Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (11 page)

Nikalys’ chances against a single wolf were terrible. His idea of taking on two wolves was preposterous. Against a pack of three, he would be dead in moments.

Kenders murmured, “Now what?”

Her brother remained silent.

“Nik?”

She wanted to look over, but could not stop staring at the center wolf as it padded closer.

“Nik!”

Nikalys hissed, “I’m thinking!” The steady calmness from before was gone.

The large lupine approached the fire and, wholly unconcerned by the flames, circled the fire, its yellow eyes remaining fixed on them. It issued a low, quick growl, prompting the other wolves to creep closer, low to the ground. Neither were as large as the lead wolf, but they were fearsome nonetheless.

Kenders stood, rooted to the ground, her heart pounding. She lifted the torch and waited, poised for a wolf to pounce. She thought she might be able to get off one blow before being torn apart.

Suddenly, the lead wolf paused and stood a little taller. It raised its snout and sniffed the air. A strange, almost worried whine slipped from the animal.

A moment later, the unusual crackling sensation she now associated with magic surged around and in her. This time she easily distinguished the colors.

Green. Silver. Gold.

And something else. Something that was not a color.

Thinking the ijul was here now, she panicked and reached out to grab Nikalys’ arm.

“Something’s happen—”

A monstrous roar exploded from behind the thicket of fingerpricks, filling the forest night and rattling Kenders to her soul. Before she could react, the growl shifted, inexplicably soaring over their heads. She glanced up, cringing and expecting another wolf to come flying into the glade. Instead of lupine gray, however, a dusty gold streak flashed over their heads. With nary a sound, a mass of golden fur landed ten paces in front of Nikalys and Kenders, directly between them and the wolves.

Kenders blinked, stunned. A lynx the size of a horse cart crouched in the forest clearing.

She could see only the back of the cat, but what she saw was spectacular. Its coat was a glossy, golden brown with two lines of mahogany spots straddling its spine. A short, stubby black tail stuck up from atop its muscular haunches. Thick claws extended from its massive paws—all four of which were the size of Kenders’ head—and dug into the dirt as the cat flexed. Black-tufted ears lay flat against the cat’s enormous head as it stared at the wolf pack leader. Its loud snarl faded into a low, growling rumble.

Nikalys muttered, “Blast the gods.”

Kenders silently concurred.

The lead wolf hesitated, glaring at the lynx, seemingly annoyed that the cat had dared to interrupt its pack’s hunt. Whether driven by bravery or hunger, the wolf moved forward, loping the few feet separating it from the lynx, let out a snarl, and leapt for the cat’s throat.

With lightning speed, the lynx swept its right front paw across its body and batted at the wolf. An audible crunch filled the clearing as the cat’s paw struck the pack leader in the side, sending the wolf tumbling through the air, out of the firelight, and crashing into the forest brush. A soft, whimpering sound confirmed that the wolf was seriously hurt, most likely with broken ribs.

Turning to face the next closest wolf, the lynx tilted its head and stared, almost daring the lupine to move. The remaining wolves were silent now, motionless. After all of the growling and snarling, the quiet of the forest was pronounced, interrupted only by the firewood popping and the soft whining of the injured wolf.

The nearest wolf dropped his head and looked behind it, almost as if it were weighing its options. The lynx loosed a second bone-rattling roar that reverberated through the hills, ultimately making the wolves’ decision easy.

Tucking their tails between their legs, the pair immediately scampered away, kicking up dirt and leaves as they ran from the clearing. Kenders heard the whimpering pack leader running away as well, but not nearly as fast as the others were. The lynx padded to the far side of the fire and looked in the direction the wolves had run. It tilted its head, listening.

Nikalys whispered, “That thing is three times bigger than any lynx I’ve ever seen.”

“What if it means to have us for its own eveningmeal?”

The lynx swiveled around, turning toward them and giving the pair the first good look at it from the front.

Its face had an almost wise look to it. A clean, white ruff hung under its neck and long whiskers draped from its maw, glinting in the firelight. Tufts of white fur sprouted from the inside of its ears. Staring at the two of them with deep, dark brown eyes, the cat began to saunter to where they huddled by the thicket.

Nikalys stepped forward, began waving his hands over his head, and called out, “Hey! Over here!”

The cat stopped and stared at them both, its gaze dancing between them.

“Nik, what are you doing?”

“Getting its attention,” murmured Nikalys. Raising his voice, he called, “Over here, you overgrown tuft of hair!”

The lynx instantly shifted his gaze to rest solely on Nikalys.

Continuing to wave his arms, Nikalys said, “Run, Kenders.”

Now, the lynx turned its full attention to her.

“Go!” ordered Nikalys. “I’ll distract it!”

The massive golden-brown cat began to pad toward Nikalys.

Nikalys yelled, “Blast it! Go! Now!”

She took a single step away from him and immediately stopped. “No.”

Yellow Mud was gone. Mother, Father, and Jak were dead. She was not about to run away and let a giant cat kill her only remaining family.

In that moment, the soul-draining events of the past few days caught up to her. A flood of emotions exploded inside of her. Anger, grief, hopelessness, frustration. Clenching her fists and gritting her teeth, she turned back to glare at the cat with burning eyes.

She wanted the giant lynx to leave them alone.

She wanted the blasted cat to go flying into the forest like the wolf.

She desperately wanted something—anything—to keep her and her brother alive.

Something inside of her snapped.

Abruptly, a pattern of colored strings popped into existence before her, hovering in the air above the campsite. Brilliant, pulsating white ones intertwined with a half-dozen sizzling yellow strands.

The giant cat’s eyes widened in surprise as it stared straight at the pattern. Nikalys ignored it entirely, continuing to wave his arms and shout at the lynx.

She released the tangle of strings, urging it at the golden-brown cat. The moment she let go, a searing pain ripped through her head, accompanied by a tiredness that was deeper and more complete than any she had ever experienced.

With a soul-wrenching scream, she went limp and collapsed, unconscious.

A blinding flash paired with a concussive boom filled the campsite. Nikalys flew backwards, straight into the thicket of fingerprick bushes. He screamed as hundreds of sharp thorns scratched, tore, and punctured his flesh. The thicket grabbed hold of him, suspending him in the air, and trapping him in its brambles.

He lay that way for a few moments, groaning in agony. Forcing his eyes open, he realized he could not see anything. The flash had blinded him. A tinny, persistent ringing filled his ears. He tried to move, but any movement only pressed the thorns deeper into his flesh. He yelled for Kenders, but could not hear his own shouts.

He blinked furiously, trying to clear the cloudy blackness blocking his eyesight. Slowly, his vision returned and he spotted the soft glow of the fire. Whatever had just happened in the glade had left the flames untouched.

He looked left—sending sharp shots of pain through his body as he did—and spotted the vague shape of a person embedded in the thicket beside him. As his eyesight recovered further, he saw for sure that it was Kenders lying in the brambles, her body a twisted heap. Dark, wet patches covered her shirt and skirt, spreading larger by the moment. Blood, rich and crimson, dripped from her hands and legs. Deep scratches and gashes covered her face, neck, and arms. Her jaw hung slack. Her mouth was open, her eyes closed.

“Noooo!!”

As his shout cut through the night, he realized he could hear again.

A pained mewling from the campsite drew his attention back to the fire. He instinctively turned his head and gasped at the pain as fingerprick thorns dug deeper.

The lynx stood before Nikalys, shaking its head as if something was caught on its whiskers. After a moment, it stopped, tilted its head to the side, and looked at Nikalys. It blinked once, slowly, and then turned its gaze to Kenders. The cat padded forward, striding unhurriedly to her.

Furious, Nikalys shouted, “Leave her alone!”

The cat paused a moment, glanced at him, and then resumed its walk toward Kenders. It brought its nose down to her bloody body and sniffed a few times.

Nikalys struggled to stand, intending to shove the massive cat from his sister, but the wracking pain of the thorns prevented him from doing so. He was helpless.

Dropping back into the brambles, he screamed, “Fine! Go ahead, eat us, you overgrown barncat!” Despair overwhelmed him. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Everyone’s dead.” Perhaps he would get to see his family in Maeana’s hall.

The lynx turned its watchful gaze to Nikalys, sat down, and tucked its chin to its chest. A moment later, it began to shimmer, to shift. Nikalys’ eyes went round.

The cat’s white-tufted ears retreated into its head and the ruff of fur along its neck shrunk as if growing in reverse. The giant paws twisted and morphed, each section thinning, growing longer. Strong, lithe front legs grew muscular and began to take the shape of arms. All of the aspects of the fearsome lynx disappeared, replaced with features that were unmistakably those of a man.

In relatively short order, Nikalys watched the largest lynx he had ever seen transform into the largest man he had ever seen, crouching in a form reminiscent of the cat sitting on its haunches. Once the shift was complete, the man stood upright.

Nikalys gaped. The man had to be a full seven feet tall.

The giant’s golden-brown hair matched the color of the lynx’s fur and the dark brown eyes were the same, as well. He was bare-chested—his skin a rich, bronze tan—but wore a pair of hide breeches. A large bag made of sturdy leather hung from a thick strap draped over his left shoulder. Turquoise and ebony stones dangled from the string used to tie the sack shut. A leather thong circled his neck, holding a pendant of white stone carved in the shape of a lion’s head with a flaring mane.

In a deep, rumbling voice, one that was vaguely reminiscent of the lynx’s growl, the giant said, “I have no intention of eating you, uori.” A slight smile crept over his lips. “I doubt you would taste good.”

Legends about Shapechangers abounded in Yellow Mud, people who had lived in the wilderness, away from civilization for so long, that they took on the form of their natural surroundings. The spirits of nature—or perhaps the goddess Lamoth herself—would approach them and offer great power if they agreed to defend the wilds from man’s hand.

Nikalys opened his mouth to ask or say something, but no words came out. He was speechless. Were it not for the pain from the thorns carving up his flesh, he would have thought he was dreaming.

The man reached into his bag and withdrew a light-colored jute shirt. Lifting the sack over his head, he set it on the ground and pulled on the shirt. Then he took a step closer and looked at Kenders.

He glanced at Nikalys and rumbled, “Does she normally faint like that?”

“Pardon?”

Nikalys had no idea what the man was asking.

“When she uses the strands. Does she often overextend herself like this?”

It took a moment for the man’s words to register. Realizing what the man was implying, he muttered, “
She
did that?”

The Shapechanger peered at Nikalys’ baffled expression. “You are surprised?”

Kenders had summoned lightning from a clear, moonlit sky. Surprise did not begin to name what he was feeling now.

The massive man glanced at Kenders, then back to Nikalys, a slight furrow splitting his brow. “Let us get you both free and have a look at those thorns. I am sure they must hurt.”

“Why bother?” muttered Nikalys. “She’s dead.”

“No,” rumbled the Shapechanger. “She is not.”

Nikalys winced as he stared back to his sister. Confused, he muttered, “But all the blood…”

“You should see what
you
look like, uori. The thorns make it look worse than it is. They are painful, yes. But lethal? No. Once we get her out and clean her wounds, she will be fine. You as well.”

A surge of hope filled Nikalys. “Truly?”

“Truly,” rumbled the Shapechanger. “You will recover. Both of you.”

Nikalys smiled wide as a relieved joy spread through his body, warming him all over, almost chasing his pain away.

The Shapechanger reached out a giant hand to Nikalys and greeted him. “Good days ahead, uori.” He seemed to study Nikalys as he added, “My name is Broedi.”

Pulling his arm free of the brambles, wincing at every burst of pain, Nikalys took Broedi’s offered hand and managed to complete the traditional greeting through gritted teeth. “And good memories behind.”

Broedi grasped Nikalys’ hand, engulfing it, and rumbled, “Now, this will hurt.” Without a moment’s hesitation, he pulled Nikalys from the thorny bushes.

Nikalys’ eyes went wide and he drew a hissing breath, sucking air through clenched teeth. Emerging from the fingerpricks hurt thrice as much as falling into them. Once free, he stood without moving at all, trying to ignore the thousand stabs of pain dancing along his back, arms, and legs.

Broedi studied him as he stood there, wincing. After a moment, the Shapechanger asked, “Will you give me your name?”

Without looking up, Nikalys answered, “Nikalys.”

“And the girl? She is your sister?

Nikalys eyed the stranger, filled with sudden suspicion. “How could you know that?”

Broedi glanced between him and Kenders. “You look like one another.”