The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (13 page)

The room was quiet and still, making the sudden movement at the far end of the hall that much more noticeable. Sabine sat at one of the long tables, waving her arm and smiling. Gamin sat beside her, back to Kenders, his red hair glistening in the light of candles and Weaves. He twisted around, met her gaze, and motioned for Kenders to come down to where they sat.

A tiny, satisfied grin touched Kenders’ lips.

“Perfect…”

She turned left and moved along the wall, scooting about the perimeter of the room, tying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Yet as she walked along the windowless walls, passing the twin hearths, she felt the eyes of every mage on her. She had been here for over a turn and still people stared.

Upon reaching the opposite end of the hall, she scooted over to where Sabine and Gamin rested on a bench. As she approached, Sabine glanced up and lifted a finger to her lips, motioning for her to be quiet. Kenders raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry, prompting Sabine to point to the back right corner of the room. Looking over, Kenders spotted two figures sitting at a small oak table. One of the pair was Marick, a young mage skilled in Fire and Water, while the other was a raven-haired girl no older than four or five years old. A fat, yellow beeswax candle sat on the tabletop between them, glowing from within. The little girl was staring at Marick intently, listening to whatever the young man was saying and nodding. Helene was in the midst of one of her lessons.

Sabine and Gamin sat together on one bench, facing Helene while watching from afar. Kenders smiled at them both as she sat next to Gamin. Adjusting her dress, she peered around the barrel-chested mage and whispered to Sabine, “How’s she doing?”

Sabine shook her head and murmured, “You are asking the wrong person. Every so often, I feel a flicker of orange and blue, but…” She trailed off and shrugged her shoulders. The frustration in her friend’s tone was clear.

Kenders nodded, sympathizing with Sabine. While Helene showed great talent with Water, Fire, Stone, and Soul, Sabine herself could only barely sense Fire and Water. Both sisters had started taking lessons upon arriving at the enclave, but Sabine’s talent was so meager that after two weeks and no improvement, she had said she wished to quit trying. Gamin had not talked her out of it.

Keeping his eyes on Helene, the large mage murmured, “She is making good progress recognizing the proper way to reach for Fire.” He nodded approvingly. “Which, considering her age and inexperience, I am more than happy with.”

“That’s good,” said Kenders softly.

Gamin nodded, whispering, “Very. Strands of Fire are wild and perhaps the most difficult to control. All it takes is one mistake and…” He trailed off, leaving the rest to their imagination.

Kenders was intimately familiar with the untamed nature of Fire. During the journey to the enclave, Broedi had attempted to teach her some simple Weaves of pure Fire. Were it not for the giant hillman around to fix her errors, she would have set the Southlands’ prairie aflame more than a few times.

Feeling a tiny flicker of orange, Kenders glanced over to the table and watched a single Strand of Fire pop into existence, wrap itself into a simple knot, and then disappear into the candle. The flame dancing upon the wick surged, briefly flaring thrice as tall and bright before returning to normal. Helene stared at the candle and smiled.

“Her or him?” whispered Kenders.

“Marick,” answered Gamin. “Helene is only permitted to pull forth Fire Strands. Until she has complete control, Weaves are forbidden to her. I do
not
want mistakes.”

Kenders nodded, murmuring, “Good idea.”

The trio had watched in hushed quiet for a few moments when Gamin turned to peer at Kenders, his eyes searching her face.

“If I am not mistaken, this would be the second day in a row you are done with your lessons early.”

Kenders frowned, a weary sigh sneaking from her lips before she could halt it.

“You are
not
mistaken.”

Sabine leaned forward to look over, her long black hair brushing the tabletop. She reached up to tuck it behind her ear, a teasing yet kind smile on her lips.

“And what did you do wrong this time?”

Kenders shook her head defiantly and whispered, “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

A bemused chuckle slipped from Gamin.

“Were that the case, you would not be here.”

Frowning, Kenders said, “I speak true, Gamin. I did exactly what Khin told me to do.”

“What was today’s lesson?” asked the mage.

“To light a candle.”

Gamin’s brow drew together.

“And?”

With an exasperated wave of her hand, Kenders whispered, “That’s it.”

Gamin was quiet a moment.

“That’s it? You lit a candle?”

Sighing softly, Kenders said, “That’s it.”

“Hells,” murmured Sabine. “
I
can do that.”

Confusion on his face and in his voice, Gamin asked, “To be clear, Khin had you do the same Weave, over and over again? All morning?”

Kenders shook her head, murmuring, “No. I worked on a
single
Weave. One. Blasted. Pattern.” She turned to stare at them both, adding firmly, “For hours.” It had been an incredibly long and tedious exercise.

Nodding, Gamin said, “Ah, now, I see.” His blue eyes studied her, glinting with reflected candlelight. “From your tone and posture, it would seem you did not grasp the lesson’s goal.”

Kenders’ eyebrows lifted high and to a peak. “Oh, I grasped it just fine. I am to learn patience.” Frowning, she muttered, “Patience, patience, and more blasted patience.” A quiet moment passed as she sat, reliving the frustration she had felt sitting in Khin’s chilly tower room.

Sabine broke the silence, whispering, “Sounds like you need more practice.”

Kenders looked over to find an amused grin on Sabine’s face.

“Yes, well…”

Another burst of orange crackling pulled Kenders’ attention back to the table in the corner in time for her to watch a tiny Strand of Fire twist into a knot, sending the candle flaring again. Kenders’ frown deepened. Such a simple Weave took less than a heartbeat to complete, yet she had been forced to draw out hers all morning.

“Why are you here, Kenders?” asked Gamin, the tone of his voice both inquisitive and probing.

Looking over, she found the mage staring at her with knowing eyes. Starting slowly, Kenders said, “Well, I was thinking that since
you
are the head of the mages here, perhaps I might convince you to alter my lessons.”

Gamin’s eyes narrowed.

“Alter them how?”

Kenders gave the man a weak smile.

“I’d prefer it if you were to teach me instead—”

“No,” interjected Gamin quickly, shaking his head. “Absolutely not.”

“But if you—”

“
No
, Kenders,” whispered Gamin, his tone firm. “Broedi wished for you to study with Khin, and I wholly agree with him, especially after observing you for the past few weeks. You
must
learn—if I may use your phrasing—‘patience, patience, and more blasted patience.’”

Kenders had expected this would be the way of things, but she had needed to try anyway. A defeated sigh slipped from her lips and her shoulders slumped.

“Fine.”

She turned away from Gamin and stared over to Helene, almost envying the little girl. She looked as if she were enjoying her lessons, staring intently at the candle’s flame, a tiny smile on her face. The smile disappeared as Helene’s lips parted and she yawned. For the first time, Kenders noticed how tired she looked.

A door leading to another of the castle’s hallways opened—quietly, Kenders noted with a frown. A nearly seven-foot-tall female figure, built like Broedi, but with narrower shoulders and slimmer legs, moved through the entryway. Auburn hair hung loose to her shoulders but for a single bunch tied in a topknot and bound with a band of turquoise beads. She strode straight to their table, moving to block their view of Helene and Marick, and stopped.

Meeting Kenders’ gaze first, she inclined her head and rumbled, “Good morning, Progeny.”

Kenders forced herself to smile and barely succeeded.

“Good morning, Chandrid.”

There were a handful of the hillmen race here at the enclave, but Chandrid was the only female. After Kenders and her brothers had first met her, the siblings had huddled together later that evening, wondering as to the proper way to refer to her. Hillman did not seem appropriate. By the end of the conversation, the best they had come up with was ‘hillwoman.’ They had inquired with Broedi if he thought the term acceptable, and had received a slight, bemused smile and nod in return.

Chandrid exchanged a quick and quiet greeting with Sabine before shifting her gaze to Gamin and saying, “Commander Aiden has need of you in the courtyard.”

Gamin sighed and asked, “Does he now? I don’t suppose he said why?” His tone indicated he already knew the answer.

“No, sir, he did not,” replied Chandrid. “But it is terribly windy outside right now, and…” A small lopsided grin spread over the hillwoman’s lips. “Well, sir. The commander looked cold.”

“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” asked Gamin with a smile. Glancing between Kenders and Sabine, he added, “Pardon me.” He placed his hands on the tabletop, pushed himself up, and stepped free of the bench. “Good memories behind to you both.”

After Sabine and Kenders said farewell, the two mages exited the room leaving the two friends alone. The pair sat in silence for a while, watching Helene practice with Marick. At one point, Helene glanced over, saw Kenders, and offered a smile.

Kenders grinned and waved. As Helene waved back, she yawned again.

“She looks exhausted,” whispered Kenders.

When her friend did not respond immediately, Kenders looked over to find Sabine staring at Helene, a frown marring her pretty features. For the first time, Kenders noticed puffy bags under Sabine’s eyes.

“Is everything alright with you, Sabine?”

The elder Moiléne sister sighed, shook her head, and muttered, “It’s just…” She trailed off. Something was bothering her.

Concerned, Kenders scooted down the bench, closer to her friend.

“What is it?”

On the journey south to Storm Island, Helene had exhibited a few traits that had caused them all worry. While in Fernsford, she had steadfastly insisted that someone was trailing them. While true, her claim was wholly unexpected as everyone had been careful to keep that worrisome detail from the young girl. When they pressed her as to how she knew such a thing, she got upset and nearly used the Strands without intent. Since then, Broedi had watched the girl carefully, but with him gone now, more than a few folks at the enclave, Kenders included, shared the task of observing the girl’s behavior.

Sabine reluctantly looked over and said, “You remember the dreams I told you about?”

A furrow of bewilderment split Kenders forehead.

“Pardon?”

“One night, on the way here, I told you about Helene’s dreams, the ones—”

Kenders nodded quickly, interrupting Sabine, saying, “Yes, yes. Of course.” Her confused surprise had more to do with the question’s subject than any lack of recall. She remembered the conversation clearly. During one of their evening talks around the campfire, Sabine had confided in Kenders that bad dreams had plagued Helene her entire life.

Sabine was quiet a moment, an anxious frown on her face, before she muttered, “Well, they’ve been worse the past two weeks. She wakes up three, four times a night now.”

“You said it’s sometimes worse than others.”

With her gaze locked on her little sister, Sabine gave a tiny shake of her head and whispered, “It’s different this time, Kenders. Much different.”

Kenders eyebrows drew together.

“Why?”

Sabine remained quiet and motionless for a long moment, her stare never leaving the table in the corner. Eventually, she drew in a deep breath, exhaled, and turned to Kenders.

“I want to tell you. Truly, I do. But I do
not
want this to get back to Broedi. Or Gamin. Or anyone with the Manes.”

Kenders frowned inwardly.

“Why?”

Sabine pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“Because they might make us leave.”

Kenders eyes narrowed.

“I doubt that very much, Sabine. Nobody would make you leave here.”

Sabine gave her a dry smile and said, “And the barncat promised not to eat the mouse.”

Worried in more ways than one, Kenders reached out a hand and placed it on Sabine’s.

“Please, Sabine. You can tell me.”

“I will,” said Sabine. Turning to meet Kenders’ beseeching gaze with a hard-eyed stare, she added, “I will if you promise not to tell
anyone
.”

Kenders frowned. Sabine was putting her in a difficult position.

“Well…”

Sabine pressed her lips together, shook her head, and said, “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“Now, hold a moment,” said Kenders quickly. “You did not give me a chance to answer.”

Her friend eyed her doubtfully.

“And what is your answer?”

Kenders hesitated. If she was going to give her word, she wanted to be sure that she could keep it. Besides her brothers, Sabine was the closest friend she had since leaving Yellow Mud. Deciding that she owed Sabine, she gave a quick nod.

“I promise.”

Sabine’s eyes narrowed, a chilly glint in her glare. When it came to Helene, she was fiercely protective.

“I will hold you to that.”

“I would be surprised if you did not,” whispered Kenders.

Sabine held her gaze a moment longer before looking across the room, back to Helene. In a small and quiet voice, she said, “She started to tell me what her dreams are about.”

Kenders cocked an eyebrow.

“I thought she never told you.”

Sabine shook her head.

“She never has. I even stopped asking.”

After waiting a moment for Sabine to continue, Kenders prompted gently, “So?”

“It’s the same dream,” whispered Sabine. “Every time, she says. She’s with me—just the two of us—hiding in a dark room, crouched behind some tables. She hears screaming and thunder outside. Then, suddenly, we aren’t alone anymore. Someone steps from the shadows, and…” Her eyebrows drew together as she shot a worried glance at Kenders. “And it kills me with ‘a ball of fire,’ according to Helene.”