by Matt Laney
It’s hard to tell where one leech ends and another begins. Each one is about half the size of an average Singa, without limbs or any facial features that I can make out. I estimate several hundred assembling on the walls and gliding toward us on the floor. They may not have a taste for Singa blood, but they could smother us to death without much effort.
The leeches form two triangles on either side, like giant arrowheads pointed directly at us and closing in fast. The nearer they come, the more one thing becomes clear: They are not focused on all of us.
They are focused on me only.
The slimy wretches circle around Stick’s and Zoya’s feet, then latch on to the legs of my karkadann. He rears up and kicks.
“Hack them off!” Dagan says, sliding out of the saddle and drawing her short blade and dagger. Anjali dodges my karkadann’s flailing front hooves and drives a blade point into the head of a leech aiming for my leg with its hideous mouth. The skewered creature squeals and twists under her blade. Anjali flings it into the mass of incoming leeches, which scurry away from the corpse of their fallen brother.
Dagan, Zoya, and Stick follow Anjali’s lead, stabbing and hurling leeches, while I sit as high as possible atop my jittery karkadann, dagger in hand. With every one we kill, two more take its place. If I fall, it’s over. If my four companions stop stabbing and hacking, it would be the end of me, too. As the supply of leeches appears endless, it is only a matter of time before I am served for dinner.
“Make a perimeter of dead leeches around the prince!” Dagan shouts.
I see her plan. The living leeches keep away from the dead ones. If we create a barrier of leech corpses, it might buy us enough time to come up with a better strategy. In less than a minute, we are surrounded by a circle of bleeding carcasses, and the leeches keep their distance.
My karkadann stops bucking but continues to search our surroundings with round, bloodshot eyes. Dagan inspects our perimeter and steps directly into the hungry mass of leeches. She snatches the tail end of the nearest one, lifts it high with one hand, and plunges her blade deep into its wriggling body. After removing the blade and dropping the dead leech, she tosses her blood-soaked weapon a few meters off, and the nearby leeches slither away. Dagan leaps gracefully to her blade, holds it low to the cavern floor, and blazes a trail back to our circle as the leeches scatter.
“Do you see?” Dagan exclaims. “They are repulsed by the smell of their own blood. Lord Leo, as far as I know, you are the first Singa they have shown an interest in. I’m sure Galil will be very curious about that when we return to the castle, but for now, we need to get you out of here.”
“Sounds great!” Stick affirms. “How?”
“I think I know,” Anjali says warily.
Dagan’s whiskers wilt. “Begging your forgiveness, Lord, we’re going to cover you in leech blood.”
It sounds gross, but it’s better than letting them drink my blood.
“Anjali, and you two,” Dagan says, pointing to Stick and Zoya, and I realize she never bothered to learn their names or numbers. “Kill four leeches and bring them here. Now.”
They obey and return with carcasses while I dismount from my karkadann.
“Hold each leech over the prince with the kill wound down,” Dagan orders Zoya. “Leo, you’ll need to spread the blood through every centimeter of your fur.”
Zoya raises the first dead leech. Hot, sticky blood spills onto my head and shoulders. I rub it around, shuddering and trying not to gag. She picks up another and then another, and finally the last, until I’m covered in blood from head to toe.
I want to vomit. Stick and Zoya don’t look much better.
“Let’s get moving before the blood dries,” Dagan says. She hoists me onto the karkadann but stays on foot herself. “Keep your blades ready in case this doesn’t work.”
We step over the boundary of dead leeches into the heaving mass of living ones. As we walk among them, the creatures slink back to the cavern walls.
“It’s working!” Stick cries.
“Shut it and keep moving,” Dagan orders.
Fifty meters later, Anjali encounters a metal door carved into the cavern wall.
Dagan hands a key to Zoya. “Pass this to Anjali.”
Anjali slips the key into the center of the door and turns it; the door slides open. The smells of plants and earth and other living beings dance in our noses.
When the door is closed, sealing us off from the cavern and the leeches, Stick sniffs the air over my head. “Funny, I can still smell those disgusting creatures!”
It’s true. Globs of half-dried blood cling to my fur, leggings, and cloak. I look and smell like death.
“There’s a stream up ahead, Lord,” Dagan offers. “You can wash yourself there.”
The stream is cold, but the leech blood washes away easily enough. I scrub until my hide stings. When I’m clean and our journey has resumed, I ask, “Any more threats I should know about, General?”
Anjali’s ears angle back at my question. She knows I’m not wondering about things like cave leeches, but about bloodsuckers of another kind, such as the one waiting for me at the castle.
“Every journey has its share of perils, Lord,” Dagan replies guardedly.
“Kaydan will want to see me as soon as we arrive at the castle, don’t you think?” Kaydan, second only to Grandfather, has been on my mind since Dagan made her announcement in the feeding hall.
“You have been missed by many Singas, I’m sure,” she says.
Halfway through the Mountain Pass, my head fills with the sound of a rushing wind as fiction bangs against my teeth. There’s almost no place worse than this for it to happen. In this corridor, even a whisper bounces around like a rubber ball.
“I have to make water,” I announce, keeping my muzzle closed as tight as possible. “Now.” I slide off my karkadann and hustle back the way we came before Dagan can argue. She can’t be too troubled. She is the one with the key to the doors on either side of the Mountain Pass.
Anjali, wise to what’s going on, starts chatting away to Dagan about her time at the Academy to provide some noise cover. The fiction thrashes about in my mouth until my aching jaws give up. I kneel down, head between my knees, and let the words spurt out.
Once there was a prince in a faraway land who decided to remove all the stories and tales from his Pride. Wherever he went, whomever he met, he would demand, “Tell me a story.”
Each time, he would take the story out of the storyteller’s mouth and put it in a bag tied to his belt. Before long the bag was packed with hundreds of stories. To ensure none of the stories escaped, he locked the bag in a strongbox at the back of his closet.
The words spin into a dim vision of the prince strolling through the streets of his realm, demanding stories from others and stuffing them into his bag, then putting the bulging bag into a storage chest in his closet. It plays out between my feet, tiny because of my hushed voice. My jaw aches with the strain.
The prince grew into a handsome and majestic figure. A bride was chosen from a neighboring land, and when the day of the wedding arrived, the whole castle was busy with preparations.
One of the prince’s oldest servants went into the prince’s closet to find his wedding clothes and heard whispering voices. Listening carefully, he traced the voices to a strongbox at the back of the closet.
“My friends, listen to me,” one voice said. “Today is the day of the prince’s wedding. He has imprisoned us in this bag and strongbox for far too long. Stories are meant to be heard, not hidden away as we are! We have suffered greatly and we must punish him for his crime.”
“I agree,” said a second voice. “Here is what I am going to do. This afternoon, the prince will go to the neighboring realm to fetch his bride. I shall cause the delicious bright-red berries that grow by the road to become poison. He will eat them and die.”
“And if the berries don’t kill him,” offered a third speaker, “I shall turn the cool spr
ing of water by the road into poison. He will drink and die.”
A fourth voice spoke up: “If that fails, I will cause the chimney to fall upon him as soon as he reaches his bride’s front door.”
A fifth voice said: “If all of you are not successful, I will send a poisonous serpent to hide in the prince’s bed. When the newlyweds lie down, the serpent will strike and they will both die.”
Naturally, the old servant was very concerned. “This is terrible,” he said to himself. “I must do whatever I can to protect my master.”
That afternoon, as the prince mounted his karkadann to meet his bride, the old faithful servant ran out and seized the karkadann’s bridle. He asked to lead the prince to his destination.
The prince said, “I do not require a guide, and you have work to do here.”
“You may punish me if you like,” the servant declared, “but I insist that I lead you to the home of your wife-to-be.”
Surprised and confused by the old servant’s determination, the prince granted his wish. On the way, they passed ripe, delicious-looking berries growing by the roadside.
“Those berries look wonderful!” the prince called out to his servant. “Stop and pick some for me.”
But the servant would not stop. He said, “Oh, these berries are too small for Your Majesty. There are bigger berries up ahead. Be patient and I shall pick some for you down the road.”
Farther ahead, they came to a spring of clear, cool water. A ladle floated on the surface.
“Bring me a ladleful of that cool, refreshing water,” the prince commanded his servant, “for I am parched!”
Once again, the servant would not stop. “When we pass under the shade of those trees up ahead, your thirst will go away,” he said.
The prince growled, but the servant ignored him. He only made the karkadann travel more quickly.
Soon they came to the bride’s home. Instead of going to the front door by the chimney, the old servant led the karkadann and the prince to the back door.
“Wait!” said the prince. “Why are you taking me to the back door? That door is only for family members and servants.”
“Ah yes, my prince,” said the servant. “But by going to the back door you will impress your bride’s parents with your humility and desire to be counted as their kin.”
The wedding ceremony was held on the grounds of his bride’s home without any problems, and the newlyweds returned to the prince’s castle.
When darkness fell, the couple retired to the prince’s lair. The old faithful servant had already positioned himself outside the door, out of sight, with blade in hand. As soon as the prince and his bride went into the room, the servant opened the door and rushed in. The prince and his bride were quite alarmed.
“Master,” the servant shouted, waving his blade in the air, “I will explain everything in a moment. For now, get out of my way!”
The prince and his frightened bride stepped aside as the servant pulled the sheets and blankets from the bed to reveal a terrible hissing serpent. The servant hacked at the serpent, cutting it to pieces with his blade.
Then he dropped his blade, knelt before the prince, and told him about the bag of stories in the strongbox and their plans to punish the prince for keeping them locked away for so many years.
“Perhaps,” the servant concluded, “my lord could offer a story each night to his bride as a wedding gift? After all, stories are meant to be shared.” The prince praised his faithful servant and agreed to this plan. Every night he shared one of the stories in the bag with his bride. It brought them much happiness, and the stories were delighted to be free at last.
The vision fades, and my senses return to the dim dampness of the Mountain Pass. In front of me is a leather sack, overstuffed and bulging. The contents stir and echo with strange voices:
“Let me out!”
“Free us!”
“Share us and let us go!”
“We don’t belong here!”
Of all the ghostly things conjured up by my disease, this is the creepiest. I’m torn between freeing whatever is trapped in there and abandoning it to the darkness. Down the pass, the glow of torch light illuminates Anjali, Dagan, Stick, and Zoya. Anjali is still chattering away. Dagan appears bored and impatient, making it clear she heard nothing.
“Prince Leo!” Dagan booms. “Are you finished?”
“All done. Coming back now.”
The bag stirs and shifts, voices overlapping like an angry mob. I turn away and dash back to my companions.
• • •
We set foot in the castle courtyard a few hours before midnight. If not for the stone of grief in my gut and having to face Tamir, I would be thrilled to be home again.
The soldiers on watch snap to attention with the appearance of Dagan and our quadron.
But where is Kaydan? He would be here if he could.
A screeching bird’s call draws my gaze to the top of the castle’s main door. The firewing is perched there: fully grown, proud and strong, with a bright white head, gold-yellow talons, and red feathers edged with yellow adorning his body. He is as tall as an adult Singa. The sight of him fills me with confidence as a reminder that I am not alone.
The castle’s main door opens. Every soldier we encounter takes notice of my return. I don’t recognize any of them except Mandar, whose quadron is stationed just inside the central hall.
“Welcome home, Prince Leo,” he says without the customary bow.
Anjali’s eyes burn with rage, as if she might claw Mandar’s face and hang him by his own tail.
I keep my eyes on the floor, tracing the familiar jagged crack running the length of the central hall. Hot steam drifts up from the crevice. I’ve never seen that happen before. I nudge Anjali, who shrugs, equally mystified.
Stick and Zoya gape around the castle. The lofty vaulted ceiling and the ornately carved doors leading to the feeding hall, battle laboratories, and royal court display more artistry and grandeur than they’ve ever seen. If things were different, I’d give Stick and Zoya a full tour of all the chambers, halls, and secret passageways running up and down the castle’s ten floors.
Dagan leads us to the royal courtroom. Galil lingers outside the door. He trails us and slides a piece of paper into Anjali’s hand.
I expect to find Tamir sneering at me from the royal throne, but the great chair is empty. The supreme military commander is gathered with a group of senior soldiers in one of the court’s alcoves, poring over documents and maps spread out on a table. I’m relieved there is no crown on his head. However, one of Grandfather’s royal cloaks is draped over his armored shoulders. It’s a statement of authority that also hides the shame of his missing tail.
Dagan announces our arrival. “Lord Regent, I have brought you the prince, as requested.”
Tamir looks up and smiles. “Leave us,” he commands the soldiers around the table. “And you, Galil.” Galil bows and exits with the others.
His obedience sickens me.
Dagan turns to go.
“No, General Dagan,” Tamir says, “you will stay with us.”
Tamir saunters to the center of the hall, inspecting Zoya and Stick. “Are these your quadron-mates, Leo? I had no idea our latest crop of cadets had such unusual Singa specimens. I suppose with a captain like Anjali you are in good hands?”
“Where is Kaydan?” I ask directly. “What have you done with him?”
“Ah yes,” Tamir says knowledgeably. “‘Whoever asks the questions controls the conversation.’ One of your grandfather’s many lessons.”
“Where is he?”
Tamir sighs. “This is a sad night for Singara, Leo. We lost our Kahn and one of our most respected generals. General Kaydan lives, but he did not agree with the decision to appoint me as regent and supreme military commander.”
“What did he propose instead?” Kaydan wouldn’t have put his own name forward as temporary ruler. He’s much too humble.
“That doesn’t m
atter now.”
“I want to see him.”
“Impossible. He is in a cage, and he will remain there until he swears allegiance to me. I don’t expect that to happen anytime soon, do you?”
“Why do you think Kaydan won’t support you?”
“A clever question, cousin, but the important question right now is whether or not you will pledge your support to me as Singara’s temporary ruler until you are finished at the Academy. It would be a great consolation to our grieving Pride. If you pledge allegiance to me,” Tamir continues, “General Kaydan will live, and you may return to the Academy to continue your training.”
“And if not?” Stick probes.
Tamir shoots him a look that would split a boulder.
“Dagan tells me you plan to attack the Maguar,” I say, hoping to get Stick out of the line of fire.
“Their aggression cannot go unpunished,” Tamir growls. “You saw the breach in the Great Wall. You experienced the devilish beast that attacked the Academy. There’s no telling what they are plotting. Unlike your grandfather, I’m not going to wait and find out. My first priority is to keep our realm safe.”
“I agree.” I can’t believe I said that without choking. I agree that protecting the Pride is a ruler’s first priority, but going to war will put the safety of many, many soldiers at risk. Perhaps the whole realm. “When do you plan to attack?”
“It will take time to prepare,” Tamir says. “I am building new weapons against which the Maguar will have no defense. Victory is assured.”
“Singara is in good hands, then.”
“Will you say that in a public statement?”
“I want to see Grandfather’s body first.”
Tamir pivots and marches to the throne. “Dagan will escort you,” he says, easing himself into the royal seat and wincing at the pain in his backside.
“There is power in this chair, cousin,” he says, rubbing the arms of the throne. “Power that is now mine to use. And there is a far greater power in the mountain, which your grandfather knew nothing about. The world is about to change, Leo, and if I were you, I would not want to be on the wrong side.”