The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (94 page)

It took a few more pats and whispered words to wake her, but eventually Helene began to stir, stretching and yawning. Rolling over to peer up at Sabine through bleary eyes, she spoke, her voice small and sleepy.

“You woke me up.”

Reaching down, Sabine brushed a lock of black hair from Helene’s forehead, smiled, and said, “I know, dear. I’m sorry. But Broedi and Tobias are here.” She looked over at the White Lions. “And they need to ask you something.”

Twisting her head, Helene peered around Sabine to stare at the pair hovering a few paces away and gave them a small, tired smile.

“Hello, Broedi.”

“Good evening, uora,” rumbled Broedi. “I am sorry for waking you.” He approached them, stopping bedside. “Would you please sit up for me?”

Helene nodded and began to shimmy around under the covers. Sabine helped while also situating herself in order to drape her left arm around Helene’s shoulders. When they were ready, she gave Helene a gentle squeeze, turned toward Broedi, and nodded.

The hillman looked to Tobias immediately.

“Something small.”

Tobias nodded and stared into the empty air.

A half a heartbeat later, Helene stiffened. Worried, Sabine looked down to her sister and found Helene staring, wide-eyed, at the same empty space as Tobias. Moments later, the room began to grow dim. It was as though the light was being drained from the air. Helene buried her head into Sabine’s shoulder and whimpered softly.

Broedi rumbled, “That’s enough.”

The room’s brightness returned to normal in an instant. Sabine stared down at Helene, equal parts concerned and surprised. As Broedi crouched beside them, she shifted her gaze to the hillman. He was focused on Helene alone.

“What did you see, uora?”

Sabine wondered why he even asked the question. Helene’s reaction was confirmation enough.

Helene spoke without lifting her head, her voice muffled by Sabine’s shoulder and dress.

“The black ribbons.”

Nodding slowly, Broedi asked, “Have you seen them before?”

Helene turned her head enough to peer at him and nodded once.

“I don’t like them.”

“Why is that?” asked Broedi.

“They scare me.”

Sabine kissed the top of Helene’s head, squeezed her tight, and asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

When Helene did not answer her, Broedi rumbled softly, “There is nothing to fear, uora. The black ribbons are like the others, but have a different purpose. You still like the other ribbons, yes?”

Helene shook her head vigorously.

“Not anymore.”

Broedi nodded, an understanding smile on his lips, and said, “Perhaps you will again someday
.
” He hesitated a moment before asking in the softest, gentlest tone possible, “Do you think you can tell me what happened during your lesson with Marick? With the orange ribbons?”

Sabine shut her eyes tight, knowing the question needed to be asked, but wishing it were not so.

For a long moment, Helene remained quiet, the fire’s soft crackling the only sound in the room. When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft that Sabine had to strain to hear it.

“I got mad.”

“Why did you get mad?” asked Broedi quietly.

“Because Marick said I wasn’t trying hard and I was.”

Sabine opened her eyes and stared down. This was more than she had ever gotten out of her.

“I am sure you were trying very hard,” rumbled Broedi. “Can you tell me what happened next?”

A long, quiet moment passed before Helene answered in a whisper. “I hurt him.” She looked to the hillman quickly, adding, “I didn’t mean to, Broedi. It was an accident! I promise!” The anguish in her voice was heartbreaking. She buried her face back into Sabine’s shoulder and said, “I tried to make him come back! But he wouldn’t listen to me. He kept going.”

Sabine’s deep concern for her sister stepped aside a moment, making room for confusion. Staring down at the top of Helene’s head, she asked, “What was that, dear?”

Broedi lifted a hand and shook his head once, halting any further questions. Reaching out to pat Helene’s leg, he rumbled, “You can go back to sleep now, uora. You were very brave tonight. Thank you.” He gave her one last pat, rose from his crouch, and eyed Sabine, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Once she is sleeping, we must talk.” With that, he turned around and moved back to Tobias.

“Sing to me, Sabine,” murmured Helene. Looking down, Sabine found Helene staring up, tears in her eyes. “Sing me my song, please.”

Somehow, Sabine managed to summon a smile.

“Of course, dear. Lie down, now.”

Once Helene was snuggled back under the blankets, Sabine began to stroke Helene’s raven-black hair while softly singing
Happy Times at the Fair.
As she sang, she repeatedly looked back to the White Lions. The pair had retreated to the room’s far corner, near the chair and table, and was speaking in low whispers.

It took four passes through the lullaby before Helene fell back to sleep. The moment Sabine was sure the girl would not wake up, she slid from the bed and headed straight for the corner. Tobias, in the midst of speaking as she approached, glanced up and shut his mouth immediately. Stopping before them, Sabine put her hands on her hips and spoke in an urgent, hushed tone.

“Tell me what this means.
Now.
”

Broedi gestured to the chair.

“Please sit.”

She shot back quietly, “I don’t want to sit.”

Tobias urged gently, “I think you should.”

“I don’t
want
to sit,” hissed Sabine. “I want to talk.”

“That is your choice,” rumbled the hillman. He hesitated a moment before nodding back to the bed. “When you were young, did your mother sing to you like that?”

Apparently, the series of odd questions were to continue.

Momentarily caught off guard, Sabine recovered quickly and nodded.

“Yes, why?”

“Your voice is quite soothing,” rumbled Broedi.

“Very pleasant,” agreed Tobias, a wistful smile on his face. “When you sing, you sound just like her.”

Not following, Sabine asked, “Like who?”

“Your mother,” answered Broedi.

“How could you possibly know what she—” She stopped short as the unusual line of questions suddenly made sense. She remained quiet a moment, looking between hillman and tomble. “Are you saying…no, wait. What are you saying?”

The pair exchanged a look, Tobias nodded once, and Broedi turned back to her.

“Your mother was a White Lion.”

Sabine shut her eyes tight. Her mind raced as countless bits and pieces about her life and family took on an entirely new meaning. Feeling a bit woozy, she opened her eyes, moved to the lone chair in the room and collapsed into it. Her dress bunched up beneath her, but she left it alone.

She sat in silence for a time, shaking her head nonstop. It seemed impossible, yet it explained so much.

Why they lived in the middle of the grasslands.

Why Mother never went to town.

Why she was so talented with the Strands.

Why she looked years younger than Father did, even though they were supposedly the same age.

She was about to accept the impossible as fact when something occurred to her.

“Hold a moment…”

Since arriving at Storm Island, she had made frequent visits to the keep’s small library, finding—unsurprisingly so—that many of the texts and books focused on the White Lions. By now, she knew quite a lot about the heroes.

Looking up to Broedi and Tobias, she said, “None of the White Lions were named Jeanelle.”

“That is true,” acknowledged Broedi as he moved closer to her. Standing before her chair, he added, “Most likely, she adapted it to help remain hidden. At times, I went by ‘Brady.’”

Tobias raised a hand.

“Toby, here.”

Dropping to a knee, Broedi stared at her and said, “You might have known her as Jeanelle Moiléne, mother and wife. But to us, she was Jeanne Palielle, friend and fellow White Lion.”

Sabine shook her head, her mind rebelling against what they were suggesting.

“No. This is not possible.”

“Why?” asked Tobias. Hobbling closer, he stood beside Broedi and leaned on his walking stick. “From what you’ve told us, it is more than possible. It is truth. Jeanne had auburn hair, green eyes, and a voice that put every morning dove to shame.”

Broedi, who had been nodding along with Tobias, added, “And she could touch Fire, Water, Stone, Soul, and Void. The same as Helene.”

“If what you say is true, why can Helene touch them but I can’t?”

“Perhaps you will one day,” rumbled Broedi. “It comes to some later in their lives.”

Tobias added, “I knew a longleg who was in his seventieth year when he suddenly discovered he could touch Air and Life. The poor soul was terrified.”

Sabine shifted her gaze to the tomble.

“Will that happen to me?”

Tobias shrugged.

“It might. It might not. Who knows? And as you are as much your father’s child as Jeanne’s, it might be—”

“Stop!” hissed Sabine as another surge of denial washed through her. “This is madness! My mother was not Jeanne Palielle! She was
not
a White Lion!”

With sympathy in his eyes, Broedi said, “Yes, she—”

“No!” snapped Sabine, shaking her head vigorously and sending her long black hair whipping back and forth. “She’s dead! White Lions can’t die!”

Broedi shared a quick look with Tobias before turning back to her.

“That is the one thing that has us puzzled. Tell us about the day Helene was born.”

“Must I?”

This was a memory she avoided.

Broedi nodded.

“Please.”

Sabine dropped her eyes and thought back to that day four—almost five—years ago. Shutting her eyes tight, she spoke, keeping her voice as steady as she could.

“It was early Spring, the Turn of Duryn. Father was turning over the fields, getting them ready for planting. I was inside with Mother, sitting at the table and reading. She was cleaning, getting things ready for the founding-wife to arrive from Stooert the following week. Suddenly, she gasped, grabbed her stomach, and told me to get Father. I ran outside, screaming for him. He dropped the shovel and he came running. I was gone for only a moment, but when I got back—”

She stopped, her throat catching as she remembered the scene awaiting her.

“Mother was lying on their mattress. Her dress was soaked red. It took me a moment to realize it was blood. Gods, there was so much blood…”

She felt tears threatening to come and tried to hold them back.

“Father panicked. He had no idea what to do. Mother, like always, remained perfectly calm and talked him through everything. I did what I could to help, but mostly I just held Mother’s hand.”

Sabine glanced down to her hands in her lap, remembering her mother’s tight grip.

“Helene came fast. At least, that’s what Mother said. All I remember is thinking how tiny she was, her little body in Father’s hands, still covered with dirt. I knew nothing about babies, but I could tell something was wrong right away. Helene’s skin was a pale gray color, her arms and legs hung limp. Oddly enough, it reminded me of a doll Father had brought me from Stooert one time. And she was quiet. Absolutely quiet. I thought she was dead. Father did, too. I could see it in his eyes.”

“And your mother?” rumbled Broedi softly. “What did she do?”

“She begged. Over and over, she asked to hold Helene. ‘Give her to me! I can get her back! I can get her back!’ At first, Father refused, but he eventually relented and handed Helene’s little body over. Mother pulled me to her, gave me a kiss and hug, and told me to be strong for Father and Helene. She held tight. Gods, did she hold tight…”

For some reason, her arms hurt. Looking down, she found that she was hugging herself, squeezing her upper arms, digging her fingers into the muscles. Releasing her grip, she placed her hands in her lap just as a tear fell to land on her wrist. She did not bother to wipe it. Or the ones that followed.

“She kissed Father, told us she loved us both, and closed her eyes. A few moments later, Helene started to cry, her face turned pink, and she began to wiggle in Mother’s arms. I was so happy, but Father started to cry, the first and only time I ever saw him do so. I didn’t understand why he was so sad until I looked up to Mother’s face.”

Sabine paused, looked up to Broedi through tear-blurred eyes, and muttered, “She’d never open her eyes again…”

Broedi looked away and stared into the fire, the tan skin around his eyes twitching. Tobias dropped his head to his chest and remained that way, as motionless as a statue. No one said a word.

After a few moments, Broedi looked back to her.

“What happened next?”

Sabine drew in a long, shuddering breath and let it back out slowly before answering.

“I bundled up Helene while Father buried Mother in the longpepper field.”

“Your loss is my own,” rumbled the hillman. “Your mother will be missed. She was a good friend.”

Without looking up, Tobias murmured, “And a better person.” His voice was thick with emotion.

Sabine shook her head—less stridently than before—and said, “My mother was Jeanelle Moiléne, a farmer. She was
not
a White lion. White Lions can’t die.”

“If the wound is severe enough, we can,” said Broedi. He rose from his crouch and took a step back. “Do you know the Celystiela who chose Jeanne to be her champion?”

Sabine’s stomach clenched. She did.

“Maeana. The Goddess of Death.”

Nodding, Broedi asked, “Did you know that many called her the Soul Speaker?”

“I read that in one of the books here.”

Tobias lifted his head and asked, “Did the book say why she was called that?”

Sabine shook her head.

“No, it didn’t.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Broedi rumbled, “When a mortal dies, the soul begins its journey to Maeana’s hall. Until it reached its destination, Jeanne alone could speak with it. Ask it questions, learn what it knew in life. Sometimes, she would wonder aloud whether it was possible to keep a soul from completing its journey.” He paused a moment before adding. “And perhaps even convince it to return.”