In the Days of the Witch-Queens (Tales from The Veldt Book 1)

by Uitvlugt,Donald Jacob

  He sees each and every cub in his mind’s eye, Soola and the pridelord, and every lion of his pride. So many dead. So many he knows he will never see again.

  “Sorry... The rain... Something in my eyes...”

  He does not know how he makes it the last distance to the earthen cave, but he does. He drags Kaardok to the very back, where Lady Irula has lit a small, smokeless fire.

  She goes to his brother at once. Farinoor has seen her heal many in the past, some with wounds worse than his brother’s. When she looks up at him and shakes her head, she does not have to say anything. Farinoor hugs his arms around himself to keep from roaring out in grief and rage.

  “Are you sure you still want your revenge, Farinoor? Even at such a cost?”

  “They have taken everything from me. I will make them pay. I will make her pay.”

  He does not understand the look she gives him. She crouches beside Kaardok’s body and rests her paws on it. A shudder goes through her, as if what she now does fills her with revulsion and self-loathing.

  Before Farinoor’s eyes, Kaardok’s body decays. Fur and skin peel back from wounds he had not even noticed. The flesh beneath blackens and putrefies. Great boils well up all over the body, pulsing with a with a sickening green pus.

  Just when the sight of his brother decaying before his eyes might drive Farinoor mad, Irula stops. She frowns over the decayed thing that was once Kaardok and then lances one of the boils with a flint knife. Farinoor gags as she milks its obnoxious contents into an earthenware cup.

  The shamaness moves from boil to boil until the cup is filled. Then she brings it to the fire, where she heats it, muttering strange words as it bubbles. From time to time, she adds herbs from the pouch on her belt.

  “It is done.”

  Farinoor starts awake, not realizing that he had fallen asleep on his feet. Lady Irula takes the cup from the fire and passes it to the lion. He downs the contents in a single swallow.

  It burns in the pit of his stomach like liquid metal. He grunts in agony and sinks to his knees.

  Lady Irula limps over to him. This working has taken much from her, it seems. She kisses him on the forehead. Already he can feel the fire burning where her lips touch.

  “Go. Do what you must.”

  He nods and gets to his feet. After a brief prayer for his brother, he heads from the cave into the storm. He moves a safe distance from Irula’s hiding place. Only then does he give vent to his anger and grief. The roar, while it lasts, challenges the very thunder itself.

  Until a blow from the butt of a spear renders him unconscious.

  * * *

  A soft cough brought Diata back to the present. She had been flexing and unflexing her claws as she had daydreamed. Soon they would all fear her, or be dead.

  “So, Kiya. Let’s see what you’ve brought us, hmm?”

  Kiya nodded and drew back the flap of the tent. A rattle of chains. The Breastless drew a male inside. Tall, perhaps even a head taller than Diata. Pleasantly muscular, though he now bore the signs of malnutrition. And young. Seventeen or eighteen summers. His long hair did not yet make a true mane.

  Diata laughed and clapped her hands in delight. “Excellent, Kiya. Wherever did you find him?”

  “One of our recent raids on a small pride. Estraal’s Pride, I think they called themselves. Not very good fighters, if this one is any indication.”

  Diata rose, and the male’s eyes watched her. He had been hurriedly doused with water and scrubbed clean for this audience. He was clad only in a ragged loincloth and heavy shackles about his wrists and ankles. A redness ringed his eyes, perhaps signaling the onset of some disease. Yet in spite of his condition, there was no fear in his golden eyes. Anger perhaps, even defiance, but no fear.

  The ghost of a frown passed over Diata’s lips. “Please remind our guest, Kiya, that he is in the presence of his betters.”

  “Kneel, dog.” Kiya barked out the order and kicked the back of the male’s legs. The young lion sank down to his knees. He shivered and a grimace of pain crossed his face. But he did not cry out. He simply continued to study Diata.

  Diata let a single claw scratch under the male’s chin. He shivered again. “Do you have a name, cub?”

  No answer. Diata smiled and licked her teeth. The strong ones were always so much more fun to break.

  “Hmm... Then I shall call you Farinoor...”

  The male stiffened at this. Farinoor. Little Cub. The mocking name hit a nerve. Perhaps the taunt had been used against him before. It would be used against him again. She stroked the male’s left cheek.

  “Have you nothing to say to me, Farinoor?”

  “Only two things... Lady...”

  Diata exchanged glances with Kiya. The male’s voice was soft, but pleasing to the ear. Perhaps a little hoarse due to his condition, but that only added to its charm. Diata liked her males panting. She could not decide whether the terms of respect had been given grudgingly or ironically.

  “And they are...”

  “The first is that you are indeed as beautiful as they say.”

  Diata blinked, and then began to laugh. “Young males in chains say the most charming things, don’t they, Kiya.” Kiya only grunted in response. Jealousy, perhaps. “And what else do you have to say, my Farinoor?”

  The male stared into Diata’s eyes. She did not like that look. Those golden eyes were not cowed by her presence. A fire burned in them that she did not control. She would have to make sure that changed by the end of the evening. Break the male, one way or the other. Either option was equally pleasurable.

  “The second is that your time has reached its end. You will die, and your name will be forgotten.”

  Diata’s claws raked down the side of the male’s face, leaving five trails of blood. The male did not even flinch. She quirks one ear in surprise. Oh, she was going to have fun breaking this one. Diata turned to Kiya. What would the male say in response to this?

  “Run to my commanders and tell them to find the remnants of this Estraal’s Pride. They are to hunt them down and kill them all, from the pridemother to the last cub.”

  The male stiffened. Diata bit her lips to keep from smiling. She only hoped the little cub did not cave in too easily.

  “You don’t approve, my Farinoor? But what could a powerless prisoner such as yourself possibly offer me that might persuade me to spare his people?” She trailed a clawed fingertip up his cheekbone and around the curve of his ear. She could heart his heart pound, smell his blood. “Whatever could a young, virile male such as yourself give to me?”

  The insides of the male’s ears turned a bright red and he looked to the ground. It was all Diata could do to keep from laughing. She rested her palm against the blood flowing down from the male’s cheek.

  “Say it, Farinoor. Say it, and I might honor your request...”

  The male looked up. Diata could not read the expression in his eyes. “Spare my people, Great Lady Diata, and I give myself freely...to your pleasure...”

  “There now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Diata turned to Kiya. “Leave us.”

  Kiya cocked her head curiously, then looked down pointedly at the chains on the male. Diata laughed.

  “Farinoor has promised himself to me of his own free will. No harm will come to me. But if it will make you feel better, Kiya, you can stand outside and listen. You might even learn something.”

  The Breastless frowned but said nothing further. Kiya exited the tent, leaving Diata alone with the male. She licked her lips and began to circle the lion slowly, appraising him. He did not react to the scrutiny, and Diata had not expected him to. She had yet to decide whether it was because he was exceptionally brave, or exceptionally stupid.

  “You’ve heard stories of me, my Farinoor,” Diata said when she had completed the circuit. It was a statement of fact, not a question. “What have you heard?”

  The male looked into Diata’s eyes but said nothing. Diata shook her head and ran her clawtips
over the wounds on the male’s cheek.

  “Come now. Remember our bargain. I am a strict mistress, but I can be generous as well.”

  Diata closed her eyes, hummed softly under her breath. She felt her palm grow warm. She ran it up and down the male’s cheek. When she opened her eyes again, the male’s wounds were gone. Not even a scar. Every soft fur back in place.

  For the first time there was a hint of fear in the male’s face. Many of the more primitive prides distrusted magic entirely. The witch-queens had given them good reason to fear it. Diata found it amusing to see such superstitions at work.

  “Nothing to say, my Farinoor?”

  The male licked his lips. “It is said that you like your...partners to be whole before you take your pleasure from them...”

  Diata threw back her head and laughed. Mostly because the idiot was right. It was so much more enjoyable to break down a strong foe than push someone weak and cowering in fear over the edge.

  Diata stepped back a few paces from the male. She opened her robe. It fell to the ground with a silken whisper. That got a reaction from the male as well.

  “You have already said that I am beautiful. Am I not desirable too, my Farinoor?”

  Diata slowly ran her paws over her body. Golden eyes followed every movement. The male swallowed and nodded.

  “The correct answer is, ‘Yes, mistress.’”

  “Yes, Lady Diata... Your form is desirable...” A husky purr entered the male’s voice. Diata noted well that he did not answer as instructed, but continued.

  “I have never disappointed a lover.” Though their screams mingled pain with pleasure. “Do you not want me, my Farinoor?”

  A pause. The male’s tail flicked behind him. He looked at the ground and mumbled something.

  Diata smiled, walked up to the male. She rubbed her cheek against his, blew on the artery that ran up his neck. “What was that, my Farinoor?” She reached down and undid the ties to the male’s loincloth. “I did not hear your answer...”

  Diata again could not read the look in the male’s eyes. “Yes, mistress. I want you...”

  What the young male lacked in skill as a lover, he more than made up for in enthusiasm. They both fell asleep shortly before dawn. Diata woke some time later and stretched luxuriously on the cushions. These were the true pleasures in life. To crush your enemies into the mud. To sleep in late. To wake up with a naked, not quite tame male beside you.

  Diata studied the young lion in the light that streamed in around the tent poles. In spite of the chains he still wore, Farinoor was...regal. The lines of his body were more than handsome. They were noble. Some of her followers murmured that Diata should take a consort. With a little more training, she could do far worse than this creature...

  Diata frowned. What delirium was this? She was starting to sound sentimental. It was only a male. Pretty, but useful only to scratch a certain itch and then to be discarded when she saw fit. She could not develop feelings for any mere male. She could not afford to do so.

  Perhaps she could wait a few days. She had heard stories of the...ardor of the males from these primitive prides. It could be quite fun to see if they were true... No. Best to end it now, before she ran the risk of becoming too attached.

  “I might even spare what’s left of your pride. For a season or two...”

  Diata rolled the still-sleeping male onto his back. Claws flashed. Ten streaks of red appeared on the white fur of the male’s chest. Diata straddled his waist, ran her palms up and down his chest. She shivered. His blood was strong. Thick. Fierce. Her magic hungered for more.

  She tore into the wounds on the male’s chest until the blood dripped down her arms. It was not enough. She smeared his blood over her body, which drank it in. There was power here, power unlike anything she had tasted before. She moaned as her system fed.

  Diata rubbed herself against his body. She lapped the blood from his wounds. It was not enough. She felt like she was on fire. That her very marrow, the core of her being was aflame. She needed more of his blood to quench the fire, and the more she drank, the more the fire raged.

  She panted on top of him. And only then did she see that his eyes were open. Watching her. A wry smile on his handsome, cubbish face.

  “What did you... What are... No...”

  His laugh was bitter, without mirth. “That is part of it, yes. I have the taint of magic in my blood.”

  Male magic was an abomination, not like female magic. It was uncontrollable. Wild. She could feel the strange power inside her. A whirlwind of fire. But that was not all.

  “The shamaness of our pride is one of the few that has not given in to the sickness of you witches. She told me what I am, and also how I might use it to destroy you.”

  Farinoor embraced Diata with his shackled arms, pulled her to his bloody chest. She could not keep her body from drinking in his blood.

  “As long as you can take in the blood of your victims, almost nothing can destroy you. Your healing magic draws life from their blood. But if the blood is poisoned...”

  Diata’s eyes grew wide. She struggled in the male’s grasp. Her body was drunk on the liquid fire it was taking in. The fire within grew stronger. Diata screamed in pain.

  “Our shamaness took the pus festering in a male your army had maimed. My brother. She poisoned my blood with its foulness. And now your blood is poisoned too.”

  Diata snarled. The fire within was burning its way out. She wanted to claw off her own skin to get at the flames. Perhaps then she could extinguish them. Even physical fire would be a relief compared to the pain. No. She needed to think. Blood would quench the flames. Oceans and oceans of blood.

  “I was afraid that when you healed my cheek, you might have taken the poison from me. But that would have required that you give of yourself, without bargaining for anything in return. The great Diata? Heal a mere male? A little cub? Never.’

  The male smiled. “Your blood is tainted now. Nothing can ever purify it. You may perhaps prolong your life by draining new victims. But the poison will win. You will die. The Veldt will be rid of you.”

  Diata screamed in hatred and pain. The burning! She clawed at Farinoor, ripping off chunks of fur and skin. The more his blood flowed, the more the fire raged. His laughter rang in her ears, even when he no longer had a throat. He wore that thrice-damned smile on his face until he died.

  The fire in her blood did not die. It raged hotter with each pulse of her heart. Farinoor was wrong. He had to be. She was one of the greatest magic-users in the land, destined to rule the entire Veldt. She would not be defeated by a cub from a pride no one had heard of.

  “Kiya! I need you!”

  The Breastless came into the tent in a run, drawn dagger in one paw, wiping sleep from her eyes with the other. Diata was on her in an instant. At another time, she might have been amused by the look on Kiya’s face as her mistress slit her throat with her claws. But the burning blotted out all other considerations. Blood geysered from the Breastless’s veins. Diata bathed in it, the red liquid quenching the fire for a moment. Yet the more blood her flesh drank in the more the flames within her rose.

  She had to purify her blood. She threw open the flap of her tent. Most of her army still lay abed. Five thousand vessels of blood. She could wash the fire from her body. She would douse the fire. She always came back stronger, and she would do so again. Even if she had to drain her entire army to do it.

  * * *

  The stories from the age of the witch-queens relate how one of the strongest of their number, a blood-witch, went mad one morning. By dawn of the next day, she had slaughtered her army and bathed in its blood. And when there was no one left to kill, she made a pyre and immolated herself. Her fall was the beginning of the end of the witch-queens’ reign of terror.

  As the years passed, her name was forgotten completely. But in Estraal’s Pride, they still remember the young male, called by a nickname the pride gave him in his cubhood, Farinoor. They sing of his brav
ery and the sacrifice he made to this very day.

  About the Author:

  Donald Jacob Uitvlugt lives on neither coast of the United States, but mostly in a haunted memory palace of his own design. His short fiction has appeared in numerous print and online venues, including Cirsova Magazine and Flame Tree Publishing’s Science Fiction anthology. He also regularly serves as a judge at the weekly one-on-one writing competition at TheWritersArena.com.

  Donald strives to write what he calls “haiku fiction,” stories that are compact in scope but big in impact. If you enjoyed In the Days of the Witch-Queens, let him know either at his webpage: http://haikufiction.blogspot.com or via Twitter: @haikufictiondju.

  If you enjoyed In the Days of the Witch-Queens, check out Donald Jacob Uitvlugt’s other stories.

  Tales from The Veldt

  Sword and sorcery adventures set in a world populated by anthropomorphic lions.

  1. In the Days of the Witch-Queens

  2. Irula’s Apprentice (coming December 2016)

  3. Jelaani’s Choice (coming February 2017)

  4. Carea’s Song (coming April 2017)

  The Adventures of Cale ap Corwin

  Light fantasy starring an unlikely young hero.

  1. Serpent’s Heart (coming December 2016)

  2. In the Ruins of Amir (coming March 2017)

  3. TBD (coming June 2017)

  4. TBD (coming September 2017)

  Chō the Assassin

  A young woman with the mind of a child needs only a hypnotic suggestion to become the most fearsome demon-hunter known to medieval Japan.

  1. The Butterfly Path (coming November 2016)

  2. The Flowing Darkness (coming February 2017)

  3. The Cricket’s Cry (coming April 2017)

  4. The Plover’s Wind (coming June 2017)