Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (8 page)

“Well, Mother and Father lived there. We were born there. Perhaps somebody will remember us. Or them, at least.”

Kenders glanced over her shoulder. “And how exactly does that help us?”

“Perhaps we could find work there?” replied Nikalys. “Day laborers? You could see if—”

Halting in the middle of the road, Kenders wheeled around and glared at him, her eyes burning hot. Nikalys was forced to stop or else run into her.

“How can you turn the page so quickly, Nik? Someone just killed our entire family! What’s wrong with you?” She punctuated her point by stabbing him in the chest with her index finger.

Rubbing the spot she had poked, Nikalys fired back, suddenly angry himself. “Trust me, I’d like nothing more than to see that ijul hang!”

“Then how can you just walk away?” demanded Kenders. “Gods! You’re already talking about finding a blasted trade!”

As much as he wanted to shout at her—to scream and yell—he pressed his lips together, muffling his rage. Kenders did not deserve his anger. Letting out a heavy sigh, he shook his head, stepped around her, and started to walk down the road. “Forget I said anything.”

Kenders hurried and fell in beside him, staring at him. “I’ll do no such thing. I cannot believe you—”

He cut her off, snapping, “I said forget it! We’ll just keep—”

A rabbit burst from the brush a half-dozen paces ahead of them, dash across the road, and reenter the forest on the other side. Nikalys tilted his head back and stared at the sky, exhaling in frustration. “Wondrous.”

He should have had the sling ready. Digging into his satchel, he pulled it free and unwound it. Feeling Kenders’ hot gaze on him the entire time, he bent over, he selected a round stone and armed the sling. Eyes straight ahead, he set to walking again.

“Nikalys!”

He took a few more steps before he stopped, scuffling his feet on the road. He stared at his boots for a moment. The mud from the village had dried into a crusty, yellow coating.

Kenders persisted, asking, “Are we just going to run away?”

There was another option, one he did not want to mention. He knew Kenders too well. Impulsive, stubborn, a little short-sighted. The moment he shared his idea, she would run with it and never look back.

“Nikalys?” prompted Kenders. “What is it?”

He should keep his mouth shut.

“Nik!”

Lifting his head, he turned to face her. “There’s another option, but it’s sour. Much too sour. I’ve decided against it.”

Kenders’ eyes widened. Jamming her hands on her hips, she asked, “Have you, now? Well, as you don’t get to make decisions for me, how about you tell me what that option is,
Lord
Nikalys, and I’ll decide how sour it is?”

Her sarcasm dug at him. Annoyed, he shot back, “Fine. We could go to Smithshill and tell the Constables what happened! They’d know how to deal with those mages. Perhaps we could gain some sort of justice.”

Kenders nodded her quick approval at the idea.

“And exactly why aren’t we doing that? That sounds better than hiding in Lakeborough.”

Vexed, Nikalys took a step closer to her.

“
Think
, Kenders. If we go marching into the Constables’ office and tell them what happened, there will be questions. Questions about what we saw. Questions about who we saw. Lots and lots of questions about magic and
mages
.”

The anger drained from her face. “Oh.”

With raised eyebrows, Nikalys nodded. “Exactly. ‘Oh.’ If they get curious—and I’m sure they will when we tell them an entire village was destroyed by a giant water creature summoned by an ijul and nine men
walking
on the lake—they may discover things we don’t want them to.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Look, I’ve already lost my mother, father, and brother today. I would like to keep my sister safe.”

“I’m sorry, Nik. Truly, I am.”

Sighing, he reached out and patted the top of her head. “It’s fine. No matter.”

“Still not a barncat, Nik.”

Nikalys withdrew his hand quickly. “Sorry.”

The pair stood in the middle of the road for a few moments, surrounded by trees and silence.

Finally, Nikalys nodded east and said, “Come on, let’s keep moving.”

He turned and continued down the slope, praying she would remain quiet for a time. Thankfully, she did.

As they walked along, Nikalys kept alert, alternating his gaze forward—looking for more rabbits—and behind, searching for any flash of red robes and yellow-white hair. His luck evened out. He never spotted a rabbit or the mage.

Upon cresting a small rise, Nikalys spotted the long, meandering line of the Southern Road that ran east and west. Eyeing the sun, he estimated they had a few hours of light left.

“I think we should head into the trees and follow alongside the road. If we meet someone this close to home, stories could travel.”

Kenders looked over and asked, “What about wolves?”

Wolves were common in the hills surrounding Yellow Mud. Widow Johns had become Widow Johns because of one.

Nikalys said, “We’ll stay close to the road—just not on it. Wolves don’t come close to the road. It smells too much like people.” He spoke with a confidence he did not feel. He was concerned about wolves, too.

After a moment’s hesitation, Kenders agreed. “If you say so.”

Happy they had at least a short-term plan, Nikalys said, “Good. Let’s find a place to camp before nightfall. And keep your eye out for rabbits or we’re going to sleep hungry.”

“You just make sure you hit them.”

Glancing over, he spotted the tiniest of smiles on her face. Smiling back, he said, “I will.”

The pair walked down the road, side-by-side.

Kenders sat against the trunk of a tree, resting her head against the bark and peering upwards, through the leaves and into the night sky. Both moons were visible tonight. White Moon was nearly full while Blue Moon was in the midst of waning, just a thin, cobalt crescent in the sky.

She and Nikalys had eaten, but her stomach was nowhere near full. Eveningmeal had been a lone rabbit seasoned with a bit of foraged hillsage and roasted over the fire. Nikalys had buried the carcass and guts so no scavengers or wolves would be drawn by the smell. Distant howls of wolves had echoed through the forested hills throughout the day as they traveled. There was no need to leave an open invitation.

Their tiny campfire crackled and popped in the dark, sending up curls of wispy, white smoke into the boughs overhead. It was dying, but that was by choice. The night would not be cool enough that they would need the warmth.

Kenders was tired, but every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was the devastation of Yellow Mud. After a time, she had given up and scooted over to rest against a tree trunk. She had not moved since.

Digging into their sack of scavenged items, she sought something to occupy her mind. Pulling out the tinderbox, she opened it and withdrew a firestick. She had used one to start the fire, but she had barely looked at it. Now, she held up the thin, red-tipped stick before her and studied it.

Father had never bought any from the traveling merchants, but not because he feared the sticks were magical as the other villagers did. In fact, he had repeatedly called such thoughts “the most backwards thing” he had ever heard. He claimed that he simply preferred the feel of flint and steel.

Kenders ran the firestick against the inside of the lid. The tip flared and ignited with a small puff of smoke that smelled like rotten eggs. She stared at the little flame, watching it slowly consumed the stick.

“Don’t waste those,” grunted Nikalys. “We’ll need them.”

She looked over to her brother and found him staring at her through cracked eyelids. He was leaning against a fallen oak trunk, his legs outstretched and hands folded across his chest. He looked as if he was taking a nap on a Seventhday afternoon. She eyed the hunting knife resting on his belly, already unsheathed. People did not take naps with knives at the ready.

Tossing the remainder of the firestick into the campfire’s meager flames, she closed the tinderbox. Nikalys eyed her for a moment before shutting his eyes again.

Kenders stared at him for a long time, thinking. After their brief confrontation in the road, she had made a decision and had spent much of the afternoon and evening trying to figure a way to broach the subject with her brother.

“Nikalys?”

Without moving a muscle and with his eyes still shut, he muttered, “Yes?”

“Remember the year that you threw a fit when Father and Jak went to Smithshill? You insisted you were old enough to go, too?”

A wistful, embarrassed grin spread across Nikalys’ face.

“Sure. I was…ten? Eleven?”

“You were thirteen.”

“Was not.”

“Yes. You were. I remember because I was twelve and excited about my Maiden’s Day.”

Every girl in the Oaken Duchies marked her thirteenth yearday by having an intimate celebration with her family, the day a girl is no longer a child, yet still not a woman. In a couple of years, when her eighteenth yearday arrived, a much larger celebration—Matron’s Day—would denote her entrance into womanhood.

Nikalys cracked open his right eye and looked across the dying fire. “Are you sure?”

Raising a single eyebrow, she said, “Nik.”

He gave a conciliatory shrug and mumbled, “Perhaps I
was
thirteen. What about it, though?”

“Do you remember the small package Father brought back with him?”

Nodding, Nikalys said, “Sure. You thought it was for you for Maiden’s Day.” Both his eyes were open now and staring at her.

“I did,” admitted Kenders. “I snuck it from their room and opened it.” She smiled, recalling how pretty the painted glass dove had been. “It was so beautiful. The colors were brilliant, like a rainbow after a spring shower. I held it up to the sun, just to see it sparkle.”

“And then you dropped it.”

Kenders winced, remembering the horror she had felt as the figurine slipped from her fingers. Upon hitting the floor, the dove broke into three solid pieces.

“I wrapped it up quickly and put it away. No one knew I had broken it.”

Nikalys said, “I remember when Father gave it to Mother, he was so disappointed. He couldn’t figure out what had happened.”

“Gods, I felt awful about it,” said Kenders. “It gnawed at me for a week.”

Nikalys was quiet for a few heartbeats, peering at her. “What made you think of that?”

“Do you remember what you said when I told you I had broken the dove?”

His eyebrows drew together slowly. “Vaguely.”

The worried expression on his face betrayed him. He knew exactly what he had said.

Brushing a few strands of hair from her face, Kenders said, “You told me that I needed to tell them what had happened. That I shouldn’t let fear stop me from doing what was right.”

Nikalys sat up quickly. “No! We are not going to the Constables! They might—”

She interrupted him, rushing to get out what she needed to say. “And you were right! It
was
the right thing to do! It was hard and I was afraid, but I did it!”

“Kenders, this is not—”

“And do you remember what you did, Nik?
You
stood by my side as I told him. We did it together!”

Nikalys stood, agitated, his face angry. “This is different, Kenders! Much different!”

“How? The right thing to do is to tell the Constables what happened!”

“Kenders! You are a
mage
!”

While she had already accepted the awful truth, hearing the words aloud was like a slap to the face. Shaking her head, she shouted, “That changes nothing! We need to report this!”

Nikalys was beside himself. Shaking his head, he exclaimed, “If the Constables find out you’re a mage…they’ll…they’ll…Hells! We don’t know what they’d do! You know the stories!”

“Perhaps they won’t be able to tell anything about me! Perhaps all that stuff at the lake was my imagination!”

“Your imagination? You felt colors
before
we saw the blasted thing!”

Kenders pressed her lips together, unable to refute his point.

Stepping closer, Nikalys said, “Kenders, if we go to the Constables, they
will
take you.”

“But—”

“No!” He shook his head vehemently. “We aren’t going!”

Undeterred, she pressed on, “It’s the right thing—”

“I’ll be alone! If they take you, I’ll be all alone!”

His words filled the small grove, loud and sudden against the backdrop of the quiet forest night. Kenders stopped and studied his face. His eyes were wide and cheeks flushed, his lips, tight and drawn. Her brother was angry, but mostly, he was scared.

Rising from the ground, Kenders walked around the dying fire, and stood in front of him. Laying a hand on his shoulder, she whispered, “I love you, too, Nik.”

He glared at her for another defiant moment before letting his head drop and sighing.

Reaching under his chin, she directed his gaze back to her face. “But we
are
going to the Constables, Nikalys. We owe our family that. We owe everyone that.”

He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at his bristly locks, dropped his arms to his side, and mumbled, “You’re right, of course.”

“So we’ll go?”

Nodding his head, he muttered, “Fine. We’ll head to Smithshill.”

Kenders put her arms around him and squeezed. He returned the hug, gently at first, but soon, he was clasping so tight, she wondered if he ever intended to let go. He was stronger than she remembered.

“I can’t breathe, Nik.”

He let up some pressure, but did not release her, “Sorry, sis.”

They stood like two statues, locked in a perpetual embrace, lit by a lattice of moonlight filtering through the leaves. Kenders was not sure how long they remained like that, but she started when Nikalys broke the silence. “One condition, though.”

Without looking up, she asked, “What’s that?”

“When we get to Smithshill, I talk to the Constables alone.”

Kenders smiled and shook her head, rubbing it against his shirt. “Condition not accepted. We stay together.”