The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (7 page)

Kenders pressed her lips together and sighed inwardly. Khin had not moved in hours. She did not know how he could stand it. Her own legs were cold and stiff from the lack of movement.

Exasperated, she let her gaze drift throughout the rest of the square room, anxious to stare at anything else other than her teacher and the confounding saucers.

Two oak chairs sat squared against the wall to her right, taunting her. She did not understand why Khin even had chairs in his room. He never sat in them, nor allowed her to sit in one, either. A plain round-topped, four-legged table stood in the far corner of the room, the resting place for a pewter water pitcher and two wooden cups. Other than the two glass-covered, rectangular openings near the wooden rafters, the room’s gray, stone-block walls were completely bare. She did not understand how Khin lived here.

Khin’s robes rustled as he shifted ever so slightly.

Kenders quickly looked back to her teacher, thinking he might finally begin today’s lesson. She waited, staring at Khin, silently urging him to do or say something, anything at all.

He did not, however. He remained perfectly still and quiet.

As she sat there grinding her teeth, a tiny, chilled shiver ran up her spine, through her shoulders, and along her arms. Despite choosing her heaviest wool dress this morning, she was still cold. The stone beneath her mat had been leaching heat from her body all morning.

The chilly weather of Storm Island was new to her. The coldest night of the year in Yellow Mud was never as chilly as it was outside right now, and it was not even truly Winter yet. As much as she disliked the cold, her teacher relished it. At times, she would spot Khin standing atop the battlements, his nonsensically thin white robes whipping in the chill wind.

Khin had given her one instruction when she arrived this morning: “Remain silent.” She swallowed her question as to why her quiet was necessary and followed the directive. The one thing she had learned without doubt during her lessons was that to ask Khin anything was pointless. The aicenai made Broedi look like the village gossip.

During her first few lessons, she had pelted the aicenai with dozens of questions about magic, the Strands, and different Weaves. Khin politely turned every one aside. When she shared her frustration with Broedi, the hillman gave her one of his slight smiles and rumbled a single word.

Patience.

Sitting in the tiny, cold room, Kenders frowned. She and patience did not mix.

Khin was supposed to be teaching her how to better control her ability. He was supposed to be an expert in weaving the Strands. He was supposed to teach her new patterns. What he was doing instead, was wasting her time.

Her bitterness slipped out in the form of a tiny, frustrated sigh.

Khin’s wispy voice followed a moment later, startling her.

“Stone fibríaal first. Then Air. Begin.”

A soft crackling filled her head and chest as the aicenai immediately reached for the Strands. Pushing back a quick flash of panic, she tried to recall the correct patterns, but the heady sweetness of the incense, her cold and stiff muscles, and her irritation with Khin all interfered with her concentration.

Khin’s intricate pattern of loops and curls was half-complete already, hovering in the air above the incense, a mix of heavy, dark brown Strands of Stone and the sparkling silver of Soul. Her eyes went wide. The speed with which he worked the Strands never ceased to astonish her. She had taken half a breath and was already far behind.

Reaching out for her own Strands of Stone and Soul, Kenders began to work the strings of magical energy, knitting her own Weave. She shot a furtive glance towards Khin’s pattern to compare hers to his, and was surprised to see that while their designs were comparable, his had far fewer Strands of Stone.

He abruptly directed his Weave to the limestone in the saucer, surprising her. A soft crack filled the room as the chunk of stone split in half, morphed into a vaguely humanoid shape no bigger than her fist, and stood on two rocky legs. Dust and pebbles fell from the fibríaal’s new joints.

Kenders pressed her lips together, angry with herself. His Weave had been different because he used the limestone with the magic. Despite staring at the hunk of rock for hours, it had never occurred to her to do that. Finishing her Weave a moment later, a tiny stone fibríaal appeared from nowhere to stand beside Khin’s creature. The other half of limestone remained unused in the saucer.

Kenders moved on to the second pattern, glanced up, and found Khin nearly done with his, interlocking white and silver Strands, wispier and less rigid than the first Weave.

She could still beat her teacher, but only by resorting to using her gift from Gaena, the Goddess of Magic. She could simply will the air fibríaal into existence if she wished, but knew that would defeat the point of the exercise, earn a rebuke from Khin, and make her want to take a nap all at once. She was here to learn how to weave the Strands the correct way.

A cool breeze rushed through the room, flaring the glowing tips of the incense sticks and announcing the arrival of Khin’s air fibríaal. The diminutive, whistling twister of air was invisible to the naked eye, yet Kenders could clearly see the white and silver pattern swirling beside the pair of stone fibríaals.

With a frustrated sigh, she finished her own Weave and sat, glaring at the four motionless fibríaals. Before she could stop herself, a whispered curse escaped from her lips.

“Hells.”

Speaking softly, drawing each word out, Khin said, “An understandable sentiment, but ineloquently conveyed.” It took twice as long for him to say something as it did anyone else. He sat as still as a marble statue, his ice blue eyes studying her. Knowing how this went, she simply held his stare and waited for him to speak.

Ten, agonizingly long and silent minutes passed as the two stared at one another through the wisps of incense smoke. The near-constant wind outside surged and waned, an atonal harmony filing the room as each new gust worked to find every minuscule seam between the windows and stone.

Kenders held Khin’s stare, gnawing on the inside of her lip. She was moments from snapping when the aicenai finally stirred.

“You are learning some patience,” murmured Khin. “Even though it is only surface deep.” He spoke so softly, the whistling of the wind almost drowned him out. “You are a lidded pot of boiling water.”

Kenders did her best not to react to his perfectly accurate assessment.

“You may go, now.”

Her eyes went wide.

“Pardon?”

“You may go,” said Khin slowly. “Today’s lesson is over.”

“That’s it?” exclaimed Kenders. “You made me sit here for hours!”

“How observant of you to notice.”

Her irritation flared into determined anger. Glaring at the aicenai, she demanded, “Give me another chance!”

“No.”

“No?” repeated Kenders. “You can’t give me one chance and then shove me out the door!”

Khin’s gaze locked onto hers, his blue eyes burning both cold and hot like the Winter sun. The aicenai might be ancient, but time had not dimmed the intensity of his stare.

“How many chances will the God of Chaos give you?”

The question acted like a punch to the gut would to breath, knocking the indignant irritation from her in an instant. She dropped her eyes and stared at her reed mat. Khin had made his point.

“You have great power,” whispered Khin. “
Incredible
power. More than everyone here at the enclave combined. More than every mage I have known.” He paused, a short one for him, before adding, “Yet you lack discipline, concentration, patience.”

Kenders continued to stare at her mat and did not respond.

After a quiet moment, Khin asked, “Why did you not unravel my Weaves?”

Kenders looked up quickly.

“I…I did not think I was allowed to do that.”

“Allowed?” inquired Khin. He shook his head. “Will the God of Chaos agree to a set of rules when he or she faces you? Will you determine what is allowed and what is not beforehand?”

“I…”

She trailed off, having no idea what she was going to say. She wanted to argue but could not refute a single word Khin had spoken. Sighing, she dropped her head again, her frustration returning in an instant. Khin spent more time playing with her mind than he did teaching her about the Strands.

Only three turns ago, her mornings were spent helping her mother make the midday meal, or going with her brothers to help their father in the olive groves or vineyards. They were not spent sitting with an aicenai mage, preparing to help lead the charge against the evil Gods of the Cabal.

She had no idea how she was supposed to do any of this.

“Doubt yourself for but a moment,” whispered Khin. “And the Cabal will destroy you.”

Khin’s uncanny ability to gauge her thoughts only irritated her further.

Lifting her gaze, she lied, saying firmly, “I do
not
doubt myself.”

Khin studied her for a long moment before a tired sigh escaped his thin lips. He closed his razor thin eyelids and murmured, “Go now. I must meditate. I suggest you do the same.”

Kenders quickly uncrossed her legs and stood, ignoring the protests of her stiff muscles. Turning around, she strode to the only door, grasped the rope handle, and pulled hard. Fresh, cold air smacked her in the face, whipping her hair and dress back, into the room.

Behind her, Khin said, “Leave the door open, please. It is warm in here.”

She sighed, wondering yet again if the aicenai was coldblooded. Releasing the rope handle, she took a bracing breath and stepped from the room, moving past the old statue of a soldier that seemed to stand guard beside Khin’s door.

The stiff wind blowing off the sea buffeted her as she hurried along the stone walkway. She did not dare look over the wall’s edges, knowing that even a quick glance would make her dizzy. The keep sat perched atop a tall bluff overlooking the Sea of Kings, the ocean whipped white by the late Harvest wind. The sound of waves crashing against the shore rushed from below, triggering visions of the jagged black rocks that jutted from the cliff’s base. Even after spending an entire turn here, the smell of the air, salty and somehow thick, remained odd to her nose.

Halfway across the battlements, her eyes started to water from the stinging wind. Twisting her head so it did not blow into her eyes, she briefly glimpsed the tops of the forest to the west before her long hair whipped forward. Reaching up, she held it from her face, wishing she had braided it this morning. Able to see again, she spotted the last leaves of the year still clinging to bare branches. Two weeks ago, the trees had been a stunning mixture of reds, yellows, and oranges, but the interminable wind had robbed them of their beauty.

She broke into a quick trot, rushing ahead to reach the northwest tower where the stairwell offered cover. As she reached the door, a muted clanging of metal striking metal pulled her attention to the courtyard below her. Dozens of men filled the open space, doing whatever soldiers did. Most of the time, Kenders was still with Khin when morning drills concluded.

Bursting into the tower, she slammed the door shut behind her and breathed a sigh of relief. She hurried down the torch-lit stairwell to the ground floor and navigated the halls, intent on heading to the courtyard. As she swept through the passageways, she passed a dozen or so of the castle’s residents, all of whom greeted her warmly.

Reaching a set of ebonwood doors, Kenders took a deep breath, readying herself for the wind again, and shoved the right-hand door. She took a step outside and stopped, surprised to find the air calm.

Canvas tents on the far side of the yard were still taking a beating from the gusts, but where she stood, the air was as still as a Summer day in Yellow Mud. Sensing a slight crackling, she tilted her head back and spotted a dim net of faint, white Strands stretching across half of the courtyard. A quiet word of surprised awe slipped from her.

“Huh.”

She would have noticed the Weave earlier, but with the number of mages at Storm Island, she had grown accustomed to the soft, constant hum and crackling of people weaving.

She glanced around the courtyard, curious who was responsible for the simple yet elegant Weave. Almost immediately, her eyes settled on a tall, barrel-chested, redheaded individual standing off to the side, watching the practicing soldiers. The man caught her eye, lifted a hand, and waved. Kenders smiled and returned the friendly gesture. She pointed upward, silently asking if he was holding the wind back. A wide smile spread over his face and he nodded.

“Gamin,” muttered Kenders. “I should have known.”

Meeting the head of the mages when they first arrived at Storm Island had been a pleasant, bittersweet experience for Kenders and her brothers. While he was a stranger to them, Gamin and his brother, Sevan, had been close friends with Thaddeus and Marie Isaac, her parents in all but blood. Since arriving, the three Isaac children had spent more than a few evenings with Gamin, enjoying the man’s stories about their parents when they were younger, stories Thaddeus and Marie had kept from them. Gamin swore that Sevan told them all better, but his older brother was away, somewhere in the Commonwealth of Cartu, seeking support—monetary and magical—for the Shadow Manes.

At least eighty men were scattered about the center of the yard, practicing with their swords, sparring in groups of two or three. Five high-backed wooden benches lined the southwestern wall of the courtyard, all of them empty except for one. A lone, sandy-haired young man wearing a light gray tunic and dark gray pants reclined, resting comfortably, his right, black-leather-booted leg crossed over his left knee.

She set off across the courtyard, aiming for Nikalys. As she neared, it struck her how different he was from a few turns past. He was only weeks past his eighteenth yearday—a small celebration had been held for him here at the enclave—but recent events had more to do with his entrance into manhood than any date on the calendar.

Nikalys did not look up as she approached, his gaze locked on two soldiers dueling. His eyes danced about as he actively watched the pair, but they were the only part of him exerting any effort.