The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (51 page)

He stared at her, a battle between fatigue and gallantry playing itself out in his eyes. Fatigue won. Dropping back to the mushy earth, he muttered, “Be careful. Scream if he bites you.”

A tiny smile touched her lip as she rose from the grass.

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

Turning around, she started walking to where Okollu lay, which was the exact place where he had passed out yesterday. Rhohn had thought to move him away from the dead bodies, but Tiliah named it a bad idea. She had seen fevered men attack their caregivers if startled from sleep and wished to avoid such an outburst from a mongrel.

She moved around the corpses, disgusted by the swarms of flies that had already collected on the exposed flesh. The rain had rinsed away the excess blood, leaving each open wound pink and meaty.

She stopped a few steps from Okollu’s prone form and eyed the mongrel carefully, wondering if she should perhaps call Rhohn over after all. She considered herself a brave soul, but bravery was not a shield against teeth. As she stood there, staring and reconsidering, Okollu spoke softly.

“I promised not to bite you, did I not?”

Surprised, Tiliah took a quick step back and muttered, “You’re awake?”

The mongrel opened his eyes and twisted his head to stare up at Tiliah. For the second time in mere moments, she was caught off guard. Rather than the dull, glassy stare common amongst those who were ill, Okollu’s yellow irises were bright and alive.

“Your Dust Man woke me with his shouting.”

Tiliah glanced over her shoulder, readying to call out for Rhohn, but saw that he was already scrambling from the ground, his eyes fixed on her. Turning back to Okollu, she found the mongrel sniffing the air, his black nose twitching. His lips curled back to expose yellowed teeth and pink gums.

“You left me to sleep among the dead?”

“I was afraid to move you.”

Okollu peered at her and asked gruffly, “Why?”

“I was worried you might awake and rip out our throats before remembering who we were.”

The mongrel was quiet a moment before speaking.

“You were wise to leave me, then.”

Rhohn arrived to stand beside her, sword drawn and at his side. He no longer appeared tired, his eyes were wide and alert. Hearing mud squish, she looked back to find Okollu pushing himself into a sitting position.

“Please don’t move,” scolded Tiliah. “You might open the wound.”

“I am fine,” insisted Okollu, staring at the bandage on his shoulder. Reaching up with his left hand, he immediately began undoing it.

Her voice full of reprimand, Tiliah said, “And if you do that, you
will
open the wound.”

When he did not stop, she took a step closer to Okollu and reached out her hand, hoping to stop him from unraveling the bandage. He might be a mongrel, but he was her charge. Okollu lifted his gaze from the rope, stared at her, and let loose a low, rumbling growl. His message was clear.

Taking a quick step back, she threw her hands in the air.

“Fine. Do as you please.”

Rhohn said, “Please listen to what—”

“Quiet!” snapped Okollu. “I am fine!”

Rhohn shut his mouth and looked over at Tiliah. She shrugged her shoulders and watched the mongrel in silence. If Okollu bled out now, all the better. They could be on their way east within the hour.

With an irritated huff, Okollu pulled the rope to his mouth and gnawed on it. Tiliah shivered, watching the mongrel’s jaws gnash together. He made short work of the binding, ripped the rope and burlap-strip bandages from his shoulder, and tossed the remnants to the ground.

Tiliah’s eyes opened wide. Rhohn drew a quick breath of surprise.

The gash that had run from Okollu’s shoulder to chest was gone. Only a pink strip of raised skin lined with short, fine hair remained. Okollu rotated his arm in a wide circle, testing his range of movement.

Her mouth agape, Tiliah stammered, “How…how did you…?” She trailed off, too stunned to continue.

Dropping his arm, Okollu peered up at her and asked, “What is wrong?”

She lifted a finger and pointed at the former wound.

“How did that happen?”

Okollu stared back to his shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

She dropped to a knee beside the mongrel, squishing in the mud, and ran her fingers over the leftover scar. The fine hair lining the wound was softer than the fuzzy tuft that topped Winter grain stalks.

“That was two inches deep! It should have taken—”

She cut off as a warm puff of air rushed through her hair. The odor of wet dog filled her nose. Realizing how close she was to Okollu’s jaws, she froze and stared into the mongrel’s yellow eyes. A low, gruff sound slipped from Okollu’s throat. It almost sounded like a chuckle.

“I will not bite you.”

Praying the mongrel was telling the truth, she returned her attention to the nearly healed wound. Rhohn stepped closer and leaned down to stare as well.

“That should not be possible.”

Okollu glanced between them, asking, “You are…confused, yes? The emotions of your race are difficult to read.”

Nodding, Tiliah admitted, “We are quite confused.”

“Why?” growled Okollu.

“Why?!” exclaimed Tiliah, her eyebrows raised. “I don’t know. Perhaps because this should have taken weeks to heal?”

Okollu stared between them both.

“How long is a ‘week’?”

Her brow furrowing, Tiliah answered, “Seven days.”

“And a ‘day’ is one visit of Saule-acu, yes?”

Tiliah stared blankly at the beast.

“A visit of what?”

“Saule-acu,” repeated Okollu. He shook his head, a quiet, frustrated growl slipping from his throat. “Argot does not have the right word.” He glanced at the sky. “Saule-acu is hidden by the clouds now. She does not like the rain.”

Tiliah tilted her head back to stare upwards.

“The sun?” asked Rhohn.

Okollu eyed the soldier, almost with what Tiliah would name a frown on his face.

“That is a name men use. Inadequate though it may be. ”

Nodding, Rhohn said, “Then yes—a week is seven visits of…Saule-acu.” Tiliah was impressed that he managed to wrap his tongue around the strange word.

Peering back to his scar, Okollu said, “Then it is I who am confused. Why should my mending take so long?”

Rhohn twisted around and pointed to scabbed-over puncture hole on his calf.

“This happened to me just over a week ago. I was shot by an arrow.”

Tiliah was happy with how his wound was healing, but it was still weeks from being whole again.

Surprise swelled to fill Okollu’s eyes.

“Why are you not mending?”

“I am,” said Rhohn “Quite well, in fact, considering what I’ve endured out here. How is it you are healing so quickly?”

Okollu stared at them both for a few moments before saying plainly, “This is how all kur-surus mend.”

Rhohn had warned her last night not to use the word ‘mongrel’ in Okollu’s presence. Apparently, it was an insult of sorts. Kur-surus was the word they used for themselves.

Staring at the scar, she asked, “
All
your kind heal this quickly?”

“It is why we are vicious when we kill,” growled Okollu. “You leave an enemy alive, they will heal, find you, and kill you.” Tilting his head to the side, he glanced between them both. “This is unknown to you?”

Tiliah nodded, mumbling, “For me, yes.”

“Me as well,” muttered Rhohn.

A frown resting on her lips, Tiliah mumbled, “Hells, if that’s not a brainless way to fight a war.” When both Rhohn and Okollu stared at her, she added, “We’re fighting an enemy we know almost nothing about.”

“
You
are not my enemy,” said Okollu quickly. “This conflict is not one of choice.”

“Not of choice?” repeated Rhohn, his voice rising in an instant. “You invaded our home! That was a choice! You slaughtered thousands of innocent people! That was a choice!”

“Choices, yes!” barked Okollu. “But not ours!”

“What about Silas?!” exclaimed Rhohn. “
That
was your blasted choice, wasn’t it!?”

The mongrel’s yellow eyes flashed hot.

“I did what I had to! I’m sorry I killed your pack-mate! But I would do a hundred times more if it would get my pack back to our lands!”

“If you want to go back,” shouted Rhohn. “Then go!”

Okollu looked as if he wanted to leap up and rip Rhohn’s head from his neck.

“I told you! We
cannot
!”

Tiliah reached out to place a hand on Rhohn’s shoulder and, keeping her voice quiet and calm, said, “Rhohn?”

Rhohn whipped around to stare at her, wide-eyed.

“What?!”

“Did you have me save his life just so you could fight him now?”

He was angry and resentful. She understood that. But this behavior was not going to get him the answers he said he sought.

The muscles along Rhohn’s jaw twitched as he pressed his lips together.

“No.”

“Then you should calm down.”

Rhohn remained quiet, silently seething, for a long moment. Finally, he gave a single, silent nod. Content that he was not going to skewer Okollu for the time being, Tiliah looked back to the mongrel.

“You say you can’t go back?”

Okollu growled, “That is correct.”

“Why not?”

Okollu gave a sharp, furious shake of his head, draped his arms over his legs, and wrung his hands, growling, “Because my pack is bound! We all are! Kur-surus, blade-men, grayskins! We are all bound to the diavoli!” He glared at Rhohn. “It is because of them we are here, smooth-face! This is
their
war, not ours. Not mine!”

Tiliah glanced over to Rhohn, confused by the mongrel’s words. The Dust Man seemed equally bewildered. Looking back to Okollu, she asked, “What do you mean you are…‘bound?’”

With searing hot resentment burning in his eyes, Okollu said, “Many seasons ago, an outlander entered the lands of the Drept.” Before she could ask for an explanation, Okollu glanced up. “My pack. The Drept are
my
pack.” A bitter sneer rippled over his black lips. “At least it was my pack.”

He shook his muzzle, huffed, and stared to the horizon.

“Understand that amongst kur-surus, to enter a pack’s territory without permission is to die. So, as tas-vilku of the Drept, I sent a patrol to slay the interloper. The outlander killed the six I sent and continued toward our den. I ordered twenty more. They died as well.”

He shifted his gaze back to them.

“I ordered twenty-six Drept to their deaths and accomplished nothing.
Nothing.
The outlander used nedabiks—magic—to murder my pack mates. I wanted to destroy him, but against such a foe, we were helpless. Kur-surus who can use nedabiks are rare. The Drept had not had one for three generations. We could do nothing to stop him.”

He dropped his head and stared at the muddy grass, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“I failed as tas-vilku. I failed to protect my pack.”

Tiliah was surprised to feel a flicker of sympathy dance through her.

Okollu lifted his head and continued, saying, “As the outlander neared our den, my mate and I went to meet him, hoping to—” he snarled “—negotiate for the Drept’s safety. We found him atop a hill, waiting for us, his white hair twisting in the wind.” He paused, glanced at Rhohn, and asked, “Did you share the message with her?”

Rhohn nodded in silence.

Okollu growled, “Then you both can guess who it was.”

A deep frown spread over Tiliah’s face. She shared a worried glance with Rhohn before looking back to the mongrel.

“Tandyr?”

Okollu nodded once.

“My mate and I smelled the wrongness in him immediately. When I asked what he wanted, he ordered—
ordered—
me to call forth my pack. He said he required our service. When I refused, he…” He trailed off and went quiet. The brown and white fur around his eyes bunched together. “When I refused, he killed my mate. One moment, she was standing by my side, the next, she lay on the rocks, lifeless. Her hearts had stopped.”

Tiliah could no longer deny it. She felt sorry for Okollu.

The mongrel growled, “I attacked, but Tandyr held me in place with magic. He threatened to kill
every
Drept if I did not comply with his order.” The fur along his muzzle bristled in irritation.. “Had I known what he was planning, I would have let him do just that. Cursed by ignorance, however, I called the Drept. Once we were all there, Tandyr turned to the man with him and—”

“Hold,” interrupted Tiliah. “There was a man with him?”

Okollu nodded.

“A small one, cowering behind Tandyr.”

“Who was he?” asked Rhohn.

Fury simmered in the mongrel’s eyes.

“I do not know who he
was
, smooth-face. But I can tell you who he
is
. ”

“What does that mean?” asked Tiliah.

Okollu stared at her and said, “I will explain. The man pulled a black, wooden box from his pack and gave it to Tandyr. Inside, rested a strange silver stone.” His eyes went unfocused as his voice dropped to just above a whisper. “It glowed like Saule-acu herself, shimmering and bright.” His black lips twitched. “Yet it was…wrong inside. Wrong like Tandyr is wrong.”

“What was it?” murmured Tiliah, caught up in the mongrel’s tale now.

Okollu shook his head, growling, “I do not know. But it was evil. Wicked and twisted.” He paused a moment before adding, “And with it, Tandyr stole a piece of my garthiba.”

Rhohn repeated the odd word before Tiliah could.

“Garthiba?”

“Soul, smooth-face,” said Okollu. “The closest word in Argot is ‘soul.’”

A moment passed, filled only with the buzzing of the corpse flies and a screech from a blood vulture overhead, before Tiliah muttered, “He…took your soul?”

“Yes,” growled Okollu. “At least a piece of it. He did it to all Drept. And from that moment, we were bound. We had to obey his wishes.”

“Or what?” asked Rhohn. “What if you didn’t obey?”

“You do not understand,” said Okollu. “We
had
to obey. Not because he threatened or punished. But because of whatever he did with our garthiba.” He tilted his head to stare up to them both. “He stole choice itself from us.”