The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy

by R. T. Kaelin

  When everything was in place, Tiliah peered down at Okollu.

  “Ready?”

  Snapping his jaws shut hard enough that they clacked, Okollu growled, “I am.”

  Tiliah looked up at Rhohn and nodded.

  “Go.”

  As she had instructed, Rhohn jammed fur and skin together, jumping as Okollu let out an ear-splitting howl. After only a moment, the cry cut off abruptly. The muscles in the mongrel’s chest relaxed. Rhohn glanced to Okollu’s face and saw that he had passed out.

  “Good,” grunted Tiliah. “This will be easier.” She quickly wrapped the strips of burlap over the wound and bound it with rope, pulling so tight that Rhohn was worried she might be cutting off blood flow. After one last sharp tug, she said, “You can let go now.”

  Rhohn released the bloody fur and scooted back. As she inspected the binding, he stood upright and turned in a slow, stationary circle, studying every horizon and praying they were far enough from anyone that the mongrels’ howls had gone unnoticed. Seeing nothing besides grass, bushes, and sky, he turned his attention back to the bloody scene around them. Tiliah was rubbing her hands through the grass, trying to wipe off as much gore as possible. She glanced up, caught him staring at her, and nodded at Okollu.

  “He will probably be unconscious for…” She trailed off, shrugged her shoulders, and said, “Hells, I don’t know. He’s a blasted mongrel. One day? Two weeks?” Placing her hands on her hips, she peered around at the ground. “And there had better be thornroot nearby else we just saved him today so he can die next week.”

  “As soon as I get what I want, he is welcome to do just that.”

  She lifted her gaze and fixed him with a steady stare.

  “You have some explaining to do.”

  “I do,” conceded Rhohn. “As do you.”

  Arching her eyebrows, Tiliah said, “Me?”

  “Hawk’s wing? Red, back two?”

  “Ah…that.” A faint smile spread over her lips. “I did not spend every moment of my time tending to the wounded in Gobas. I might have wandered by the soldiers’ grounds a few times to watch drills.”

  “A few times?” said Rhohn, incredulous. “You remembered the position calls, Tiliah.”

  She shrugged and, with the tiniest flicker of embarrassment, admitted, “Some of the Dust Men were rather handsome.”

  Rhohn could not hold back a smile.

  “And the whistle?”

  “A footman I tended to taught it to me. Some of the men used it to distract the mongrels. It irritates them for some reason. Took me a while to get it right.”

  “Well, thank you for taking the time. It saved my life. You saved my life.”

  “No, I saved my life. If that mongrel killed you, I was next.”

  “Regardless, thank you.”

  Tiliah took one last look at Okollu, stood from the ground, and crossed her arms. She set her gaze on Rhohn, direct and demanding.

  “Time to start talking. How is it you know a mongrel? Why are you carrying a message for it? What is the message, who’s it for, and why in the Nine Hells didn’t you tell me any of this before today?!”

  Rhohn nodded through the list, admitting they were all valid questions. When she was done, he let out a long, weary sigh.

  “I’ll answer them all. But I’ll warn you…you might not believe me.”

  “We won’t know until you start sharing, will we?”

  “No,” muttered Rhohn. “I suppose not.”

  Standing amidst the grisly scene, a bandaged mongrel on the ground between them, he told the truth of what happened in Ebel. From the final moment that he had seen Silas alive to when he had crawled from the earthen longhouse, covered in his friend’s blood. Halfway through his tale, he spotted a tiny ember of fear spark to life in her eyes. By the time he was done, it had grown into a glowing-red coal.

  Chapter 32: Soul

  21st of the Turn of Luraana, 4999

  Tiliah was hungry, tired and—once again—soaked to the skin.

  The rain clouds had come shortly after sunset last evening and stayed the night, breaking up at dawn. She had thought the constant downpour would discourage scavenging animals, but it did not. A pack of carrion dogs hounded them throughout the night, fiercely determined to make a meal of the horse and mongrels. Rhohn repeatedly chased them away until the dogs left at daybreak, just as the first blood vultures arrived.

  Rhohn was running after them now, waving his sword and shouting at two of the more persistent birds. The vultures snapped at him with their crooked, black beaks, clearly upset that he was interrupting their meal again. Were Tiliah not so miserable, she might be laughing at the display.

  Okollu lay a few dozen paces away, still unconscious. The beast had not moved nor made a sound all night. Each time she had checked on him, she half expected to find him not breathing. She looked away from the mongrel, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “This must be a dream…”

  As Rhohn had shared his tale with her, she—at first—wondered if the Dust Man had struck his head on a rock in the tumble from their horse. Yet the more she heard, the more she believed. The message itself, the one Rhohn was carrying across the Oaken Duchies, convinced her that he was not mad. It explained so much.

  Something had managed to bring the full force of the Sudashians—oligurts, razorfiends, and mongrels—together. Tiliah supposed that if any force in Terrene could do so, a God of the Cabal could. It also explained what she had seen the morning she left Gobas with thousands of others.

  When word had spread through the city that the Sudashian force was on the horizon, Tiliah rushed to the western wall to see for herself. As she stood, gaping in awe at the army, an advance group of oligurts approached Gobas, riding their bullockboars and managing to stay just out of the catapults’ range. What appeared to be a man wearing a horned helmet led the group, only he was running on his own two feet, easily keeping a pace equal to a galloping horse. The whispered rumors were true: this army was led by demons of the Nine Hells.

  Approaching footsteps, squishing in mud, whisked her away from the dry and dusty battlements of Gobas and back to the mushy present. Looking up, she found Rhohn trudging back to where she sat, stepping over one of the mongrel corpses. Upon reaching her, he sheathed his sword and collapsed to the ground like a sack of tubers dropped from a wagon cart. He looked as tired as she felt.

  Rubbing his eyes, he muttered, “Gods, I truly hope they do not come back.”

  Tiliah peered up into the gray sky. At least a dozen blood vultures circled high overhead.

  “Oh, they’ll be back.” She glanced in the direction of the corpses and, with a grimace on her face, muttered. “It’s a feast for them over there.”

  “And they are welcome to enjoy it once we leave,” said Rhohn. “But I don’t want to sit here and watch them eat.”

  Giving Rhohn a sideways glance, Tiliah suggested, “We could start walking now and leave them to their meal…?”

  The Dust Man gave her a sleepy smile and shook his head.

  “Nice try. Again. But we are waiting for him to wake up.”

  Frowning, Tiliah looked back to the mongrel and said, “And when might that be? Today? Tomorrow? Year’s End? Hells, he might never wake up. I treated soldiers with lesser injuries than he who went on to Maeana’s realm.”

  Rhohn lay down, apparently not caring about the soaked ground, and let a long sigh slip from his lips.

  “I’m not leaving as long as he draws breath. However, if you’d like to go—” he lifted a hand and pointed east “—Demetus is that way.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t considered it.”

  “I would be disappointed if you had not,” mumbled Rhohn “Truly? I am surprised you are still here.” He lifted his head off the ground and looked at her. “Why are you still here?”

  “It’s safer.”

  Rhohn cocked his lone eyebrow.

  “With me, you’ve been attacked by a razorfiend and a pack of mon
grels. How is that safer?”

  Shrugging her shoulders, Tiliah said, “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

  Rhohn dropped his head to the ground with a soft squish.

  “You speak true.”

  Tiliah let out a long, heavy sigh and said, “Well, if we’re staying, I suppose I should check his wound.”

  She made to stand, but stopped when Rhohn muttered, “Hold a moment.” He began to sit up. “I’m coming with you.”

  “I can do this on my own.” All night long, he had accompanied her, sword drawn, whenever she went to check on Okollu. “Stay here and try to sleep. I would bet coin he’s still passed out.”

  He stared at her, a battle between fatigue and gallantry playing itself out in his eyes. Fatigue won. Dropping back to the mushy earth, he muttered, “Be careful. Scream if he bites you.”

  A tiny smile touched her lip as she rose from the grass.

  “You don’t have to worry about that.”

  Turning around, she started walking to where Okollu lay, which was the exact place where he had passed out yesterday. Rhohn had thought to move him away from the dead bodies, but Tiliah named it a bad idea. She had seen fevered men attack their caregivers if startled from sleep and wished to avoid such an outburst from a mongrel.

  She moved around the corpses, disgusted by the swarms of flies that had already collected on the exposed flesh. The rain had rinsed away the excess blood, leaving each open wound pink and meaty.

  She stopped a few steps from Okollu’s prone form and eyed the mongrel carefully, wondering if she should perhaps call Rhohn over after all. She considered herself a brave soul, but bravery was not a shield against teeth. As she stood there, staring and reconsidering, Okollu spoke softly.

  “I promised not to bite you, did I not?”

  Surprised, Tiliah took a quick step back and muttered, “You’re awake?”

  The mongrel opened his eyes and twisted his head to stare up at Tiliah. For the second time in mere moments, she was caught off guard. Rather than the dull, glassy stare common amongst those who were ill, Okollu’s yellow irises were bright and alive.

  “Your Dust Man woke me with his shouting.”

  Tiliah glanced over her shoulder, readying to call out for Rhohn, but saw that he was already scrambling from the ground, his eyes fixed on her. Turning back to Okollu, she found the mongrel sniffing the air, his black nose twitching. His lips curled back to expose yellowed teeth and pink gums.

  “You left me to sleep among the dead?”

  “I was afraid to move you.”

  Okollu peered at her and asked gruffly, “Why?”

  “I was worried you might awake and rip out our throats before remembering who we were.”

  The mongrel was quiet a moment before speaking.

  “You were wise to leave me, then.”

  Rhohn arrived to stand beside her, sword drawn and at his side. He no longer appeared tired, his eyes were wide and alert. Hearing mud squish, she looked back to find Okollu pushing himself into a sitting position.

  “Please don’t move,” scolded Tiliah. “You might open the wound.”

  “I am fine,” insisted Okollu, staring at the bandage on his shoulder. Reaching up with his left hand, he immediately began undoing it.

  Her voice full of reprimand, Tiliah said, “And if you do that, you will open the wound.”

  When he did not stop, she took a step closer to Okollu and reached out her hand, hoping to stop him from unraveling the bandage. He might be a mongrel, but he was her charge. Okollu lifted his gaze from the rope, stared at her, and let loose a low, rumbling growl. His message was clear.

  Taking a quick step back, she threw her hands in the air.

  “Fine. Do as you please.”

  Rhohn said, “Please listen to what—”

  “Quiet!” snapped Okollu. “I am fine!”

  Rhohn shut his mouth and looked over at Tiliah. She shrugged her shoulders and watched the mongrel in silence. If Okollu bled out now, all the better. They could be on their way east within the hour.

  With an irritated huff, Okollu pulled the rope to his mouth and gnawed on it. Tiliah shivered, watching the mongrel’s jaws gnash together. He made short work of the binding, ripped the rope and burlap-strip bandages from his shoulder, and tossed the remnants to the ground.

  Tiliah’s eyes opened wide. Rhohn drew a quick breath of surprise.

  The gash that had run from Okollu’s shoulder to chest was gone. Only a pink strip of raised skin lined with short, fine hair remained. Okollu rotated his arm in a wide circle, testing his range of movement.

  Her mouth agape, Tiliah stammered, “How…how did you…?” She trailed off, too stunned to continue.

  Dropping his arm, Okollu peered up at her and asked, “What is wrong?”

  She lifted a finger and pointed at the former wound.

  “How did that happen?”

  Okollu stared back to his shoulder.

  “What do you mean?”

  She dropped to a knee beside the mongrel, squishing in the mud, and ran her fingers over the leftover scar. The fine hair lining the wound was softer than the fuzzy tuft that topped Winter grain stalks.

  “That was two inches deep! It should have taken—”

  She cut off as a warm puff of air rushed through her hair. The odor of wet dog filled her nose. Realizing how close she was to Okollu’s jaws, she froze and stared into the mongrel’s yellow eyes. A low, gruff sound slipped from Okollu’s throat. It almost sounded like a chuckle.

  “I will not bite you.”

  Praying the mongrel was telling the truth, she returned her attention to the nearly healed wound. Rhohn stepped closer and leaned down to stare as well.

  “That should not be possible.”

  Okollu glanced between them, asking, “You are…confused, yes? The emotions of your race are difficult to read.”

  Nodding, Tiliah admitted, “We are quite confused.”

  “Why?” growled Okollu.

  “Why?!” exclaimed Tiliah, her eyebrows raised. “I don’t know. Perhaps because this should have taken weeks to heal?”

  Okollu stared between them both.

  “How long is a ‘week’?”

  Her brow furrowing, Tiliah answered, “Seven days.”

  “And a ‘day’ is one visit of Saule-acu, yes?”

  Tiliah stared blankly at the beast.

  “A visit of what?”

  “Saule-acu,” repeated Okollu. He shook his head, a quiet, frustrated growl slipping from his throat. “Argot does not have the right word.” He glanced at the sky. “Saule-acu is hidden by the clouds now. She does not like the rain.”

  Tiliah tilted her head back to stare upwards.

  “The sun?” asked Rhohn.

  Okollu eyed the soldier, almost with what Tiliah would name a frown on his face.

  “That is a name men use. Inadequate though it may be. ”

  Nodding, Rhohn said, “Then yes—a week is seven visits of…Saule-acu.” Tiliah was impressed that he managed to wrap his tongue around the strange word.

  Peering back to his scar, Okollu said, “Then it is I who am confused. Why should my mending take so long?”

  Rhohn twisted around and pointed to scabbed-over puncture hole on his calf.

  “This happened to me just over a week ago. I was shot by an arrow.”

  Tiliah was happy with how his wound was healing, but it was still weeks from being whole again.

  Surprise swelled to fill Okollu’s eyes.

  “Why are you not mending?”

  “I am,” said Rhohn “Quite well, in fact, considering what I’ve endured out here. How is it you are healing so quickly?”

  Okollu stared at them both for a few moments before saying plainly, “This is how all kur-surus mend.”

  Rhohn had warned her last night not to use the word ‘mongrel’ in Okollu’s presence. Apparently, it was an insult of sorts. Kur-surus was the word they used for themselves.

  Staring at t
he scar, she asked, “All your kind heal this quickly?”

  “It is why we are vicious when we kill,” growled Okollu. “You leave an enemy alive, they will heal, find you, and kill you.” Tilting his head to the side, he glanced between them both. “This is unknown to you?”

  Tiliah nodded, mumbling, “For me, yes.”

  “Me as well,” muttered Rhohn.

  A frown resting on her lips, Tiliah mumbled, “Hells, if that’s not a brainless way to fight a war.” When both Rhohn and Okollu stared at her, she added, “We’re fighting an enemy we know almost nothing about.”

  “You are not my enemy,” said Okollu quickly. “This conflict is not one of choice.”

  “Not of choice?” repeated Rhohn, his voice rising in an instant. “You invaded our home! That was a choice! You slaughtered thousands of innocent people! That was a choice!”

  “Choices, yes!” barked Okollu. “But not ours!”

  “What about Silas?!” exclaimed Rhohn. “That was your blasted choice, wasn’t it!?”

  The mongrel’s yellow eyes flashed hot.

  “I did what I had to! I’m sorry I killed your pack-mate! But I would do a hundred times more if it would get my pack back to our lands!”

  “If you want to go back,” shouted Rhohn. “Then go!”

  Okollu looked as if he wanted to leap up and rip Rhohn’s head from his neck.

  “I told you! We cannot!”

  Tiliah reached out to place a hand on Rhohn’s shoulder and, keeping her voice quiet and calm, said, “Rhohn?”

  Rhohn whipped around to stare at her, wide-eyed.

  “What?!”

  “Did you have me save his life just so you could fight him now?”

  He was angry and resentful. She understood that. But this behavior was not going to get him the answers he said he sought.

  The muscles along Rhohn’s jaw twitched as he pressed his lips together.

  “No.”

  “Then you should calm down.”

  Rhohn remained quiet, silently seething, for a long moment. Finally, he gave a single, silent nod. Content that he was not going to skewer Okollu for the time being, Tiliah looked back to the mongrel.