir, you are the guest amongst us. Even without a mane, you are the proudest looking prince in all Utillia.”
“Hey!” Aaldryn’s air-gills puffed out.
Nixlye waved dismissively at the young alpha. “Admit it: you have never seen a Gold Lion either.”
Aaldryn snorted. “Fine, fine. That is new.” He headed for the kitchen bench. Denvy heard him noisily fill a kettle, but his eyes remained firmly fixed upon the hand that held his paw. Once he would have been in awe at how small it was compared to his own, or how strong its grip was due to his weakened state. None of that mattered. It was a Human-shaped hand, with the vice grip of a Kattamont and soft, rosy fur spreading to fingers tipped with slender, bladed nails. The little queen had no air-gills, but her magnificent tail lay across the blanket spread over her lap.
“A half-breed,” Denvy murmured. “That should be impossible.”
The smile he received in return was surprisingly sad and her free hand squeezed against the blanket across her lap that bunched against her hidden legs.
“You are going to find that many things have changed in Utillia.” Nixlye released his paw. “It may take some time for you to understand that.”
He frowned. If the poachers they had encountered were anything to go by, then she was correct about that. But a Kattamont crossed with a Human—that was unimaginable, and yet she sat across from him. He could not deny her existence. What had happened to his land in his absence? His stomach twisted.
Denvy crinkled his brow, turning away. The little queen in the wheelchair had aided in dispatching the poachers, but she was not the one he remembered. She did not smell like the queen who had been in his presence, who had clipped off his mane.
“Who was it who carried me?”
“That would be Mother,” Aaldryn said from his station by the kitchen bench. “Though no doubt she would prefer you call her Zafiashid. She is an exiled queen.”
“I did not think such—”
“They do exist.” Nixlye bit her lip. “Mother has survived this long because she has vengeance in her blood. She desires to take back the Silvertide Pride, and her rightful place as its Queen. If anyone can do it, it is Mother.”
“But, yes, lone queens are unusual and unpredictable.” It was Jythal who spoke, his gaze vacant. “A queen needs a pride as much as a prince needs a brotherhood. Kattamonts must have families.” He stroked Jarvis’ hair aside from his sweating temples and reached for a cloth. Denvy watched as the young Kattamont removed a rough stone from a nearby bench and it broke into a scattering of water, wetting the cloth with a sweet-smelling liquid. Jythal settled the cloth across Jarvis’ neck.
“A Rune Wielder.” Denvy touched his chest, feeling the rumbling thrum of the slowly healing infection therein. “Do I have you to thank for my improved health?”
Jythal bobbed his head, causing his white air-gills to spread slightly. “When I joined the crew of the Lawless Child I became their doctor. I much prefer using my skills for healing.”
Denvy narrowed his lips, not wanting to imagine what else the Kattamont prince might have used his skills for. He paused his thoughts as Aaldryn handed him a cup, steaming with tea. He nodded his thanks.
“Runes are barely used in his era. It is hardly even known amongst the Sun Monks of Pennadot. Forgive me, but I find it incredibly difficult to understand how a blind Kattamont could be using the language of the Elementals.”
Jythal turned his head aside. “It is a woeful tale, sir. Maybe I shall tell it to you someday, when my courage returns to me.”
“I hope so.” He could understand the hesitation. It was unlikely the young prince had been born blind, and it was doubtful his story was pleasant if it involved the loss of his sight.
The cup in his paws was warm, its scent of peppermint and lemon calming on his aching bones. He sipped the hot brew. The luxury. It felt like centuries since he had last tasted something so divine.
I am glad we can bring you cheer again. It would seem you have all been through much to stumble your way into Utillia. Lavender and pink coloured his mind, mixed with the touches of cotton wool, soft but just rough enough to itch. Denvy could not stop himself; he chuckled as he graced Nixlye with a fond smile. She mirrored it as her hands picked at the blankets bundled around her lap. No doubt they were all handmade, giving her mind the touch of the homespun mother despite the lioness boiling deep within.
“A dreamathic.” Denvy set his tea down. “I have not heard a dreamathic voice in so many sol-cycles.”
“So you can hear me.” Nixlye beamed. “I told you he could hear me, Jythal.”
Jythal snorted.
Nixlye touched her chest. “I’ve been able to speak to Jythal since I first met him, but we have to be wearing a particular sort of…” She pulled out a necklace from under the thick scarf she wore, holding out the chipped rock that hung off one end. It looked plain from the outside, barely noteworthy as a jewel, but she turned it slowly, revealing the geode, glittering in the lights of the lanterns.
“Ah, I see now.” Denvy nodded. He picked at the yoke still stiff about his neck until the leather strap under it came loose, and with it, a string of similar jewels fell against his chest.
“So that explains how your mental voice can penetrate the yoke’s barrier. You’ve made your own dreamathic network. Very, very clever.”
“We have?” Nixlye blinked rapidly.
Denvy glanced from the young queen to Jythal. They had no idea what they had done. Interesting. They were running entirely off instinct. He wished some Messengers in Coltarian had as much initiative.
“I just thought it might help. I do not know much about dreamathics, other than what I read in the Iposti Archives, but these rocks have always helped Jythal and me. The little Kelib girl, Ki’b, said you were a Dream Master.”
It was the way she said it—Dream Master—that made him chuckle. He had not heard his title said with such reverence in a long time. It made him sound overly important and puffed up.
“I am. Well, I would be, if this—” he tugged at the yoke, “—wasn’t here. Dreamathics come in classes. Those who are of the minor classes can communicate through the Secondary Realm’s network, often using, as you have discovered, gem resonators, to increase their range and kinetic strength. The dreamathic Messengers who are born under the birth elemental gift of diamond have established a nexus of communication across the Plains of Blazing Fire. One could say they hijacked the old Zaprex crystal network and made it their own. It is something rather amazing to use if you ever get the chance.” Denvy sighed wearily. “The mid-level classes can submerge themselves into the Secondary Realm, but cannot affect the Primary Realm through it. It is the high-level class you want if you desire to manipulate dreams into reality.”
“And you’re a high-level class?” Nixlye asked.
“No.” Denvy shook his head. “I am a Dream Master. I accept that dreams are reality. There is a difference.” He held up his tea cup. “Some folk never figure out what it is.”
“So…” Jythal leant forward curiously, “did Nixlye and I accidently discover a dreamathic nexus then?”
“Most dreamathics are naturally drawn to things that will boost their projection fields. You were simply doing what was inbuilt into you, and by providing me with these gems you have widened my field a little, at least enough to join your nexus.” He motioned to Aaldryn. “I take it you are not dreamathic?”
The prince grunted, though it was neither out of spite nor disgust. It held an air of fondness as he touched a paw to Nixlye’s shoulder. “One voi
ce in my head is enough for me. I am but a humble warrior-scribe who seeks the treasures they dream of.”
“And we love you for it.” Jythal offered from the bedside.
“You’d better,” Aaldryn retorted, marching to his blood-brother’s side and lounging lazily over his shoulder. His tail twirled anxiously as his gaze settled on Jarvis.
“He looks worse than when I brought him to you.”
“That is just the fever of his remaining Human side. It must be discolouring his skin.”
Aaldryn leapt back in surprise as Jarvis sat up with a shout. Denvy contained his alarm as Jythal lost his balance, ending up on the floor. Aaldryn ignored his blood-brother, bouncing over him elegantly and landing beside the distraught Jarvis to hold him down firmly. The young alpha’s air-gills were flat against his back and neck, usually a sign of yielding. Yet, in his case, Denvy was sure it was to hide them away, to try and appear as kindly and unthreatening as possible. The alpha, it seemed, was dealing with Jarvis as though he were simply another blood-brother prince.
Denvy rose, aiding Jythal to stand. He noticed the strain in Aaldryn’s arms as he held Jarvis back against the bed, as if Jarvis’ strength was uncontrollable in his panicked state.
“Whoa, whoa, it is all right, Jarvis. You are safe.”
“Master Titus?” Jarvis choked.
“He’s fine. He’s resting with your brother Clive and sister Penny. Or…brooding. Maybe brooding is a better word. I think he is rather sore about losing that monster.”
“Yes. Yes. He would be.” The boy groaned, sinking back into the bed. “My head hurts.”
“That is not surprising,” Jythal said. “You are very dehydrated. Here, drink this. See if you can keep the tonic down now. You kept throwing it up before.” Jythal carefully lifted Jarvis’ head and gradually fed the liquid to the young lad.
Jarvis sighed deeply in relief.
“Thanks,” he whispered.
Aaldryn slowly released him, crouching back on his heels. He motioned to Jythal.
“This is Jythal.”
“Your mate?” Jarvis squinted.
Aaldryn tipped his head back and laughed.
“No, No. This is my blood-brother from my brotherhood. He is a prince.”
“Oh…” Jarvis frowned. “Sorry, you all look the same.”
Aaldryn waved a paw. “You will not think that when you meet Mother. She is very obviously a queen. This is our mate, Nixlye.” Aaldryn unfurled his tail, allowing Nixlye to wheel forward. Jarvis’ eyes shone as they scanned the young queen, assessing the difference. It was a relief, at least, that the machine within the boy was still functioning. Denvy released the tension in his shoulder muscles. Whatever had happened to the young Human had badly damaged his Human flesh, but it did seem that the philepcon liquid of the protector bot that had infected him was recovering swiftly.
Aaldryn slowly continued, his voice sturdy and comforting. “Nixlye is also a queen, but outside of this cabin she pretends to be a neutral princess. It is so that Mother is not caught out as being a prideless queen.”
Nixlye inclined her head in greeting. “Your family is safe, Jarvis. The little Kelib girl refused to leave your side, so we managed to convince her to sleep in here. She was very tired.”
“Probably because I gave her a little something to help with the sleep,” Jythal said.
Nixlye gasped and swatted the doctor’s arm. “You didn’t!”
Jythal shook his head. “She knew I did. She’s very good with herbs.”
Tears had gathered in Jarvis’ eyes, his attention upon Ki’b, sleeping in the cot by the warmth of the stove. Gradually he turned toward Denvy. Denvy smiled. It was worth torture at the hands of Twizels—the happiness of a single child.
“Khwaja Denvy, you’re all right.” Jarvis clasped hands to his mouth.
Denvy approached carefully, trying not to let his aching bones and muscles reveal too much of his condition. He knelt beside the bed and reached out, brushing tears from the boy’s hot cheeks. Dry skin cracked as Jarvis beamed at him. It lit Denvy’s hearts with a beat of cheer, gratefulness, and relief to be alive.
“Oh, I will be, laddie. I will be. You rest now.”
“But, sir, I have to go! I met the Key! And I need to—”
Denvy shook his head.
“It will be all right, Jarvis.” He sent a gentle, dreamathic pulse forward, through the paw against the Human’s cheek. “However important things seem right now, they will still be here on the morrow.”
Jarvis’ eyelids drooped, his body easing into the relief of sleep. Denvy bent forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.
“You brave little soldier,” he murmured.
As he rose, Denvy felt Nixlye’s hand on his paw. She pulled him back to his chair, settling him down again.
“You shouldn’t walk around so much. Trust me. I know all about that.” Her cheeks crinkled with silent mirth.
Aaldryn clambered onto the bed, making a nest as he curled up beside Jarvis, his tail uncoiling into a thick blanket. Jythal slipped under it, his paw searching for a book that he threw at his blood-brother. “Read it to me. It’s about Human anatomy.”
“I thought we already knew everything about Nixlye’s anatomy.”
“I hear Human males are different.”
“Really? Such a strange race. What’s different?”
“Read it to me, and find out.”
Their voices settled into the background, like the crackle of the flames in the stove that Nixlye stoked into life as she threw more compressed patties onto the coals. Denvy played his paws over the cracks in the table’s wood. He felt an odd pang in his chest. Jealousy, was it? Surely not. Surely, when he looked upon the two princes, he was not jealous? Yet he had never joined a brotherhood in his youth. He had lived among Zaprexes, in their crystal fairy-castles, learning how to use his dreamathic mind, how to control machines and fly sky-ships. He had been surrounded by Zaprexes, but never truly had he been a part of their ethereal world either. He had loved them, and they had loved him—but his own people had come to fear him and he, in the end, had turned away from them because of that fear.
Denvy leant on his paw.
It was odd that he saw none of that fear now, in the two young Kattamonts nursing his hybrid cub.
They did not fear the Zaprex machine he was becoming.
Denvy stirred as a hand touched his arm and he looked at Nixlye.
“We have a legend here in Utillia about the Gold Lion who once flew the Rainbow City. It is said that the prince could make things vanish with a wave of his paw, and call them back again without a word. He had no brotherhood, no queen, he was alone…among the Angels.”
Denvy raised an eyebrow.
Angels. The word was not Common Basic. It was not even Kattamont—it was Zaprex, a word from the little blue planet of his creators. How strange to hear it slipping from the lips of the beautiful young queen.
“Angels. Wherever did you hear such a word, my dear?”
She frowned. “Like I said, it is just a legend we tell. Why?”
Denvy swirled the tea-leaves in the bottom of his cup. “It is not a very Kattamont word. To hear it spoken aloud now is rather strange, that is all.”
Nixlye shrugged. “Utillia is built upon the skeletons of Zaprexes. Our whole land is strange.”
He chuckled. “True enough.”
“You’re him, aren’t you, though? That Gold Lion?”
Denvy raised his brow. He let his silence be the confirmation she desired.
“Why did you never come back?”
He studied his paws. “When all you know is how to run, my dear, you simply keep running.”
Small fingers touched under his chin, startling him as they lifted his head, causing him to gaze into blue Human eyes, so much like Zinkx’s. “Well, you are needed here. As the Long Night comes, we will need a Gold Lion to light our way.”
He had never thought it possible, in all his long sol-cycles of
living, to be so counselled by one so young.
CHAPTER NINE
We must not fight,
One-Before-Whom-Evil-Trembles.
We must not fight.
Not now,
When Ra has fallen beyond the horizon,
When Osiris is scattered amongst the Data,
When my Lilies whither.
Please,
How can I appease you,
My Beloved?
Private Communications Link.
Utillian Time 19:36PM.
Signal: Strong.
Upload: Completed.
Do you wish to send?
Clive’s bountiful energy had returned. It was as though it had never left. Denvy chuckled, watching the boy tumbling on the large bed beside him with all the agility given to his race. Denvy startled as Penny pounced on him, wrapping a deep red scarf around his neck and tying it in an intricate knot at his chest. The sensation of the fabric against his bare neck, void of its magnificent mane, was a strange one. Penny smiled into his eyes.
“It will hide the yoke, and add some weight. Mother would wear an apron after my little brother was stillborn, she said it made her feel better. I thought…it would help you, too.” Her hands were trembling as they often did whenever she mentioned her family. Like all his cubs, she, too, had her share of horrific memories and great loss.
“Thank you, my dear.” Denvy touched the scarf. “Red, the colour of Messengers.”
Penny hugged his large arm. “I am so glad you are all right, Khwaja Denvy.”
“I am, too.”
He set her down upon the floor as Clive dived into his lap, whooping loudly.
“Khwaja Denvy! You must see this place. It is so amazing! There are more Kattamonts here, just like you. I ate this disgusting thing. It was like a slug, but it was worse. Only, it tasted really nice.” The boy’s voice was hoarse, his neck still purple with bruises, but the swelling had improved. Denvy tipped him upside down, blowing a loud rasp into his bare stomach, which earned him a squeal in delight. He set him down, tapping him lightly on the head to send him scooting out the door.
