Wings of Fate: The Lost Ones

For miles in every direction the land was littered with trees but now, just ahead, the forest swept aside to make room for a rolling mass of hills and valleys. As Nicolaus cleared the last of the trees he stared straight out at The Espejo Peaks.

Hundreds, or thousands, of years ago, where the peaks now stood, a bulging mountain had stood blanketed with long-bladed grass and flowers. Larkspurs, Yarrows, and Agoseris wound across the side of the mountain snaking higher and higher in a curtain of purple, white, and orange. Higher up the mountain face, the waving rainbow garden gave way to dirt and rock, and the dirt and rock gave way to snow-capped peaks.

But someone, or some thing, cleaved the mountain in half -- leaving two identical halves on either side of a winding path, which Lachesis said they would travel in order to reach Treis-Soarta.

This was not the first time Nicolaus came this way though, for sure, he never went any further into the land. Rumors whispered through towns and villages, eventually winding towards his mother’s castle, of sorceresses and magical beings this side of the forest. Stories circulated about dragons and unicorns, hobbits and trolls, and even death himself guarding the lake on the other side of the Espejo Peaks.

Fairytales, Nicolaus thought now, as he always had in the past. Things like that did not exist no matter where you stood on DeSolar. Not that he went far enough away from Camelion land to find out. Of course, he had not known about the Woodland Nymph Faeries.

The sun was relentless as they descended across the hillside towards the valley nestled at the base of the peaks. Once clear of the forest, each moved out to travel side by side. Glancing at them, Nicolaus wondered at the tension on their faces.

Raven sat atop her horse, rigid with pinched lips, staring straight ahead.

Logan, on the other side of her, was relaxed and distracted as he had been since the moment he stepped into their camp. Instead of staring resolutely forward, Logan glanced around them, watched their trail, and kept his eyes shifting over the shadows between hills.

On Logan’s other side rode Lachesis, so far the nicest of the Moirai sisters, who wore a mixed expression of strain and pleasure. A slight smile curved the edges of her mouth and shone in the lavender eyes beneath furrowed brows.

The other two Moirai sisters rode on Nicolaus’ left. Atropos and Klotho were silent and staring straight ahead, watching the looming peaks as they approached. There was no soft smile resting on their lips -- just a tight expression of pain.

Nicolaus frowned.

The first night they stopped when Atropos pulled him out of camp to talk about the Queen, he told the Moirai sister his plan was to stay away from the castle so he did not wind up dead. Atropos had nodded, deep in thought, and then asked if he would mind guarding Raven’s back.

Nicolaus glanced at the light-haired woman beside him. He would have watched her back without the request, but it would seem Logan already assigned himself to the task.

Young he may be, but the tension directed toward Logan was easy to sense, and Nicolaus wondered if perhaps Atropos meant him to protect Raven from the soldier. It would make sense. What didn’t make sense was Logan’s presence among them, especially if Atropos was concerned. She and Klotho moved ahead of the group, taking the lead around a half-mile wide hill, and rode out of sight.

“Let’s go.” Lachesis said, heeling her horse’s flanks and shooting ahead of them. Raven followed suit, leaning into her mount. The pounding of hooves was almost deadened by the grass but it still echoed back like a drum. Glancing at Logan, he caught the man’s eyes on him.

“Do you know what your mother will do to you if she finds out you work against her?” Logan asked, lifting one dark brow, causing the jagged scar on his face to stretch.

Nicolaus leaned his head to the side and appraised Logan. What could he mean by that? He thought, wondering again about the man’s accepted presence. “I imagine it would be the same had I stayed home like a good little boy, Logan. I doubt not for a moment these last few years my mother has wanted nothing more than to see me dead.”

Logan stared hard at him and frowned. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I know something she does not think I know.” Nicolaus glanced in the direction the women faded into and shifted in his saddle. Wrapping one hand firmly around his reins, he turned his attention back to Logan. “Do you know what my mother will do to you if she finds out you are working against her?”

Logan’s lips twisted sardonically. “I doubt not that your mother is already quite aware of my actions.”

Nicolaus started.

“No.” Logan said, answering the unspoken question, “Not because I am a spy Prince Nicolaus. Her soldiers are following us.” He said, twisting in his saddle and running dark eyes across the shadowed forest at their backs. “By now she would know I am with Raven and therefore, I am just as dead as you.” Logan waited for Nicolaus to start forward before following. Hooves pounding on the ground, they raced along the edge of the hill, catching up to Raven and the Moirai sisters within moments.

Atropos hadn’t explained the faeries’ actions by the river. In fact, other than studiously ignoring Raven, the woman seemed well prepared to behave as though it did not happen at all. The explosion of pain faded just as quick as it came but it had happened and every time Raven closed her eyes she saw, again, the King and Queen’s startled eyes.

Like everything else, Raven didn’t know what it meant.

Having grown used to having Nicolaus ride beside her for the past two days, Raven found the white cloth at the corner of her eye distracting. Glancing over, Raven ran her eyes over Lachesis’ body -- still, after all, surprised to ride beside a mythological goddess.

Prince Nicolaus rode behind her, grudgingly relinquishing his spot. For the moment she was glad he wasn’t beside her. Every now and again she felt his attention on her, watching with solemn eyes.

Logan moved ahead of them earlier, catching up to Lachesis, before falling back again. He seemed to be near her all the time. Any time she glanced up, his blue jean legs would materialize. But she didn’t feel compelled to talk to him. What could she say to him? What are you hiding?

On occasion he would stare at her just long enough to catch her notice and when she turned to him, avoiding his direct gaze, she locked her eyes on his scar. She would rather die than ask what caused it. He was her enemy but it was impossible to imagine having her face sliced open like that. But someone approached him with a knife and got close enough to almost take out an eye. It should have been fatal. Especially for a man with such a beautiful face, she thought, bitter. Raven sighed, pushing the thoughts away. What does it matter how beautiful he is?

The grueling travel was beginning to wear her down. Every bone in her body hung like a dead weight beneath her skin, dragging into a desire for sleep. Glancing up, Raven watched Klotho’s hair dance around her shoulders. The Moirai sister glanced her way from time to time but, like Atropos, avoided her. Lachesis, on the other hand, became a veritable chatterbox as they moved between the peaks. Raven tuned her out and allowed her gaze to settle on the two mountains riding high on either side of the trail.

The path itself was only wide enough for two horses to ride side by side and so the group sectioned off with the boys at the rear, and Atropos and Klotho in the lead. The valley stretching for as far as she could see was laden with grass and small-petal flowers to be crushed beneath their hooves. Beside her, the grass stretched upwards across the base of the mountain, to be replaced by a colorful barrage of flowers.

Higher up, the snow-capped peaks disappeared behind fat hovering clouds. Just below the clouds a strange orange rock bulged from the side of the mountain. It seemed out of place with the rest of the scene. Raven frowned. Lachesis’ chipper voice was uncharacteristic and flowed over Raven’s head as though background noise. Narrowing her eyes, she stared up the side of the mountain, trying to place what was odd about the formation.

“It is a stone bear.” Lachesis said, falling silent. The drape of silence caught Raven’s attention, allowing her last sentence to register.

Glancing at Lachesis, she waited while the woman brushed the white hair from her eyes and tucked it behind her ears, before Raven frowned. “A what?”

“Stone bear,” Lachesis repeated, tilting her head back to watch the bulging rock as they passed. It was at such a distance Raven couldn’t hope to have a good view of it without getting much closer. Without climbing the mountain, she thought, glancing at Atropos’ back with surety the Moirai sister would not prolong their journey just to satisfy Raven’s curiosity.

“Why is it called a stone bear?” she asked.

“Hmmmm,” Lachesis said, murmuring and, with one final glance at the formation, she turned back to the path. “Up close you would be able to understand why it is called that. Some time ago, no one really knows when, someone carved these bear stones. Infinite patience must have been used for such detail. The creases in its body, the lines between its toes, even the stark terror in the bear’s eyes, show incredible artistry.”

Staring at the formation, she tried to see what Lachesis was describing before darting a glance over the surface of both mountain peaks, searching for additional stones. “But I only see one.” She said.

Lachesis tilted her head to the side, though she didn’t glance at Raven. “They are not all here on the Espejo Peaks.”

“Oh, where are they? How many did the artist make?”

“There are hundreds, I believe, but I have only seen a few dozen. They are scattered all over DeSolar.”

What kind of person turns stone into carved bears and then leaves them all over the planet? Raven wondered. “Does anyone know why he made them?” she asked.

“No, no one knows. There are some ideas about them, though. Ask Klotho sometime, she will tell you a fantastical story with naught to do with an artists’ carving tool.” She laughed in a soft voice, shaking her head. Then her eyes met Raven’s. “You cannot believe everything you hear, you know, some things are simply fairytale.”

Raven’s eyes snapped in anger. Think she has to tell me I can’t believe everything? I cannot believe any thing!

The sound of pounding hooves interrupted the flash of fury burrowing through her stomach and Raven glanced up at the three riders coming towards them. The Moirai sisters’ lack of reaction was indicative of a possible friend, so Raven relaxed on Rohan’s back and sucked in a calming breath.

As they drew closer Raven could see all three were women. The middle rider had curly hair the color of an acme brick, which billowed and bounced behind her as she rode. The other two -- a gray-haired woman and a dark-haired woman -- rode just as fast but stayed a few paces behind.

“Sisters!” the red-haired woman called out in a deep voice. “Our scouts informed us of your arrival, you are much later than planned.” The woman came to a stop several feet ahead of them, running her eyes over the group waiting behind Atropos. Dark brown eyes drifted over Raven’s face as though she was almost invisible and, for once, Raven was grateful to be anonymous. “We have been expecting you for days.”

The woman dressed much like the Moirai sisters, with a one-shoulder tied, forest green Grecian-style dress with a wide, white belt cinched around her hips. Tall boots, like the others, graced her legs from foot to calf -- only hers were white instead of the Moirai’s red. Her hair was an unruly riot of curls clinging to her body.

“Yes, Athena, I know.” Atropos answered, expelling a heavy breath. “We had some delays but it is of no consequence now.”

Athena? Raven thought, straining to hide her curiosity. Hers was a well-known name, one frequently gracing the childhood stories she remembered. The warrior goddess.

Athena nodded in understanding.

“While you have been away, I have organized my soldiers just on the other side of these peaks.” she said, shifting on her horse to point back in the direction they came.

“Ilita,” she continued, waving a hand toward the gray-haired woman whom Raven was surprised to find could be no older than early twenties, “and Sarene,” she waved a hand at the black-haired woman, also very young, “have been helping to organize the soldiers.”

The woman Athena introduced as Ilita stared at Raven with a slight frown of recognition. Though Raven was sure she would have remembered meeting such a young girl with gray hair and eyes. Those eyes were fringed with charcoal lashes so long the tips fell just short of the end of her nose when she blinked.

Ilita frowned into her lap and switched her attention to Sarene, who watched Raven with blue eyes of curiosity and familiarity.

Raven shrugged away the girls’ behavior when Atropos inclined her head. “Let’s go see what needs to be done.”

Ilita and Sarene turned and galloped back towards the end of the valley, with Athena, Atropos, Klotho, and Lachesis behind them. Though the guys pulled in behind her, glancing over their shoulders in constant watch, Raven was pretty much left to ride alone, and was grateful.

Damn that unaccountable witch for never being available! Nadia snarled, keeping the thought from showing. Soldiers milled about in the bailey, some fifty feet from the window where she stood watching them, and she didn’t want them to carry tales of her inability to control some insignificant old woman.

But the witch was important. She could see things before they happened -- a psychic, the witch claimed the late night she arrived some months ago. Her gnarled fingers had wrapped themselves tight against the old wooden cane she limped against, as chapped lips stretched taut over black, rotting teeth.

I can tell you things, she said, a great many things.

Nadia scoffed of course because seers were a dime a dozen in Camelion and about as trustworthy as the man who dared call himself ruler of DeSolar.

But as though the witch heard her thoughts, her sandpaper voice reverberated off the low-hanging stone ceiling, laughing. Knowing eyes gleamed at Nadia. I know you search for...she’d paused, wet her lips and lowered her eyes to the floor for the briefest of moments before turning her razor-sharp glare to the Queen…a black bird.

Nadia froze in her chair as the words hissed over the witch’s lips. No one is supposed to know about the prophecy! She’d raged, hiding her thoughts as well as she could before a woman who could clearly hear what was not spoken, and wondered who sold the secret for a riddled fortune.

I know where it is, the witch said and, after proving her talent in a great many other ways, Nadia allowed her to stay. The old woman refused coin; refused food at her table; refused to give a name.

But her name did not matter in the slightest to Nadia. What did matter was the capture of the black bird. And so the witch told her to send her soldiers west to capture the bird in a snare of its own making, a riddle that set Nadia’s teeth on edge, she did so.

And they returned with that girl.

Stupid, stupid little girl, Nadia thought now, watching the soldiers as they mounted their horses. Red breeches flashed in the corner of her eye and Nadia turned to see who crossed the bailey. She was a beautiful woman, with short orange hair cropped around her ears, envisioning herself much like a man and, in all cases but one, strove to be seen as one.

Neon green eyes flashed as she glanced around the yard, searching for a horse and, before she mounted him, the woman checked that two short bladed knives still hung at her waist, and two more lay hidden within the confines of her leather boots.

Clarissa.

Yes, good, good, Nadia murmured without words.

“My Queen?” The tell tale slither of Bosnik’s slippers on the floor behind her set her teeth on edge. She found herself repeatedly having to remind herself she needed him. Without turning, she glanced to the side in acknowledgment, and then turned back to the window to watch the progression below.

“Clarissa has agreed to go with the soldiers.”

“Yes, Bosnik, I know, I spoke to the girl myself.” And the girl had been very, very angry, Nadia thought. After learning her mate stole away into the night with his other lover turned Clarissa’s face many interesting colors. Green -- nausea, white -- fear, red -- anger.

And a storm brewed in her eyes.

Nadia convinced Clarissa she truly did not want Logan dead and so was sending the girl along to ensure his safe return, at which point Clarissa was more than welcome to meet out any punishment she felt necessary.

Also, to ensure nothing happened to the girl. Nadia wanted Raven for herself.

The others should die, Nadia sniffed, brushing an invisible speck of lint from the shoulder of her black day gown. Clarissa pressed a fist to her chest, bowed low, and left the room. The sounds of her training in the yard with her sword rung through the castle for many hours after Nadia retired to bed. Watching Clarissa now, Nadia wondered how upset the woman would be when her boyfriend was found in the morning with his throat flayed open.

“I cannot seem to locate the witch again,” she murmured now to Bosnik. He was silent for a moment, considering

“The witch did say she would come and go as she pleased, my Queen, to which we agreed. Do we change that decision now?”

Anger flared in her chest. Who the hell was he to remind her of her agreement?

“Bosnik, do you think I need reminding?” she asked, turning to level a fuming glare at him.

He shrunk away. “No, my Queen of--”

“What I need is the witch. What I need is for the witch to be available for a simple scrying if I need one, like I do now. How are my men supposed to track down this girl if I cannot find my witch?”

“I will find her at once, my Queen,” he said bowing low. He rose and stepped backwards, moving fast, until he reached the end of the hall and slithered around the corner.

No you won’t. Nadia returned her attention to the departing soldiers outside. They roved out of the bailey in a teeming expanse of blue and green leather, their swords and knives sparkled in the brilliant sunlight, and the sound and dust kicked up from their hooves sent chills coursing along her body.

Because she isn’t here.

Indeed the witch wasn’t there -- she was flying high over Pandemic Forest with a current rushing beneath her wings, pushing her ever higher into the sky. The sun, searing above the trees, was made painless by the wind and, at so great a height, the witch was able to see it sparkle against the ocean like a million diamonds.

Caawwwww, she screamed, dying to laugh but unable to figure out how to make the sound with the Cockaboo body. The dark forest flashed by in a green blur beneath her wings.

Caawwww, she screamed again with shining eyes.