Wings of Fate: The Lost Ones

Something whizzed past Austin’s face, cutting off his laugh, and he stared at a spot two feet away where a black and gray feathered arrow waved in the ground. Bael yanked Austin behind him as they turned to face the invading darkness of the forest behind them. Standing at the forest’s edge, six battle-scarred and muscular men glared at them.

The men each wore a standard issue uniform of dark blue jeans with tight, green leather vests stretched against their chests. Sorenge soldiers, Bael thought with a silent groan. As part of the uniform, the soldiers were required to wear their hair short, and their beards trimmed neatly -– as each of these had.

Glancing from one man to the next, Bael noted the soldier on either end of their group each wore long swords strapped to their backs -- harnessed there until the wicked knives in their hands became useless. In the center of the line was a soldier who still held the bow that launched a quivering arrow directly at Austin -- another arrow was notched and ready to fly.

The two men standing on opposite sides of the arrow-wielder waited empty handed, but Bael knew that did not mean they were without weapons -- in fact it most likely meant those particular men were most effective in hand-to-hand combat. Standing several feet ahead of the group was another unarmed soldier, whom Bael assumed was the leader, with a head neatly shorn and face as smooth as a babe, though his feral expression made it evident he was not to be as sweet as one.

The five men standing behind the leader of the group leaned forward with menace evident in their expressions, ready in a moment to use whatever force necessary. All six stared at Bael.

The leader’s lips twitched on one side of his mouth as he put his hands to rest on his hips. Dark green eyes snapped at Bael. “You are trespassing here,” he accused.

Mindful of the shifting river at his back, Bael kept his eyes on all of them, unmoving, as he considered their options. He stared hard at each of the soldiers in turn, before returning his gaze to the gravel-voiced leader. “You are mistaken. We are in Nahmu land and it belongs to Lord Belkin.”

Five soldiers glanced at each other before sneering at him. “Gavel, he says it is Lord Belkin’s land, bah!” snorted one of the unarmed men as he spat on the ground at his feet, directing his laughing comment to the leader before returning angry eyes to Bael. “He is no longer the lord of these lands.”

Bael’s eyes narrowed as he studied the men, knowing this encounter was going to end in bloodshed.

“Who do you hide behind your back?” Gavel asked, resuming control of the conversation with a tilt of his head to the side in an effort to obtain a better view.

“A boy. A child.” Bael tightened his grip on Austin’s shoulder indicating he should stay put. He could feel the boy trying to peer around him at the men, but Bael did not want them to pay any attention to him.

Gavel paused and, with a considering glance, conducted a cursory search of Bael, whose violent expression must have given the soldier indication he was not going to back down. Gavel stood up a little straighter. “Just so happens we be looking for a boy, about the same coloring and height as the one you have there behind your back.”

“This is not the boy you are looking for.” Bael responded, sparing a quick glance for the silent soldiers to be certain they remained put.

“Reeeeeeaaaaallly now?” the leader asked, his bushy eyebrows rising in mock disbelief. “How would we know if we can’t even get a look at him?”

Bael cursed under his breath. Behind their leader, the soldiers’ faces darkened with the lengthening shadows of the evening. The sun was setting. Soon it would be dark and, though the late afternoon heat caused his hair to droop against his neck, the temperature would drop before long as well.

At the first raised voice the neighboring forest animals fled the area -- leaving the sounds of the slowly churning Suell River behind them, Austin’s breathing, and the erratic pounding of his own heartbeat. The men were not going to leave without a fight and it meant he would be unable to keep Austin out of sight. Either way, the Sorenge Soldiers would get a look at him. Bael pulled Austin to his side, keeping his fist clenched in the kid’s t-shirt, and allowed the soldiers to get a glimpse of the boy he knew they could not be looking for.

But, to his surprise, seeing Austin’s face did not deter them at all.

“Doesn’t that look like him, boys?” The leader barked over his shoulder to the men with him. They laughed with malice before turning serious again and agreeing this was, indeed, the boy for whom they were searching. “Come here boy.” Gavel demanded, glaring at Austin with a crook of his finger.

Bael glanced down at the kid. Austin’s upturned face was a study in confusion as he no idea who the men were, that they were soldiers, or even maybe that he and Bael were now in some kind of trouble. But he turned angry eyes to Gavel, flashing a rarely seen temper across the several feet separating the two groups.

“Get bent.” he snarled, tilting his chin in the air. Austin looked fearless staring the soldiers down, but his shoulder was trembling beneath Bael’s grip.

The soldier appeared nonplussed with Austin’s response and then a look of extreme rage crossed his features. Quickly blanking all expression from his face, Gavel tried a more coaxing tone of voice. “You know your mama is looking for you Nicolaus, you should come home now before she gets any angrier.”

Nicolaus? Bael wondered. The name sounded familiar though he could not place the memory. Something the Moirai mentioned, he mused, thinking fast. But Austin was Austin, so in the end it did not matter who the soldiers thought he was.

“My name is not Nicolaus and my mother is dead.” Austin growled.

The leader’s face flushed. “I am tired of your games little boy!” he roared, taking two steps closer to them.

The sound of a knife being pulled from its sheath, the ring of its blade leaving its holster, rang out over the sudden cacophony of bellowing soldiers, cutting off their voices. Bael’s hand was between them, holding fast as the fading sunlight glinted off the long, curved blade. When Bael waved the knife at the soldier, light danced up and down its length.

The leader froze, startled. “You and your men need to return to where you came from. Austin is not the boy you are looking for.”

“You do not realize,” the man ground out through broken teeth, “the danger you are putting yourself in. Just hand over the boy. Believe me he is more trouble than he is worth, and no harm will come to him.”

“You have already been told he is not Nicolaus.”

Expression evaporated from the man’s face. “Prove it.” He said, leaning back on his heels. Gavel crossed his arms against his chest, flattening the front of his vest, covering the long black chest hairs escaping in curls around the neckline. His stance relaxed, as though positive he would win this battle of wits. Bael wondered if the man realized that even if they could prove the boy was Nicolaus, he was not going to hand him over.

“Wait, I can prove it.” Austin called out suddenly, tugging his arm out of Bael’s grip. “Look, Bael, my name is on the tag in my shirt.” He leaned away and pointed at a white piece of material attached to the inside of the back of his shirt.

Bael did not look down. “Take your shirt off.” he instructed after a moment, keeping his eyes glued to the threat.

“Let go of me, then.” Austin bit out, pulling away. As he pulled the stiff shirt off, Raven’s hope necklace began sliding over his head. He grabbed the silver angel and held it in place until the shirt was over his head. He handed the shirt to Bael who spared only a glance for the scrap of material before tossing it over to the leader. Gavel caught the shirt as it flew through the air and looked down at the note where Austin’s name was neatly scrawled in his mother’s handwriting.

The soldier’s eyes narrowed over the name. He glanced up at Bael before transferring his confused gaze to Austin. Reaching behind him, the man tugged something out of the back of his pants, and revealed a rolled up sheet of paper, which he tossed to Bael. The paper hit the ground near Austin’s feet.

“Pick it up, Austin.” Bael instructed, not wanting to take his eyes off the soldiers for even the moment it would take to pick up the paper roll. Austin unrolled it to reveal a pencil drawn image of his own face.

“How is that possible?” Austin whispered.

“That is not possible,” the leader called out, “which is why you will be coming with us, Nicolaus.” The man pulled two long, curved knives from the back of his pants and held them out in front of him, threatening. “The boy is coming with us.”

Bael reacted as the men suddenly surged forward, charging him. Austin fell hard to the ground, when Bael shoved him to the side, and he crawled towards the trees. One of the men launched his body full force into Bael and the two of them flew backwards into the river. A pool of water sucked him into one of the many dark crevices littering the river, and Bael shoved his feet against the rivers’ bottom to propel himself toward the watery surface.

As he came free of the water, Bael made contact with the soldier who tumbled him into the river. Shoving his blade into the attackers’ stomach, he felt the intense glide of metal against muscle and bone. Bael twisted his hand, corkscrewing his knife further into the soldier’s belly, before jerking his blade free. He ignored the blood covering both his hand and blade, and shoved at the man until the soldier fell away, moaning as dark blood poured from the wound.

Moving fast, Bael stepped out of the rushing river, reaching the firmness of solid ground only a moment before the two unarmed soldiers threw themselves at him. As the three of them fell into the water, he caught sight of Austin.

“Nooooooooooo!” Bael roared as the leader bore down on the boy, reaching for him. Before Gavel’s hands closed around Austin’s legs, he tripped and fell sideways. The man screamed in fatal pain, staring in shock and grappling with the long golden spear pierced through both sides of his chest. His screams continue to reverberate off the trees after he fell over dead.

When Gavel’s screams rent the darkening area, the four remaining soldiers turned to see what was happening behind them. Seeing his lifeless body bleeding into the grass, they jerked around to stare down the river at the new threat.

Forgotten, Bael rolled to his feet in the river and sloshed his way onto land. Running to Austin’s side, he grabbed him and once again pulled him behind his back. Gasping for breath, he stared at the golden haired man who appeared between the clusters of trees several yards down the river. It was an impossible distance for the stranger to have made the target with such accuracy.

The man walked slowly, as though he entered a casual gathering rather than a vicious attack, inching along, but continuously towards them. When he drew close, his laughing auburn eyes met the intensity in Bael’s gaze without flinching before he glanced around the riverside at the gaping soldiers. A deeply tanned hand tapped against his bare leg and after only a moment there arrived a mangy-looking mixed-colored dog beside him.

It ambled along on large paws and a tongue hanging to the ground, with fur contrasting with the man’s white wrap-around-skirt.

“This seems like an unfair fight, gentlemen,” he pointed out in a deep voice, “and normally, I am okay with that sort of thing but I am afraid this just won’t do. Return to your Queen.” He instructed, turning away from them and waving his hand dismissively. When the soldiers continued to stand and stare with gaping mouths the man raised silent brows and fingered the hilt of a golden blade at his hip.

The stranger’s boots brought him closer to the group of men, two lying dead now, including the leader, and the four frozen soldiers. But, at his command, the remaining Sorenge soldiers fled back into the forest, disappearing into its shaded recesses within moments.

The stranger came to a stop then and stared in distraction at the two men who bled to death. After a moment of silence he stepped over to the leader. Placing his right foot against the man’s chest, he gripped the pole and wrenched his spear free of the bloody mess. Still, Bael and Austin did not move. The man glanced over at the two of them and, shaking his curly hair away from his eyes, offered a friendly smile. “That really wasn’t a fair fight, you know.”

“I noticed.” Bael agreed with a slight nod. “We appreciate your assistance.” Austin looked up at Bael and then at the stranger, then turned and ran behind a tree to heave up his breakfast.

“Well, my arrival was not at all by chance, you know.” He announced, still smiling. “I was looking for you or, rather, I was looking for the boy. Just happened to find you at the right time I guess.” Bael glanced over his shoulder where Austin leaned over wiping his mouth; then turned his gaze to the men on the ground.

“They were looking for the boy as well.” He pointed out, tilting his head at the dead men.

The stranger nodded as he looked down at them and then returned Bael’s gaze. “Yes, and they believed they were in the right. Your friend has an uncanny resemblance to Prince Nicolaus. Their Nicolaus is indeed missing, run away again.” He sighed and stared into the forest for a moment before returning his attention to Austin who, though pale, joined them again. “I have come for a different reason, though. Allow me to introduce myself,” he offered with a bow, “my name is Ares.”

Bael tensed, wondering why this particular man would be anywhere near the area. Ares and his feats were well known in just about every corner of DeSolar. It made no sense why he would be looking for Austin. He asked the question aloud, catching and ignoring Austin’s questioning glance.

“You were looking for me?” Austin asked Ares, who crouched down to eye-level with the boy before responding.

“I was sent, I suppose,” he said, scratching his chin where a bit of stubble was beginning to show, “I am your protector.”

Austin cocked his head at Ares, his eyebrows pulled together. “Why do I need a protector?”

At this question Ares laughed a booming laugh that echoed off the trees. Looking around at the dead men on the ground and in the direction the remaining attackers fled, he replied good-naturedly. “Why indeed?”

Austin looked around the area, his gaze briefly pausing on the men lying dead around them. “But, Bael could be my protector.” He pointed out.

Ares nodded and stood. “Yes he is, young man. We will both be your protectors. It’s important isn’t it?”

“What is?” Austin asked, confused. Ares speared Bael with a sharp glance, but received only a slight shake of his head.

A look of understanding, followed by annoyance, passed over Ares’ tanned features before he smiled down at the boy. “Why, getting you to a safe place of course.”

“Because of the war?” Austin asked. “We have war where we are from too, but I’ve never been around it.”

“We?” Ares questioned, tilting his head to the side.

“Me and Raven.” Austin answered. Ares raised his eyes to Bael’s but this time Bael just stared back at him with a blank expression. It bothered him that Ares would not have already known about Raven if he knew about Austin. Curious, he thought.

Bael wiped his blade against his pant leg, rubbing the blood away, before sliding it back in its holster on his back. “We were just on our way to Lord Belkin’s castle.” Bael informed Ares, who stuck his spear in the ground and listened as he leaned on his weapon with both hands.

His four-legged companion frolicked in the river as though the afternoon consisted of nothing more than play time instead of the slaying of several men. When he realized his master wasn’t paying any attention to him, he grew bored and trotted over to Ares’ side where he sat back on his haunches. The dog’s long tongue rolled out of his mouth and dripped sweat onto the grass as it watched Austin with dark, lazy eyes.

“Well, we will have to find another way then. The Sorenge soldiers have already been there, are there still.”

“I gathered that,” Bael replied, “but I cannot just leave Lord Belkin imprisoned, tortured or whatever misdeeds they most surely are doing. His daughters come to visit him this time of year, did you happen to notice if they were there?”

“Well, it was not like I was invited in for tea. As I approached the border wall I was warned to stay clear. Since I had important business here,” he stressed with a nod at Austin, “I did not think it would be prudent for me to become embroiled in a situation.”

“God len senon, te neon to,” Bael whispered, staring off in the direction of Lord Belkin’s castle.

“What was that?” Austin asked with a frown, the near-constant curiosity that blazed in his eyes was almost hidden by the growing shadows of the evening.

Bael glanced down at him and lifted one side of his mouth in a half-smile. “A prayer.”

“Really? In what language?”

“Elfin?” he responded with uncertainty as he was still unsure what he could or should not tell the boy.

“Wow! Really? Where did you learn elfin language?”

“Well, he should know shouldn’t he?” Ares answered with a laugh. “He is an elf.” The glint in Ares’ eyes indicated there would be no more keeping secrets from the boy.

When he looked down at Austin, Bael could not help but laugh at the expression of disbelief that marked the kids’ features. But he was not staring at Bael, as expected, but rather he was staring at Ares with a look that suggested he thought the man was daft.

Bael smiled when Austin glanced up at him with a shrug of his shoulders before moving away to stuff his thin arms back into his shirt.

Bael scanned the area and realized the forest darkened in the last hour as the sun long-since began its descent. Evening was upon them. Walking in the woods at night would be foolish, especially with the horse and a child. Glancing around at the ample soft grass available for bedding, he decided they would camp for the night. There was not enough room to build a shelter, between the trees and the river was a space of maybe fifteen feet and one did not want to sleep too close to the river, as the water might rise.

But they did not want to sleep too close to the trees because it would be more difficult to notice the shift in light were someone to come upon them in their sleep.

Bellvie was gone. Run off at some point during the fight. Coward, he thought. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it as he glanced over at Ares, who was patiently instructing Austin on how to properly throw a spear. The kid’s hands were barely able to wrap around the shaft and hefting it was near impossible for him.

Ares assisted Austin with holding the spear at an efficient angle, and then added his strength when it was time to launch it. The spear flew a dozen feet and landed in the rushing river. Austin scowled at the device as though the incapability of use was within the weapon instead of the user, and Ares laughed good-naturedly.

“It’s alright there Austin -- it takes some practice and time to get used to the weight of it. I had this weapon made for my height, weight, and strength, so together, the weapon and I would work fluidly. What works for me will not work for you, we will have a spear made for you, you will see.”

Austin was glum, disbelieving he would be able to learn but at the prospect of having his own spear, the little boy’s face lit up. Following Ares, Austin searched for the golden spear, waving his hand back and forth in the water. Caught up in their actions, Bael did not realize they were under attack until he felt the knife press against his throat.

“We’re back.” The voice whispered before ripping the blade across his neck.

Bael, unable to speak, slapped his hands tight against the wound, attempting to staunch the flow of blood, watching in horror as dozens of burley soldiers attacked Ares and Austin, yanking them away from the river as the boy screamed. Bael closed his eyes, shutting them against the invading darkness creeping across his sight, and focused on slowing his heart.

As death crept over his body, he tried not to hear Austin screaming his name, begging him for help.

The air was cool against her skin as they set off the following morning. The lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with her and Raven was considering taking a nap on Rohan’s back. The one good thing about starting so early was the earlier they left, the longer it would be comfortable outside. If the day turned out to be as warm as yesterday, she would be drenched in sweat by lunchtime.

Climbing onto Rohan’s back was an enormous task and one she felt no joy in doing as she stood, reluctant, and stared him in the eye. He was gentle and did nothing to deserve any animosity from her but the dread couldn’t be helped. All three of the Moirai sisters sat on their horses watching her in semi-patience until she climbed on his back.

Bruises on her butt immediately announced themselves as she slid across the silky coat covering his back. Wincing, she grabbed the reins draped around his neck, clinging to him with her thighs as he followed the retreating figures of the Moirai.

Along with the morning chill she was surprised when, after an hour or so of weaving in and out of the trees, Atropos led their group onto a wide-set dirt road. They rode two abreast for the first time and Raven was grateful for the opportunity to have someone beside her. After only an hours’ ride she was no longer been able to feel her butt and the bruises went forgotten. When she told Lachesis, the woman laughed and said it would take time for her body to become accustomed to the beast.

Atropos deigned to tell her, finally, Treis-Soarta would require some four or five days travel. Three days, if they hurry, and the expression on Klotho’s face suggested they should most definitely hurry. According to that plan, as soon as they stepped onto the dirt road, Raven was forced to cling to Rohan as all four horses broke into a run.

They traveled for what felt like hours at what was surely a break neck pace, the clopping of hooves was only vaguely muted against the packed dirt --- and Raven was unable to relax her death grip on Rohan. The tell-tale ache of sunburn spread across her nose and forehead during the afternoon, as the layering of branches above their heads in the forest gave way to an unrelenting sun bearing over the open road.

Their group just moved around a curve in the path when they spotted two bulky men standing in the road’s center about thirty-yards ahead. Raven leaned sideways to peer around Atropos for a better view. Even at a distance it was easy to see the rigid muscles jutting out from the arm holes of their dark green vests. Tanned arms were bent casually so the men could jam their fists into the front pockets of their blue jeans. They stood in the middle of the road with humorless smiles as they watched the women coming towards them.

As the horses continued to shorten the distance between the two groups on the road, Raven could see that one of the men had short brown hair and a face that put his age to about nineteen or twenty, maybe younger. The other man was bald, older, with a long jagged scar running from his left temple to his chin.

Her first indication the Moirai were concerned was when Atropos looked over her shoulder and met Raven’s eyes. Natural charcoal lashes fringed small blue, almond-shaped eyes, and when Raven met her gaze she noted the worried expression in them. Atropos returned her attention to the men in the road before Raven could do anything more than frown at her and, as one, all four horses came to a stop.

“I cannot.” Atropos sighed as she looked to her right at Klotho, with a swift glance at Lachesis who rode on Raven’s right.

“The same as before?” Lachesis asked with a frown, when Atropos nodded in answer, lavender eyes turned to Raven and gave her a once over. “Do you have any weapons?”

“What?” Raven asked, startled. “No, I don’t have any weapons.”

Klotho bit her lower lip for a moment. “None of us has any weapons and even if we did...” They appraised the burley men in the road. Her thoughts, left unspoken, resonated in the silence. We don’t have any weapons and even if we did, they would not help us.

A small noise to her left caught Raven’s attention. She scanned the dense forest before she slowed her gaze trying to find the source of the noise. After having spent the last several days in the forest she was aware of the animals calling those redwood trees home. Sunlight filtered through the tree branches, scarcely offering illumination to the forest floor where, Raven imagined, small animals scurried home. Shadows danced across the ground and she decided she must have heard one of the animals run by.

Her body didn’t believe it.

Goosebumps raced across her arms just as a chill crept up her spine. The other women kept up a muted conversation, unaware of Raven’s distraction. Turning her head, Raven searched the trees on her right but saw nothing. She was about to dismiss her fanciful imaginings when she heard the noise again and whipped her head back around. A long-haired, fat man cloaked in dark green clothes stood at the edge of the trees.

In beefy hands he held a bow pointed directly at their group. Before she could utter an alarm he released the bowstring with his right hand, letting an arrow fly. In shock, Raven looked down and watched as blood spread in a circle across the side of her white t-shirt before it seeped down her waist to her pants.

She gaped, uncomprehendingly at the arrow -- its black and gray feathers dancing in the breeze where the arrow punctured her shirt, skin and muscle. She raised her eyes to the man who now wore a smug grin.

His blackened teeth were the last thing Raven saw as she fell from her horse.