The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy

by R. T. Kaelin

  Once Nundle’s boat was free from the surf, he and the soldiers exited, his own boots sinking into the sand. He basked in the sun, smiling wide. Solid land felt glorious.

  A mist of sea spray washed over Nundle, pulling the tomble’s attention to his left. A black boulder loomed over him, standing resolute against the pounding of the sea. The dark color reminded him of the stone that surrounded the Academy of Veduin in the Arcane Republic.

  Spotting a smaller sample of the stone sticking from the sand at his feet, Nundle bent down to inspect it and noted countless, tiny holes covering its surface. Running a finger along it, he found its texture matched the lava rock of the academy perfectly. As he pried the specimen from the sand to take a closer look, seawater dripped from the porous stone. Nundle smiled.

  “Look at that. Water from a rock.”

  The Isaac siblings often used the phrase to describe how difficult it was to get Broedi to share information.

  “Nundle!” called Broedi.

  Looking up, Nundle saw some of the soldiers pulling the shoreboats past the high tide mark while the rest were gathering in a group some distance away. Broedi stood at the center of the group, his back facing the forest and his gaze fixed firmly on Nundle.

  The hillman rumbled, “Let us go, please!”

  Nundle stood, slipped the black stone in his pocket—he would show Nikalys later—and strode toward the group, finding it difficult to walk in a straight line. Many of the soldiers were also weaving about the beach. Captain Scrag had warned them they might have trouble readjusting to dry land.

  Approaching the group of longlegs encircling Broedi, Nundle heard the hillman reviewing the plan. Again. According to Nundle’s count, this time made five.

  “—together as we move inland. If you see a creature, do not approach it. If you find something you think is edible, do not eat it. If you see a flower with red petals and a purple center, do not touch it. If you spot anything that seems unusual to you, bring it to my attention immediately. Is all of that clear?”

  As the soldiers nodded slowly, Wil asked, “How far is this ‘tree-city’ we’re going to?” The young longleg had fully recovered after nearly making his way to Maeana’s hall.

  Broedi rumbled, “Assuming Captain Scrag read the charts correctly—”

  “I can read a blasted chart, Broedi,” interjected the old captain.

  The comment brought a grin to most everyone’s face. Wearing his own slight smile, Broedi amended his statement.

  “Assuming the charts are accurate, we should have a three or four day march ahead of us. Longer if we get—” He cut off suddenly, his head tilting sideways. A moment later, he spun around and stared at the tree line.

  Worried, Nundle peered past the six soldiers tying off the boats above the high tide mark and scanned the underbrush.

  “Broedi? What is—?”

  A shrill, ear-splitting shriek sliced through the calm afternoon seaside, cutting his question short. The grating sound reminded Nundle of a metal blade scraping across quartz block. Wincing, Nundle threw his hands up to cover his ears.

  The longlegs around him did the same, attempting to block out the screech. Broedi dropped to a knee and remained hunched over, grimacing. Nikalys had his left hand clamped over one ear while pressing the other into his shoulder. He held the glowing white Blade of Horum in his right.

  Then, as suddenly as it started, the sound cut off.

  Broedi immediately rose from the sand and bellowed at the six longlegs securing the boats.

  “Get over here! Now!”

  The order was unnecessary as the soldiers had already dropped the ropes and were running back to the main group. They had taken but a half-dozen steps when Nundle felt a familiar crackling inside his chest.

  Bright green and honey-gold.

  “Uh-oh.”

  Strands of Life and Will popped into existence and hovered over the beach briefly before whipping away, into the dark forest. The strength of the surge was startling. Dropping his hands a few inches, he called, “Broedi! There are—”

  “I know!” shouted hillman, staring into the forest where the Strands were flowing.

  A few paces away, Nathan asked, “What are we dealing with?” The sergeant had drawn his sword, as had most of the soldiers. Some were unbuckling the small rounded wooden shields strapped to their backs.

  Looking back to the tree line, Nundle shook his head.

  “I don’t know. But it is—”

  The shrieking sound returned, a dozen times louder than before. Screaming in pain, Nundle clapped his hands to his ears. It felt as if someone was jabbing a hot knife into his eardrums.

  Dropping their swords and shields, soldiers collapsed to the ground, their mouths open wide in screams of agony. Their cries went unheard as the shrieking from the forest drowned them out. The six longlegs who had been tying off the boats stumbled through the sand, running with their hands over their ears. Broedi fell to the sand again, covering his ears and staring at the trees.

  Before the shriek rendered him senseless, Nundle reached for Strands of Air and quickly arranged them into a specific pattern. Within moments, a netting of pure white Strands hung in the air. Without pause, Nundle draped the Weave over him and every soldier within ten paces.

  The world went quiet. Gloriously, blessedly quiet.

  The shrieking was still audible, but muffled drastically. The soldiers’ shouting was faint now, the crashing of the waves sounding more like water gently sloshing in a trough.

  Every soldier within the protective barrier stared around in open wonderment, clearly no longer in pain. Unfortunately, the longlegs outside continued to writhe in the sand, powerless against the screech. Leaving his Weave in place, Nundle sprinted past the protective boundary, aiming for one of the fallen soldiers. He nearly fell over as the shriek’s full force washed over him. Grabbing the arm of the nearest longleg, Nundle tugged as hard as he could, trying to drag him back to the Weave. Through eyes half-shut with pain, he spotted black hair and realized whom he was pulling.

  “Let’s go, Cero!”

  His words were lost to the screech.

  In a flurry of sand, Nathan appeared by his side, hauled Cero to his feet and half-carried, half-dragged him back to the Weave. Seeing other Shadow Manes rushing to help their fellow soldiers, Nundle ran back into the Weave. As he passed through the net of white, the muffled quiet enveloped him.

  Glancing back toward the forest, he spotted Broedi, Nikalys, and the other six soldiers heading toward them, a Weave identical to Nundle’s own draped over the group.

  Turning to find Cero standing beside him, Nundle shouted, “Can you hear me?”

  Cero looked down, surprise on his face. He nodded and his lips moved, but Nundle could not hear what he said.

  Nundle screamed, “You have to yell!”

  Cero nodded again and shouted, “I can hear you!” It sounded as if he were a mile away.

  When Broedi and the others arrived, the hillman released his Weave and moved straight toward Nundle. Dropping to a knee and motioning to the netting of white around them, he called, “How many of these can you control?”

  Calculating his limited ability with Air against the complexity of the Weave, Nundle shouted back, “Three, perhaps four. Why?”

  “Three will do! Keep one on Nikalys, one on the men here, and the other on me as long as you can.”

  “On you?” shouted Nundle. “Why? What are you going to do?”

  Broedi shook his head and rose from the sand.

  “No time to explain!”

  Staring up at the hillman, Nundle yelled, “What is making that sound?!”

  Movement near the tree line answered Nundle’s question before Broedi could.

  A number of the towering palm trees began to sway violently, the thick vines draped between them stretching tight before snapping. What appeared to be an upside-down treetop—bare of leaves—emerged from the dense vegetation and slammed into the beach, sinking into the
sand and shaking the ground. Forty feet up, a second four-branched treetop extended from the murky forest, wrapped its long, spindly boughs around the trunk of an evergreen and shoved sideways, snapping the tree near the base. A second woody hand gripped another tree and pushed it aside just as easily, creating a wide hole in the tree line.

  Given three lifetimes, Nundle would have never conjured from his imagination the creature that moved onto the beach. The body was mud-brown and gangling, the elongated neck sticking from its shoulders bent forward slightly, supporting a triangular head. Two black-orbed eyes sat above a terrifying maw, frozen open in a perpetual scream. Needlelike teeth the color of tree moss glistened wet in the sunlight. Bark covered the creature instead of skin, streaked with jagged, black ridges along its arms and legs. Four-foot long spines jutted from its torso and upper arms. The fresh scent of tree sap filled the air.

  Nundle’s eyes opened wide as the creature lumbered toward them, the ground vibrating with each step. The soldiers who had recovered their swords held their weapons slack at their sides, staring in stunned awe.

  Broedi yelled in his ear, “Start the Weaves! Now!”

  Shaken from his shock, Nundle began to draw together a second pattern identical to the one over them now. Broedi moved to Nikalys and started shouting at him. Nundle tried to listen, but the screeching was getting louder as the creature lumbered closer.

  When Nundle finished the second protective Weave, he held it in place, unsure if he should direct it toward Nikalys or Broedi. The hillman turned around, spotted the Weave, and pointed to Nikalys. The moment the Weave was draped over Nikalys, Broedi patted the young longleg on the back and Nikalys bolted toward the creature, the glowing Blade of Horum at his side. The monstrous forest creature halted its advance, turning its full attention to the solitary figure rushing towards it.

  A collection of Life and Will Strands exploded around Nundle, drawing together in an instant and disappearing inside of Broedi. A moment later, his body began to shift, his hands and feet morphing into padded paws, his limbs bending into feline legs. Thick, golden-brown fur sprouted his skin. As the White Lion quickly completed the transformation into the lynx, Nundle quietly cursed. He had yet to start the third Weave of Air meant for Broedi.

  Reaching for the Strands of Air a third time, he knit the pattern, slower than the last as he had to constantly shift his attention from one Weave to the next. If he let his concentration slip too far from one, it would fall apart.

  Before Nundle could finish the Weave, Broedi leapt from the protective bubble, running toward the giant creature. He dropped his head, shaking it in pain, his black-tufted ears lying flat. Completing the Weave a moment later, Nundle whipped it over the lynx, twenty paces away. The massive cat stood tall and began to sprint, kicking up sand with its giant paws. Nundle moved the pattern with him.

  Switching his attention back to the Weave over Nikalys, Nundle found that the young longleg had halted two dozen paces from the wood-beast. Nikalys was staring up at the creature, his white sword angled before him, its tip pointed at the creature. The monster, at least fifty-feet-tall, towered over him.

  As Nundle wondered exactly what Nikalys hoped to do against the beast, the piercing shriek started to grow louder. Soldiers clasped hands to ears again. Shifting his attention back to the Weave around himself and the soldiers, Nundle tightened the pattern. As he did so, he noticed Captain Scrag waving at him and silently screaming, repeatedly jabbing a finger toward the forest.

  Looking back to the tree line, Nundle found that the lynx had outrun his Weave. Broedi was slinking along the sand, suffering the effects of the shriek again.

  “Blast!”

  The moment Nundle shifted the Air Weave back over the lynx, Broedi lifted his head and resumed his charge towards the creature, rushing straight through the monster’s spindly legs. For some odd reason, the beast paid him no attention.

  Nundle suddenly realized that Nikalys was no longer on the beach. The Weave meant for him still hovered in place, but the young longleg was gone. Peering upward, Nundle was stunned to see Nikalys perched on the creature’s left shoulder, the Blade of Horum sticking from the forest beast’s neck. Nikalys was gripping the hilt with both hands, his mouth open as he screamed in pain.

  As soon was Nundle whipped the Weave back over Nikalys, the young longleg opened his eyes and yanked his sword from the monster’s neck. Nundle expected blood to flow from the wound, but none did. The wood-beast reached to grab Nikalys, but he vanished, only to reappear on the back of the monster’s neck, holding onto one of the woody spines.

  The shrieking around Nundle grew louder again.

  Nundle shifted Nikalys’ Weave before returning his attention to the pattern around himself and the soldiers. As the world went quiet, he looked up to find that Broedi was almost to the tree line, unprotected and crawling in the sand again. Once the Weave was back in place, Broedi leapt up and rushed into the forest. Nundle kept the pattern moving with him until he was out of sight then released the Weave. Broedi was on his own now.

  Turning his attention back to the monster, Nundle labored to keep the Weave centered on Nikalys as the longleg dashed around and on the forest creature, stabbing and slashing. Wherever the Blade of Horum cut, it revealed white, pithy flesh beneath the bark skin. Despite the number of gashes inflicted, the creature did not slow. It appeared as if the wounds were sealing shut. The beast thrashed about the beach, kicking up sand as it spun in circles, trying to strike Nikalys.

  Sensing a unique Weave radiating from within the beast, Nundle tried to get a feel for it, hoping he might be able to unravel it. However, as it was inside the monster and Nundle’s concentration focused on keeping his own Weaves intact, he had no hope in pulling it apart.

  Suddenly, Wil broke from the protective Weave, his sword at the ready, and rushed toward the creature. He made it a dozen paces before the shriek overwhelmed him. He collapsed to the ground and continued toward the beast, crawling through the sand. Nundle considered crafting another Weave to protect the soldier, but dismissed the idea. He could not control a third one again. He was beginning to have a difficult enough time maintaining the two that were left.

  Nathan and Captain Scrag rushed forward, running to the fallen swordsman’s side. As they each grabbed an arm and started pulling Wil back, someone slapped Nundle’s back. Looking up, he found Cero pointing to the beast.

  Looking up, Nundle spotted Nikalys kneeling in the sand behind the creature and clasping his ears. His Weave was hovering on the creature’s left shoulder.

  As Nundle started to adjust the Weave’s placement, the screeching stopped. The beast’s mouth snapped shut, its teeth disappearing inside its mouth. The world went silent although a tinny ringing continued in Nundle’s ears.

  His head snapping up, Nikalys lifted his sword to attack but froze and turned to stare back to the tree line. Looking to the forest, Nundle watched two people step from the forest, walking side-by-side. In his hillman form again, Broedi was accompanied by an equally tall and powerfully built figure dressed in a loose-fitting robe of stitched animal hides. It took Nundle a moment to realize he was staring at another hillman, a member of the Titaani Kotiv-aki, the Titan Tribe.

  Broedi was waving his arms and appeared to be shouting. Nikalys stood tall and took a few scuffling steps back from the creature without ever taking his eyes from it.

  A moment later, Nundle felt the Weave within the creature start to unravel. The beast began to shrink rapidly, losing a few feet with every breath, as if it were a tree growing in reverse. The tough, wooden exterior softened and turned less ridged yet still kept its bark-like appearance. Gangly arms and legs retreated, the needle-sharp spikes on its chest and back shrinking to mere inches. Fine, dusty green hair sprung from the top of its triangular head, growing like early-Spring grass. In a matter of moments, the fifty-foot tall monster shrank to a five-foot tall creature, six if its hair—waving in the breeze—was included.

  Hoping he would not
regret doing so, Nundle dropped his Weaves letting a rush of sound to wash over him.

  Waves crashing on the rocks.

  The sea breeze whistling in his ears.

  Soldiers’ startled mumbling.

  He reached up and rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his head. A moment later, he dropped his hand, suddenly realizing what stood before them. Staring back to the creature, a single word of surprise slipped from his lips.

  “Huh.”

  This might be the first he had ever seen one, but he had read enough books to know what it was.

  “Nundle?” muttered Cero. “What is that?”

  Looking up, Nundle found Cero staring wide-eyed at the creature. “I believe it’s a buhanik.” Peering back to the creature, he added, “Actually, I’m certain of it.”

  “I’m sorry. A what?”

  “Thorn,” said Nundle, using a more common name. “It’s a thorn.”

  Cero was quiet for a moment.

  “Truly?”

  Nodding slowly, Nundle said, “Truly.”

  Another quiet moment passed before Cero asked warily, “Can they all do that?”

  “Gods, I hope not.”

  The thorn and Nikalys remained locked in a steady stare while Broedi and the strange hillman—whom Nundle noted was completely bald—continued their approach from the trees. Nikalys remained taut and tense, his sword held at the ready while the thorn appeared perfectly tranquil and at ease.

  Curious, Nundle began to move forward, toward the creature. Upon reaching where Nathan, Wil, and Captain Scrag stood, he glanced at the trio. All three were covered head to foot in sand.

  “Careful,” muttered Captain Scrag. “Those blasted teeth went somewhere.”

  Nundle halted his approach immediately. The captain’s warning was a prudent one.

  Broedi looked to them and called out, “Do not be afraid! It was a misunderstanding!”

  “A misunderstanding?” muttered Captain Scrag amidst a skeptical snort. “A misunderstanding is, ‘You brought me two flagons, I ordered three.’”

  Turning to face the three longlegs, Nundle said, “If Broedi says it’s safe…”