Wings of Fate: The Lost Ones

Lachesis was tapping her leg again. The lavender eyes appeared almost violet behind the campfire’s leaping flames. The Moirai sister flicked her hair over her shoulder, the strands falling behind her neck to blend in with the uniform until it was impossible to discern where one began and the other ended. In every other way, she was relaxed -- her lips were loose, her shoulders set back, and her legs were crossed at the ankle as she sat Indian-style on the ground.

But she was tapping her leg again and Raven came to understand the movement was a fidget -- a nervous one. Raven wondered if the woman was even aware she was doing it. She didn’t interrupt Lachesis’ thoughts, though, by accusing her of the lie sure to come out of her mouth. Let her dig her own grave, she thought, angry.

Their group of five traveled all night, relentless in their need to be far away from the Queen Mother’s castle. With a brief respite at first sunlight, they set out again, galloping over a magnificent hillside strewn with creeks, sheep, and flowers. Raven was almost sad she missed the view on the way to the castle.

Several hours into the afternoon they returned to the enfolding arms of the forest. Whereas before the proximity and constancy of trees annoyed her -- causing her to long for wide open spaces -- now the trees felt like refuge. She was safe from nothing but at least hidden now.

It was night again and after tethering their horses, they built a fire. Atropos and the Prince stepped out of the firelight, disappearing within the deepening shadows of the forest, leaving her alone with Lachesis and Klotho. Raven considered Atropos the leader of the little ragtag group of fates and waited until the woman was out of earshot before posing her question to Lachesis and Klotho.

The fire blazed hot and, though the remaining warmth from the sun provided more than enough heat, they clustered around the fire. Raven sat across from the two Moirai sisters, watching the fire illuminate their white uniforms like beacons.

The question ’why didn’t you tell me you were the fates of birth, life, and death’ should have been the first question out of her mouth but Raven chose, instead, to keep the knowledge to herself. There was a reason for the decision not to tell her they were goddesses and, while Raven had dozens of questions, the need to keep the secret overshadowed all they told her.

The prophecy, according to the Queen Mother, wound itself in a coalescing, rhythmic and churning pattern through Raven’s veins. She and the prophecy were one.

The Queen knew it. The fates knew it. And now Raven knew it.

But the knowledge changed everything. Raven couldn’t look at them as before -- as mere women in some kind of sect. Knowing they had powers, beyond anything she had ever known, made it unforgivable that they allowed the soldiers to take her. They allowed her to be taken, dragged so close to the village she could still hear the screams -- they allowed her to be taken into the Queen Mother’s castle.

No one ever struck her before. There were times in the foster home when one of the boys would pinch her arm if she ignored him, but that was it. No boyfriend or high school enemy laid a hand on her. What the Queen did -- took something from her. As though missing a shoe, Raven felt the absence -- but defining what it was eluded her.

Trust. Faith -- maybe. But she felt the difference in herself as though it glared at her.

The Moirai sisters, the fates, could have prevented every minute of the abduction and chose not to. Raven stared across the fire at Lachesis and slid her gaze to Klotho, who pinched her lips together and poked at the fire, resolute in her silence.

Instead of asking about their heritage, she asked why they did not rescue her from the soldiers sooner, and if it wasn’t for Lachesis’ tapping Raven would try to believe the answer they gave. Lachesis appeared as though she may answer but the answer would be a lie.

Raven sighed, returning her gaze to the fire. Why bother?

“Raven, you must understand,” Lachesis said. “Had we been able to rescue you we most willingly would have. We just could not.” Raven met the lavender eyes, noted the tapping finger, and kept her face free of expression. Lie.

“Why not?” she asked.

Lachesis glanced at Klotho, who did not look up from the stick she used to poke the fire, and then returned her attention to Raven. “I am certain you noticed how many more of the soldiers there were than us.”

The finger continued to tap.

“No, actually, I didn’t. I am sure, however, that you noticed I was blindfolded. All I was able to do was sit on that damn horse and listen for sounds of my imminent death.”

“We would not have allowed them to kill you, Raven.” Klotho answered. Raven glanced at her and wondered which fate she was. There were no tell-tale signs of her lies and so her response cheated Raven of knowing, for certain, the Moirai sisters would have rescued her before the blade fell home.

But the shadow raised his blade above her head and there was no arrival from the three women. He would have killed her if not for Logan. Raven switched her attention to Logan, watching him under hooded eyes. He, like everyone else, seemed transfixed on the leaping flame. Behind his head the forest fell into the darkest of shadows, hiding anything that might be out there. He leaned toward the fire with his elbows resting on his knees, close enough to allow sparkling light to dance across his features.

He was just as beautiful as she imagined him to be. As soon as he arrived she recognized him as the bald soldier standing in the center of the road, the jagged scar running down the length of his face faded into the shadows of the night, but he was the same man. His eyes, dark brown and wide, stared at her as he entered the circle of firelight, recognition sparked in his eyes.

And familiarity.

Uncomfortable with his presence, Raven didn’t know why the Moirai would allow him to stay. Why they hadn’t just killed him out of hand -- she would never understand. An hour after making camp, Logan stepped into the small clearing like a god stepping out of a black ocean. Ran away, he claimed. He abandoned the Queen Mother and the Sorenge army -- realizing he was on the wrong team.

Raven didn’t believe him. No one could be a part of something so cruel and just switch sides in mid-stride. He was up to something -- a spy, probably, she thought, turning her attention back to Lachesis.

The Moirai sisters were in such a hurry to get away from the castle there was little time for conversation. No one even asked her what the Queen did to her, or what she wanted. Clearly, she wanted her son. Prince Nicolaus, whom Raven was supposed to join forces with in a stand against his mother.

His likeness to Austin was eerie. Other than their clothes and speech, the two boys were the same on the outside. The Moirai sisters hadn’t explained that either. But it was the Queen’s continual reference to her involvement in the prophecy, though she already knew there was a link, which she found unnerving. That she could be integral in something she knew almost nothing about was frightening. That she was to stand against the Queen scared the hell out of her.

She wasn’t a fighter -- didn’t know how to fight. She had no powers, no leadership skills or experience. Nothing required for leading an army against the Queen. What she did have was a ten-year old boy to back her up, three lying women professing to help, and an enemy spy seated half a dozen feet away.

Rubbing her face, Raven blew out a heavy breath. The pain was almost gone. The ache in her ribs and arms evaporated during the first night of their escape -- the bruises that should have lingered for a week or more -- gone. The bruises on her face were still there, though, she could feel them when pressing her palms against her cheeks. But, for the most part, she was completely healed.

As if by magic.

Raven assumed one of the fates, if not all three, were doing it when she wasn’t paying attention. Staring at her, or something, and healing her. But she hadn’t asked because then she would have to admit she knew about their powers. The need to play dumb was overwhelming but it felt better, knowing something no one else knew she knew.

If Logan knew about them, he hadn’t said anything, and she was glad. That was her secret.

“Where are we headed?” she asked, hoping this question, at least, would result in some honesty.

Klotho glanced at Logan with thoughts hidden behind green eyes and then shifted her gaze across the fire to Raven. “The plan deviated a bit but we are still headed on the same course.”

Treis-Soarta, Raven thought, remembering the original destination.

“How far are we from there, now?” she asked.

Lachesis looked up at her, and then to her right as though she could see the long path to home from where they sat. She frowned. “Perhaps another two days.”

Raven nodded in response. “And then?”

Lachesis raised eyebrows at her in question.

“And then -- what?” Raven repeated, snapping. “We hang out, have coffee -- what?” Logan glanced at her. She caught his movement out of the corner of her eye but ignored him. The Moirai sisters looked at each other briefly.

“One of our sisters will meet with you to discuss what comes next.” Lachesis answered, tapping a tanned finger against her leg.

Raven sighed. The Moirai sisters consisted of three women, she now knew, the fate of birth, the fate of life, and the fate of death. There couldn’t be any other sisters. Unless she was referring to another goddess, Raven mused, rolling the thought around as she drummed up long-dead information of the gods.

The fates were supposed to be ancient -- as old as time, or nearly. But they were also supposed to look old. All the images in her head consisted of the three spindly sisters standing with drooping, wrinkled faces over a spool of thread. The fate of death always hovered over the other two, an insincere smile on her face and a pair of twisted black scissors in her gnarled fingers.

But she couldn’t remember there being any mention of other sisters.

“What, exactly, am I supposed to be doing in this war?” she asked.

Lachesis sighed and rubbed a hand over her face. “Your place in this war is to defeat the Queen Mother.”

“Why?” though she didn’t need a reason, not really. The Queen Mother was pure evil and she allowed her soldiers -- Raven glanced at Logan -- to run ram shod over the country side to kill and brutalize innocent villagers.

As if reading her mind, Lachesis said, “The innocents on DeSolar are not the only concern though they are, by far, one of the biggest. If the Queen Mother continues unabated, everything on this planet will die. You are not here to save only a few lives, Raven, or to protect a few innocent villagers, you are here to save the entire planet from devastation.”

But how, Raven thought, and why can’t they, the gods, do it? Surely the gods possessed more power than she did. Or were the Moirai sisters the only gods on the planet? Were there others?

“Saving the planet sounds like too big a job for only one person to handle.” Logan said quietly, his deep voice flowed over the group, seeking a place to settle as though out of place there. Raven watched him -- his hands were clasped over the air, his elbows pressing into his knees, and his shoulders were hunched forward -- giving him the look of exhaustion.

“It is too big for one person to do, Logan,” Klotho said sharply, “which is why Raven is not alone in this war.”

“Who else is there?” he asked, glancing around the campfire at the ragtag team before widening his searching eyes toward the forest surrounding them. “You cannot win a war with only five people.”

Raven hadn’t moved her eyes away from him. He’s a terrible spy, she thought. Spies should at least wait a few days before they start asking inappropriate questions designed to provide details on the enemies’ sources. Rolling her eyes, she glanced across the fire at Klotho who was staring at him with a blank expression.

So, Klotho doesn’t agree he should be here either, Raven mused, keeping the thought to herself.

“There are many aspects of this war you are yet unfamiliar with,” Lachesis said, jumping into the conversation before Klotho said too much -- and it was clear Klotho was about to say too much. “What plans we have for Raven are detailed and almost flawless.” She shrugged. “The problem, of course, is the snags -- like her getting abducted.” Lachesis tilted her head at Raven as though it were necessary to indicate who was kidnapped.

Or that Logan needed reminding at all, since he was not only present at the attack but also was her escort over the several days it took to reach the Queen.

Logan glanced at her and she met his eyes straight on, giving none of her thoughts away. He seemed angry but also ashamed. He’s a better actor than he is a spy, she thought, looking away.

“Well, perhaps I can help,” he said, “she will need to learn things -- like how to defend herself and she’ll need to become familiar with DeSolar -- I have expert knowledge on the lay of the land. Will you let me come with you?”

Raven stared into the fire, careful to keep her breath even as his words echoed in her head. They hadn’t told Logan she wasn’t from DeSolar. Even the Queen hadn’t known. Had he been following her from day one? Had he been one of the sailors spiriting her to King Nash? He couldn’t have been, she thought, careful not to shake her head in negation.

And yet -- he knew.

Lachesis and Klotho did not appear to pick up on his statement as they continued the conversation without pause. They agreed he could join them on their journey providing he did everything he was told to do. When he offered to rejoin the Sorenge Army as a spy, the comment hit too close to home with their concerns, and a heated argument ensued.

“Many aspects of the war exist, Logan,” Atropos said, raising her voice to be heard over the cacophony of the argument, as she stepped back into camp with Prince Nicolaus two steps behind her, “and you will be appraised of those aspects soon enough.”

“But-” Logan argued.

“Enough. There has been enough explanation tonight.” Atropos snapped, her lips pressed tight together.

What explanation? Raven wondered, glancing at the prince when he stepped close enough to the fire for her to get a good look at him, and then speculated about the weariness on his face. A boy that young shouldn’t know the meaning of weary, she thought. He glanced at her again, this time with an intense expression as though trying to delve into her mind.

Unwilling to continue the eye contact any longer, Raven looked away. As though cued, Lachesis and Klotho stood and stepped out of the camp circle, disappearing into the night just as Atropos and Prince Nicolaus did hours earlier.

After the two Moirai left, Atropos and Nicolaus sat down to skin two rabbits. Logan watched them for a moment and then turned his attention. He stared into the fire, turning their words over in his head.

He could read the thoughts on Raven’s face as clearly as if she said them aloud. She didn’t trust him, didn’t trust his being there. Understandably, but she didn’t know what he knew. Following the Queen Mother’s order to obtain the girl was a simple enough task; not one he was particularly accustomed to, but easy. He intended to drop the blonde-haired woman at the Queen’s feet -- up until the moment the horse dumped them.

The wealthy women of DeSolar spent their money on bobbles and trinkets to decorate themselves but no matter how much money they possessed it could not buy them the diamond studded earrings Raven wore. DeSolar women didn’t have pierced ears.

He glanced briefly at Raven again and thought about his story, much like hers but different in so many ways. No one knew, not even Clarissa, who was his on-again-off-again girlfriend for the last year.

No one knew he was not from DeSolar.

He arrived on the planet in a boat, alone. It was a sweltering day in the middle of August when he set out alone on the Atlantic Ocean in his schooner. His boss at Ludlom and Associates was on his case for the proceeding three weeks and for the life of him, he could not figure out what he did to earn the man’s ire.

Things at the office went missing, client cases began to get screwed up and he had no idea what was happening. He approached his supervisor about the incidents and filed a report but nothing ever came of it. In frustration, Logan was left to assume those issues were infuriating his boss, and he wondered each morning when he arrived at the office in Daytona if that was the day he was going to be canned.

It was Thursday after another day from hell at work when he called Leslie, his girlfriend of six months, to see if she wanted to go with him out on the boat. She couldn’t get away so he went alone. The water was calm and the waves were light. That day the scorching sun beat down on his head causing his dark hair to plaster against his forehead and neck.

After a six-pack of beers and two hours in the heat, Logan’s last waking thought was he was exhausted. Hours later, he awakened, finding himself in his boat on dry land surrounded by a cluster of tall trees -- it all seemed like moments ago, and yet, in some ways -- a lifetime.

Logan jerked upright after being awakened by something he could not place. It was dark. The boat was not rocking. He grabbed the rough, unfinished side of his boat and leaned over to see dirt and grass. Stepping out of the boat, he turned in a circle and tried to get his bearings in order to figure out where he landed. This must be an island, he thought.

In a complete circle around his boat was a trimmed clearing the size of a football field. All around the edge of the clearing stood trees taller than his eyes could see in the dark. The moon was out there behind the trees -- its white-lit glow left traces on the tree branches and, in some places, on the ground. A cold wind blew through the leaves, whistling as it moved, sending goose bumps up his uncovered legs.

Logan stood in the silence and waited. He did not know what he was waiting for -- to wake up, maybe; for someone to appear, perhaps. Waiting seemed to be the best idea. Turning around, Logan walked the few feet back to his boat, climbed inside and sat down.

Rubbing his hands together, he blew hot air into his fist, trying to warm himself but after thirty minutes of getting colder and colder, he made the decision to look for shelter. After walking in circles for a couple of hours, he spotted a campfire in the distance and made his way towards it. The light was like a beacon of warmth, drawing him ever closer until he was able to hear several men in the camp talking and laughing.

Logan thought, later, if he believed he was no longer on Earth, if he even considered the idea, he would have been more cautious. Perhaps he would have tried to hide on the new planet forever. But he did not. Instead, he walked straight into their camp without even the slightest hesitation.

Five burly men sat in various places around the fire with another man rolled up in a blanket, sleeping at the edge of the flames. The five men, who were still conscious, froze when he walked into their camp, their bloodshot eyes widening before they grinned up at him with blackened teeth.

“Wuhl, and who is this then?” asked one of the men in a drunken drawl. The other men laughed and then grew silent as they watched him. “Wuhl, who are ya then?” he repeated, staring at Logan from across the flames of the campfire.

“My name is Logan,” There was something in their manner making him hold back any other information. He planned to tell them he was lost and ask for directions to an inn or hotel, or maybe just some space in a tent for the night.

But there was something in the air.

“Logan, eh?” the same man asked, accompanied by more ribald laughter from his buddies. “So, Logan, is that your friend?” he asked, using a thick black boot to kick the person wrapped in the blanket near his feet.

“I’m alone.” He answered, leaving his hands hanging to his sides.

“Well, you are now, aren’t you?”

Logan glanced around at the other men around the fire. “I don’t know who that is, but he or she is not with me.” He said, returning his gaze to the speaker for the group. Hot anger flashed in the man’s eyes and Logan knew he needed to tread carefully.

“Wuhl, we wish it was a she, don’t we boyls?” one of the other men, a large man with a full head of curly, red hair and a matching beard hollered, slapping his knee with amusement.

The blonde man sitting on the other side of the fire pulled a wicked knife out of his brown leather boots and began poking at the blanket. The person didn’t move. “Hulo in there,” he called down to the blanket and poked at it again with his knife, “hulo?” he laughed then and winked up at Logan.

“He ain’t said much ata’l since we slit his throat, just lies there like a lump.” the man glanced across the fire at his laughing buddies and Logan, feeling lost in a dream, tried to focus. “Maybe you would like to see his face and see if he’s your friend?” the blonde man asked him.

Logan looked him straight in the eye and repeated himself. “I’m alone.” Logan felt compelled to distance himself from the man he had been only that morning, long enough to live through the night. So he drank and laughed with the murderous men. When he lay down, desperate for sleep, he lay awake staring up at the stars through the trees.

He was terrified he would end up like the man in the blanket whose face he refused to look at when they unwrapped and kicked him into the fire. Long into the night Logan smelled burning flesh and tasted vomit in his throat.

In the morning the men drug him along with them, to home, they said, just until he could remember where he came from, they said. A convenient lie, and the only one he could think up under the circumstances. All day as they moved through the forest he tried to get away from their group, but he didn’t know where to go and knew he couldn’t get anywhere fast enough to outrun the men, and so he kept walking.

Late in the afternoon he spotted a dark gray castle in the distance with banners waving from the towers and by the way the men’s faces lit up he knew it was home.

Logan thought now, staring into the fire, about that day. He thought about how he changed in the five long and terrible years since that day. Then he shifted his eyes to Raven who sat on the other side of the fire. The campfire danced in her blue-green eyes as she, too, stared into the flame, lost in her own memories.

He thought he was alone on DeSolar, the only one of his kind. How could he escape the Queen Mother and her soldiers? There hadn’t been anywhere to go; no friends waiting for him upon arrival; no mission. His clumsiness in approaching the men surrounding the campfire relegated him with a life sentence of soldiering for the Queen.

Logan accepted this new world would be his new life. Forever. He would be stuck working for the Queen and following her soldiers along on their foul deeds. Forever.

But then he saw Raven’s earrings -- a beacon of his former life, home, he thought. Barely restraining himself fast enough he wanted to grab her up in his arms, twirl her around, and laugh. He wanted to protect her from what was coming -- even while he knew he had no choice but to take her to the castle.

The plan was to rescue her under cover of darkness and, in fact that was his plan before he saw her and the boy darting across the castle yard. He followed them on silent feet until determining which way the party would travel and then procured his horse, a few important trinkets he kept hidden in his room, and then pursued.

Her group was relentless in their travels. He understood why they rode without rest. He could have approached sooner but waited until they were no longer able to flee. Originally he thought to confess all -- his bad deeds, his arrival on DeSolar, and why he followed her. The need to tell Raven he would follow her anywhere died on his lips as soon as she looked at him with horror in her eyes.

She would never accept his weakness, the mistakes he made, and atrocities he was party to. Truly, he didn’t even know why he joined her group when he could have left the Queen’s employ and let that be it. But he could help Raven -- even knowing she would never look at him without the wariness that always crossed her face when she glanced at him.

She would never understand.