The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy

by R. T. Kaelin

  “And stones don’t float,” stated Nikalys flatly. “He always holds things closely.”

  Nundle shook his head.

  “That is not what I mean. His time with Nelnora was much different than ours.”

  Nodding, Nikalys said impatiently, “Which he said himself. What is the issue?”

  Tobias peered up at Nikalys with pensive eyes.

  “I was in the chamber for but a handful of minutes.”

  Nundle added, “My time was even shorter.”

  Nikalys shrugged his shoulders.

  “And?”

  Tobias cocked an eyebrow, leaned forward, resting on his walking stick, and said, “Broedi was inside long enough that Tenerva brought us tea.” His eyes narrowed. “Twice.”

  “Why so long?” asked Nikalys, suddenly surprised. “What did they talk about?”

  “I asked,” said Tobias. “And he begged off answering me.”

  “Me, too,” added Nundle. Tiny flames danced in the tomble’s green eyes, reflecting the few torches burning in the hall.

  Tobias stared down the hall, back in the direction from which they had come, a deep frown on his face.

  “Something happened in that chamber that Broedi is hiding from us.”

  Chapter 23: Goodbye

  16th of the Turn of Luraana, 4999

  Sabine reached the top of the stairwell, stopped, and peered down the dark hallway. Two oak doors, both recessed in the stone wall, waited on the left. Three torches in rusted sconces lined the right side of the passageway. She eyed the first door worriedly, half-expecting it to creak open.

  She grasped both sides of her dress and lifted gently, ensuring that the hemmed bottom was not touching the stone floor. For at least the tenth time since leaving her room, she considered turning around, hurrying down the stairs, through the halls, and back to the bed she shared with Helene.

  She bit her lip and shook her head. Things needed to be said. And tonight was her last chance to say them.

  “Hells.”

  The whispered curse slipped out before she could stop it. It seemed as loud as stone cracking stone to her ears.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped from the wintry stairwell into the hallway. She passed the first door carefully, glancing at it briefly. She lingered for a moment, nearly stretching out an arm to knock. Instead, she turned her head forward and continued until she reached the end of the hall. Turning to face the second door, she stared at the wood grains running through the oak in the dim torchlight. She hesitated.

  A light breeze tickled her toes, drifting from under the bottom of the door and chilling her feet. She had worn her house sandals in order to move quietly, which had left her toes icy and exposed.

  Taking a deep breath and letting it out, she raised her hand and lightly tapped the door three times with her knuckles, barely making a sound.

  Suddenly, a light scuffling of boots on stone echoed from the stairwell back down the hall. She whipped her head, her heart nearly leaping from her chest, and peered down the hall.

  The stairwell was brightening. Someone was coming.

  Reaching up with her fist clenched tight, she knocked again, louder this time.

  She waited, staring down the hall with wide eyes. She was moments from rapping on the door one more time when it blessedly opened. Swiveling her head, she stared up into Nikalys’ sleepy yet startled face. A patch of hair on the top of his head stuck out awkwardly.

  Rubbing his half-shut eyes, he mumbled groggily, “Sabine?”

  Placing her left index finger on his lips, she gently shoved her right hand into his chest, driving him backwards into his room. Nikalys’ eyes widened as he backpedaled, but he did not resist. The moment she was inside, Sabine spun around and closed the door quickly, ensuring that wood met stone as gently and quietly as possible. The room plunged into moonlit darkness. Pressing an ear to the door, she listened to see if anyone was reacting to her presence in the hall.

  Behind her, Nikalys said, “What is—”

  Without turning around, she held up a hand and whispered, “Hush!”

  Nikalys obeyed.

  For the next minute, Sabine listened as the servant shuffled down the hall, humming a soft tune she did not recognize. From sound alone, she determined the man was replacing the torches. When the footsteps retreated down the hall, back to the stairwell, her shoulders slumped.

  “Oh, bless the Gods.”

  “What was that about?” whispered Nikalys. “Better yet, why are you here?”

  Sabine took in a tiny breath and rotated in place. Her eyes had adjusted to the gloomy, almost ethereal room. The shadows were midnight blue or black, every object lit up, a ghostly white.

  Nikalys stood a few paces from her, perched in a pool of moonlight streaming through the room’s single window. He wore a light-colored, long-sleeved knit shirt and loose fitting, matching pants that draped to cover the tops of his bare feet. He was shuffling from foot to foot, doing an almost impromptu dance. His soles slapped on the chilly, stone floor. She supposed it was to keep warm, but it looked absurd.

  “I take it your feet are cold?”

  Nikalys grinned and nodded, saying, “Quite.” Motioning behind him, he asked, “Do you mind?”

  She glanced past him and eyed his bed, his heavy blankets tossed aside. For a moment, she thought he was suggesting something untoward. The shock must have reached her face, for when she looked back at Nikalys his eyes were wide.

  He began to quickly stammer in a hushed voice, “Gods, no! I didn’t mean…I was just—” Furiously pointing to the floor by the bed, he whispered, “Boots. I meant I want my boots.”

  She stared back to the bed and saw a pair of leather boots lying on the floor.

  “Please, yes, of course.”

  She was glad it was dark. It would be harder for him to see her blushing.

  As he hurried over to his bed, sat down, and began to pull on his boots, Sabine shook her head. This was not how she wanted things to start at all.

  Sabine stepped lightly, crossing the small room and inspecting its contents as she went. This was the first time she had been here and she was struck by how bare the room was.

  “Where are all of your things?”

  Shoving his right foot into the second leather boot with a soft thump, he nodded his head in the direction of the door.

  “There. Ready to go to the harbor in the morning.”

  Sabine turned and spotted a large pile of sacks sitting to the right of the door. It appeared as if he were planning on never coming back.

  “Goodness, did you pack your entire life in there?”

  She continued to stare at the pile of sacks as if they were terribly interesting, waiting for a response. She could feel his eyes on her.

  “Sabine, why are you here?”

  She drew in a short, quick breath, fortifying herself, and swiveled back to stare at Nikalys. He was still sitting on the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, a blanket now draped around his shoulders.

  Forcing herself to hold his gaze, she said, “Kenders told me you were leaving tomorrow.”

  He nodded once.

  “I am.”

  A handful of thudding heartbeats passed.

  “Were you just going to leave without saying farewell? Helene would be crushed.”

  A faint smile touched his lips and he dropped his head. “I wanted to stop by and say something this evening, but…” Trailing off, he gripped his hands together and squeezed tight. “I can stop by in the morning before I leave. It’ll be early, though. High tide is at dawn.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll wake her.”

  Nikalys nodded.

  “Then I’ll be there.”

  “Good.”

  She smiled as if everything was settled.

  A long, awkward silence stretched out, a faint whistling of air the only thing that filled it.

  She wondered if she should leave now, as though the entire reason for her visit was a gentle reminder to say go
odbye to Helene when it was nothing more than pretense. Instead, she took a few quick steps toward the window and stared outside.

  A thin fog coated the world in a translucent haze that glowed in the moonlight. Peering through the mist, she could only make out the tops of a few bare-branched treetops along the bluff. She spotted the remains of a large nest, its twigs and straw still bunched together in a crook between branch and trunk. The faint sounds of waves crashing on the rocky shore drifted through the night.

  The scene was serene and peaceful, nothing like the strange, confusing storm of emotions raging inside her. Her chest felt tight.

  She shivered, defenseless against the nighttime chill.

  “Gods, it’s cold up here.”

  She heard Nikalys rise from the bed and approach. She kept her eyes straight, though, suddenly unsure why she had come. This felt more wrong than right.

  He stopped behind her and draped a heavy wool blanket over her shoulders. She wrapped her fingers around the rough fabric, pulled it tight around her, and murmured, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  His hands lingered on her shoulders for a moment before withdrawing.

  Nikalys whispered, “The moons look rather ominous, don’t they?”

  Sabine nodded silently. Both orbs hung low in the sky, shining through the mist, lustrous halos of faint rainbows surrounding them.

  He continued, “When I was little, Mother used to sit with us outside at night. We’d all stare at the sky and she’d point out the constellations, tell us their names.”

  A wistful smile graced Sabine’s lips.

  “My mother did the same with me.”

  The quiet returned.

  After a few moments, Nikalys said softly, “I never said anything to Mother, but staring up there, at the moons and stars…I always felt a little uneasy.”

  “Why?”

  “I could not tell you,” whispered Nikalys. “Then or now.” He paused a moment. When he resumed speaking, his voice had changed. A note of caution had slipped into his tone. “I will never deny the beauty of the night sky, but something about it scares me. I want to turn away as much as I want to stare.”

  Sabine’s eyes narrowed.

  “You aren’t talking about the sky, are you?”

  There was a long pause before he muttered, “No.”

  Sabine pressed her lips together and, before she lost her nerve, spoke in a firm and quiet tone.

  “I have feelings for you.”

  She continued to stare out the window, mildly upset with herself. She could face a horde of oligurts rushing up a hill, yet a conversation with a man rattled her.

  She heard—and felt on the nape of her neck—a heavy sigh.

  “Sabine, I—”

  “I am going to say what I must, Nikalys. Do not try to shush me.”

  He drew a breath to respond, paused a moment, and then exhaled.

  “Go on, then.”

  Nodding firmly, Sabine said, “To be clear, Nikalys Isaac, you do not get to tell me how to feel or what I want. Jak is a good man. A very good man.”

  “Yes, he is, which is why it would be best—”

  “Stop right there. If you say ‘he can have me’ again, you will be sporting a black eye on your voyage.”

  “I wasn’t going—”

  “Let me finish!”

  A quick, exasperated sigh slipped from Nikalys, yet he remained quiet.

  “Now,” began Sabine. “For all the wondrous qualities your brother possesses, he lacks one very important one: he is not you.” Her voice dropped to whisper. “The day my father died, you were the one who rushed to my rescue, without any thought of your own safety. I will never forget what you did for me and Helene that day, Nikalys. Never.”

  “Jak helped, too.”

  “But you were the first one down that hill.”

  “Jak was right behind me.”

  “Blast it, Nik! Stop it! Stop trying to sell me your brother like he’s a charm at a market!” She gave a short shake of her head, took a steadying breath, and continued. “You have feelings for me, do you not?”

  She paused for a breath, giving him the chance to deny. He did not.

  “And something more than duty—or your concern for Jak’s feelings—is holding you back. Am I right?”

  She hesitated again, hoping that, this time, he might say something. Yet only silence greeted her plea.

  Pressing her lips together, she nodded, and said, “Fine. Hold your tongue.” She tried not to be angry, knowing she would regret it, but some heat slipped into her tone. “But think about what I’ve said while you’re gone. I expect you’ll have plenty of time to do so starting tomorrow.”

  She was not expecting Nikalys’ response: a soft, bemused chuckle. The quiet laugh washed away her anger and broke her resolve. She could hear his smile and had to see it. Whirling around, she stared up into his eyes, glinting in the moonlight. The slight, lopsided smile she had imagined rested on his lips, kind and gentle. A half-dozen other emotions muddied his amusement, however. Sadness. Guilt. Hope. Happiness. Affection. Worry.

  On pure, sudden impulse, Sabine took a step forward, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. It felt natural to do, up until the moment her lips brushed his skin. Nikalys froze at her touch, flinching ever so slightly. Panic rushed though Sabine and she immediately withdrew.

  “I’m sorry. I…I shouldn’t have done that.”

  He stared at her with an honest, stunned expression, seemingly at a loss for words.

  Pushing her embarrassment deep inside, she summoned forth a bit of cool calmness and looked him steadily in the eyes. Pretending the past few moments had not occurred, she said in an almost-formal tone, “Please do not forget to say goodbye to Helene in the morning.”

  After a moment, Nikalys mumbled, “Of…of course.”

  With a prim, curt nod, Sabine said, “Good.” She needed to get out of here. Sweeping past him, she hurried to the door.

  “Sabine?”

  A flicker of hope dashing through her, she turned around and stared, a tiny smile gracing her lips.

  “Yes?”

  Nikalys pointed at her.

  “You still have my blanket.”

  Sabine gaped at him for a moment before her eyes narrowed to a pair of thin slits. A single, whispered word slipped from her lips.

  “Unbelievable.”

  With a short huff, she released the blanket and let it drop to the floor. Spinning around, she grabbed the door’s rope handle and pulled. She hurried down the hallway and never looked back. As she reached the top of the stairs, she heard a soft rattle as his door closed. She rushed down the stairs quickly, a scowl on her face. She should have stayed in her room.

  Chapter 24: Slavers

  17th of the Turn of Luraana, 4999

  The cart hit a hole, jostling Nimar sideways, into the side panel. His temple struck the wood with a dull thud, prompting a low, painful moan from his throat. He started to crack his eyelids open, but shut them tight almost immediately. The sky above was ablaze with the light of a thousand bonfires.

  He reached out with his left hand, hoping the sudden jolt had not displaced the white crane that had been sitting with him. As he felt about blindly, a tiny shred of sanity fought through the sludge of his mind, reminding him that there was no bird. He was hallucinating again. The wounds he had received from the Dust Man had festered, bringing the expected fever along with it. Lucidity and delusion had been battling for control of his mind and sanity was losing.

  A harsh, rough voice, full of reprimand, called out, “Blast it, Golt! Be careful! You’re going to break an axle!”

  A bad-tempered, scratchy voice replied, “Make up your mind! You want to go fast or slow?”

  Nimar recognized that voice as belonging to Golt, which meant the first had been their father.

  “Keep that tone with me and I’ll cut out your tongue and feed it to you!”

  Without doubt, that was thei
r father.

  “Why don’t we leave the cart here?” asked Golt. “We can take two horses and ride hard after them.”

  “What about Nimar?” growled his father.

  Golt hesitated before saying, “We can come back for him later.”

  Not trusting his brother and father to come back for him, Nimar tried to protest against his brother’s plan, but all that came out was a mumbled moan. His tongue did not want to work.

  A distinct creak of wood from the front of the cart resonated over the rhythmic squeaks of the bed. A moment later, Golt announced, “He’s awake.”

  “Of course he is, you muck-feeder. A corpse would awake with the way you’re driving.”

  “We might get to find out if that’s so,” said Golt. “He don’t look too good.”

  Nimar might have been upset with Golt had he not already come to the same conclusion himself. His death was inevitable. When wound-rot set in, without medicine from a healer, one was dead within days.

  He drifted in and out of lucidity for an unknown amount of time, bouncing about the back of the cart, when a sudden, strange howl cut through the air. The cry reminded him of the gray-nosed wolves that roamed the edges of the swamps of his youth, only it was deeper. Much deeper. The wolf’s call hung in the air for another heartbeat before cutting off abruptly.

  Nimar was about to mark the cry as hallucination when Golt asked, “What in the Nine Hells was that?”

  A second howl ripped through the air, deeper than the first and from a different direction. A third howl joined in, quickly followed by a fourth. Then a fifth.

  A tiny, wild smile crept over his lips as his fever surged ahead, pushing aside rational thought. Wolves were hunting them, and for some mad reason, that was humorous to him.

  “What do we do?!” called Golt. “Hold! Where are you going?!”

  In a sharp, frantic panic, his father shouted, “Save yourself!”

  Nimar heard the sound of horse’s hooves galloping away. Golt cursed and began screaming at the cart horses to run, repeatedly snapping the reins. Nimar began to bounce about the back of the cart as it rattled and creaked with each dip and hole it struck. He started to giggle.