The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (46 page)

Joshmuel shook his head and sighed.

“Ever the cautious one.”

Smiling, Zecus watched his father follow Boah into the port. As Joshmuel disappeared into blackness, Zecus turned to Khin.

In a soft, airy voice, the aicenai said, “I had yet to reach four.” He, too, nudged his horse forward and through the rift in the world, leaving Zecus alone with Kenders in the dark forest.

Zecus hesitated a moment before kicking Simiah’s sides and moving forward, into the inky black void. As they crossed the threshold, he instinctively shut his eyes. One moment, he was in the cold and peaceful forest of Storm Island, the next, the thick odor of fresh grass filled his nose, a tepid breeze blew against his face, and dozens of terror-stricken screams assaulted his ears, echoing through the night.

His eyes shot open. He quickly scanned the area while trying to reach for his sword but forgot he was holding onto an unconscious Kenders.

Simiah had emerged atop the crest of a grassy hill. Below him were the remains of a ruined, three-walled cottage. Crop fields flanked the home and a handful of campfires burned in front. Moonlight from a clear, star-littered sky bathed the prairie.

A pair of horses with empty saddles was galloping across the hill, their sharp whinnies joining the screams of men. As Zecus whipped his head around to search for the missing riders, his eyes went wide as his gaze fell upon two enormous creatures marching about the grassy hillside. Shaped like men, the beasts appeared to be made of clumped stone and grassy earth.

The monsters lumbered after a handful of unfamiliar men sprinting toward a wooden cart by the house. Almost a dozen horses were tied to the wagon, tossing their heads, their eyes rolled back in fear. Some men were attempting to mount the spooked horses, while others were fleeing on foot, racing through the grass. One of the mammoth stone creatures reached the cart, bent down, and smacked two of the men with the back of its arm. Both men flew backwards a couple dozen feet, tumbling through the prairie grass like lumps of meat.

Panicked, Zecus looked around frantically for the rest of his companions. Khin was on his horse, two dozen paces to Zecus’ right, staring intently at the stone creatures. Spotting movement down the slope, Zecus turned his head to find Boah squatting in the tall grass, crouched between two dark humps on the ground. Based on size alone, one of the forms in the grass was undoubtedly Tobias. Zecus quickly reasoned that the other was his father. Neither was moving.

His heart in his throat, Zecus kicked Simiah’s side, urging the horse forward. As he neared the trio, Boah glanced up, his face a mask of shocked sorrow. Zecus’ gaze locked on his father. Joshmuel’s neck was bent at a very odd angle.

“Oh, Gods…no, no, no…”

Wanting off his horse now, Zecus nearly shoved Kenders to the ground.

“Blast it, Boah! Help me!”

As Boah leapt up and hurried over, Zecus could not take his eyes from his father’s head, twisted and fixed in an impossible, perverse position. His stomach clenched, bile rose up, coating the back of this throat.

Boah slid Kenders from the saddle and gently laid her in the grass. Staring back up to Zecus, he said, “I am so sorry.”

Free to dismount now, Zecus remained motionless in his saddle, staring blankly at his father. There was no need to rush. Without doubt, Joshmuel Alsher was dead.

After a few tortured moments, he slid off his horse and collapsed to his knees beside his father’s body. The screams of the men running away echoed through the night.

“I…”

He trailed off, unsure why he had even opened his mouth in the first place. There was nothing to say now. There was nothing to do now. His father was dead and nothing could change that.

“Hold a moment.”

He was in the company of mages.

Zecus lifted his head and shouted, “Khin!”

The aicenai still sat upon his horse, watching the stone creatures chase after the men. At Zecus’ shout, his head swiveled to stare at the group. After taking one last look at the fleeing men, he directed his horse to where the group waited. As he approached, his eyes studied each of them, shifting from Tobias to Joshmuel before finally resting on Zecus.

“I am sorry,” said Khin softly. “There is nothing I can do for him.”

Zecus’ eyes flicked to where Boah had laid Kenders.

“But I once saw her—”

Khin interrupted gently, “I am unable to touch Strands of Life. Even if I could, I would not be able to do what you are thinking. No mage could.”

The aicenai dismounted his horse and moved to kneel beside Tobias, laying two fingers against the White Lion’s neck.

“He is alive. In the midst of a vision, I believe.”

“Who cares about him?” shouted Zecus. “Please? Is there nothing that can be done?”

Nodding at Kenders, Khin said, “Not even she could have reversed his fate. Once the soul leaves the body, it belongs to Maeana. Nothing but the most twisted perversion of the Strands can change that.” The aicenai stared at Joshmuel. “I am sorry for his passing.”

Dropping his head into his hands, Zecus remained motionless, trying to accept the unthinkable and muttered, “What happened?” When neither Boah nor Khin responded, he lifted his head and shouted, “What happened?!”

Boah glanced at Khin before he began to answer, his words halting and unsure.

“When I…when I came through the blackness, the first thing I noticed were the campfires. The great lion’s horse was standing on the hillside, his saddle empty. When Joshmuel came through, he pointed here immediately.”

He glanced at where Tobias lay.

“We made it here and were about to dismount when a shout rang out. Men started jumping up from the grass, swords drawn. Our…our horses spooked. I managed to control mine, but Joshmuel’s tossed him.” He stared at the body on the ground, his face blank. “I saw him falling backwards and…” Trailing off, he lifted his gaze and turned it westward, after the fleeing men and the two creatures lumbering after them. “Those…things rose from the ground. And then there was screaming.”

“As the men’s intentions seemed clear,” said Khin “I set Stone fibríaals after them. The brigands’ bravery ran before they did.” Shifting his gaze back to Zecus, he added, “Then you arrived.”

Zecus stared back down at his broken father, wondering what he was going to tell his family—if he ever found them.

“This is not your burden to carry,” said Khin in his wispy voice. “Fate is no one’s fault.”

Surprised and irritated, Zecus peered at the aicenai.

“Pardon?”

Moonlight glinted in Khin’s eyes as he nodded at Joshmuel’s body.

“I said this is not your burden—”

“I heard you the first time!” growled Zecus. Glaring at Khin, he pushed himself up from the ground. “This isn’t fate’s fault, Khin!” Pointing at his father, he exclaimed, “This is
my
fault! Mine! He’s dead because of me! Had I never left Demetus, I would have never met the Progeny or the Shadow Manes, and today would have never happened!”

Khin stepped forward.

“You believe that one decision alone is responsible for his death?”

“Yes! I do!”

“And what would have happened had I chosen to go first through the port?” queried Khin. “I could have scared away the bandits first, no? Perhaps his death is my fault?”

Zecus shook his head.

“That is different.”

“Is it?” asked Khin. He shifted his gaze to Boah. “Perhaps it is his fault.”

Boah rose from the ground, instantly tense. His eyes hot, he said, “What are you saying?”

Khin did not flinch from Boah’s glare.

“Who chose the horses tonight?”

It was as if Khin’s question was a bucket of water tossed on a campfire. The heat in Boah’s eyes vanished in an instant.

“I did.”

Shifting his gaze back to Zecus, Khin said, “So his choice put your father on that horse. Do you blame him?”

Zecus shook his head and said, “No, of course—”

“What of the White Lion? Is this his fault?

Zecus stared at the tomble lying in the grass, his brow furrowed.

“I don’t…I don’t think so.”

“No?” asked Khin. “Had he not had a vision, he would have been able to stop the bandits. Or what about the bandits themselves? Why are you not blaming them? Surely more fault lies with them than yourself, does it not?”

Zecus did not know what to say. Khin’s questions were confusing him.

“What about her?” asked Khin, pointing a bony finger at Kenders. “If you wish to blame someone for what Greya had given you, why not her? She chose to come here tonight. Blame her.”

Zecus turned his gaze to Kenders and found himself actually considering the question. Khin had a point. After a few moments, however, he shook his head.

“No. She was trying to help. She did not mean for this to happen.”

“Did you?” asked Khin. “Did any of us?”

“Stop twisting words!” exclaimed Zecus. “We are here because of me! Because of choices I made!”

“We are here because of choices we have all made.”

Zecus glowered at Khin.

“You are
her
teacher, not mine. Spare me whatever lesson this is.”

“This is no lesson,” said Khin. “This is fact. The sky is up. Water is wet. Fire is hot. And assigning cause to fate is madness.”

Boah whispered softly, “He’s right, Zecus. Do not blame yourself for this.”

Zecus did not have to listen to any more of this. Staring in the direction the bandits had run, he spotted the hulking silhouettes of the stone creatures lumbering towards the horizon. Screams still carried across the grasslands.

“Do we need to worry about them coming back?”

Keeping his gaze on Zecus, Khin said, “No.”

“Good,” muttered Zecus, looking back to his father’s body. “I wish to bury him. Now.”

Nodding, Khin replied, “I respect your custom. Do what you must.”

Zecus looked up and scanned the area, truly seeing it for the first time. Without a doubt, they had arrived in the right place. The ruined cottage, the fields of vegetables, and the river sparkling in the moonlight all marked this as Helene and Sabine’s former home. He glanced at the field to the right of the house. From the tales Jak and Nikalys had shared with him, he knew the sisters’ parents were buried there, beneath the overgrown crops.

Without a word, he bent down, lifted the Alsher patriarch in his arms, and trudged down the slope, heading toward the field on the right. It seemed a fitting place to bury his father. Sabine was a strong soul, Helene an amazingly resilient child. It only reasoned their parents were as worthy as their daughters.

Despite the friendship shared with Joshmuel, Boah did not ask to come. Burials were for families of the deceased only. Boah would need to mourn in his own way.

Walking between the still-burning campfires near the ruined house, Zecus moved into the field, stepping through weeds and un-harvested longpeppers that had fallen to the ground. A number of the yellowing plants still had peppers hanging from them, dry and shriveled. He laid his father gently to the ground and returned to the house.

Finding two shovels along the back wall, he chose one, returned to the field, and began to dig. He focused on each shovelful of dirt, keeping the crushing sadness that hovered on the edge of his soul at bay by holding onto his fury. Anger was easier to handle than sorrow.

Sweat dripped from his brow, falling into the soil. He stopped twice to peel off a layer of clothing. Once the hole was complete, he lowered his father’s body into the ground and sat beside the fresh-turned earth. Time seemed to either stop or rush past. Zecus could not tell. Nor did he care.

He stared at the moons and stars, still shining in the night sky. The water in the Erona River continued to flow, the gentle Southlands wind continued to blow. Joshmuel Alsher, a good man, father, and husband, was dead and the world marched on, uncaring.

A rogue tear escaped and ran down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly and bit down hard, trying his best to hold back his grief. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled, shuddering as he let the air out.

In a voice thick with emotion, he said, “I am so sorry, Father.”

Reaching down, he undid the cloth band around his father’s head and wrapped it around his right arm.

“I swear to you that I will find our family. They
will
be safe.”

He could not bring himself to cover his father with dirt, so he sat there in the quiet moonlight, breathing in the sweet, pungent aroma of the rotting longpeppers and musty, fresh-tilled earth. His anger faded away eventually, leaving him numb and empty. Not even the sorrow sought to fill the hole.

After noticing that the eastern sky had lightened, turning a pre-dawn gray, Zecus let a long sigh seep from his lips. It was time. Standing, he turned to retrieve the shovel jammed into the loose earth, glanced up, and stopped abruptly.

Kenders stood at the edge of the field, staring at him, her arms crossed over her chest. Sorrow filled her face, mixed with a heavy dose of guilt.

From somewhere deep within Zecus, a surge of anger rushed forth, unbidden and furious. Perhaps Khin was right. Perhaps Kenders had earned herself a share of the blame. Zecus might be responsible for ultimately bringing Joshmuel to Storm Island, but Kenders brought him to this hillside.

As he stared, Kenders lifted a hand to her face and wiped her cheek. She was crying.

Much of his anger evaporated in an instant, although he sensed a bit remained. A tiny seed of resentment seemed determined to take root. Sighing, he raised a hand and motioned for her to come closer.

After a moment’s hesitation, she began to walk through the crops, her eyes locked on his, searching his face. She stopped a few paces from him, her hands clasped before her.

“Boah said I should leave you alone, so I—” She cut off as her gaze flicked to the hole. Taking a sharp, stunned breath, she lifted a hand to her mouth. Her widened eyes glistened, brimming with fresh tears. “Oh, Zecus. I’m so sorry. This is my fault. It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t come—”

In a quiet but firm tone, Zecus murmured, “Stop.”

Kenders started as if he had screamed the word rather than whispered it. She looked as if she wanted to run away and never look back. Part of him wished she would.