The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (28 page)

Nundle’s face scrunched up in pure confusion. “What are you—?”

The little tomble cut off as Broedi spun around and, as quick as a mountain lynx, loped to the red door of the stone house. He crouched over as he reached the small door, launching his massive body against it and easily snapping the plank off its hinges. With a sharp crack and explosion of splinters, the door flew across the interior of the stone home, crashing into a small table and chairs. Remaining bent over as he crossed the threshold to avoid striking his head, he moved to the center of the one-room home. He quickly straightened to his full height, the straw thatching of the ceiling scratching the top of his head, and scanned the room.

Other than the overturned chair and tables, the interior was humbly furnished. A small metal stove in the corner with a metal pipe running to the outside, a wooden dresser of drawers, and a tiny bed. Broedi froze as his gaze reached the back left corner.

Tobias Donngord, the White Lion and Eye of Nelnora, a soul Broedi had not seen in two and a half centuries, stood in the shadows, glaring at him. Light brown hair—appearing shades darker in the dimly lit room—hung straight, stopping just above his eyes and covering the tips of his ears. Round, puffy cheeks protruded from his face, making his mouth look abnormally small. He was still wearing the simple, tan clothes from the crop fields, but had discarded the simple tool he had been using as a crutch in favor of a finely carved walking stick instead. Broedi’s eyes settled on the carved, white stone lion head on the top of the timeworn wooden staff.

“Blast you and your animal senses!” hissed Tobias. He was angry. Very angry.

Broedi said calmly, “It is good to see you, Tobias.” His words were honest. The tomble had been a friend.

The fury in Tobias’ face faded a bit, but angry defiance still sparkled in his eyes as he said, “Please, Broedi, just turn around and walk out. Forget I’m here.”

Broedi sighed.

“I wish I could, old friend.”

Desperate pleading bled into Tobias’ voice.

“But I’ve finally found a place I can be happy.”

Hurried footsteps on the stone pathway announced the arrival of Nundle and Custodian Belor. The pair stared through the ruined entryway, surveying the inside and eyeing Broedi as if he were mad. Nundle’s gaze shifted to take in Tobias and understanding spread across his face.

“I need you to come with me,” Broedi said softly. “I need your help.” He knew it was the last thing that Tobias wanted to hear. “Our task is not yet complete.”

“No!” growled Tobias, the vehemence returning with renewed force. “I am done with all of that! Let the Gods solve their own blasted problems!”

A soft crackling filled Broedi’s chest as bright, white strings of energy danced around him, popping into view. Immediately, they began to draw together to form a pattern. Vast, gaping holes in the middle of the design told Broedi that Tobias was using Strands that he himself could not touch.

Broedi called out, “Stop him, Nundle!”

The sound of ripping cloth filled the house as a five-foot tall seam appeared in the middle of the room, announcing the completion of Tobias’ Weave. Reality itself wavered on both sides of the seam, fluttering as if the room were painted on two cloths being teased by a gentle breeze.

Less than ten paces separated Tobias and the port. The tomble began to cross the room, resting on his walking stick with each lurching step.

“Don’t try
anything
, Broedi.”

Broedi rumbled urgently, “Nundle!”

Tobias was only a step away from the port when it vanished with a soft, muted pop. He halted to stare at the empty space where the port had been.

“How…?” Wheeling to face Broedi, he mumbled with a mystified expression, “You shouldn’t have been able to do that. You can’t touch—” His eyes narrowed as he shifted his glare to Nundle. “It was you, wasn’t it?! How did you learn to do that?”

Squirming under Tobias’ intense stare, Nundle mumbled, “Uh…I…”

Broedi said, “Say nothing, Nundle.” His soft instruction pulled Tobias’ attention back to him. Taking a small step toward Tobias, he said softly, “If you come with us, I will be happy to explain everything.”

“No!”

Tobias punctuated his retort by stabbing his walking stick onto the stone floor, sending a sharp crack of wood on stone through the room.

“I will
not
go with you! No more blasted visions! Just leave me alone!”

“I cannot,” rumbled the hillman. “I
will
not. This is too important.” A deep, heavy sigh slipped from him. “I am sorry, old friend. Truly, I am.”

Tobias glared at him for a long moment before dropping his head to stare at the floor, his shoulders slumping. His defiance melted away and he shifted much of his weight onto his walking stick. He looked defeated.

“I knew you were coming,” mumbled the tomble. Lifting his eyes upward, he stared at Broedi. “Well, not you specifically. But one of you. The visions started again about a week ago.”

“Started again?” rumbled Broedi, confused. “They had stopped?”

Custodian Belor suddenly pushed past Nundle, moving into the center of the room while staring warily from face to face. Settling on the tomble in the corner, he said, “I am sorry, Tobias, but whether you go with them or on your own, you will have to leave now. I will not be able to explain any of this away.”

Broedi’s gaze shifted to the custodian. He had called Tobias by his true name.

“I understand,” muttered Tobias, his voice filled with sadness. Peering at Nundle, he asked, “I suppose you will stop me every time I weave a port, won’t you?”

Nundle’s gaze flicked to Broedi, looking for guidance. With a small nod, Broedi indicated that was indeed what he should do. With an apologetic shrug of his shoulders, Nundle said to Tobias, “Uh… yes, sir. I suppose I will. Although, I must say I don’t understand why you are intent on running from us. Are you not—”

“Not here, Nundle,” warned Broedi softly.

Nundle’s mouth hung open for a moment before he shut it, giving a short nod. Broedi could appreciate how difficult it was for Nundle to remain quiet.

After letting out a long, expressive sigh, Tobias said with a touch of bitter sarcasm, “Well, then. Let me gather a few things and we’ll be on our merry way.” He shuffled to his dresser, using his walking stick to support his crooked right leg as he went, each uneven, hobbling step accompanied by a distinct clack as the stick struck the floor.

As Tobias marched to the corner of the room, Broedi moved beside Nundle—forced to bend over to do so—and whispered, “If he reaches for Void again, stop him. No hesitation. He will try to run.”

Nundle stared up at Broedi, baffled. Nonetheless, he nodded. Keeping his voice low, he asked, “What Strands can he touch?”

“Void, Air, and Soul. That is all.”

Nundle eyed Tobias warily.

“If he reaches for Soul, I won’t know.”

“But I will,” rumbled the hillman softly. “You are to keep him here, Nundle. I will worry about the rest.”

Nodding quickly, Nundle muttered, “Understood.”

Still bent over with hands resting on his knees, Broedi eyed the custodian. He had moved just outside the door’s threshold and was staring out to the street, a worried expression on his face.

“Custodian Belor? May I speak with you?”

The bald tomble glanced at him, gave a short nod of his head, and stepped further from the door, down the stone pathway. Broedi followed, nearly having to crawl back through the doorway.

A large crowd had gathered on the dirt road and was staring at Tobias’ ruined front door. The custodian was standing halfway between the house and the street, his arms crossed over his chest, head tilted back and staring at the sky. Before moving to meet the tomble, Broedi took another look inside the house. Tobias was stuffing clothes and other belongings into a leather satchel while Nundle stood off to the side, watching in silence.

“Be good, Tobias,” rumbled Broedi.

Without looking at him, Tobias called, “Gnaw on a chicken bone, Broedi.”

The corners of Broedi’s lips turned up a fraction. Satisfied for the moment, Broedi turned and took a few steps, stopping beside the custodian. The tomble looked up as he approached, appraising him.

“You are one of them, too, aren’t you?” asked Custodian Belor. “The Shapechanger, yes? Thonda’s Great Hunter?”

Broedi’s heart skipped a beat in quiet surprise. Keeping his expression blank—he had practiced for years at hiding his true thoughts—he answered softly, “I am afraid I do not know of what you speak.”

A wry smile crept over the Custodian’s lips.

“Tobias said the same thing when I asked him if he were a White Lion.”

Broedi glanced up, studying the crowd in the street surrounding Nundle’s horse.

“Who else knows?”

The custodian shook his head, saying softly, “No one for sure. A few of the more persistent Four Towns’ rumormongers talk and whisper, but few pay heed to their stories.” Nodding to Broedi and the shattered doorway, he added, “Although, after today, quite a few more ears will be open, I think.”

The fact that every tomble in the crowd was staring wide-eyed at Broedi reinforced the custodian’s point.

Broedi murmured, “Yet you know?”

“I do.”

Broedi was silent for a long moment before asking, “And how long have you known?”

Custodian Belor shrugged.

“With certainty? About a decade. Although I suspected it the moment Tobias walked into Tinfiddle thirty years ago.”

Broedi’s eyebrows lifted a fraction.

“And you have kept it a secret?”

The custodian nodded firmly, saying, “Of course. I owed him that.” He glanced at the crowd. “We all do. Even if I’m the only one who knows.”

Broedi was more than grateful for the custodian’s silence.

“Thank you for doing that.”

“It was the least I could do for him.”

After another moment of quiet, Broedi asked, “How is it that you know who he is?” He glanced at the ever-growing crowd. “Yet no one else does?”

With a heavy sigh, Custodian Belor turned to face Broedi, tilted his head back to stare up at him, and asked, “You know our story, Shapechanger, do you not?”

“I do.”

The custodian’s gaze shifted beyond the hillman, to the broken doorway of Tobias’ home.

“Did you share it with your Boroughs’ friend?”

Shaking his head, Broedi said, “Not the whole tale. Only that your ancestors fought in the war.”

“That is all?”

Broedi nodded and rumbled softly, “I know Boroughs’ culture is complicated. Nundle is a good soul, yet I could not predict how he might react.”

“Yes, well…
I
thank you for that,” muttered Custodian Belor. His gaze drifted to the tombles in the road. “If your friend knew he might have let the truth slip. They don’t know either. None of them do.”

Broedi raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“Your heritage remains a secret?”

Custodian Belor swiveled his head to stare at Broedi.

“Against all odds, yes. And with each new generation, it becomes ever easier to do so.”

“Would the past matter so much to them?”

The elder tomble pressed his lips together, thinking. After a quiet moment, he said, “I don’t know. But I think it would. Many things have changed since we came here, but one thing that has not is the importance of family legacy.” His eyes shifted to the doorway. “Tobias tried hard to abolish the custom when he founded the Four Towns, but…Well, he failed.”

Broedi took a deep breath, crossed his arms across his chest, and exhaled.

“You still have not answered my question, Custodian. How is it that
you
know the truth? It has been two and half centuries.”

With a grim smile, Custodian Belor said, “My grandfather was a very young tomble when the scourging of Carinius happened. Tobias left the Four Towns to investigate and never came back. Grandfather told me stories about him. The great and humble ‘Founder of the Towns.’”

He glanced back through the ruined door.

“When I became the Custodian of Tinfiddle, my predecessor shared with me three volumes—an archive of our history. Why we left the Boroughs, why we fought in the war, and why we stayed after it was over. It was disturbing to read. Within the pages, there was a very detailed description of Tobias, along with a drawing of him. When a ‘refugee’ from the Boroughs showed up thirty years ago and asked to live amongst us, no one but I and the other three towns’ custodians had any idea who walked amongst us. Some suspected, of course—the limp and similar name—but no one
ever
challenged him. And myself and the other custodians? We kept our tongue for well over two decades.”

“Quite noble of you,” noted Broedi. “Yet dangerous. You have been harboring an outlaw.”

“I know,” muttered the custodian. “But after what he did for our ancestors? For us?” He shook his head. “It was the least we could do. I finally spoke to him about it a decade ago and told him that as long as he did nothing to raise suspicions, he was welcome to stay as long as he liked. I had but one, simple rule. There was to be none of…” He trailed off and gave Broedi an uneasy stare. “None of whatever it was that happened in there.”

He frowned, shook his head, and ran a hand over his bald head in consternation.

“Old Toby from the Boroughs was a nice, quiet tomble that kept to himself, helped in the fields as best he could. But after your visit today, the town will be talking. ‘Toby’ will soon be ‘Tobias’ to everyone. As much as it pains me to say it, someone is bound to report him now. For his sake, he
cannot
remain here.”

A flicker of guilt ran through Broedi. He wished he had not needed to end Tobias’ peace.

With a knowing eye, Custodian Belor said, “It seems you have what you came for.” His gaze shifted back to the doorway, this time locking on something specific. “I suggest the three of you leave quickly.”

Broedi turned to see Tobias exit his home. A clearly nervous Nundle followed him closely. Tobias marched straight to Custodian Belor, cane in hand, and gave a small bow.

“Thank you for everything, Belor. The past thirty years have been the most enjoyable I have ever experienced. I am sorry it had to end this way.”