Lion's Kin: The Aquarian Era Tales, #2

By Becky Norman

From the author of Leopard's Kin...

Lori Pate is coming to grips with the idea that she and her friends are being visited by spirit cats but that doesn't prepare her for the other changes coming. Little does she know a pride of lions and her own burgeoning relationship with the mysterious Noel Tecumseh are going to make her grow in ways she can't even fathom.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Becky Norman
• Release date: Jan 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9780987809728

Becky Norman

Since graduating from the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point with a B.A. in Honors English (Writing Minor) Becky Norman has moved to Canada and graduated from Conestoga College's Human Resources Program with Honours. For the past seven years, she has been a Human Resources Advisor and is currently writing freelance articles for Suite101.com and Associated Content on such diverse topics as employment law, horse care, poetry and short works of fiction. All the Courses Run is her first novel; she is currently working on a fantasy trilogy for publication.

Book preview

Lion’s Kin

Becky Norman

Published by Becky Norman at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Becky Norman

Discover other titles by Becky Norman at Smashwords.com:

All the Courses Run

Leopard’s Kin

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Chapter 1

Lori waited until the last possible moment to walk into the classroom. The last thing she wanted today was idle conversation with Dr. Emily Robertson. She slipped into a seat at the back, depositing her backpack under the desk with a small sigh as Dr. Robertson walked into the room and shut the door. Making a pretense of searching for a special pen amongst the handful she carried, she was still conscious of the professor’s eyes fixed on her. Lori cleared her throat, finally glancing up at the older woman. Sure enough, the grey-haired instructor was watching her every move. There was a moment where the two women were locked in a silent conversation of questioning glances and subtle shakings of the head then Lori abruptly looked away at another student sitting directly in front of Dr. Robertson. Pay attention to the class, Lori willed silently. Leave this for another time.

Right, Emily began, breaking herself out of the spell. I trust everyone had a good weekend?

She looked again at Lori who again looked purposefully away. She certainly wasn’t going to answer the rhetorical question with honesty.

For how could anyone believe the weekend she had just been through? One of her newest - but closest - friends had almost been killed by a deranged lunatic and that after a horrific car crash had wiped out an entire street corner full of protestors whom Lori and her friends had sought to help. (No bother mentioning to Dr. Robertson that they had done more than help. By rights, Dr. Robertson herself should be in critical condition in the hospital, since she was one of those hit. No. No need to ask Dr. Robertson what kind of weekend she’d had, either.)

And it would have been ludicrous to go into all the other details - surreal facts such as: a snow leopard had appeared as her totem, an army of Jaguar Knights were hunting various members of the human population, or the notion that domesticated kittens had healed her own broken bones in two weeks by purring over them. Right. Try explaining that in front of a classroom full of people.

No, it was much better to just open up the textbook on Nature Literature and pretend she was still living in the mundane world of her fellow students.

Lori Pate, Dr. Robertson called. Open your book to page 62 and read the poem there by Robert Graves.

Lori shot the professor a quizzical look, but did as she was told.

‘A Child’s Nightmare,’ she began, reading the title.

"Through long nursery nights he stood

By my bed unwearying,

Loomed gigantic, formless, queer,

Purring in my haunted ear

That same hideous nightmare thing,

Talking, as he lapped my blood,

In a voice cruel and flat,

Saying for ever, ‘Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat!...’"

Lori stopped and looked up sharply at Dr. Robertson, trying to discern if there were hidden implications to her choice of narration.

Go on, Dr. Robertson said without looking at her.

Lori dipped her head and continued reading.

"That one word was all he said,

That one word through all my sleep

In monotonous mock despair.

Nonsense may be light as air,

But there’s Nonsense that can keep,

Horror bristling round the head,

When a voice cruel and flat

Says for ever, "’Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat! ...’

"He had faded, he was gone

Years ago with Nursery Land

When he leapt on me again

From the clank of a night train,

Overpowered me foot and head,

Lapped my blood, while on and on

The old voice cruel and flat

Says for ever, ‘Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat! ...’

"Morphia drowsed, again I lay

In a crater by High Wood;

He was there with straddling legs,

Staring eyes as big as eggs,

Purring as he lapped my blood,

His black bulk darkening the day,

With a voice cruel and flat,

‘Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat! ...’ he said, ‘Cat! ... Cat! ...’

"When I’m shot through heart and head,

And there’s no choice but to die,

The last word I’ll hear, no doubt,

Won’t be ‘Charge!’ or ‘Bomb them out!’

Nor the stretcher-bearer’s cry,

‘Let that body be, he’s dead!’

But a voice cruel and flat

Saying for ever, ‘Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat!’"

Lori swallowed thickly and looked up to the professor again.

Excellent. Thank you, Lori, Dr. Robertson commended. Now if you’ve been paying attention so far to my class, you’ll know that this poem is not really about cats, is it? Once again, natural elements are being used as allegory for other...shall we say, creatures...living in Graves’ mind.

Dr. Robertson continued on as though nothing of significance had just occurred.

**********

Noel Tecumseh had removed himself to his own bedroom for the experiment. His roommate, Jeret, was busy watching something on TV and he wanted neither the distraction nor the incredulous attention. He was sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed, cross-legged, staring at the tray in front of him. A pitcher of water and a wine glass rested upon it. Noel released a slow, calming breath then lifted the pitcher and poured a small amount into the glass. The water purled into the vessel with a soothing, ritualistic sound and Noel took another slow breath.

He had chosen water for two reasons. First, although it was matter, it was liquid. Something about its amorphous, constantly changing nature made it more pliable - at least in his mind. Second, at least one Master had already done this - he had proof that it could work.

Noel felt instinctively that he needed to touch it somehow. Dipping his fingers in it - feeling its components - was necessary before he tried to alter it. He lifted the glass by the stem then cradled the curve of the bowl with his left hand while his right index finger looped over the rim and skimmed across the water. He swirled one, then two fingers counter-clockwise across the surface of the liquid, then dipped lower to break the surface tension and create a small eddy within the water. He closed his eyes, imagined the outcome he sought...took another deep breath and released it.

He could feel an electric pulse moving from his left hand, up through the glass, into the liquid, joining with the electricity emanating from his right hand. He was...connected. He opened his eyes, not surprised to see the water had turned a gleaming gold colour. Noel smiled in appreciation.

Wonderful, he said quietly, his eyes dancing with delight.

He lightly moved his left hand in a clockwise motion, further agitating the liquid in the glass then lowered his nose to it and sniffed.

Mm, he uttered softly, closing his eyes. It was so much easier to accomplish these goals when his eyes weren’t telling him something different.

He concentrated harder, his brows furrowing in thought as he imagined the transformation.

When he next opened them, the glass was filled - almost to overflowing - with a dark red vintage. Noel took a cautious sip.

Wonderful, he pronounced again, setting down the glass.

**********

When classes were finished and all of the horses had been fed and bedded down for the night, Lori phoned Noel.

Something’s up, she informed him.

Oh? Did you get a chance to speak with your professor - Emily - then?

No, I tried to avoid her more like, Lori admitted. She wanted to talk - badly - but you could just tell that she wanted to ask a lot of uncomfortable questions, you know?

Mm. Like how her broken bones have already mended? Things like that?

Lori gave a breath of a laugh. Yeah. Things like that. She traced a pattern in the wood of the tabletop in her dining area. "She also had me read this poem by Robert Graves. About a cat, purring while it lapped his blood. It was freaky. She said it had nothing to do with cats, really - it was supposedly about the war and this guy’s addiction to morphine or something. And even though she repeatedly said it wasn’t about cats, every time she said it she looked at me. I think she suspects something, as odd as it sounds, Noel."

He was quiet for a moment, mulling it over. It could be. Sounds like we may have to have an after-hours meeting with Emily Robertson at some point in the future. Keep me informed on that one, will you?

Yes. And speaking of cats, any happenings with Shadow or the others since the weekend?

The big cats - those Lori had begun to consider their spirit guides - had been clinging close to their humans in the past few weeks. She was still trying to acclimate herself to this new world that had sprung up around her while she had literally been sleeping. One night she’d gone to bed with black hair; the next morning - after dreaming about a snow leopard - her hair had started to turn the colour of the animal and now she and this new group of friends were being drawn into a realm where felines seemed to be both threatening and protecting in turn.

Shadow has been here and there since Saturday night, Noel answered her. I went to the hospital yesterday - just to confirm what I suspected about Iftakar - and he was with me every step of the way. He even lied across my feet while I chatted with the nurses.

He paused and Lori could almost hear him shaking his head. It’s a good thing other people can’t see him. He’d be rather difficult to explain in the ICU.

"And is Iftakar dead then?"

Noel answered quietly. She could hear the regret in his voice. Yes. The nurse said he never regained consciousness. They had a lot of questions for me - especially when they found out I’d met him at the zoo. They asked me if I had any idea how he sustained the injuries on his face, he said with a biting irony. I could hardly say I’d seen him mauled by a friend’s spirit-lynx after he tried to kill her, could I? I’m afraid I had to plead ignorance.

Lori’s face softened. You’re the least ignorant person I know, she assured him.

There was another pause then he said softly in her ear, I’ve missed you. I know it’s only been a couple of days, but...I have. The lack of sound told her he was holding his breath.

I’ve missed you, too, she answered. It was...it was nice to wake up next to you on Sunday morning. She took a deep breath, trying to block the shyness and quell the nerves.

Mm, he answered. I’m sorry again about the awkward sleeping arrangements on the couch there. In hindsight, you could’ve at least taken my bed while I slept on the sofa - there was no reason both of us had to wake up with sore necks, he joked.

No, I didn’t mind, she hastily reassured him. I wanted to be with you. For lots of reasons. Not the least of which was some protection against a bunch of jaguars hunting us down. She tried to sound sarcastic but didn’t quite pull it off.

He tutted at her and she felt instantly soothed. You know they weren’t after us.

Not specifically no. But didn’t B’alam say that they would seek out anyone who couldn’t control their thoughts?

He did, yes.

Well, my thoughts were certainly a jumble that night. I was grateful you were there, protecting me.

Noel was quiet again and she feared she’d said something wrong. Instead, she was rewarded with his voice purring in her ear again. Lord, I wish you were here right now. The frustration and affection in his voice made her smile.

Soon, she promised. Let me get through the week and if the weather cooperates, maybe I can get to Toronto again on Saturday.

**********

The weather was a viable concern: late January in Ontario could be formidable to say the least and with Lori alone on the farm since her husband, Cody, had died in the middle of last year, there were a myriad of challenges. She was fairly sure she’d conquered all of the snow removal feats that could come her way, but even walking down to the mailbox could prove treacherous with the sheets of ice that formed at the whims of the weather.

She was skidding pretty dramatically on the evening that she went over to see Shannon, as well. She was finding it more difficult to hang out with her horse friend these days since Shannon knew nothing about the odd cat visits that had been happening. She even still attributed Lori’s spotted black-and-silver hair to the trauma of Cody’s death. Trying to act normal around Shannon wasn’t easy but there were times like tonight when Lori desperately wanted to be normal again.

When she got to FairWind Farms Shannon’s husband, Mark was just heading down to the barn. He greeted her with a friendly wave and gestured she should follow him to the stables.

Hey Mark, she answered when she finally caught up to him in one of the barn aisles. What’s up?

Just getting ready to hook up the ‘mare cams,’ he answered as they walked along. We’ve got three confirmed in foal and even though they’re not due until April at the earliest you can never be too careful. At least that’s Shannon’s theory, he added with a wink.

Lori smiled back, knowing full well how Shannon fussed over her mares. Indeed, she was up to her armpit in a mare as they headed down a side aisle and walked up to a particular stall.

That’s not something you see every day, Lori joked as Shannon groped around inside the Dutch Warmblood’s cavity.

Oh, hush, Shannon retorted. You do what you’ve got to when you’re trying to get a baby worth a few thousand dollars in there.

Lori’s smile grew wider. And how is everything?

Shannon withdrew her arm, pulled off the long latex glove and gave the mare an appreciative pat for being so tolerant. Coming along nicely so far. I’ll have the vet out soon to talk about next steps with her.

Lori’s petite brunette friend picked up the bucket of water and utensils at her feet and gestured to the stall door. Can you get that for me? I’m just going to put this stuff away and then I have a proposition for you.

Run for the hills, Mark murmured in Lori’s ear before climbing up a ladder near an adjacent stall.

Lori followed the fiery dressage instructor down to the washtubs and watched as she scrubbed up then put everything back in its place. Order was the rule of thumb when you operated a farm as big as this one.

What did you have in mind? Lori asked.

Coffee, Shannon answered.

Coffee?

Mm-hm. I need one before I talk to you, Shannon laughed.

The women walked up to the farmhouse and settled in at the table with mugs and recently-baked cookies to warm themselves up after being out in the cold.

Okay, here’s the deal, Shannon started. I’ve been contacted by the local Humane Society. There’s a horse owner nearby - who shall remain nameless - that they think is not only neglecting his animals but abusing them. They’ve had several complaints lately and to be honest, I’ve driven by the place a few times and wondered at the conditions myself. The trouble is, the guy has over 30 horses on his property right now. If they seize them, they’ve got to find homes for them so they’re trying to get them set up. Which is why the rep came to me - he knows I’ve got some extra stalls right now and that I’ve got friends nearby who might be able to take some, as well. The Humane Society will help cover the initial costs of vet and farrier bills but obviously the more I can chip in and cover myself, the better for them.

Lori took a sip of her coffee, watching her friend carefully. I can help with hay and the like, she offered. I bought enough last year for eight horses year-round, and I’ve only had six on the property for several months. I can help with some of the medical costs, too, now that the lawsuit’s been settled from Cody’s plane crash.

Shannon reached over and silently squeezed Lori’s available hand. Thank you. That will help. But the real reason I asked you over tonight was for something entirely different.

Lori’s eyebrow tipped up. Oh?

There’s apparently a stallion on this guy’s property. A really aggressive one.

Lori tipped her head and gave Shannon a cautious look.

Look, before you say anything, hear me out. I can’t take him here because I don’t want to run the risk with my mares. But you’re sending Curtis’ colt home soon, aren’t you? I thought maybe you could keep the same lay-out going. Put the stallion in your indoor arena - by himself - until you’ve had a chance to work with him and that way Piper and Ebony will be safe in your stable.

"Yes, but Shannon...I’m still riding in the arena and I have two mares on my property right now, too, don’t forget. I don’t really want to take on an aggressive stallion at present. I’ve got enough on my plate," she said dryly.

I get that, Shannon answered. But I can’t think of any other solutions - I don’t know anybody else who doesn’t have at least one mare in foal right now. Normally I would just say euthanize him in a situation like this, but he’s rare, Lori. He’s a desert-bred Arabian, with bloodlines worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. In fact, I’ve already been in touch with a desert-bred group in the States who want him and have begged me at all costs not to put him down until they’ve had a chance to assess him. I thought if anybody could give him a chance - put some meat back on his bones and maybe train him into a respectable citizen - it’s you.

Shannon looked