Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (102 page)

He stared at the world below him and frowned.

“So, no, Raela. We do not wait. We have waited long enough.”

After the Appendix, read the Prologue to Prophecy, Volume II of The Children of the White Lions

The High Host—the nine good Gods and Goddesses

The Gods and Goddess that are Neither

The Cabal—the nine evil Gods (None has a name)

The calendar of Terrene is a symmetrical one. Some scholars suggest the Gods altered the world and the moons to facilitate such a perfectly aligned set of dates. A year on Terrene is exactly 360 days, divided into 12 turns of 28 days per turn. A week is seven days long; four weeks make up a single turn.

Between each turn is a two-day period that belongs to neither the turn before nor the turn that follows. They are commonly referred to as Days of Leisure, and throughout the year are used for feasts and other celebrations.

The turns of the year and the Days of Leisure between are as follows:

Turn of Khanos – named for Khanos, the God of Life (Winter in the southern

hemisphere, Summer in the northern hemisphere)

Days of Leisure for Khanos and Indrida

Turn of Greya – named for Greya, the Goddess of Winter and Fate

Days of Leisure for Greya and Sarphia

Turn of Duryn – named for Duryn, the God of Industry and Crafters

Days of Leisure for Duryn and Ketus

Turn of Roden – named for Roden, the God of Change and Freedom

Days of Leisure for Roden and Rheoc

Turn of Saewyn – named for Saewyn, the God of Spring, Sea, and the Wilderness

Days of Leisure for Saewyn and Nelnora

Turn of Sormina – named for Sormina, the Goddess of Beauty and Love

Days of Leisure for Sormina and Tirnu

Turn of Lamoth – named for Lamoth, the Goddess of the Forest and

Wild Nature (Winter in the northern hemisphere, Summer in the southern hemisphere)

Days of Leisure for Lamoth and Horum

Turn of Sutri – named for Sutri, the Goddess of Summer and Time

Days of Leisure for Sutri and Mu

Turn of Thonda – named for Thonda, the God of Beasts and the Hunt

Days of Leisure for Thonda and Gaena

Turn of Rin’tira – named for Rin’tira, the God of Autumn and Trickery

Days of Leisure for Rin’tira and Chalchalu

Turn of Luraana – named for Luraana, the Goddess of the Community

Days of Leisure for Luraana and Ceruna

Turn of Maeana – named for Maeana, the Goddess of Death

Days of Leisure for Maeana and A’shana

There are two moons that circle Terrene with two very different cycles. White Moon has a twenty-four day full moon-to-full moon cycle while Blue Moon has a thirty-six day cycle. This creates a very uneven pattern of light/dark cycles at night. One of the moons is always visible in the sky; at no point are both moons at the new stage. Five times every year, though, both moons are at the full stage. These are known as Nights of the Two Moons.

 Nights of the Two Moons occur every year on these dates:

First Night of Two Moons – 27th of Turn of Khanos

Second Night of Two Moons – 9th of Turn of Roden

Third Night of Two Moons – 21st of Turn of Sormina

Fourth Night of Two Moons – 3rd of Turn of Thonda

Fifth Night of Two Moons – 15th of Turn of Luraana

5
^th
of the Turn of Roden, 4751
, 248 years before Yellow Mud's destruction

Tandyr stared at the tiny village on the far side of the wooden bridge. A weary sigh worn from the ages slipped from his lips.

Mountain peaks towered over the settlement of Nentnay, the jagged, slate gray rock a stark backdrop to the lush, green valley in which he stood. Snowmelt from the white-capped range fed the river that rushed under the bridge, tumbling over the smooth rocks and filling the air with a vibrant, almost happy, gurgling sound. Silver fish the length of his hand stubbornly attempted to swim upstream, leaping into the air before falling back to the water to be swept away by the current. Birds warbled in the evergreen branches.

The idyllic setting had no effect on Tandyr. He eyed the village, a frown on his wide lips, consumed with tired skepticism. He noted the need to have a talk with Jhaell, his new researcher at Immylla. The saeljul preceptor had insisted repeatedly that his research pointed to one of the stones being in or near this village. Tandyr had had his doubts, even after reading Jhaell’s purported proof: a scrawled inscription in the back of an old Cartusian book about farming.

“This cannot possibly be the right place.”

Nentnay could not have been more out of the way. He had trekked for three days from Tutetup—the nearest town of any note—stumbling over the rocky, winding trail that ran along the river. What he sought should never have been left to rot in such obscurity.

He took a long, deep breath of mountain air and exhaled.

“Well, I am here now.”

He stepped onto the bridge, his sandaled feet scuffing the damp boards. Built of planks cut from the spruce pines that dominated the region’s thick forest, the bridge was coated with some sort of resin that had turned the grain a deep, crimson red. Tandyr found the color garish and out of place. This area of southern Cartu was mostly a palette of greens, stony grays, and fertile browns.

As Tandyr stepped from the bridge and onto the road that ran into Nentnay, he lifted the hem of his black robe several inches. His feet squished as he walked and the cold slime of mud slipped between his toes. He regretted not purchasing those boots from the street hawker in Tutetup.

The sun was fighting its way through the canopy of rain clouds left over from a mid-morning shower, but was losing its battle. The damp air of the valley was chillier than recent days, but most definitely welcome. Three days ago, he had been roasting in the plains of Yut.

Colossal, moss-covered boulders rose from a low-lying blanket of mist, looking like hunks of potatoes floating atop a thick stew. Carefree, happy voices drifted through the haze. Somewhere ahead of him, a chicken clucked.

The longhouses of Nentnay were built using the great, round pine trunks, stained the same crimson red as the bridge. At both ends of each structure two logs protruded high into the air, crossing one another and continuing for another ten feet, their sharp angles reminiscent of the sheer mountains to the north. Smoke curled from the tops of stone chimneys, drifting upward to become one with the foggy mist. The smell of charred wood smoke filled the air, swirling with the fresh, clean aroma of spruce sap.

As Nentnay was so near the border, the skin tones of the men and women were mixed, ranging from the dark, nutty brown common to most Yutians to the paler skin of southern Cartusians. Nearly everyone he saw had thick, brown or black hair, making his own long, whitish-blonde hair—pulled together and bound by three cords—decidedly out of place. As were his elongated arms, fingers, and facial features. He suspected he was the first saeljul any of these people had seen. The inquisitive, silent looks he received as he strode past the first buildings confirmed it for him.

Several dozen paces into the village, he halted. The happy chatter he had heard earlier on his way into Nentnay was gone. The only sounds in the village were the rush of the river and the songbirds’ chirping.

Standing before one of the longhouses on his right were three men and a boy, all dressed in stitched leather tunics and breeches.

“Excuse me. I was wondering if you might assist me with something?”

All four stared at him, mute.

After a moment, Tandyr lifted an eyebrow and raised his voice a bit. “I said, I was wondering if you—”

“Are you an ijul?” asked the boy suddenly. The question was spoken in Argot, the accent clipped and short.

The man closest to the child reached out to put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. He whispered to him, quiet enough that the sound of the river washed away his words. Tandyr’s gaze shifted between the pair. Their tan skin was of similar tone and their thick, wavy black hair was nearly identical.

Turning, he approached who he reasoned were father and son. The other men standing with them both took a few, quick, unconscious steps backwards. One bumped into the wall of the longhouse.

Tandyr offered the boy a slight smile and asked gently, “Do I look like an ijul to you?”

The boy nodded once.

“Yes.”

“Ah…” murmured Tandyr. “And have you ever seen an ijul?”

Shaking his head, the boy said, “No.”

“Then how would you know what one looks like?”

“Batta tells us stories.”

“Does he?” asked Tandyr. “And what do ijul in…Batta’s stories look like?”

“Hair that shines as bright as the sun, arms that flow like a river reed blowing in a soft breeze, and the quiet grace of a snow leopard.”

Tandyr smiled at the flowery description.

“Batta sounds like a good storyteller.”

“He is,” replied the boy. “He knows a lot of them on account he’s so—”

“Menet!” interjected the boy’s father. “That is enough.” Glaring at his son, the man muttered, “Go inside with your mothers, please.”

“But I—”