Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) by R.T. Kaelin Page A

trying to scrub the image from her mind. Had they turned the man over, they would have surely recognized him, which was why she was glad they let him be. Not knowing his identity made the death easier to accept. The dead did not enjoy anonymity forever, however.
    Kenders found Mrs. Bodsworth—her eyes wide and blank—slouched against a dented and toppled pot-stove. The woman had been the unofficial teacher in Yellow Mud, instructing children in their numbers and letters if their parents wished. Thaddeus and Marie had insisted all three Isaac children learn how to read, write, and work numbers, making them go four afternoons a week, even during the busy spring and harvest seasons.
    Kenders moved to the overturned stove in order to close Mrs. Bodsworth’s eyelids. It took her three tries before she could bring herself to touch the corpse. Tears that had begun falling at some point now dripped onto Mrs. Bodsworth’s torn and soiled dress.
    “Maeana welcome you with open arms.”
    The Final Friend waited for every soul that passed from this life, judging a person’s deeds before determining the next journey for the soul to make. In Kenders’ opinion, knowing a goddess welcomed you when you died was little consolation. You were still dead.
    As they wandered the ruined field that used to be their village, her tears eventually stopped flowing. The overwhelming sorrow she felt morphed into the numbing throb of hopelessness.
    At some point, Nikalys retrieved an old leather satchel hanging from an uprooted tree and poured water from it. Soon after, he picked up a hunting knife still in its sheath and put it in the bag.
    “Kenders, I need you to search the bodies and see if you can find any beltpurses.”
    “Why?”
    “Just do it,” ordered Nikalys. “And don’t argue.”
    His officious tone earned him a sharp glare from her, one he did not see as he was peering about the mud. “No! I am not a thief!”
    Tossing something he had retrieved from the mud back to the ground, Nikalys replied, “What are they going to do with coin? They’re dead.”
    She stared at him, open-mouthed. His callousness shocked her. “Do it yourself. I’m not stealing!”
    “It’s not stealing.”
    “I’m not doing it, Nik!”
    “Fine. I’ll be the cutpurse. Try to find anything that might be useful if you were going into the woods for a time. Knives, flint, tools. Waterskins, too.”
    Her eyes narrowing, Kenders asked, “Why?”
    “Why do you think?” asked Nikalys. “Because we’re leaving.” Kicking over a plank of wood, he exposed a chest of drawers lying on its back. “And soon.”
    “What do you mean ‘we’re leaving?’” asked Kenders, moving toward Nikalys, avoiding muddy puddles as she went. “We’re supposed to be looking for Mother, Father, and Jak.”
    Scooting around to one side of the toppled chest, Nikalys said, “Here, help me tip this up.”
    “Nikalys! Don’t ignore me! Leave that blasted chest alone and help me find our family!”
    Nikalys’ visage of calm crumbled. He slammed his hand down on the chest so hard that she heard the wood crack.
    “Blast it, Kenders! Look around you!” Gesturing in all directions, he shouted, “ There is nothing left! Nothing ! Yellow Mud is gone! Our home is gone! Everyone— everyone —is gone!” His voice echoed in the empty hills.
    Kenders stared at her brother’s wild-eyed face for a moment and then dropped her head, angry, bitter, heartbroken, and a dozen other emotions she could not hold onto long enough to name.
    Nikalys let out a long, weary sigh. Squishing in the mud, he walked to her and wrapped his arms around her.
    “Hey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.” His voice was softer, but still carried an edge sharper than any knife. “I’m just so…so…” He trailed off, never finishing the sentence.
    “I know,” whispered Kenders. “Me, too.”
    He held her for a moment longer, then pushed her back to arms’ length and stared at her. “There’s