Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) (82 page)

As life slowly drained from the Latius’ eyes, Cero wondered if he had been used. The man had admitted to the same urges as Cero. Perhaps Latius had simply wanted Cero to do what he could not do himself.

Suddenly, Latius’ expression shifted. His eyes spread wide open, locking on Cero’s face. In a voice filled with pure terror, he whispered, “Oh, gods, I’m so sorry, Cero. I’m so…I didn’t mean…to…” His lips stopped moving, his face went slack, and the last flicker of life winked out of Latius’ eyes. His head fell slack.

Cero stared at the dead man, wondering how he was going to explain this to the Sergeant and the others. His gaze shifted to the beltknife sticking from Latius’ chest.

The darkness swelled inside of him.

Cero started to scoot toward Latius’ body, intending to retrieve the knife and plunge it into his own chest, when an unearthly, bloodcurdling screech filled the night. Cero’s eyes shot open wide as he realized the shriek was emanating from the corpse. Scrambling backwards, Cero smacked into the bridge’s wall and cried out in pain as the collision sent a jolt of burning pain along his wounded back.

The nightmarish sound grew louder by the moment, until the piercing howl grated against his soul as much as it was digging into his ears and scraping the inside of his head. He clasped his hands over his ears in a vain attempt to block the sound. With rounded eyes, he watched an opaque, black smoke rise from the wound in the center of Latius’ chest. Curling up into the air—slowly at first but increasingly faster—the murky mist gathered rather than dissipate, clumping together above Latius’ body.

The screeching was unbearable. Cero thought his head was going to burst. He shut his eyes, praying to all the gods for the sound to stop.

Sensing the colors gold and white, his eyes popped open.

Magic.

This had something to do with magic.

He watched the smoke coalesce into the vague shape of a tall, thin man, only with too-skinny legs and arms.

After a few more excruciating moments, the screeching ceased and the black mist stopped streaming from Latius’ body.

The dark figure hovered above the body and reached for the sky, stretching its unnatural limbs. Cero dropped his hands from his ears and stared, wide-eyed. The entire creature was nothing more than shifting smoke yet solid enough that it blocked out the stars in the sky, a black silhouette against a night sky, soaking in moonlight, devouring it.

The pitch-black shape swiveled its head in all directions as though it were searching for something. Little wisps of nothingness flared around its edges as it moved. At one point, its gaze turned toward him, and Cero gasped. Its face was devoid of features other than two, softly glowing silver eyes devoid of irises or pupils.

Suddenly, the creature’s head turned sharply to the northwest. With two loping steps, it leapt over the side of the bridge.

Cero tried to stand, but he was too weak. The cut on his back was deep and he had lost—was losing—a lot of blood. Still, he managed to twist around, pull himself up, and look to the river below, expecting to see waves in the water’s surface where the thing from Latius had plummeted into the river.

There was nothing. The surface was smooth.

Another short screech shattered the quiet night, bursting forth from the northern shore of the Erona. Cero searched for the source, his gaze locking onto the creature below. The shadow was moving through the grasses on the other side at an incredible rate.

“Bless the gods…”

As the shade dashed into the woods, Cero’s legs gave out. Slumping down to the ground, he managed to lie on his stomach, grateful he was not on his back.

Screams and shouts ricocheted through the night. Lifting his head, he spotted a giant hill lynx running toward him, its yellow eyes bright with reflected moonlight. Behind the massive cat, he spotted other figures at the far end of the bridge running in his direction. One of them carried a glowing sword.

Weary and exhausted, Cero dropped his head to cold limestone. The moment he did, he heard the voice of the boy, immediately to his left.

“Nine Hells…”

Summoning some strength, Cero rolled over a bit to find Nikalys kneeling between him and Latius’ body. His sword shimmered in the moonlight.

Nikalys glared at Cero and demanded, “What happened here?”

“He attacked me,” mumbled Cero. “I was defending myself and—” He stopped as the enormous lynx reached the bloody scene. The cat paused only long enough to sniff Latius’ body before sprinting away, a blur of golden brown fur running north.

The boy stood and moved closer to Cero.

“What was that thing that jumped from the bridge?”

“I don’t know,” whispered Cero. “It came from inside Latius.”

Nikalys’ face twisted up in confusion.

“It
what
?”

Cero muttered, “We struggled, he cut me, I got the knife, and Latius fell on it.” Too tired to keep his head up, he let it fall to the limestone. With the right side of his face pressed against the ground, he continued, “He died, and that thing came from inside of him.”

Nikalys knelt down and glared at him, clearly dubious.

“Truly?”

Cero did not have the strength to respond. He closed his eyes.

The sound of feet pounding on the bridge filled the night.

“What in the Nine Hells happened here?!”

Cero recognized the voice as belonging to Sergeant Trell.

Nikalys conveyed what Cero had told him, ending it with a judgmental, “I’m not sure I believe him.”

Someone else kneeled beside him and he felt a gentle pressure on his left shoulder, pulling aside his bloody cloak. A small gasp was followed by a young woman’s voice.

“And I’m sure he just sliced open his back on his own, then?”

It was the boy’s sister, Kenders—the mage.

Sergeant Trell said, “Turn him over.”

“His wound is too bad for that,” protested Kenders. “We should help him first.”

“It’s all right, dear. We only need a moment.” Cero recognized Nundle’s high-pitched voice. “I think I know what Nathan is looking for.”

Kenders leaned down to him and asked gently, “Can you roll over for a moment? Please? Then we’ll tend to your wound. I promise.” The kindness in her voice was unexpected.

Cero grunted an acknowledgement and tried to turn over, but failed. He was getting weaker by the moment.

After a second, unsuccessful attempt, Kenders said, “Nik, help me turn him over, please.”

Together, the pair started to roll him over. As soon as he was fully on his right side, Sergeant Trell said, “That’s good enough. I believe him. Lay him back down.”

“You believe him?” asked Nikalys, still sounding suspicious. “Why?”

“His hands and shirt sleeves: they’re soaked in blood, not splattered. The only way that happens is if Latius truly did bleed out while lying on top of him.”

Nundle said, “He could have pulled him down on top of him after stabbing him.”

“Truly, Nundle?” said the sergeant. “Is that what you think happened?”

“I suppose that is unlikely. However…Cero could have attacked him first.”

Seeing a chance that he actually might be absolved of any wrongdoing, Cero forced out, “That’s Latius’ knife sticking in him. Mine is in my saddlebags. Go and check my horse—he’s on the southeastern bank.” He tried to nod toward the south end of the bridge, but the small motion set his back aflame.

Sergeant Trell said, “Let him lie back down, please.”

As Kenders and Nikalys helped return him to his stomach, the sergeant called out for Cero’s horse to be brought forward. Soon, Cero heard the sounds of a single horse’s hooves coming up the bridge. The horse stopped, and after sounds of rummaging through the leather packs strapped to his horse, he heard a grunt of satisfaction.

“See?” said Sergeant Trell. “Here’s his knife. He’s telling the truth.” Cero would have liked to look up to see everyone’s reaction, but he was too tired. “Now, please help him, Nundle. That cut is deep.”

Quick, light footsteps approached and the tomble kneeled beside him.

“Perhaps I should try?” asked Kenders. She sounded hesitant.

Nundle said, “No. Broedi would toss me in the river if I let you.”

“But this is only one man, not nine. I can do it. I’ve watched you work on Zecus.”

“No,” replied Nundle firmly. “Getting a Weave of Life correct takes patience and lots and lots of practice.”

At this point, Cero did not much care much who attempted save his life.

Kenders muttered bitterly, “Fine.”

In a professorial manner, Nundle said, “Now watch as I use only a bit of Life to first weave a small pattern that will staunch the bleeding. After that, I’ll use another one where the goal is to aid him, but let…his…” The tomble trailed off. “Wait…what is that?”

Cero felt a flicker of gold and white dance within him.

Nundle exclaimed, “Ah!”

A loud gasp rushed from Kenders.

Sergeant Trell and Nikalys asked simultaneously, “What happened?”

Cero wondered the same thing, but did not have the energy to ask.

His voice full of confusion, Nundle said, “I…I directed the Weave on the wound and…and …”

Kenders muttered, “I swear something inside of him reached out and unraveled it. The Weave was there one moment and falling apart the next.”

The sound of an animal breathing accompanied by the soft brush of fur on stone approached Cero. Moments later, Broedi’s voice rumbled, “That is because…a very powerful and terrible Weave inside his soul…does not want him to live.” The hillman was slightly out of breath.

The White Lion’s words shocked Cero, but all he could manage was a quiet moan.

Broedi continued solemnly, “And if we do not remove it from him…before he dies, another Soulwraith will be unleashed…and follow the first.”

Cero moaned again. The thought that he would turn into same type of black fiend that had climbed from Latius terrified him.

“You know what that thing was?” asked Nundle.

“A Soulwraith,” rumbled Broedi as he moved closer. “During the Demonic War, Norasim’s army used them to gather information. Demon mages would use the Weave on his followers and send them into our midst. Once the host had learned what it was sent to discover, the person would slit his or her own throat and release the wraith to rush back to its master and deliver its message.” The White Lion knelt beside Cero. “Nundle, describe for me—exactly—the pattern you saw Jhaell use on the Trackers. What Strands were used?”

Cero tried to remember if the saeljul had subjected him to magic, but could not. He supposed that if one were under a magical compulsion to commit suicide, it would probably be best if the person were unaware.

Nundle said, “Will, Void, and Air…that’s all I could see. A great circle crossed with jagged, diagonal lines. I think there was a fourth Strand, though. There were gaping holes in the pattern I saw.”

“Soul,” rumbled Broedi. “It is a
very
twisted use of the Strands.” The White Lion’s tone revealed obvious distaste. “I suspect the moment they found us, they wanted to end their life and return to Jhaell.”

Kenders muttered, “That’s awful…”

“How did Cero fight it?” asked Nundle.

“Perhaps his own will is strong,” replied Broedi. A note of impatience crept into his voice. “We will talk of this later. If we do not remove the Weave, he will be subjected to the same fate as the other Tracker
.
Right now, uora, I need your help.”

With audible surprise in her voice, Kenders replied, “Me?”

“Yes. You are the only one of us that can touch the four types of Strands used in the pattern. You have the best chance at unraveling it.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “What do I do?”

“Do you remember how I told you to not rely on your instincts?” rumbled Broedi “That you were to work only those Weaves that you had practiced?”

“Yes?”

“Forget it all.
Will
the Weave inside this man come apart.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

Unconsciousness was not far away for Cero. The edges of his vision were getting fuzzy, which he found odd considering his eyes were shut. He tried to plead for someone to do something, but all that came out was a weak croak.

“Now, uora. He is dying.”

Moments later, it felt as if a thousand, tiny bubbles erupted inside his body, starting in his chest and radiating out to his arms, legs, fingers, and toes. The sensation reminded him of when he knew someone was doing magic, yet it felt backwards. When the fizzing reached his head, it paused a moment, trying to hold on, refusing to let go. Cero pushed against it, forcing whatever it was out of him. He did not want to be one of those wraiths.

Finally, just like a stick bent too far, something cracked.

In an instant, Cero felt light and free. Smiling, he succumbed to the blackness that called him.

* * *

Dashing across the nighttime plain, What-Had-Been-Latius ran with impossible speed, its ‘feet’ barely touching the ground. As the shade whisked along the prairie, the grass of the plains fell to the sides, crumbling and withering. Not a single ray of moonlight reflected off the figure. The Soulwraith swallowed every beam of light that touched it.

Thoughts flitted through what had once been a consciousness, a jumbled mixture of agonizing horror and fear, paired with a single-minded purpose to reach its creator. It had a message it must deliver.

The soul of Latius would push up to the surface at times in a desperate attempt to escape. He wanted to begin his journey to Maeana’s hall. However, the Weave suppressed the soul, feeding off it. Each time he tried to burst free, the wraith would unleash a terror-filled screech that echoed chillingly over the flat plains. Any wildlife that heard the shriek bolted, running in fear until collapsing from exhaustion.

7
^th
of the Turn of Thonda

Kenders reached up to brush a few strands of hair behind her ear while staring straight ahead, along the column of soldiers. In a dip in the road now and more than three-fourths of the way back meant she could no longer see the four city guards. She sighed and prayed things were going smoothly.