to register the impact amidst the turmoil. He couldn’t even make sense of up or down anymore; the entire universe felt like it was imploding around him.
Outside, the little fox yelped as he was blasted backwards by the explosion engulfing the front half of the Etari house. He had been racing for the structure in the hopes of taking shelter there, but now those hopes were destroyed. The force of the blast tossed him into the hedge line around the house, his body bruised and scraped by the impact. Before he could pick himself up again, a piece of flying metal struck him in the head and knocked him unconscious, hanging limp in the shrubs as the Etaris’ home burned.
Matakh was slammed into the wall, only to fall to the floor again. As he rolled onto his back, he saw a wooden beam growing bigger in his field of vision… No, it was coming closer, and fast. ‘This is going to hurt,’ he thought as he braced himself for the inevitable. A solid thump filled his ears, accompanied by a searing pain to his skull, and his world was engulfed in darkness.
Meea saw her brother fall limp to the ground, and as the house finally settled she made to help him. But before she could bring herself to her feet, the ceiling above her gave a mighty groan and collapsed. She screamed out as a hail of plaster chunks, wooden beams and metal supports rained down, burying her alive. Within moments the lioness had been completely covered in rubble. Just before the dust settled another creak resounded through the space as another section of roofing collapsed and buried Matakh as well.
As the last specks of dirt began to settle, not a trace of the two lions was visible. The only sounds were the crackling of flames, the wailing of sirens, and the distant thudding of the air raid outside.
Pain. Sheer, mind-searing pain. It blasted through his being, knifing into his brain like a flaming, barbed sword and rending his spirit. He writhed in agony at the searing pain he felt somewhere in the general area of what he knew to be his back. All he could remember was a scream, and soldiers, and a massive explosion like the end of the world…
The pain surged again, and he recoiled, his spirit retreating from the torment. Though he had been nearing wakefulness, he couldn’t pass the barrier of sheer agony, and Matakh fled from the present and back to the past, to the world of his memories…
Chapter Four: Tears for the Lost
5 months ago…
He didn’t know where he was. All around him was white that billowed and drifted like clouds on a gentle breeze. He ran a hand through the banks of pale fog, a wispy trail following his hand and hovering in his palm before fading away.
He suddenly heard a gentle whisper, soft and serene. His ears perked, but the voice faded away before he could make out what was said. Hoping to hear it again, he stood stock-still and waited, hardly daring to breath. Several tense seconds passed, and then he heard it calling out once more. “Matakh…”
He started running in the direction of the sound, batting at the white mist in an effort to clear his path. Looking behind him for an instant, he could see a faint disturbance in his wake, but it closed up quickly once he passed. He briefly wondered how he would find his way back, but decided that it didn’t really matter; he meant to go forward, after all. He soldiered on through the fog, finally bursting through into a large circular chamber, its walls an unbroken line of the same cloudy white he had come through.
As he stood examining his surroundings, a young man suddenly appeared on the other side of the space and began striding over to him. Not an anthroktin, he realized, but a human. Or was he? In truth, he almost looked like a god. His eyes glowed with a golden light, flashing like lightning. A softer glow shimmered out from his whole body, faint next to the radiance of his eyes but present nonetheless His skin was like polished ivory, his hair shone like gold, and his robe gleamed and flowed like spun silver. And he didn’t seem to touch the ground as he walked. He floated just above it, each step landing on nothingness and giving off a soft yellow light. Matakh noticed that while the being was clearly visible, he could faintly make out the cloudy wall through his body, as if he was not fully tangible.
“Matakh Etari,” the being said, his voice soft yet strong as steel. In some strange way, it almost reminded Matakh of a soft thunderclap, and he noticed a slight shimmer shone from his mouth whenever he spoke. It was not a question, merely a statement mixed with a command. Matakh nodded and stepped forward.
“What are you?” he asked softly.
The being smiled bemusedly. “I am what you think I am.”
“What does that mean?” Matakh pressed, still not understanding.
“Exactly what I said,” the man replied. “What am I to you?”
Matakh thought for a moment. “Well, I’m not really sure. But I guess I would say that you’re an angel.”
The being nodded, and before Matakh realized what had happened he had changed shape. No longer human, but a lion with pure white fur, though his hair and eyes remained the same. Matakh took a step back. “How did that happen?”
The angel smiled. “I told you; I am as you see me. I am Eli, and I am a Guardian Angel, your Guardian Angel.”
He took a few steps closer and reached out a hand. “I don’t have much time, Matakh, so listen carefully. You have much work to do. Ahead lie four years of turmoil for your world. Friends will become enemies, and enemies will become friends. There will be times when you will not know who to trust or where to go. Remember always that the Maker holds all in His hand. Look to Him for guidance, and you will see the path. As the psalm says, ‘Your Word, it is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.’ So may it be to you.”
Eli took hold of Matakh’s arm, and the lion felt a rush of energy course through him, as well as a flash of pain. He saw the white world around him darken until the only light came from Eli’s eyes. “Wake up…” he heard the Guardian whisper, “and be strong in the Lord.” Then even the light from the seraph’s eyes vanished.
Matakh awoke with a jolt, only to groan as the pain from before sharpened into a splitting headache and aching torso. Fighting the pounding in his skull, he managed to force his eyes open. He was met with the sight of the basement ceiling, or at least what remained of it. Large portions of it had collapsed and left gaping holes in their wake, and piles of debris on the ground. Judging by the expanse above him, he guessed that one such heap was now pinning him down. He reached a hand up to his throbbing head to find that his fur had been matted down by something. When he examined his palm it was streaked with muddy red, which he realized was dried blood. “Must have been from the beam that hit me,” he reasoned.
The beam! Suddenly it all came rushing back; his mother rousing him from one nightmare into another, the sounds of the air raid, his father shoving him down the basement stairs, and the blast that seemed to shatter the entire universe around him. Worst of all, he remembered seeing the door to the basement slam closed, with his parents on the other side.
He began panting heavily, his hands struggling to push away the rubble that covered him. A beam fell away, and then a clump of wires. He was just preparing to shove a chunk of tiling when he heard a soft, feminine moan from nearby. He suddenly remembered that he had not been alone in the basement when the bomb had hit. “Meea?” he rasped out, his throat bone-dry and raw. He coughed a few times to clear his lungs before trying again. “Is that you, sis?”
“Matakh?”
