Wrath of Lions

by David Dalglish

  “I don’t think so,” Ki-Nan replied. “I beached the skiff on one of the archipelago’s many small islands, one crowded with thick vegetation. From there I watched for two days as the Lion’s ships were loaded with supplies and soldiers. The boats then departed the inlet, sailing northeast, toward the mainland. They must be planning to invade our home, Brother, and there were so many it took nearly a full day for them all to disappear over the horizon. Only when they were gone did I dare shove the skiff back into the water and begin the journey home.

  “The sky filled with black clouds, and powerful gales pounded my sails. I had to pull them down, which left me with nothing but the oars to fight the waves. It was hard to breathe with all the water, and it all made my head pound like a drum. At night it was worse—trust me on that.”

  “I cannot imagine,” Bardiya said, giving Ki-Nan’s arm another squeeze.

  “There is more,” said Ki-Nan. “When the skies cleared, I tried to force my tired body to raise the sails. I was almost done when I saw it behind me, gaining on me. It was a midnight ship flying the Lion’s banner, making nary a sound as it glided across the water. I tried to outrace it, but it was so fast, and it had closed half the distance by the time I caught my first sight of blessed shore. They started loosing arrows the nearer I came. Couldn’t do much but duck and pray as the bolts flew over my head, striking the sides of my skiff and tearing little holes in my sails.”

  Ki-Nan paused for a moment, took a drink from the cup of water on the table beside the bed. Bardiya didn’t press him.

  “I panicked,” he continued. “I rowed as fast as I could, even though another barrage of arrows came racing toward me. But the wind stayed strong, and I kept just ahead. Then I managed to steer my ship straight into the Canyon Crags.”

  Ki-Nan smiled, which seemed like a strange expression to have in such a moment. He almost began to laugh as he continued with his tale.

  “Ashhur heard my prayers, Brother. The skiff never ran aground, and it didn’t scrape along the jagged stones. That damned ship was far too large to follow me, another answered prayer. I floated there among the Crags for two days, right at the mouth of the Corinth, too frightened to make for land. I was certain the ship was waiting for me, you know? I boiled seawater to drink, using parts of my own skiff as firewood, and speared fish with a sharp, broken board. Wasn’t good at it, mind you, but I caught at least one fish a day to ease my hunger. At last, when I could take it no longer, I inched my way out of the Crags.”

  “And the demon boat?” asked Bardiya, his heart beating fast.

  “Nowhere to be found,” Ki-Nan said. “So I began my way home, staying as close to land as I could, drifting in and out of consciousness. The last I remember, I was still many miles away. I don’t even remember arriving here.”

  “Ashhur protected you indeed.”

  “He did, Brother. He did.” Ki-Nan shimmied on the bed, looking uncomfortable. “But do you know what this means, Bardiya?”

  The giant sat silent for a moment, thinking on the story he’d just heard. A niggling insect of doubt inched its way into his stomach, but he swatted it away.

  “To us?” he said, determined to stay the course he had set. “It means nothing.”

  “Oh, but it does. It changes everything. The Lion is coming, and he is angry. By now the god’s ships have already unloaded their soldiers onto the soils of Paradise. By now our brothers and sisters in creation and faith are dying. Ashhur may be the more noble deity, Bardiya, but in the ways of violence Karak is his better. He will crush our creator and the rest of Paradise, and then he will come for us.”

  Bardiya sighed. It was like speaking with Patrick all over again.

  “You cannot know this, my friend.”

  “I can. The midnight ship…the demon riding it…any god willing to bring such treacherous beasts into his employ knows nothing of mercy. Believe me, Karak will surely march on our soil, and he will destroy us all.”

  To that, Bardiya nodded. “Perhaps, but it changes nothing.”

  “What?” asked Ki-Nan, looking baffled. “Why not?”

  “We made a promise, Ki-Nan. We pledged ourselves to Ashhur’s teachings. We pledged ourselves to peace. It would be wrong to turn our backs on that.”

  “Are you saying it would be a sin to defend ourselves?”

  “I am.”

  Ki-Nan looked away.

  “Remember when I was a boy,” he asked, “and you took me into the lowlands to teach me lessons of the gods?”

  “I do,” Bardiya said, furrowing his brow. “You were eight or so at the time. Why do you ask?”

  “Do you remember when we stumbled on an antelope that had been separated from its herd? It was being stalked by a pack of hyenas. For a long while afterward, I could hear their cackling in my dreams.”

  Bardiya nodded. “I remember.”

  “I cried for that beast,” Ki-Nan continued. “I knew what would happen when the hyenas circled it. I saw the panic in its eyes when it realized it was trapped. That’s when I tried to run after the hyenas, screaming at them to leave the poor creature be.”

  Bardiya felt himself slipping into the past. The memory was a warm one despite the harshness of the lesson.

  “Yes, you looked ready to take on the whole herd by yourself, armed with but a stick. I couldn’t decide whether it would teach you a better lesson if I stopped you or let you get nipped by the beasts.”

  “You stopped me in the end,” he said, turning to face Bardiya, his eyes dark. “You grabbed me by the arm and told me to watch, not interfere. The hyenas tore into that poor antelope. I wailed at you to stop it, asking why the gods would allow their creations to suffer. You told me that it was the natural order of things, that nature is like a constant game of Man on the Hill. That for every creature born, there is another that perishes.”

  “It was natural,” Bardiya said, remembering that conversation well.

  “And I called it evil,” Ki-Nan said, running a hand through the tight curls atop his head, which had grown wiry in his absence. “You said there is no evil in survival, that the antelope’s life was a gift to the hyenas, that its sacrifice would allow their pups to live without hunger for another day. And you were right, Bardiya; I understand that now. Those hyenas were doing what they could to survive, and though I hated to see the antelope suffer, I had no right to call those cackling beasts evil.”

  Ki-Nan reached out and grabbed Bardiya’s arm, his grip fierce. When he stared up into his eyes, they were bloodshot, their expression fierce.

  “But you were so eager to forgive the hyenas that you forgot the plight of the antelope. It had a family of its own. And if the antelope had trampled and killed one of the hyenas to protect its life or the life of its cubs, would you have dared call it evil?”

  Bardiya went to reply, but fell silent.

  “Of course not,” Ki-Nan said. “That’s you, always willing to give others a chance. But Karak’s Army is not made of hyenas, my brother. They’re worse, far worse. They don’t kill out of hunger or for survival. What they do, what they will do, is evil. You think you’ll be the antelope, but you’re wrong. I remember it, Bardiya, clear as day. When the hyena pack descended on that poor beast, it didn’t lie down to die. It ran, it fought, no matter how outnumbered it was, no matter how hopeless its plight. It fought…which is more than what you would have us do.”

  Bardiya tried to think of a way to explain his reasoning. Humans were different from wild dogs and deer; humans aspired to something greater than the callous cruelty of nature.

  “You must hear me,” Bardiya insisted. “This principle we hold fast to…that is what needs to survive. What point is there in living if goodness cannot overcome all, if love, forgiveness, and honor are not respected and honored? This is important, my friend. The words Ashhur has taught us…they are all that matters in the world.”

  Ki-Nan slowly hefted his legs off the bed and put his weight on them. He grimaced as he straightened his back, but wa
ved aside Bardiya’s offer to help.

  “No,” Ki-Nan said. “It is all that matters to you. Tell me how, in Ashhur’s name, things like goodness and love will endure when Karak has wiped our people from the face of Dezrel? We’ll all be in our graves, you damn fool. Preach all you want about how we must stay true to Ashhur’s words, but let us see how effective those words are when the Lion comes for us. Let us see how peaceful our people really are then.”

  “They will not fight. I will forbid it.”

  Ki-Nan shook his head.

  “As you’ve said many times before, no man in Ker is better than any other. You are no god, Bardiya, no ruler—just a simple spiritual advisor. You haven’t the right or the power to forbid anything.”

  With that, Ki-Nan left the cabin, the door slamming against the wall with a crack when it swung open. Bardiya stared at the empty space where his friend had stood, half wanting to call him back inside. Instead he folded his legs beneath him, steepled his fingers, closed his eyes, and prayed. For the second time since he’d confronted Ashhur in the shadow of the Black Spire, he began to doubt himself. So when he prayed, it was not to Ashhur or even the god of gods. Instead, he sent his prayers to the Golden Paradise, deep within Afram, seeking out his parents’ presence, their lexis, their knowledge, their strength.

  Tell me what to do, he pleaded. Tell me the path I have chosen is righteous.

  He received no answer.

  Kindren and Aully walked hand in hand along the rocky shoreline. Clouds had passed over the moon, bathing the world in darkness, but to them it was no obstacle. Their keen eyes could still spot potential tripping hazards and puddles. But most importantly, they could see through the trees that bordered the shore and would be able to detect if any were watching them.

  They had snuck away after the village settled down for the night, as had become their custom in the aftermath of the sandcat attack. The daylight hours were dedicated to sharing their lives with community and family, keeping spirits high, assisting with the daily chores, and making sure the small society of elves in Ang remained close-knit. Nighttime was a much more intimate affair. It was the only time Aully and Kindren could talk freely, the only time they could entwine their bodies in comfort, and the only time they could practice magic without fear of prying eyes. Their talents had grown by leaps and bounds.

  Each evening they pressed a little bit farther toward the boundary of Ker, edging closer and closer to the mouth of the Corinth River and the Stonewood Forest. They stayed by the edge of the ocean at all times, where the brisk wind played with their hair and the cool sea mist beat their faces. That they drew closer and closer to Aully’s childhood home remained unspoken between them, but it was not unintentional.

  The tree line began to shift, the shorter trees along the shoreline becoming larger, more menacing. Great pines rose to dizzying heights above them, their tips so high they seemed to poke at the stars. Aully shivered, and Kindren released her hand and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.

  “You’re cold,” he said.

  “No, not cold.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I feel it,” she said, leaning against him.

  “You feel what?”

  “Home. The closer we get to Stonewood, the more I feel this weird vibration. It’s like the forest is trying to call me back where I belong.”

  Kindren laughed softly. “You talk like you’re much older than you are.”

  “You always say that,” she replied, nudging him. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re complimenting me or humoring me.”

  “You decide.”

  “Shut up.”

  She grinned and kissed the back of his hand, which dangled over her shoulder. An easy quiet passed between them, as if their feelings were being dispatched back and forth through the simple touch of flesh on flesh.

  The peaceful feeling did not last long. Aullienna glanced northeast, to the darkness of distant smoke that blotted out the dimmer stars. Bardiya had offered no explanation for the fires or what they meant, but Aully didn’t need him to spell it out for her. Whatever secret plan the Triad of the Quellan had hatched with the eastern realm was now in motion. The forces of Karak were on the move. She often thought about the strange deformed man with his mismatched armor and his enormous sword, and how he’d stared in disappointment at the giant. She was certain that soon Ang would not be safe for any of them.

  “We have to go back,” Aully whispered finally.

  “We will,” Kindren said. “Soon. Once the sky is blackest, we’ll turn around.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Not to the village. To the place where we belong. To Stonewood.”

  Kindren seemed to swallow a mouthful of spit. “We can’t, Aully. You know that.”

  “Do I? Do we? We’ve been here for nearly nine months. Nine months, and no one has come searching for us. What if we were told lies? What if Stonewood is as it had always been, and it’s safe to return?”

  He shook his head. “We can’t. Ceredon said he’d contact us when the time is right to return. We haven’t heard from him yet. That means we stay.”

  She pushed away from him, throwing her hands up in frustration. “He hasn’t contacted us? How in Celestia’s name would he do that? He doesn’t even know where we are! How do we know if he’s even alive? Should his father discover how he betrayed him…Think of Zoe, Kindren. Think of her! If the Quellan could do that to a child, do you really think they would be merciful to Ceredon, whether he’s the Neyvar’s son or not?”

  “Well—”

  “They wouldn’t!” She was screaming now, her voice carrying over the rumbling of the waves. Kindren looked back at her, his mouth dropping into a frown, his eyes filled with sadness. She took a deep breath, calming herself, and spoke more quietly. “I’m sorry, Kindren. I didn’t mean to yell at you. But the world is breaking. Bardiya said that the afternoon we arrived here, and there is evidence of it every day. The distant fires, the fear on the faces of the Kerrians, the whispers of invasion…we are alone here. We’re only thirty-two. Who will defend us should the worst happen?”

  He shrugged. “Bardiya won’t let anything bad happen to us.”

  “Won’t he? The people here speak freely their gruff tongue, thinking we don’t understand them. They say Bardiya won’t lift a finger, even if Karak comes to destroy everything he loves. We’d be no different.”

  “Those are just words. They don’t know what will happen anymore than we do.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t want to take that chance.”

  “So what do you want to do? Take our people and march into Stonewood? You said if they’d kill Zoe, they’d kill Ceredon. You think the same doesn’t apply to us?”

  “I don’t care,” she said defiantly. “You might not trust my people, but I do.” With that, she turned, gazing toward the west and the gigantic trees rimming the distant mouth of the river. “I just…I know staying here isn’t what we’re meant to do. We’re meant for more. We’re meant to go home, and set things right.”

  Kindren’s hand found hers once more, and she looked up at him. The clouds moved away from the moon, and its light twinkled in his eyes. She felt suddenly disarmed, and she leaned against him, wishing that the warmth of his skin and steady beat of his heart would sooth her. They did, but only just.

  “Let’s go back,” he whispered into her ear. “To Ang, I mean. We can talk about this again tomorrow night.”

  “All right.”

  The young couple turned and began the return trek to the fishing village. The tide began to roll in, forcing them to move closer to the rocky ledge. The fissures in the massive stones were larger here, sometimes three feet wide, and they had to jump from boulder to boulder. Aully made a game of it, counting her steps before each leap, trying to see if they could both make it across with their hands still locked together. It felt good to let go for a moment, to feel like the child she was.

  Then, once the trees of Stonewood forest
had all but disappeared behind them, she spotted something strange—a seaweed-covered obelisk jutting up from one of the gaps between the boulders, just to her left.

  “What’s that?” Aully asked, stopping in her tracks.

  “Huh?”

  She pointed. “Over there.”

  Kindren followed her finger and shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe a piece of ship or something? It’s been stormy lately. Something probably washed up on shore.”

  “You want to see what it is?”

  “Sure, but we should make it quick. It’s late as it is, and I don’t want your mother to wake up while we’re gone.”

  “We’ll be fast,” she said. She took off toward the object, skipping over the rocks in a carefree manner, Kindren fast behind her.

  When she reached the object, she saw that the gap it rested in was quite large, stretching down too far for moonlight to illuminate the sandy bottom. She also saw that the object she’d spotted was a wooden crate. There were three of them stacked up in the hollow, the top crate teetering to the side, resting against the rim of stone.

  “What in the abyss?” whispered Kindren.

  Aully shrugged. “Maybe you were right, and they washed ashore from the sea.”

  There was wonder in Kindren’s eyes. “If so, it’s a miracle the crates didn’t break. And that they’re heaped this way.”

  She squinted, staring at the boxes. “You think someone put them here?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Want to find out what’s inside?”

  He hesitated, then shrugged.

  “Of course I do,” he said, his grin hiding his nervousness.

  Aully balanced herself on the lip of the crevasse and removed the slimy seaweed from the top of the crate, then pressed her hands against its wooden sides.

  “Be careful,” Kindren said, a warning she brushed aside. She pushed as hard as she could, but still the crate wouldn’t budge.

  “It’s heavy,” she said.

  “I’d imagine it would be,” Kindren laughed back. “Look at it. Ten of you could fit inside.”