The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy

by R. T. Kaelin

  Sabine’s deep concern for her sister stepped aside a moment, making room for confusion. Staring down at the top of Helene’s head, she asked, “What was that, dear?”

  Broedi lifted a hand and shook his head once, halting any further questions. Reaching out to pat Helene’s leg, he rumbled, “You can go back to sleep now, uora. You were very brave tonight. Thank you.” He gave her one last pat, rose from his crouch, and eyed Sabine, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Once she is sleeping, we must talk.” With that, he turned around and moved back to Tobias.

  “Sing to me, Sabine,” murmured Helene. Looking down, Sabine found Helene staring up, tears in her eyes. “Sing me my song, please.”

  Somehow, Sabine managed to summon a smile.

  “Of course, dear. Lie down, now.”

  Once Helene was snuggled back under the blankets, Sabine began to stroke Helene’s raven-black hair while softly singing Happy Times at the Fair. As she sang, she repeatedly looked back to the White Lions. The pair had retreated to the room’s far corner, near the chair and table, and was speaking in low whispers.

  It took four passes through the lullaby before Helene fell back to sleep. The moment Sabine was sure the girl would not wake up, she slid from the bed and headed straight for the corner. Tobias, in the midst of speaking as she approached, glanced up and shut his mouth immediately. Stopping before them, Sabine put her hands on her hips and spoke in an urgent, hushed tone.

  “Tell me what this means. Now.”

  Broedi gestured to the chair.

  “Please sit.”

  She shot back quietly, “I don’t want to sit.”

  Tobias urged gently, “I think you should.”

  “I don’t want to sit,” hissed Sabine. “I want to talk.”

  “That is your choice,” rumbled the hillman. He hesitated a moment before nodding back to the bed. “When you were young, did your mother sing to you like that?”

  Apparently, the series of odd questions were to continue.

  Momentarily caught off guard, Sabine recovered quickly and nodded.

  “Yes, why?”

  “Your voice is quite soothing,” rumbled Broedi.

  “Very pleasant,” agreed Tobias, a wistful smile on his face. “When you sing, you sound just like her.”

  Not following, Sabine asked, “Like who?”

  “Your mother,” answered Broedi.

  “How could you possibly know what she—” She stopped short as the unusual line of questions suddenly made sense. She remained quiet a moment, looking between hillman and tomble. “Are you saying…no, wait. What are you saying?”

  The pair exchanged a look, Tobias nodded once, and Broedi turned back to her.

  “Your mother was a White Lion.”

  Sabine shut her eyes tight. Her mind raced as countless bits and pieces about her life and family took on an entirely new meaning. Feeling a bit woozy, she opened her eyes, moved to the lone chair in the room and collapsed into it. Her dress bunched up beneath her, but she left it alone.

  She sat in silence for a time, shaking her head nonstop. It seemed impossible, yet it explained so much.

  Why they lived in the middle of the grasslands.

  Why Mother never went to town.

  Why she was so talented with the Strands.

  Why she looked years younger than Father did, even though they were supposedly the same age.

  She was about to accept the impossible as fact when something occurred to her.

  “Hold a moment…”

  Since arriving at Storm Island, she had made frequent visits to the keep’s small library, finding—unsurprisingly so—that many of the texts and books focused on the White Lions. By now, she knew quite a lot about the heroes.

  Looking up to Broedi and Tobias, she said, “None of the White Lions were named Jeanelle.”

  “That is true,” acknowledged Broedi as he moved closer to her. Standing before her chair, he added, “Most likely, she adapted it to help remain hidden. At times, I went by ‘Brady.’”

  Tobias raised a hand.

  “Toby, here.”

  Dropping to a knee, Broedi stared at her and said, “You might have known her as Jeanelle Moiléne, mother and wife. But to us, she was Jeanne Palielle, friend and fellow White Lion.”

  Sabine shook her head, her mind rebelling against what they were suggesting.

  “No. This is not possible.”

  “Why?” asked Tobias. Hobbling closer, he stood beside Broedi and leaned on his walking stick. “From what you’ve told us, it is more than possible. It is truth. Jeanne had auburn hair, green eyes, and a voice that put every morning dove to shame.”

  Broedi, who had been nodding along with Tobias, added, “And she could touch Fire, Water, Stone, Soul, and Void. The same as Helene.”

  “If what you say is true, why can Helene touch them but I can’t?”

  “Perhaps you will one day,” rumbled Broedi. “It comes to some later in their lives.”

  Tobias added, “I knew a longleg who was in his seventieth year when he suddenly discovered he could touch Air and Life. The poor soul was terrified.”

  Sabine shifted her gaze to the tomble.

  “Will that happen to me?”

  Tobias shrugged.

  “It might. It might not. Who knows? And as you are as much your father’s child as Jeanne’s, it might be—”

  “Stop!” hissed Sabine as another surge of denial washed through her. “This is madness! My mother was not Jeanne Palielle! She was not a White Lion!”

  With sympathy in his eyes, Broedi said, “Yes, she—”

  “No!” snapped Sabine, shaking her head vigorously and sending her long black hair whipping back and forth. “She’s dead! White Lions can’t die!”

  Broedi shared a quick look with Tobias before turning back to her.

  “That is the one thing that has us puzzled. Tell us about the day Helene was born.”

  “Must I?”

  This was a memory she avoided.

  Broedi nodded.

  “Please.”

  Sabine dropped her eyes and thought back to that day four—almost five—years ago. Shutting her eyes tight, she spoke, keeping her voice as steady as she could.

  “It was early Spring, the Turn of Duryn. Father was turning over the fields, getting them ready for planting. I was inside with Mother, sitting at the table and reading. She was cleaning, getting things ready for the founding-wife to arrive from Stooert the following week. Suddenly, she gasped, grabbed her stomach, and told me to get Father. I ran outside, screaming for him. He dropped the shovel and he came running. I was gone for only a moment, but when I got back—”

  She stopped, her throat catching as she remembered the scene awaiting her.

  “Mother was lying on their mattress. Her dress was soaked red. It took me a moment to realize it was blood. Gods, there was so much blood…”

  She felt tears threatening to come and tried to hold them back.

  “Father panicked. He had no idea what to do. Mother, like always, remained perfectly calm and talked him through everything. I did what I could to help, but mostly I just held Mother’s hand.”

  Sabine glanced down to her hands in her lap, remembering her mother’s tight grip.

  “Helene came fast. At least, that’s what Mother said. All I remember is thinking how tiny she was, her little body in Father’s hands, still covered with dirt. I knew nothing about babies, but I could tell something was wrong right away. Helene’s skin was a pale gray color, her arms and legs hung limp. Oddly enough, it reminded me of a doll Father had brought me from Stooert one time. And she was quiet. Absolutely quiet. I thought she was dead. Father did, too. I could see it in his eyes.”

  “And your mother?” rumbled Broedi softly. “What did she do?”

  “She begged. Over and over, she asked to hold Helene. ‘Give her to me! I can get her back! I can get her back!’ At first, Father refused, but he eventually relented and handed Helene’s little body
over. Mother pulled me to her, gave me a kiss and hug, and told me to be strong for Father and Helene. She held tight. Gods, did she hold tight…”

  For some reason, her arms hurt. Looking down, she found that she was hugging herself, squeezing her upper arms, digging her fingers into the muscles. Releasing her grip, she placed her hands in her lap just as a tear fell to land on her wrist. She did not bother to wipe it. Or the ones that followed.

  “She kissed Father, told us she loved us both, and closed her eyes. A few moments later, Helene started to cry, her face turned pink, and she began to wiggle in Mother’s arms. I was so happy, but Father started to cry, the first and only time I ever saw him do so. I didn’t understand why he was so sad until I looked up to Mother’s face.”

  Sabine paused, looked up to Broedi through tear-blurred eyes, and muttered, “She’d never open her eyes again…”

  Broedi looked away and stared into the fire, the tan skin around his eyes twitching. Tobias dropped his head to his chest and remained that way, as motionless as a statue. No one said a word.

  After a few moments, Broedi looked back to her.

  “What happened next?”

  Sabine drew in a long, shuddering breath and let it back out slowly before answering.

  “I bundled up Helene while Father buried Mother in the longpepper field.”

  “Your loss is my own,” rumbled the hillman. “Your mother will be missed. She was a good friend.”

  Without looking up, Tobias murmured, “And a better person.” His voice was thick with emotion.

  Sabine shook her head—less stridently than before—and said, “My mother was Jeanelle Moiléne, a farmer. She was not a White lion. White Lions can’t die.”

  “If the wound is severe enough, we can,” said Broedi. He rose from his crouch and took a step back. “Do you know the Celystiela who chose Jeanne to be her champion?”

  Sabine’s stomach clenched. She did.

  “Maeana. The Goddess of Death.”

  Nodding, Broedi asked, “Did you know that many called her the Soul Speaker?”

  “I read that in one of the books here.”

  Tobias lifted his head and asked, “Did the book say why she was called that?”

  Sabine shook her head.

  “No, it didn’t.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Broedi rumbled, “When a mortal dies, the soul begins its journey to Maeana’s hall. Until it reached its destination, Jeanne alone could speak with it. Ask it questions, learn what it knew in life. Sometimes, she would wonder aloud whether it was possible to keep a soul from completing its journey.” He paused a moment before adding. “And perhaps even convince it to return.”

  Sabine’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

  “What are you saying?”

  Broedi said, “That Helene was stillborn. Lifeless at birth. And that Jeanne used her gift to follow Helene’s soul and…” He trailed off and shook his head. “To be honest, I do not know what happened then.” He shifted his gaze over to Helene. “Something did, though. Something brought Helene back.”

  Sabine peered over at her little sister, a small lump beneath the blankets. The last stone in her wall of denial fell away. Too much fit.

  Turning back to Broedi and Tobias, Sabine muttered, “My mother was a White Lion.”

  The pair nodded slowly.

  Sabine took a deep breath and let out a long, heavy sigh.

  “So what does this mean?”

  With a shake of his head, Broedi said, “I am not sure. This is unexpected.”

  “Not exactly,” muttered Tobias. “Her death was foretold in Indrida’s prophecy, yes? ‘One will perish?’”

  “That is true,” rumbled Broedi.

  Staring into the hearth’s fire, Tobias said, “Something bothers me about all this, though.” He tilted his head back to look at the hillman. “Why would Nelnora not tell you?” His eyes narrowed. “Unless she did?”

  Broedi shook his head.

  “For the final time, I am no longer carrying secrets about my meeting with Nelnora. If she knew of Jeanne’s passing, she did not speak of it to me.”

  “So she either knows less than she purports,” muttered the tomble. “Or she knew and did not tell you on purpose. I would bet a thousand gold ducats on the latter.” He returned to staring into the fire, a bitter scowl on his face.

  Broedi dropped his chin to his chest and rumbled, “I grow weary of her games.” Both White Lions remained quiet. Sabine was about to say something when Broedi lifted his head, stared at Sabine, and said, “I need you to come with us. Back to Demetus.”

  Sabine’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “Pardon?”

  “He’s right,” said Tobias. “‘The Progeny must rise to lead the fight’ and all.”

  “I’m sorry, but what does that have to do with—”

  She stopped short as she realized what it meant to be the child of a White Lion.

  “I’m one of—”

  She cut off again and turned to stare at Helene.

  “We’re both…”

  She trailed off, unable to say the word aloud. Broedi did for her.

  “The Progeny?” rumbled the hillman. “Yes, you are. ‘Hidden, then found, Willingly come around.’ Indrida’s words fit you as well.”

  Sabine dropped her head to stare at the floor, as her mind grappled with the revelation. After a few moments, she looked back up and asked, “But what can I do? Nikalys and Kenders have their parents’ gifts. Apparently, Helene has Mother’s. But me? I have none of their talents. I can make a fire flare or a pitcher of water cold, but…that’s all. What can I contribute?”

  “Do not underestimate yourself, Sabine. You proved yourself many times over during our journey here.”

  A disturbing thought occurred to her. Holding Broedi’s gaze, she asked, “Do you intend to bring Helene as well? Because that will not be happening.”

  “No,” said Broedi. “Prophecy or not, she remains here. I will not put one so young so close to danger.”

  “So you are asking me to not only go, but to leave my sister behind? Alone?”

  “She will not be alone. I will ask Lady Vivienne to provide a caretaker. Any number of people in Claw would be happy to volunteer.”

  “But you want me to leave her?

  “Yes,” rumbled Broedi. “That is the way of things. I would like you in Demetus.”

  “Why? So I can ‘lead the fight?’ I’m the daughter of a farmer, Broedi.”

  “And a White Lion.”

  “Do you truly believe I am that necessary?”

  “Indrida does.”

  “I don’t understand. From what Jak and Nikalys shared, you all have a serious deficit of trust when it comes to the Gods and Goddesses. Why are you are putting so much faith in the mutterings of one?”

  “Because she has been right so far,” rumbled Broedi.

  “According to who? You? Yesterday, you thought Nikalys and Kenders alone were the Progeny.”

  “Then don’t come,” said Tobias with a touch of exasperation. “If you want to stay, then do so. I know this is all a shock to you, but we do not have time to stand here and wait for you to grow accustomed to things. There’s an army on its way to Demetus and Broedi and I need to be there to meet it.” He glanced up at Broedi. “Let’s go.” He turned and began to hobble to the door.

  He had only taken two steps when she said, “Wait.”

  Tobias halted and looked back.

  “What?”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t coming.”

  “So you are, then?”

  Sabine hesitated.

  “I don’t know.”

  Tobias sighed and leveled a steady, direct stare at her.

  “Make your choice, Sabine. Quickly, please. Fate is waiting.”

  Sabine looked back and forth between the pair, the urgency of the moment so tangible that it felt as if a weight were hanging around her neck. This was not fair. Nikalys and Kenders had weeks to become acc
limated to their new reality. She had the next few heartbeats.

  They were asking her to make an impossible choice. Stay with her sister, remain safe, and leave everyone one else she cared about to face the Cabal alone. Or chase a prophecy and go to Demetus, knowing there was a good chance she might die there and leave Helene without family.

  She sat there, wavering, when the levelheaded calmness upon which she prided herself surged from deep within her soul, sweeping through her in an instant and washing away her doubts as quickly as a jump in the cool Erona River chased away the Summer heat.

  Rising from her chair, she announced her decision, her voice firm and steady.

  “I will come, but on one condition.”

  Tobias appeared surprised. Whether by her decision or her tone, she did not know.

  “What is it?”

  “I go wherever you or Nundle do. If things go poorly, I want a port back here immediately. No questions asked. No speeches. A port back to this room, right away. I will fight the Cabal—somehow—but Helene comes first. I will not leave her alone in this world.”

  “An entirely reasonable request,” said Tobias, looking about the room, studying it closely. “And if you’re half the shot with a bow as Kenders says, I’ll be lucky to have you as my shadow.”

  “You are sure of this?” rumbled Broedi.

  “I am,” declared Sabine, turning to face the oaken dresser. “Just give me a moment to get a few things together.” She began to hurry across the room, wondering what exactly one packed for a battle, when her gaze fell on Helene. The little girl’s mouth hung half open, a few stray hair strands draped haphazardly over her face.

  “I need to tell her I’m leaving.”

  Behind her, she heard Broedi and Tobias move to the door.

  “Tell her what you will,” rumbled Broedi. “But do not take too long. We will be in Lady Vivienne’s offices.”

  Sabine nodded.

  “I’ll be there shortly.”

  The pair exited the room quickly and quietly, shutting the door behind them. Sabine stood in place, listening to the sharp clack of Tobias’ walking stick retreat down the hall. Before the sound completely faded, she took a deep breath and moved bedside.