Wings of Fate: The Lost Ones

Had Raven and the rest of the group continued forward they would have run into a lake sparkling beneath the sunlight as it churned rhythmically to and away from shore. She stopped to stare across a field of flattened flowers and grass stretching between her and the first lip of water.

Weeping Willows leaned precariously over the edge of the water and the long sheathes of furred limbs became a blurred reflection in the lake’s surface. Within the branches, well hidden from view, a bird tweeted -- its high-pitch voice echoing over the water in a staccato dance of its own making.

Whether by the bird’s movements or by the damp breeze, the low-hanging leaves fluttered in the wind -- waving to what lie beneath the still depths. The breeze was almost non-existent there at the edge of the valley -- dying out after the tunneled force of wind shooting between the two peaks. But the wind kicked up tiny particles of water from the lake’s surface and sprayed Raven with cooling drops.

The lake stretched to the left and right for so many miles its edges were not apparent. To the left of the peaks, more trees hovered over the edge of the water, which reflected thick clouds drifting by at so slow a pace they seemed near to unmoving in the baby-blue sky.

Across from the peaks, the lake became a flat line of blue until it butted up against a lush, green island many miles long itself. On the east side of the island, in between tall trees, was a small flash of dark red. The color stood out, motionless and nestled within the trees, as though it did not belong there.

“Raven.”

Raven looked up, startled, and met Lachesis’ curious eyes. “What is over there?” she asked, pointing at the spot of red almost hidden on the island.

Lachesis turned to follow the direction Raven indicated and smiled. “Home.”

“Home? Your home?”

“Yes, Treis-Soarta. What you see is the red clay slates forming our roof.” Lachesis turned back to Raven. “We try to be discreet, where we live, because otherwise people would hunt us down for everything.”

“So you hide there?” Raven asked, curious as to why the fates would need to hide from anyone.

Lachesis frowned and picked at an invisible speck on her white dress. “Not really hiding, no, we like our privacy though.” Raven nodded, keeping her thoughts to herself, certain the reason they hid on the island was because they were hiding. “Come.” Lachesis said, angling her horse toward the mass of soldiers.

For as far as she could see, soldiers moved about the camp ground, working. There were no bodies seated on the ground for rest or lying in bedrolls for sleep -- all shifted over the fields of grass with a purpose. Most held weapons in their fists as they clamored back and forth with other soldiers, practicing attacks and parries.

There were thousands.

All wore a uniform of tanned leather stretched over their torsos and waists, falling to just above their knees. Knives, swords, bows and arrows, whips, and other smaller weapons were strapped to each soldier at the ankle, knee, thigh, waist, arms, and strapped over backs. They were armed to the teeth.

And every one of them was a woman.

“These are all Athena’s soldiers?” Raven asked as they moved into camp. The soldiers nearest them shifted out of the way, allowing more room for maneuvering their horses around tents.

Raven always imagined soldiers to be gruff and scarred warmongers -- like the Queen Mother’s men, she thought. Soldiers were supposed to have cheeks and necks dark with gristle; covered in sweat and mud, and wielding bloody axes.

Athena’s soldiers were covered in sweat and dirt, and they wielded weapons, but they looked less fearsome than Raven expected. Pairs of curious eyes strayed toward them as they moved through the grounds, but most stayed focused on the combative practice they engaged in.

Most of the women stood within feet of each other, braced against the incoming impact delivered by a three-foot long sword. Silver glinted in the sunlight, sending shafts of white light shimmering along the length of steel as the women stepped forward to attack and block.

The clashing metal rang out over the field and Raven’s distracted gaze swung wide over the soldiers. Over a hundred of them stood at the base of one of the peaks, staring down the sight of a crossbow and, as one, the hundred soldiers let fly feather tipped arrows in a swooping arc toward the top of the mountain to pierce rock and dirt.

Farther from the base of the valley, soldiers rode horses of every color, charging toward the lake at frightening speeds only to turn at the last moment and charge back towards the mountain. Dozens of soldiers practiced the maneuver and, amongst them, still others practiced riding tricks.

Many were young, too young to be fighting in a war of such proposed violence -- fifteen year olds, twelve year olds, and some little older than that.

“Yes,” Lachesis answered with a nod, “these are hers, though not all. Some are still too untrained to be involved in the war just yet.” How could girls this young be trained enough? Raven wondered as they approached a brown tent designed to hold a dozen horses in comfort.

They dismounted, leaping to the ground with a thud. A young girl with a shaved head approached them with a broad smile, and laughing eyes, to retrieve their horses.

She could not have been older than nine.

Raven followed Lachesis to the tent, lifting the brown tarp over her head, and stepped into the shaded area where the rest of their party stood around a wooden folding table, pointing at marks on a map. Though everyone glanced in their direction when she and Lachesis joined them, Athena resumed her conversation in mid-stride.

“-and so I believe our best route is around the Espejo Peaks -- it is a bit of a circuitous route taking us along the edge of the Benklandu stream -- but it is the best option. See from here-” she said, pausing to point at something hidden by their bodies.

Raven moved in closer, pushing against Logan to squeeze between him and Klotho. Glancing over the Moirai’s shoulder, Raven peered at the map to where Athena indicated would be their course.

“-we can move in this direction,” Athena said, sliding her finger over a notated field, and then over an ink blot resembling a tree, “back into the forest, and move straight into the Queen’s kingdom.”

“Why not just go straight through the Woodlands like we did to get here? Our travel was less than a week but the way you suggest will take near to two weeks to reach the castle.” Logan suggested, frowning at the marks on the map. “Look, right here,” he said, pointing to a black circle drawn along Athena’s suggested path, “this village is teaming with the Queen’s soldiers.”

“They should be gone by then,” Athena said with a dismissive shrug.

Logan shook his head. “No, the Queen has given orders to stay put until she sends for them. If she is aware of your plans here then she will not rescind those orders until the castle is nigh on attack.”

Athena sighed and met Raven’s eyes with a direct look. “What did she say to you?”

She was the first to ask. No one showed any interest in what Raven might have learned from the Queen Mother and yet here was this woman whom should not have even known about the Queen’s attack, and she was asking.

No one else showed the slightest concern for what happened within those castle walls. Raven met Atropos’ intent gaze and wondered what thoughts the Moirai sister hid behind those blue eyes. Secrets, secrets, secrets, Raven fumed.

“Raven?” Athena asked, lifting twin dark eyebrows in her direction. Russet curls fell over her shoulder to slide against the parchment as she leaned forward.

“The Queen,” Raven started, sliding her attention back to Athena, “wanted him.” She said, switching her attention to the silent ten-year old boy who stood aside with wide, dark eyes filled with guilt. He looked away from Raven and met Athena’s gaze.

Raven also looked at Athena. She watched Nicolaus with a blank expression, thinking, before returning her attention to Raven.

“Was that all?” she asked.

Raven thought about the truth to the question; thought about answering with everything she learned and exposing all their damn secrets for what they were; thought about demanding answers. But if she told them the other reason why the Queen Mother wanted her then she would also have to give up her knowledge of them.

She nodded.

Athena stared at her for a moment longer, long enough to ensure Raven knew she knew Raven was withholding information. “Whatever you are hiding could mean the difference between us winning this war and the Queen winning the war.”

All eyes turned to Raven, but she kept her eyes locked on Athena’s grim face. Raising one eyebrow she said, “If you are looking for hidden secrets Athena, I suggest you look a little closer to home.”

Athena’s brown eyes slid to Atropos and Klotho, eyeing them individually before returning to the map. With a quick glance at Logan, she said, “We cannot take this many soldiers through the Woodlands without endangering the nymph faeries. How many soldiers do you think the Queen has here?” she asked, pointing to the circle he indicated.

“A few dozen but no more.” He answered.

“Ilita?” Athena said, glancing up at the girl who raised her long eyelashes to watch Athena with serious gray eyes. “Send a dozen girls -- Ashera’s team.”

Ilita nodded and moved toward the tent’s flap.

“Wait!” Logan said, raising his voice in disbelief. “I told you there were a few dozen -- these are violent men who will show no restraint in the defense of the town they are holed up in -- you cannot mean to send only one dozen girls.”

An evil smile stretched across Athena’s face as her eyes narrowed on Logan, reminding Raven of a cat toying with a canary. “You were one of the Queen’s most valiant soldiers, were you not, Logan?” she asked.

Raven looked up at him and he glanced down at her before returning his attention to Athena with a jerky nod.

“You are well known -- did you know that?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. When Logan did not respond, she continued. “I suppose, if I am to convince you a dozen girls could take on those brainless soldiers then we will have to go outside. Everybody out.” She said, raising her arms in a welcoming gesture as she moved towards the flaps where Ilita still waited.

The gray haired girl met Athena’s eyes with an almost hidden slyness before ducking through the opening. Not wanting to miss even a moment of Athena’s demonstration, Raven rushed out on Logan’s heels, and prepared to hate him for the injury he would cause the quiet soldier.

As she moved into the open area outside the tent, Athena pulled two short blades from the openings of her white boots, and twirled them through her fingers as Raven had seen done before with pens. She twisted and spun the blades as though they were dull batons instead of sharpened weapons designed for killing.

The goddess walked a dozen steps and circled around, watching the rest of the group as they formed a semi-circle outside the tent. Logan paused and watched Athena’s hands before switching his attention to Ilita who stared at him with a blank expression.

“What is it you want me to demonstrate here, Athena?” he asked.

“Simple, Logan, take your weapon of choice and attack Ilita with it.” Athena said, sliding her swords back into her boots and placing her hands on her hips.

Logan gave Ilita a once-over and argued. “She is like fifteen years old, I can’t attack her.”

“She’s not fifteen, Logan, she’s older than that. Do you want to be reassured of their ability to take on the Queen’s soldiers or not?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

Logan grumbled under his breath so quiet Raven, standing a few feet away, could not make out what he said. Instead of continuing the argument, however, he pulled the long sword from its sheath at his waist and twirled it once as he approached the young girl. For her part, Ilita waited and watched his approach without hesitation or evident fear.

She also had yet to make a move for the two short-bladed knives sheathed at her hips.

“Arm yourself.” He barked, angry.

Ilita raised an eyebrow at him but made no further move toward her weapons. If she was afraid of the possible danger, Raven couldn’t tell. There was no indicative flutter of breath, no clenching of her jaw. The girl looked as though Logan was joining her for light conversation.

He twirled the sword again and then gripping the leather-bound hilt with both fists, hefting the weight as though it weighed no more than a bat, but the blade was thick and wide -- the steel gleamed in the sunlight and his muscles flexed with purpose.

His jaw flexed as well. Raven could sense his frustration, his belief that Athena held over three thousand women in her command -- all intent on the defeat of the Queen Mother’s soldiers who outweighed and outclassed them by leaps and bounds. And none of them could hope to win.

Raven appraised Athena’s expression, searching for concern over Ilita’s behavior but the goddess’ face was blank. Instead of watching her soldier, she stared at Logan and in this, was judgment. Would the Queen’s men be worthy opponents? Raven turned back to the mock battle about to take place.

Logan was within half a dozen feet of Ilita, who waited, patient until the end.

When she did finally move toward him, Raven never saw the movement before it was over. Logan dove toward the girl, aiming to come close enough to shove his point home, but did not come close enough to wound her. Raven had only a moment to be pleased he did not intend to prove himself right by cutting Ilita down.

When he took one giant step toward her, the gray haired girl went to one knee, twirled on her kneecap while bringing her short swords up in a crossing swatch across her chest, and jerked toward Logan’s chest. He froze, the long sword still held in both hands high above the girls head -- pointing inches away from where Ilita had been standing. Twin tips of her blades pressed against his leather vest, both marks just above his heart. Raven’s mouth fell open.

In every second of movement the girl didn’t make a sound, nor was she winded or off balance by her attack. If all of Athena’s girls fought in this manner, the Queen’s soldiers didn’t stand a chance. Raven glanced at Athena again and caught the small smile drifting over her mouth a second before it disappeared.

“Ilita, thank you for your demonstration. Please inform Ashera her team is needed to go to the town.” Ilita pulled away from Logan, nodded at Athena and left them. Raven watched the girl as she swayed between horses, tents, and practicing soldiers, in an unerring path toward the area where she would find Ashera.

“Someone comes.” Ares whispered into the darkness. Hours earlier the slippered feet of the bringer of food came and went as silent and dark as the damp air cloaking their cell. And another visitor would not mean more food.

“I know.” Bael said as he moved across the floor, sliding over the rush and stone, until he bumped against Ares. Warm air passed across the elf’s lips as he took in shallow breaths. They waited as firelight bounced down the hall.

As the light flounced closer, the padding of footsteps multiplied. Not just one soldier then, Ares thought. The stone corridor the men traveled down was no more than fifty feet in length but every second passed at such an aching pace that the waiting seemed to drag on.

After so many days of darkness, the torchlight was painful to look at. As it bobbed and weaved its way up the corridor it only grew brighter -- illuminating rusted iron bars, blackened thrush, and mildewed walls.

It was a beautiful sight.

Ares stood and moved to the bars, in wait, and Bael joined him. A quick glance at the elf showed him to be as dirty and gaunt as Lord Belkin appeared the last time a torch had been brought into the cells. Shadows clung to Bael’s face, creating indistinct smudges beneath his eyes and cheek bones.

How many days? Ares wondered for the hundredth time.

The soldiers were so close he could almost feel the heat from their torches on his face. It was an imaginary heat and well he knew it. Half a dozen fat soldiers angled around the corner, allowing light to filter into every corner of their prison.

Ares glanced over his shoulder to where Austin lay, sleeping. The boy had bunched himself into a tight ball to keep his own body heat from escaping but he shivered in his sleep -- one arm angled beneath his head and the other wrapped around his blue jean-clad legs.

The kid looked just like any beggar he had seen starving, wretched, and begging for food.

I should have done better for him, Ares thought with a grimace.

“You there! Up with ye!” Ares turned back to find two soldiers watching him and Bael with wary eyes while the other men rousted Lord Belkin.

“What do you want now?” the earl asked, argumentative.

“The Queen Mother has summoned you and you will come without trouble -- unless you want trouble.” The soldier growled, leaning into the cell with a snarl.

Lord Belkin stumbled to his feet, weak. His cloak, a long swatch of royal purple silk now ruined, caught in his feet as he straightened.

“Hurry up, you!” the soldier growled.

Lord Belkin threw his shoulders back and glared at the soldier. “Hang your Queen.” He said without emotion.

The soldier rushed into the cell and backhanded the earl with a meaty fist, knocking him to the side as though he were a child. The soldier whipped his head around and barked at two of the other soldiers to grab the prisoner. As they dragged him away, Lord Belkin looked over at Ares and Bael with a dark fatal look, and then was gone.

Ares turned for one fleeting glance at Austin to ensure he still slept but the torchlight slipped away before he could. Instead, he whispered. “Lye room ehta~ikotane an `ro tath~il sint `mani lye pary.” We must speak so that he will not know what we say.

“Weera.” Bael said, whispering in return. Agreed.

It was best to keep Austin calm and even though he lay sleeping, they would have no warning if he woke. The boy’s fear would be great enough once he realized Lord Belkin had been taken. “Manka hulle nat’ron san`i’heru?” He asked. Where do you think they are taking the earl?

Bael let out a heavy breath and shifted away, invisible in the gloom. The Queen Mother already possessed Lord Belkin’s castle so it made little sense for her to request his presence. He was as out of the way as he could be. Only in death could he be more so. “Amin-cael n’uma noa.” Bael said. I have no idea.

“Mani quel-tul orwe ho`gurtha?” What good would come of his death?

Isis, Ares thought again, Isis we need you now. Nothing. Why won’t she come? He wondered again about her powers and whether or not she had them anymore. Ares could feel none of the surging energy though his own limbs -- had been unable to feel it for days. Perhaps weeks.

“Faa...tany`amin sint orw`enga ro-ruth i`tari’ed avar`a’ yanw he~lema.” Bael answered. None -- that I know of, unless he’s angered the Queen by refusing to join her journey.

Ares recalled what Lord Belkin said about turning the Queen’s request down. He had gone one step further by insulting her as well. “Man ro`um?” he asked. Which he did?

Bael confirmed. “Ro`um.” He did.

If the Queen Mother simply wanted Lord Belkin dealt with in retaliation for what she considered his rude behavior, then perhaps that was all there was to it. Perhaps something else had not occurred to force the war forward. “Manka-tanya to ikotane, san’ to~deanam eller faa`nwai`a’ tul-ten lye.” If that is the case, then it’s possible there is no reason to come for us.

Bael hesitated for a long moment before answering. “Deanam.” Possible.

Ares moved around in the cell, careful to not move toward the corner where Austin slept, and managing to maneuver around the sound of Bael’s voice. The prison was not so large they could space out in comfort, but it was large enough to afford them each their own corner.

He tried hard not to think about his spacious manor home with so many windows it had been unnecessary to have faux lighting installed. “Mani now-cael`lle?” he asked. What thoughts are you having?

Bael made a sound torn between a laugh and a groan. “Amin estel`’a rin~i’men n`e’n mendon.” I am trying to remember the way out of the castle.

It was a thought Ares already had. He had had the pleasure of wakefulness when he and Austin were dragged through the castle corridors in route to the prison cell. But the halls were maze-like and their arrival quite a long time ago -- he could not promise to take the right turns if they managed to escape the iron bars. “Mani cae`lye kelmeenia?” he asked. What are our chances?

“Silvin~manka uvera t`yens n’e oblet`annon.” Better if someone unlocks the cell door. Some of Bael’s humor seemed to be restored, though for what reason Ares could not tell. The elf and Lord Belkin, while not excessively close in friendship, were still friends just the same. His concern for the man was evident, his weariness even more so, but his optimism was a bit out of place in Ares’ opinion.

“Mani~manka ron tul?” he asked. What if they return?

Maybe he was delirious, Ares thought, considering the possibility -- as he had before -- of their going crazy inside the cell. There were more cases of such a happening, than he cared to think of. If they did go mad in the darkness then what would come of the war?

What would come of my people? He thought in anguish. What fate would have us lose all?

“Hmmm, san tanya to`er’ men.” Bael answered. Then that is one way.

Ares focused on the problem, focused on the possibility of their being able to escape the prison and find their way out of the castle. Disappearing into the surrounding forest would be easy and quick and, perhaps, there was a chance Isis would hear him if he were not buried beneath tons of stone.

“Amin edain sutnir’ akh’vel tul`ten’ lye.” Ares said. I wonder how many soldiers would come for us.

“What is it, Ares, been too long in the prison cell and think you cannot handle a few of the Queen’s soldiers?” Bael switched to the human language, choosing his insults in what he assumed was Ares’ native tongue..

What the elves do not know, Ares thought, scoffing at the dig. “Bah! I can handle all of the Queen’s soldiers.”

“Really, all of them?” Bael asked with a chuckle.

Tired of standing, Ares chose a spot on the cold floor and sat cross-legged. He tilted his chin in a conscious arrogant manner, unmindful Bael could not see him. “Certainly.”

“Do you know that I have heard of you before you appeared beside the Delule River?” Bael asked, startling Ares with the jump in topic. He tilted his head, curious.

“Really? What is it that you have heard?” Ares asked.

Bael sucked in a long breath and whispered in answer, careful not to disturb Austin with their conversation. “I heard that you waged many battles against your sister, Athena, some of which you won. I heard that you stood with over ten thousand men against a violent enemy of more than fifty thousand men and when the battle was over all that was left standing was about six thousand men on your side, and you, of course.

I have also heard that if there is a battle to be fought one should hope that Ares is on your side but to beware for his loyalties are as fickle as a maid selecting a dress to wear.”

Ares, a little put out by the pitiful catalog of his exploits and adventures, asked, “is that all you have heard of me?”

“No, there is more.”

Ares waited a moment for Bael to continue but it seemed he was done recanting the legends -- though he hasn’t even begun to acknowledge the lengthy list, Ares thought.

“Ah. Well, let us see.” He said. “Yes, Athena, my dreaded sister. She spends her entire existence trying to best me -- to make me look foolish in front of our father. I do not understand why he would have made his daughter stronger than his son.”

“Perhaps her added strength comes from her mother?” Bael suggested.

Metis’ meek face appeared in the gloom. Ares almost laughed. “Metis? Bah!” He scoffed. “She is intelligent, I will give her that much, but she has no physical strength.”

“I heard the reason Zeus fled from Metis was because a seer proclaimed any child she gave life to from his loins would outweigh him in strength.” Bael said.

“I heard the same thing but do not know how it could be. My mother, Hera, has much power -- much strength.”

“I heard she was an aggressive woman, prone to jealousy and fits of violence.” Bael said.

Ares considered the statement and thought of his mother’s beautiful, but often pinched, face. She was an amazing goddess with more power and ambition than just about any other he had met. He had choked on some of the things she had done for power. He chuckled now. “I cannot deny my mother has a temper.”

“I think saying ‘temper’ is putting it lightly a bit.” Bael said.

“Be quiet man, she is a good woman.” Ares replied, losing humor in the subject. Too many people thought ill of his mother. It was bothersome, this need to defend her name.

Bael sighed. “Well, Ares, back to the subject of your powerful, noble, deeds. Where is all that legendary strength you possess?”

“Oh, that.” Ares grew silent for a moment. Flexing his hands, he tried to recall the feel of power coursing through his veins. But nothing changed. With a sigh, he said, “Well, remember I told you my family must help fight this war and our ability to assist in the war will be useful for only a short time longer?”

Bael paused. “Yes, I remember.”

“Well, there is a reason for our limitations in the war and why our involvement will have to end soon -- we are losing our powers here on DeSolar.”

“But you are a god, how do you lose your power? Are you becoming mortal?” Bael asked.

Ares hesitated to answer, uncertain what he could and could not say. Zeus had only mentioned keeping certain information from Austin -- had not mentioned Bael at all. And the elf seemed uncommonly familiar with his family.

Deciding to answer with the simple truth, he nodded his head in the darkness. “Yes. My family governs various things,” Ares said, sweeping his hands in the air, miming the words flowing over his lips. “Water, dirt, flowers, air, the sun and moon, love, harvest, people, etcetera -- but something is diverting our power.”

“Diverting it? Like, causing you to lose your abilities to affect things such as the water, dirt, flowers -- all those things you just said?” Bael asked.

“Exactly right.” Ares said. “Being powerless is the reason I was unable to do much of anything to prevent this. So -- DeSolar is beginning to die. The waters are becoming polluted, the flowers and trees and animals are beginning to die out. When the transformation is complete, the same thing will happen here that happened on Earth.”

“What happened on Earth?” Bael asked.

“The planet is dying, in a few short years the protective layer we have erected around the planet used to shield it from its’ orbiting star will evaporate and everything, and everyone, on the planet will die.”

Bael grew quiet and Ares closed his eyes -- able to picture, in minute detail, the cycle of death Earth had gone through over the last thousand years. When the planet was newly formed, it was a majestic creation of pure air, water, and land. Hundreds of thousands of species had roamed the planet’s surface, alongside mortals.

Over time the mortals’ population outgrew the land and water, outgrew the thousands of species, and when they became shoved out, the animals began to die. Soon, other things began to wither and die, though it was not all to be laid at the mortal’s feet for there was more afoot than most know.

“What is Earth?” Bael asked, ending his silence in a whisper.

“Earth is a planet very similar to DeSolar -- bigger, of course, and older. It is where Austin is from.” Ares answered.

With a heavy breath, Bael sighed. “So, everyone Austin and Raven know will die soon? Unless you win this war with the Queen Mother and resurrect the old ways in which your family can continue to affect water, dirt, etcetera…?”

“Nothing can be done to save their planet, Bael. DeSolar has not yet been affected in a permanent way, which means there is time to change the future here. But only a short time.”

“You said that the war would not be confined here for long, what did you mean?”

Ares opened his eyes and stared sightlessly at his hands. Folding his fingers against his palms, Ares tried again to conjure the feeling of power running along his skin, and was almost successful. Like a ghost symptom, he thought, gone -- but not gone. “Our powers are failing everywhere, on every planet -- and on each of those planets there will be death as well.

Whatever is causing this transformation -- it is going to kill everything and everyone.”

Bael was silent and Ares was happy for it. Thinking about what was coming, and according to the witch it would not matter what they did to prevent it, was painful. To watch this planet die as Earth had. To fear for his brave students at Ono Insula de Barbati, knowing they would die, knowing thousands would die.

And being unable to stop a moment of it.

He needed to get to Zeus.

“Manka ron~oso au’, minlii teng~sen san ho.” Ares said, reverting to elfish. If they come again, we cannot let them take him.

“Ron kaiv~oso, aminasa kenda`maeg.” They will come, I am certain of it.