Wings of Fate: The Lost Ones

Lachesis ducked through the tent’s opening early the next morning, rousing Raven from a deep sleep. The Moirai sister’s hair fell across her eyes, almost shielding the tired expression from view. Raven imagined dark circles and sagging wrinkles as further proof of the woman’s exhaustion -- but knew it was only her imagination. Thousands of years passed without leaving a mark of age on their faces. The fates could not show fatigue.

Lachesis was curt when she informed Raven they would be traveling further out, to Treis-Soarta, within the hour and suggested she ready herself.

Raven glanced around the small tent Ilita lead her to last night before pointing to a darkened corner where a small gray cot perched crookedly over rocks and dirt mounds. She pulled the mangled tennis shoes from her feet and kick them aside to crawl onto the cot. Without pillow or blanket, falling asleep proved a simple thing, as the escape from the Queen, the meeting with the Woodland Nymph faeries, and the subsequent ride across miles of land left her exhausted. It seemed as though only moments passed before the early morning sun cast shadows across the tent walls and the whoosh of the tent flap revealed Lachesis’ face.

Staring down at her muddied tennis shoes made her groan. Nothing on Earth made her want to shove her tired toes into them. Nothing on Earth. With a sigh and a shrug, Raven accepted that she would have to wear the shoes for a while longer yet. How long, there was no clue. Forever, possibly.

Without benefit of watch or clock, Raven was unsure how early it was in the day. Sounds beyond the tent walls drifted through the thick fabric, giving evidence to life. Pot and pans clinked together as soldiers prepared breakfast, and the low murmur of voices ebbed and flowed on a breeze unnoticeable within the tent.

The midsummer heat was already making itself felt.

When Raven stepped out of the tent she found the activity to be much as she imagined it to be -- soldiers milling about over forked eggs and tin cups of coffee, soldiers readying horses and weapons. Was everyone joining them on the journey to Treis-Soarta? She wondered.

Moving with a slow and uncertain step, Raven weaved in and around the clusters of female soldiers, with a brief glance at their faces. Bright eyes flicked over her, with a casualness that belied the interest shown in her appearance a little over twelve hours ago, before sliding away in disinterest.

The entirety of Athena’s camp stretched on for a mile or more, with soldiers, horses, and wagons taking up varying amounts of space. The Moirai sister’s horses glowed beneath the morning sunlight. Most of the horses were clustered together in a pen, strategically situated in the center of camp where any enemies would be unable to reach past the camp’s defenses and disturb them. And from what Raven saw yesterday, the soldiers atop horses were just as maneuverable as if they stood on their own two feet, and would find the zigzagging path through camp an easy game.

There was a separate area designated for Athena’s horse, as well as those belonging to her first in command and other high-ranking soldiers. It was in this smaller pen that the Moirai’s horses waited, twitching their long white tails behind them, flicking flies away from their rumps.

The air was motionless and heavy. The intensity pressed against Raven’s chest as though a bar bell rested on her chest. Gulping in air brought no relief. Though few clouds graced the sky, those that did were fat and gray, waiting for whatever moment in which to drop its load of rain on those milling about below. Raven hoped it was soon.

She found the sisters in Athena’s tent, standing in silence beside the map table, though no one actually looked at the map. At her entrance, the group looked up and their shoulders relaxed in apparent relief as though fearful she would not appear. Raven was amused at the idea. Where on Earth did they expect her to go?

I will have to remember to stop using such idioms, she thought, hearing Dorothy’s low-pitched voice in her head, talking to her dog Todo. Raven thought it interesting how some phrases cemented themselves in people’s minds -- hovering just beyond conscious thought, and appearing at the perfect moment.

I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.

Ahead of them, a flat-bottomed raft bobbed in the water, held in place by a rope tied to one of those old western movie horse rails.

A cloaked figure sat on the ground beside the rail. The person’s back was to their group but he or she stood as the horses clopped towards the river. The figure turned to meet them as they slid from their horses but the cloak’s hood veiled their face from view.

Though the river softened the embankment dirt, Raven slid to the ground at an odd angle -- pain spiked through her legs. The ride from camp lasted less than fifteen minutes and it seemed she just climbed onto Rohan’s back before they dismounted.

Joining Prince Nicolaus, who stood beside his horse with leather reins in hand, she returned his smile and tried not to notice how red and tired his eyes appeared. He and Logan arrived in the tent only moments after she had, and the boy moved to stand beside her. Raven met Logan’s gaze briefly, before forcing her eyes away from the hardness on his face.

What did he have to be angry about? Raven wondered.

After the small girl-child brought the horses for their journey, Raven found herself glancing, as covertly as possible, to the side where Logan rode. The sun glistened on his scar in the same way it brought to life the skin and hair of the white horses. The sliver of ruined skin almost sparkled.

A strange thing to think, Raven told herself, grumbling at the sudden desire to watch the man she loathed. It should not be necessary to remind herself how he stole and carried her to the Queen Mother who, assuming she was allowed to keep Raven long enough, had intended to kill her. He was her transporter to death.

But, she wondered at his anger. She wondered about the secrets he kept hidden, like the ones the Moirai sisters kept, and like the one she now kept.

Turning away from Logan and Nicolaus, Raven watched as Atropos guided her horse onto the raft, followed by Lachesis and Athena, then Logan. Raven nodded at Nicolaus, indicating he should go next, and then she followed Klotho.

There was just enough room on the small raft for the eight of them and their seven horses, but as they slipped away from land, Raven found her feet too close to the platform’s edge. Wrapping Rohan’s reins around her fist in order to attach herself securely to the beast, Raven held on as they drifted over the water.

According to Lachesis, the raft was used to transport the sisters and visitors to and from the small island called Treis-Soarta, where the sisters lived. Yesterday when they passed through the Espejo Peak valley, they came to the outskirts of the valley to stare at the red roof on the other side of the water -- but there had been no raft then.

Raven wondered about that.

She also wondered about the person in the black cloak who untied the rope, stepped onboard, and pushed them away from shore with a long, black wooden pole. The person was silent, and as closed off as anyone she had ever seen who wanted, simply, to be left alone. Nothing in his or her manner belied an interest in conversation, so she turned away.

After a few minutes Raven settled into the obnoxious rocking motion of the raft and glanced to her side at the open lay of the river. Murky water wafted around the raft before shifting away in a constant cycle. The length of it disappeared far downstream around a bend to the right.

Though the silent, cloaked stranger seemed disinterested in conversation, Raven asked, “How deep is the river?”

Raven glanced at the person whose face was enshrouded by the black cloak they wore. In an attempt to gauge the person’s size, Raven looked them over, noticing large, male hands clutching the wooden pole. Tight, white and pink scarred tissue covered both hands.

The skin appeared painful -- stretched taught across the thick muscles of his hands.

“Hey,” she whispered, almost in apology for having disturbed his peace, “do you know how deep the river is here?”

He turned his head towards Raven and before she could stop herself she yelped and stumbled backwards. If her hand wasn’t wrapped tight in the reins she would have fallen completely into the river. Instead, she was feet and knees in the water, flailing with one arm as she tried to get a hand hold of her horse in order to turn herself around. Her caught arm was losing all circulation as the reins cinched tighter and tighter around her wrist.

As the others caught on to what was happening at the rear of the raft, they began calling and making sounds of concern. With the proximity of the horses, though, her companions were unable to move closer to her flailing body. Warm river water lapped around her legs in a caressing gesture, soaking through her blue jeans as soon as she fell in the river. The edge of the raft caught and ripped at her t-shirt, digging into the still-tender flesh on her side, and Raven cried out.

The cloaked man pulled the pole out of the water, moving slow before shoving it beneath his left arm so he could saw on the horse’s reins with a knife. Raven had only a moment’s notice before she was cut loose and submerged in the river. With a swift kick, Raven found solid ground and forced her feet to steady on the river bottom. When she straightened her legs she was able to push her head and neck out of the water while still touching the river bottom. She was still choking on the river dirt when he resumed pushing the raft across the river. A gruff masculine voice glided across the surface towards her.

“Not deep.”

After they made it across the river and were standing on land again, Lachesis stared at her in wide-eyed awe. “He never speaks to anyone, you know.”

“What?” Raven asked, shoving her long, wet hair out of her face in anger. Dirty river water sloshed out of her tennis shoes, making horrid squishing and sucking noises as she stepped through the mud with her horse.

Tall trees hung over the water at odd angles, with branches skirting through the water and dirt. Only a small ledge was built into the side of the island, stretching far into the river so that the stranger’s raft had a place to dock. But the wooden dock was only a few yards long and soon they were moving across familiar dirt and grass.

“Evol, he never speaks to anyone.” Lachesis said in answer.

“Who is Evol?” Raven asked, glancing over her shoulder as she wrapped Rohan’s leather reins tight around her fists and pulled her drenched body onto his back. Livid red marks encircled her wrist where the reins had nearly taken her hand off. Raven shuddered and yanked her hand free of the leather.

She watched the cloaked figure as he pushed himself and the raft to the other side of the river in silence. When she fell into the river he kept pushing the raft farther away so each time she swam to the platform to reach for his bulky black boots, he skirted just out of her grasp.

She repeatedly went under. When he deigned to offer a scarred hand with which to pull herself up with, she latched onto his fingers before glaring up at him. With the majority of his face still falling in the shadow of his cloak, Raven saw only the stretching of thin, scarred lips as he smiled before pulling her onto the raft with such strength that she flew face first into Rohan’s side.

She ignored the concerned entreaties of the other passengers as she reared back sputtering white horsehairs off of her tongue and lips. He did not say another word or look at her, just continued to push the raft across the river. Now he was returning to the other side.

She glanced at Lachesis, who pulled herself onto her horse and dug her heels into its sides to move forward. “Evol is a long story,” she said, glancing over her shoulder with raised white eyebrows, “but I am telling you he has never spoken to me.”

Raven urged Rohan forward to keep pace with Lachesis but remained silent.

She wondered why, if he never spoke to another person, he had chosen to speak to her.

As they moved between the trees thriving at the river’s edge, their group settled on a dirt path and before long Raven spotted the red clay roof visible from the valley. Another moment passed and then the dirt path emptied into a grass-covered courtyard surrounded by a white brick fence that began on either side of the path, stretching outwards before angling back and around the house.

The center of the courtyard was dwarfed by a three-tiered, dark brown marble fountain. Sounds of tumbling water drifted to them, almost covering the clopping of the horse’s hooves before they fell silent on the grass.

Glancing up, Raven smiled. The Moirai’s home was beautifully designed -- the craftsmanship that had to have gone into this, she thought, awed. Beige stone was sanded down and melded together to form the exterior of the multi-level home. The clay roof was built at multiple angles to cover five separate heights.

Glass-less arched windows littered the front of the building, evenly spaced apart and wide enough to allow viewers to see in -- though from where she sat, Raven could see nothing within the house.

The Moirai sisters and Athena galloped to the left, leading their party to the backyard where a stable waited with doors perched open. Dismounting, they walked their horses into the dim interior and Raven, Nicolaus, and Logan followed suit, pausing at the entrance to allow their eyes to adjust.

When the dark confines of the stable turned into muted shadows, Raven spotted Atropos moving in the back of the stables, settling her horse in a stall near one in which Lachesis stood combing her horse. Klotho and Athena were in the adjacent stalls.

“You can each put your horses in any one of those stalls there.” Atropos offered, pointing to the empty stalls next to Athena. “When you are done,” she added, “you should get some rest. I will show you to your rooms.”

Raven kept her frown to herself. They had only been awake for an hour -- perhaps two on the outside, but certainly no more than that. Why was rest necessary?

“Atropos,” her sister said, glancing over the stall between them, “let me show them to their rooms. You are exhausted, why do you not also get some rest and we can all meet for lunch?” Klotho offered.

Ah, Raven thought, it is not so much about us being tired as it is about Atropos. Not sleeping well Atropos? She wondered, snide. Guilt does that, she mused, makes it difficult to sleep.

“Fair enough,” Atropos replied without hint of argument. Raven watched as she latched the door to the stall, hunched her shoulders and stepped out into the sunlight.

After settling their horses, Athena and Lachesis ducked their heads together, speaking so quiet Raven could not hear their words as they passed, and soon they were gone as well. Klotho lead them to the house through the back yard.

A moment before they rounded the corner to the back of the house the scent of roses and dandelions floated on the wind. Raven was given no time to ogle the hundreds, or thousands, of flowers that besieged the entire yard, before Klotho lead them inside.

The back door, a perfect match to the front door in that it was a large plank of entirely black wood, opened up into the kitchen. She could not imagine the Moirai sisters spending much time in the kitchen but the room was designed as though they were part-time chefs.

The overwhelming smells from the garden carried into the kitchen, over the bluish-green floor tile matched by small deco pieces on the wall above the black kettle stove and white marble washbasin. The group stepped around a rustic-brick island built into the center of the room as Klotho moved through the kitchen.

As they stepped through the open doorway the house opened into the grandest living-room Raven ever stepped foot inside. Several couches of varying colors and styles were situated around the room. Random tables, ottomans, chairs, and small shelves were thrown into the mix to break up the sofa’s acute angles.

Tall leafy plants stood in each corner of the room, grouped together in three or four pots, to branch out over several feet into the open space. Tall mosaic glass vases rested on end tables and book shelves, along with small nick nacks.

Art pieces created with somber hued paints had been lovingly stroked on canvas with such a perfect eye for the Moirai sister’s living room that Raven could only conclude it had been painted specifically for them.

The room was dark and light brown, dark and light green and, with the faintest inclusion of rose pink, all led to a comfortable space to relax in.

But what caught her attention was the fireplace.

On one wall rested a blackened fireplace surrounded by rustic-colored bricks. The fire pit itself was as tall as she was and as wide as it was tall. The bricks climbed up the wall, narrowing as it went until it tapered off where the wall met ceiling. On either side of the fireplace were floor-to-ceiling arched windows with dark green chaise lounges situated beneath them.

Klotho lead them up a long beige-carpeted staircase and as Prince Nicolaus and Logan were steps ahead of her, their rooms were pointed out first. The boy turned, as he opened his door and stepped through the frame, to stare up at Raven with a quiet expression. She watched him with a frown before he closed the door.

Logan’s room was beside Nicolaus’ but instead of turning to look at either of them, he hunched his shoulders and shut the door behind him. Klotho took Raven farther down the hall, turned a corner, and then turned down another hallway.

Eight foot arches chiseled into the gray stone of their home opened up the corridor space, allowing Raven to gaze at tall trees standing guard outside. The summer breeze blew against her skin as she stood in the hall’s shadows, waiting while Klotho pointed out her room.

“Get some rest, Raven. When you have done so, come to the kitchen. We will have lunch.” Klotho said, turning to leave.

Raven’s room had a floor to ceiling window made of thin glass and white wood framing. Beyond the window was an unobstructed view of the garden she tried to capture a glimpse of as they made their way through the backdoor.

Now, alone, Raven stared out at the flowers until she could see nothing more than spots of red, purple, yellow, green, and orange -- every flower glowed amidst the grass as the sun dipped around the circle of trees, lighting up the blooms. Having a black thumb forbade her the ability to nurture even the sturdiest plant -- but every bloom in the yard was alive and thriving.

Below her window, if she pressed her face to the glass, she would find the small worn path made by travelers moving through the yard to the kitchen. Beyond the path the lawn resumed with natural deep green blades of grass blanketing the ground for as far as she could see.

Several yards away from the back door the garden began in earnest, stretching far down the right side of the house until she could no longer see the end of the flowers. The garden patch was several yards thick and, behind it, the forest of trees perked up again, their depths shadowed by the covering of branches.

Her hair hung over her shoulders, sticking together in some disgusting, oily desire to cling to her neck. She needed a bath.

Raven turned at a knock on her door and moved to open it.

“Hello.” Athena said, with a secretive smile on her lips. Raven wondered at the secret the goddess kept and wondered, not for the first time, how many more of the gods and goddesses she was to meet -- assuming she was a simple mortal with such very little intelligence as to not recognize the names offered her.

Also, not for the first time, she wondered as she stared into Athena’s sharp eyes, why it was necessary to keep it a secret.

Long red curls shook behind Athena’s shoulders as the goddess tilted her head in inquiry.

“Oh, come in. Sorry.” Raven said, stepping back to allow her entry. Closing the door behind Athena, she stood with her hands at her middle. Athena glanced around the room, taking stock of the view through the window, the plush carpet, the oversized king size bed with four redwood spiral posts, the matching seven-drawer dresser with hanging mirror and a completely mismatched set of metal gray nightstands to either side of the bed.

“Your room is nice.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Raven asked, looking around in appreciation.

Athena turned to her then and met her eyes with directness.

“You know who I am, don’t you?” she asked, as though having read the tune of Raven’s thoughts but a moment ago. The words were formed as a question but Athena’s tone sounded as though she only sought confirmation of what she already knew.

Raven frowned at her, pressing the expression of puzzlement as much as she could but the effort felt obvious. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Athena tilted her head again, staring at Raven. “Perhaps you know who we all are. Is that the way of it?”

Anger sizzled up her back. Raven fought for control over her temper -- not that she had a temper management problem. The problem back on Earth had been working up an emotional outburst for any reason.

But life on DeSolar was different.

Everything on DeSolar infuriated her. With painstaking care, she kept the thought from her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My sisters do not suspect a thing yet but I think,” Athena said, tapping her lip with a fingernail, “that either you have always known who the sisters were -- or the Queen told you. Is that what you’re hiding about the meeting with the Queen? I know you are hiding something.”

Raven met the goddesses gaze with mute refusal to respond but it didn’t matter. Athena knew and Raven knew she knew.

“The question, I suppose,” Athena said, pinning Raven with dark eyes, “is why you are lying about knowing. What does it matter?”

“Perhaps if you tell me what it is that I supposedly know, Athena, then I can tell if you if it’s something I already know and am hiding.” Raven suggested, refusing to concede.

“When I met you and the Moirai sisters in the valley, I glanced at you and you glanced at me, and in your eyes I saw recognition when Atropos spoke my name.”

Raven shrugged, thinking fast. “Lachesis mentioned we would meet with you so yes, I recognized your name.”

Temper flared in Athena’s eyes but the look faded and, letting the argument slide for the moment, the goddess changed the subject. “Are you hungry?”

Logan sat alone on his bed and listened as the women moved down the hall. He clenched his hands in his lap. What am I doing here? He asked himself, not for the first time since setting foot inside the house belonging to the Moirai sisters, caught in a fairytale world.

If he had stayed at the castle he could be practicing with his sword in the bailey. He could be lunching with Clarissa, or stalking the forest in search of rabbit for dinner. Instead he was sitting on a bed with white, green and pink stitched squares -- something that reminded him of his grandmother’s bed. It’s too quiet here, he thought. A walk in the garden might help but the flowers felt wrong. The feminine smells in the house and the female touches everywhere made him uncomfortable. Made him feel…

Lost.

He didn’t belong in the house. He had done too many terrible things. With a sigh, he paced to the window where he stared down at the garden and tried to ignore the urge to do something. Something physical. Turning, and stalked across the room to the wooden dresser where his sword lay.

Running his finger lightly along the flat length of the blade -- Logan absorbed the familiar cool metal. How many endless nights had he sat around a campfire wiping blood from the blade? He had wiped away all traces of blood while wiping the memory of its use out of his mind, for there was nothing to be done for it.

There was no other way on DeSolar.

Surviving was all he could do. There was nothing to fight for -- no side to choose that would have made his soul whole again.

Until now.

And now he travelled with the legendary goddess Athena, who behaved so much like a mortal woman that had he not instantly recognized her name, he would not have suspected a thing about her. She was a goddess whose battle prowess far outshone any mortal, by far, and was in a league of her own in the goddess realm as well.

There was only one other battle god who had the same strength and ability, and god help the enemy if he showed up in this war.

What had interested him most about Athena was her constant usage of the word sister when speaking to the Moirai’s as though they were her real sisters. Watching the three white women move through camp with the soldiers’ leader, he began to wonder about the Moirai sisters and where his mind lead him, he shied away.

If Athena was a goddess and the Moirai sisters were her real sisters, then that would mean the Moirai’s were also goddesses -- though of what he was uncertain. It changed in him his perception of Raven. Not that he would have followed her any less for he had already chosen to be her protector in this war.

But she was a special woman indeed if the gods themselves rallied around her.

Fast on the heels of that thought was the wonderment at the goddesses’ secretiveness, for the entire camp pretended mortality and none suggested in any way they were divine beings.

And Raven appeared to be unaware. Why the secret?

Logan ran his hand against the sword until his fingers wrapped around the curved, leather-covered hilt and he lifted the blade, bringing it close to his face. He stared back at his reflection in the metal and did not recognize the brown eyes looking back at him. Those eyes looked hollow.

He struggled to not think about the boy he had been -- riding his skateboard with the other neighborhood kids, buying ice cream off the mobile ice cream truck while his mother stood on the front porch in the navy blue knee-length dress she loved to wear. He could almost hear her voice calling him in for supper.

He missed Earth.

He missed the logistics of Earth, knowing what was what and where he belonged, what he was supposed to do. Knowing he had a home to go to. Where was home on DeSolar? The Queen Mother’s castle, that’s where, he growled. No! He didn’t know what direction his life was about to take, but it was leading away from the life he had known for the last five years.

Now there was a side worth being on.