Warring Lions

WARRING LIONS

THE WORDMAGE’S TALES

BOOK V

ASTRID V.J.

Warring Lions

©2022 Astrid Vogel

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission from the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

First edition February 2022

Cover design by Emily’s World of Design

ISBN 978-91-987063-3-8

Published by New Wings Press

Vendelsfridsgatan 13C, Malmo, Sweden

This is a work of fiction. It is the combined product of the collective subconscious as transmitted by the students of human potential and transformation, including but not limited to, Viktor Frankl, Mary Morrissey, Henry David Thoreau, the Greek Philosophers and Napoleon Hill, and the imagination of the author. Any similarities to the real world are either a product of the human experience—we are humans with shared human emotions, experiences and responses—or entirely coincidental. Now, leave this boring real-world stuff and embrace this tale of bravery in reaching for a dream.

To Papi

Thank you for sharing

your love of history with me.

The crowning experience of all, for the homecoming man, is the wonderful feeling that, after all he has suffered, there is nothing he need fear anymore—except his God.

~Viktor Frankl

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.

~Marianne Williamson

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This novella accompanies The Wishmaster series and gives a glimpse of some of the characters from Finding the Way, Book 1.5 of The Wishmaster series. This tale, Warring Lions, is mentioned during Part 2 of Finding the Way, and we begin our tale from that setting where a young man is learning the art of storytelling.

Content Warning:

Please be warned that this book may contain triggers for persons sensitive to warfare and the psychological impact it has. If you experience post-traumatic stress as a result of deployment I would highly recommend you read any of my other books. This one is most likely not for you.

CONTENTS

Prologue

Warring Lions

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Child of Destruction - excerpt

About the Author

Acknowledgments

Also by Astrid V.J.

PROLOGUE

Jo looked over the gleaming bar with its bustle of people. Even though the clinically-polished place and the well-dressed crowd were unlike any tavern he’d ever been to, the patrons were much the same in all of them. A drunken youth with dishevelled hair stumbled forwards, knocking into Viola and sloshing her amber drink over the counter in front of them. Hurling abuse at the lout, Viola grabbed some paper towels from a dispenser on the bar. The word came to Jo with his uncanny ability to know the name of things he’d never experienced before. He tried to absorb all the new words pounding into his brain, disco ball, plastic, faux leather —the list kept on going. Waving off the bartender’s offer to clean the mess, Viola soaked up the spilled liquid, which threatened to flood over the edge of the bar, muttering about the waste of a good drink and the expense of things, and the number of idiots populating the city.

Ignoring Viola’s irritation lest he lose enthusiasm for the new experience, Jo returned to his observations. He took in every detail of the way people here dressed, how they spoke and even the layout of the place. There were tables and chairs in the central area, bordered on one side by the long counter at which he and Viola were perched. Along the far wall, a series of booths tucked away patrons who desired more privacy. An open area, dance floor, populated with couples swaying to the beat of music humming through some magical device that Jo’s word-brain called speakers, demarcated the last space in the bar.

Unlike the other establishments he’d frequented, the air in this one was clean. It was something that marked The Capital from other cities he’d passed through. No one smoked in this city. It was by far the cleanest place he’d ever been to—almost sterile, when he thought about it. It was the polar opposite of his first city experience, the memory of which sent a shudder down his spine. His mind filled with a vision of Ilwych, with its permanent cloud of noxious purple drizzling dust particles onto every open surface in that city.

Apart from its cleanliness, The Capital was much like any other urban area in the empire and the people in it had the same vices as anywhere else. Even though the epicentre of the Haldrian Empire was also the place with the largest population and the greatest amount of mixing, it was also strictly ordered and hierarchically structured. This bar was a case in point. Only civil servants from the White Sector were permitted entrance.

As his eyes travelled over the patrons in the bar, Jo began to notice fuzzy shadows hovering over some of the people around him. Looking more closely, Jo saw flashes of a young woman’s life, realising the hazy shimmer he saw was perceiving. It was the ability his father said would come to him with practice. It was the first time Jo was in such a crowded place since he’d come into his powers to perceive personal histories. Perceptions about each patron inundated his thoughts. A tropical deluge of information swirled around each person, stronger around some than others, and once Jo noticed images of perceiving, he kept seeing more.

Jo squeezed his eyes shut, breathing deeply to steady his centre and stop the trembling brought on by overwhelm. When he opened his lids again, the flickers around everyone in the bar had been reduced to a level he could easily ignore. One group ensconced in an alcove drew Jo’s attention. There was something different about them. He allowed his perception to focus on the three women and two men with their heads together, deep in conversation.

Three of the group had very distinct animal presences overlaid onto their being, and when Jo looked harder, the images he saw tickled his memory of a tale he’d learned from Viola back in the day. On the spur of the moment, he turned to Viola and asked, "Master, the tale Warring Lions, has its origins here, in The Capital, am I right?"

Viola looked up from her new drink, a furrow pinching her eyebrows together. Yes, I believe it is a tale from Haldria. But I have no knowledge of any lion shifters ever really existing in this region. If I remember my history lessons, there were shifter clans in Daria at some point, before they were eradicated. She paused, tilting her head for a moment as she mused. "You know, it is strange, because I’m sure Warring Lions is set in the Plains of Rumput, which is the name formerly given to the flat area where this city is built."

Rubbing her nose, Viola considered further, but Jo didn’t need more information. The hunch he had tingled at the base of his spine and spread warmth into his gut. Never one to think things over much, he jumped to his feet, grabbed his staff, and strode past the tables, stopping at the open dance area. He raised the jade-green rod and let it knock against the ground once.

A ripple went through the crowd, silencing the drumbeat of the music, and all eyes turned on Jo. He couldn’t help the grin spreading over his face. This effect of the staff he’d been gifted always left him with a thrill, even as he felt an impish desire to use it more often than was proper. The power was intoxicating, but today he had a special reason for using his staff. He was convinced the three creatures he’d glimpsed lurking in the shadows were not meant to be suppressed in the way they were. If the Mother-Father had sent him to make right all the wrongs in the Haldrian Empire, then he had no time to waste. This was important.

Ladies and gentlemen, Jo began, taking a little bow. I would like to offer some entertainment for this evening.

Oi! The barman interjected, pointing to Jo. What do you think you’re doing? Stop harassing my patrons. A mutter went through the crowd and several people shifted in their chairs.

Jo raised a hand, and the bartender’s eyes bulged though he made no other sound. I think you can humour me, just this once. I promise it will be worth your while.

Viola appraised him, one eyebrow raised, but she didn’t voice any disapproval. Jo spread his arms wide, while his smile grew broader, and said, Please allow me the opportunity to share a tale. It is a glimpse of the time in which all of this, Jo gestured around him, began.

WARRING LIONS

The air rippled with excitement, banners snapping in the breeze. The Léon clan was on the warpath. Alanna let her eyes graze over the crescent moon of bright red tents below her, watching as the soft flush of first light caressed the blazing fabric. Crimson for the clan. The shade of blood—a taste of what was to come. The muscles in Alanna’s body hummed like taut bowstrings ready to unleash on the enemy, but why, oh why, did she have a pool of thick black pitch oozing in the pit of her stomach?

A shiver crawled down Alanna’s back and she had to clench her jaw to stop the memories of her latest nightmare from overwhelming her senses. She needed to break free from this dark cycle. In spite of herself, Alanna’s mind latched onto the images of blood-spattered death her subconscious had conjured during the night. There wasn’t anything too alarming about bloodshed. She was a Léon. Fighting was part of her heritage, but something about the dream unsettled her even if she couldn’t quite put her finger on the reason why.

Alanna took a shuddering breath and forced her gaze to focus on the enemy ranks coming into view out from a cloud of dust on the horizon. The plains stretched out towards a dark green belt of trees lining the river. Even at that distance, she could see the dust swirling above a slow-moving ribbon heading towards her vantage upon Baajum Hill where the León clan was camped. As she watched, Alanna began to make out individual people emerging from the dust of their own making.

At the front line, she picked out the scouts on horseback and considered these strange animals who bore humans on their backs. Beasts of burden, they were called. Some distance away from the scouts, foot soldiers trudged along in a line, ten wide, the column threading into the obscuring cloud behind them. There were wagons, pulled by mules, trundling beside the marching soldiers. Her blood thrummed with the knowledge that the battle was upon them, but with the next heartbeat her spirits plummeted. She was useless to the clan. The fact of the matter was, if she couldn’t shift, she would be relegated to runner duties with the children, instead of forming ranks beside the warriors. That would be the worst form of humiliation! On second thought, there was one thing more humiliating than that: almost choking to death on a toad and the resulting foaming at the mouth. That had been her cousin’s first-shift gaffe.

The sound of scattering stones brought Alanna’s attention to the path leading up to the top of the hill where she stood. The tall, dark-skinned man who came to a halt beside her wore a pair of loose-fitting leather trousers. His dark umber eyes roved over the advancing enemy troops.

How long will it take, Ezekial? Alanna asked.

He stroked a hand over his beard, the light catching on silver strands in the sable hair. His answer came in a low rumble. One can never really tell, Little One, but I’d say they’ll set up their camp at the base of Rigg’s Hillock over yonder— he pointed towards a mound that graced the plains a little to their left before continuing his explanation, I expect they’ll get there in the late afternoon. They’re likely to rest there and start the attack at first light. That is how these things are usually done. However, by all accounts, these Haldrians have proven they have no honour. They are like scorpions hidden under the sand who strike when you least expect it. All the underhanded things they’ve done to try and trick us out of our land and even their attempts at diplomacy have shown they will be wily opponents in battle. They never seem to stick to the rules we know.

Alanna’s unsettled stomach churned and she looked out over the open grassland again. Gritting her teeth, Alanna swallowed back the acid tang threatening to creep