Wings of Fate: The Lost Ones

It was obvious to Lachesis the very moment in which Athena’s soldiers began marching toward the castle because the garden beside the stone wall where she, Raven, and Nicolaus hid, became empty. This was the plan and having an empty garden was necessary for the plan to be successful but Lachesis snarled anyway. The Queen Mother was a foolish woman! Everyone knows you don’t leave your back unguarded. The Queen Mother had become so distracted by her need to get to Raven that she allowed all other concerns to slide.

“Too easy.” Nicolaus murmured beside her. Lachesis didn’t acknowledge his assessment but immediately tensed at the warning. He was right. Was it possible the Queen Mother wasn’t as foolish as she seemed? Lachesis ran her eyes repeatedly over the garden and towers, searching for a face. Any face. But there was nothing. Inching back, she settled on her haunches beside Nicolaus and met his eyes. Too calm, she thought.

If he knew even half of what she knew he’d be horrified. Even Raven squatted beside him picking at the grass near her boots as though this was just another day. The thought stilled Lachesis’ frustration and she gave herself a moment to really look at the mortal. The first time she had seen Raven’s face the girl had been relaxed and confident. She’d sat at Ruth’s table with a straight back and smile. She’d been talkative – questioning everything in between low-voiced murmurings of reassurance to Austin.

Comparing the image to the girl sitting outside the castle walls was startling. She was quiet and still, moving slowly as though giving weighty thought to each gesture. Her eyes, a luminescent turquoise had faded from brilliant interest to dull acceptance. Besides the common apparel of Lachesis’ family, which Raven wore better than any mortal should, the most drastic change was her hair. The long waves of blonde were long gone, leaving Raven sitting in battle garb and a choppy pixie hair cut.

And loathe to ask any more questions.

But she shouldn’t be dismissive of the coming fight, there were too few minutes remaining before the end. Atropos could guarantee no preferable end. This was the next fork in the prophecy – all else lay beyond one of two ends – and the deciding factors sat before her with the patient anticipation of a fishing trip.

Returning to Nicolaus’ comment, she said, “Trap?”

The boy squinted at her, until his long lashes nearly hid the deep intelligence in his eyes, and then cast a brief glance toward the opening in the garden wall. Pursing his lips, he then shrugged as though the answer held little import. “Possible. But unlikely. She has…tunnel vision. Seeing what she wants, she goes after it. Nothing else matters until it is hers. And right now she wants a fight. She wants to kill opposition…always…but especially all of us.”

Especially us. Lachesis wondered what he knew. Of course they were the enemy – weren’t they laying siege to the Queen Mother’s castle? Weren’t they attempting to de-throne her? All true, but the fight had begun long before this day with attempts made on both Raven’s and Nicolaus’ lives. A seemingly purposeless action if one didn’t know why the Queen Mother wanted them dead. No – not wanted – needed. But no one was telling Raven and Nicolaus. Keeping the reason unknown was an integral part of their success.

And so, pretending ignorance, Lachesis said, “Why especially? We’ve offended her, you’re saying?”

“I don’t think so.” Raven answered, locking eyes with Nicolaus.

Lachesis tried to not suck in a startled breath at the statement. What did they know? They couldn’t know what the Queen Mother’s objectives were and yet…the unspoken thought hidden in their shared glance said they knew something. Lachesis shifted her weight from one foot to the other and wished they hadn’t left Atropos behind. She would know what to do.

And there in the shadows of dying vines cradling them against the garden wall, Lachesis swore she heard her sister’s voice say keep going. With a surreptitious glance she assured herself Atropos wasn’t present and then turned back to Raven. “Then what makes us so important?” she asked, shifting her attention to Nicolaus when he took a deep breath and met her eyes once again.

When he answered, he tilted his head toward Raven. “She wants us.”

Every time she went into battle, Athena invariably thought of Ares. As children they’d waged mock battles against each other, each having a wealth of skill and strength that rarely left one victor and one poor loser, but their enjoyment of the sport posed at opposite ends of the spectrum.

Long before his body had grown tan and muscular, Ares had thought highly of his visage as he fought. As a result, he focused more on his stance and maneuvers; how he held his arms, how far he could leap. It was like a strategic game to him – the art of overwhelming, awe-inspiring fighting. The result of that was he felt most excited when fighting and utterly bored with what came before and after.

And because she’d spent so many hours watching her brother preen as he’d prepared, once again, to attempt unmanning her, Athena had grown to love the anticipation before the fight. The fight itself was a series of rote defensive maneuvers, almost mindless and, therefore, not as exciting for her.

She’d never decided if they were the way they were because of their childhood battles, or if their childhood battles were a reflection of who they were born to be. She always wondered which came first.

As she marched toward the castle surrounded by her soldiers, Athena thrilled at the rhythmic shudder of the ground beneath thousands of feet stomping in unison as they moved forward. At the back of the line, the women began a chant created of their own design. Two high female voices called in a throaty Indian warning, a wordless caution of danger and death. The sound bounced off trees to shoot in every open direction, but did not drown out the chanting.

Oh my (clap, clap) my mama (clap, clap) Who brought life e’er yonder

When you gave me (clap, clap) sword in hand (clap, clap) My blood, my strength, my soul

I go now (clap, clap) to the end (clap, clap) Of my blessed wander

Do you see me (clap, clap) in the moonlight (clap, clap) Will you hold me when I come

Give me strength (clap, clap) oh mama (clap, clap) Give me rest (clap, clap) when I come

Though the chant came only from the back, they timed the claps to match the stomp of boots, a sound which echoed in heavy pronunciation. The words took on different meanings to Athena, in light of her conversation with Ilita. Did returning to their mothers mean death? Or the end of a self-imposed exile in education? Did it matter? She wondered.

Moving over a hill now left them in direct view of the Queen Mother’s archers but none of her soldiers flinched at the exposure. Athena kept her palm on the hilt of her sword, prepared to use it as a shield for those around her should the archers leap into sudden action. The men on the wall waited, though, patiently and undisturbed by the sight of flank after flank appearing over the hill.

Recalling the memory of Ilita and Logan in the camp by Treis-Soarta brought a smile to her face. Logan’s surprise had been a pleasure. A much-needed pleasure. She spared a glance now at the bald man marching beside her and he met her gaze with a surprising grin. She returned the smile and turned back to the castle walls which loomed near enough she could just make out the surge of uncertainty flickering across the faces of the Queen Mother’s archers.

Pursing her lips, Athena blew warm air through her teeth, piercing the morning air with a call to halt.

With each step Raven felt more and more drawn to the tower chamber where they hoped to find the Queen Mother. Lachesis was alternately annoyed and surprised by the ease with which they’d crossed the garden and entered little Nicolaus’ secret passage. Raven told herself to be relieved by the ease because things were going well but, instead, she felt only calm antipathy for what was surely the equivalent of walking the plank.

The thought brought to mind the boat she and Austin had leapt from and she immediately viewed her captors as the proverbial pirates and their leap -- the plank. Only instead of being eaten by swarming sharks, they had found freedom, of a sort.

The last trip she’d made through this passage was unclear -- damaged as she’d been -- but the darkness was familiar. And awkward. Nicolaus led them as though he could see perfectly well without any light but the only indication of direction was the incline -- forever moving up and up to where, they hoped, the Queen Mother unknowingly awaited arrest.

The Queen Mother would fight. Of this, Raven was certain. And Nicolaus had told her as much anyway. She would fight and people would die. The real question then, was, which people? The Queen Mother? The soldiers? Her and Nicolaus? The sad thing was Raven wasn’t all that sure which she’d prefer. Not that she wanted harm to come to Nicolaus. It was difficult to believe a mother would murder her own son.

And for what? A legend?

Beyond the surrounding stone walls, the castle was alive with a flurry of activity and sound. Most of the sounds coming through were voices -- high with hysterics and a notable lack of refinement, and Raven was certain what she heard was the staff. During her stay weeks ago she saw very few staff members and even less of the rooms. Still Raven found it easy to imagine the women rushing from room to room in panic. Would they hide somewhere? Within the passage even? And she wondered, not for the first time, if Nicolaus was correct in his assumption that he, alone, knew of the secret.

If he was right and the staff found nowhere else to hide, would they flee? Would they grab precious pieces of silver and run?

Did it matter?

“We either just became really lucky, or we’re in a load of trouble.”

“What are you talking about?” Bael whispered.

Ares leaned towards him as they shuffled through a cold corridor within the Queen Mother’s castle. Prior to entering the gated entry, the soldiers had twisted a muddy length of rope around their hands, linking the three prisoners together so that the first of them could be pulled along and the others would be forced to follow. Also the corridors were too narrow for the three to make good an escape since they would trip over each other in their attempt.

As a result, Austin hobbled behind them, keeping pace. “Yeah, why?” he asked now.

Bael glanced down at the boy and then turned serious eyes back to Ares with a question clearly marked in them.

“My sister, I told you she was outside.” He said in question, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, okay.” Bael responded, flicking his eyes at the soldier nearest them. “Yes?”

“My sister would only be waiting outside the Queen Mother’s castle for one reason today.” He answered, raising his brows again.

Bael measured the look in Ares’ face and then frowned. “Alone?”

Ares almost laughed but considering their situation said instead, “Of course not.”

The elf mulled along, following the soldier who held tight to the rope that bound them, in silence as he considered the luck or draw situation Ares referred to. His concern was that his sister wouldn’t know they were in the castle and would simply level the place, no mean feat for Athena. There was a chance she knew they were there -- whether by usual method of casual conversation or by the same method he had even though his lack of powers should have prevented it -- she might sense his location.

Then again, there was an equally likely chance she would not. In which case, they were in trouble.

With only a few inches of muggy air between them, Athena pulled free the two swords at her hips, a similar action soon followed by Logan. The weight of his sword was familiar; the evenness of the metal, the precise way the sunlight glinted along the edge of the blade – having the weapon in his fist felt like coming home. It occurred to him then that he had finally shed all former physical memory of being a good man on Earth and had now become, well and truly, one of the horrors of DeSolar.

He did not bother to glance toward Athena for assurance he was doing the right thing now, making the right choices now, he was man enough to admit none of that mattered. All that mattered on this day was to do everything humanly possible to make sure they were successful in this fight. And that Raven lived. The decision to devote his life solely to her protection was the easiest decision he had ever made in his life. She epitomized everything he used to be and everything he could never be again.

She was freedom and honesty and goodwill. She was funny and sassy and fragile. He would protect her with his life. And once your life is over, old man? An unrecognizable voice played in his mind. What then?

At that, Logan did finally glance at Athena. She was a strength and perseverance no human should be and her affection for Raven obvious. Should he fall, Athena would stand in his place.

The surety of the thought allowed all worry to slip away from him as though a calming hand had settled on his shoulder. Straightening his shoulders, Logan lifted his head and sword, and grinned again at Athena when she turned and met his eyes.

“Are you ready for this?” she asked in a muted voice.

“Couldn’t be more ready.” He said with a jerky nod.

At Athena’s signal, all along the first flank of soldiers the ring of steel clung to the moisture in the air as woman after woman loosened the ties holding her weapon, clutching bits of steel in their fists as they waited further instruction. At another signal from Athena, the ground began to shake beneath the marching boots of the archers. Logan, keeping one eye on the Queen Mother’s mute soldiers on the castle walls, turned his head slightly to watch as the archers joined them on the hill. Three perfectly straight rows of archers stomped away from the dying forest, moving parallel to where he stood beside Athena, before cutting a sharp left turn to move toward the castle.

The women in each row wore outfits of such uniformity, pulled their hair back in the same twisted braids, and carried identical weapons, that his eyes nearly crossed as he tried to keep count of their numbers. Though Athena’s soldiers had literally covered the grounds of the forest he had not seen every woman and had been unable to judge the sheer masse of soldiers. Now, as they moved in stolid solidarity, Logan sucked in a breath at their beauty.

Athena had trained them well.

When the archers became still in a silent restraint from the attack he knew they longed for, Athena moved away from him. She slid gracefully, a tall ethereal beauty masked in the colors of nature with the flaming head of curls whisking along her back, between the archers until she stood alone between her soldiers and the Queen’s. Turning her back to the castle, she met the eyes of the archers, stepping along their ranks in inspection of their form and mood.

From her expression it was clear she suffered no concern the soldiers may choose this final hour to balk. One side of her mouth turned up when she met his eyes between the bodies of her archers. Logan frowned. What are you up to? He wondered.

Turning back to the castle she called in a clear voice that echoed in every direction, “Ann Marie! I, Athena, protector of the people, hereby accuse you of treachery, unknown counts of rape, unknown counts of torture, and unknown counts of murder.” The sudden tension that rifled along the backs of the soldiers standing between him and Athena was inescapable. The soldiers had come expecting a confrontation, had come expecting to bleed and kill.

They had not come for some kind of salient surrender. Though they stood with stiffened backs, Athena’s soldiers gave no other indication of their displeasure at this turn. Unnoticing, or unconcerned, Athena continued, “You label yourself against God and man as you label yourself ‘Queen Mother’. By your hand have you stolen land and life. With your plots and deceits against God and man you have forsaken all right to land and life. Surrender now!” Athena bellowed. “And I will spare the lives of your men, your staff, and,” she paused, in Logan’s mind, theatrically, “your son.”

Logan did not expect the laughter that trilled down the length of the castle tower but Athena’s posture remained unwavering until the voice continued. The echoing quality of the Queen Mother’s voice reminded him of a megaphone the coach used in high school and he wondered, pointlessly, where she had gotten one. But then the rest of her words sank in.

“My son, you say? My son! Athena, I’m surprised at you,” the voice said with derision, “You can’t spare my son for he is here already. Under my protection.”

The tip of Logan’s sword thudded against the hard dirt as his shoulders slumped forward.

They’d failed.

A wind tunnel appeared as if by magic, swirling and moaning, in Logan’s head and the sound grew so vicious he did not hear Athena’s command to attack. The soft whispering wail of hundreds of arrows released from bows shot through the hot air like steel knives glinting in the sunlight on a direct course for the bodies of men he used to know. Sweat slid down his temples and a stray drop slid into the crease of his left eye. Swiping the moisture away, he swallowed hard to get past the defeat that had curled into a ball in his throat.

Within seconds the launched arrows either found a mark or flew over the heads of the soldiers on the wall. A second volley was fast on the heels of the first as Athena’s soldiers took only the time necessary to reload before sending another cloud of sharpened knives through the air. Screams carried on the wind as men fell from the wall, some flying backwards as though impaled by the heaviest of weapons, others falling forward as though slow motion carried them gently in the wrong direction.

As the Queen Mother’s soldiers lifted bows of their own, Athena bellowed for shields. Those of her archers at the front of the line pulled shields from their back and, crouching forward, made room for the next line of archers who, wasting no time, continued the attack. Athena stood still before her archers as though the ensuing arrows from the castle would cause no harm to her tanned skin.

The buzzing in Logan’s ears grew. Glancing toward the castle he saw the Queen Mother’s archers notch their arrows with only another second passing before the string snapped in their fingers and the dark wooden shafts belonging to the Queen’s men shot towards them.

Lifting his sword, Logan surged forward with legs of lead, fighting through the rows of female archers, struggling toward Athena who stood exposed to dozens of lethal arrows. Those arrows had yet to find their mark before Athena’s archers sent another volley toward the castle. The release of the strings all at once around him thrummed across the wind like a heart beat, shifting the wind a quarter of an inch away from the group as though the movement was a physical beast stirring the air.

Shoving past the shields blocking his path, Logan forced himself through the last of the archers and ran, sword raised in mute defense against a weapon no blade alone could fight off, roaring as Athena turned, finally seeing him, in surprise. Though her mouth moved, Logan could hear nothing more than the cyclone whirring in his head, cutting off all exterior sounds around him but for the sound of his breath and heart beat, and he could not hear what she said. Glancing toward the castle with quick, fearful eyes, Athena’s red hair whipped around her face and neck like a coiled red rope ready to choke. And then she moved.

In her eyes he did not see realization of her impending death, or fear for the frailty of her life, but a determination that zeroed in on his face as she charged toward him. Arrows began to rain down in a dark death around them as they ran toward each other and, though it seemed an hour had passed in the interim, only a few moments lapsed. Her slender arm wrapped around his neck in a hug-like gesture before she yanked him to the ground, throwing her other hand in the air behind her as though it alone would shield them from death.

Logan, knocked breathless and shoved to the ground on his back, stared into brown eyes that were suddenly terrified. His face reflected back at him as she met his eyes with a flat, blank expression that clearly suggested that whatever she saw, it was not him. The sunlight behind her shot through the individual strands of red hair that encircled her face, creating a halo of warm red that stood out against tiny red freckles he hadn’t noticed before.

And behind her, the Queen Mother’s black wooden shafts, so ready to bring death to those who dared to attack, hung frozen in the air like black pins.

The ground beneath him trembled as Athena’s soldiers rushed forward with shields to cover them where they lay and once the shields were in place, the arrows completed their journey, slamming into the wooden plates with jarring thuds. Above the sound, Logan heard another noise, one that was as familiar to him as the sound of his own voice.

The portcullis.

Rolling to their feet, Logan followed Athena’s gaze as it slid to the castle gate which, in only a few more moments, would become a gaping maw allowing the foot soldier’s direct access to Athena’s soldiers exposed on the hill. She twisted around and yanked her swords from the ground where she’d dropped them and, seeing Logan’s weapon lying uselessly beside her own, tossed it to him.

“Advance!” she bellowed to the soldiers standing ready and as one, the army climbed over the hill and moved forward. In another moment the roar of the Queen Mother’s soldiers was deafening as they spilled through the gateway. They charged Athena’s army as though a riotous mob intent on bloodshed instead of the well-organized army Athena’s soldiers presented. The gray-haired girl he’d lost the mock-battle to in Athena’s camp appeared like a mystical nymph at Athena’s side with a serious expression and a question in her eyes. Athena nodded and said, “Now.”

Ilita disappeared into the ranks.

Having first-hand knowledge of the skills Athena’s soldiers had provided little comfort to Logan knowing how ruthless his old comrades would be. The idea of the girls being flayed open, stabbed to death, or lying on the field slowing dying from a gash in their throat, made him swallow hard. Not waiting for Athena, Logan lifted his sword in one fist and ran towards the soldiers still milling out of the castle yard.

She must have called for everyone, he thought, as the bodies appearing through the gateway gained speed. Only the soldiers in high ranks would know he had defected to the opponent’s army but the foot soldiers were familiar faces, familiar names, and men who would know he had been missing for several weeks. He saw surprise on their faces when they saw who charged them -- surprise, then angry determination as they changed direction and swarmed towards him.

The first ring of metal against metal came from his own weapon bearing down on the hefty broadsword of a man he’d had dinner with on multiple occasions. Logan refused to dredge up the man’s name and instead pulled away only to slam into him once again with the sharp edge of his blade.

More steel rang out around him as other soldier’s launched into the hand-to-hand fight that would settle this battle. He didn’t know how important Raven and Nicolaus were to the cause, if they were necessary in order to win, but he hoped not.

Because the Queen Mother had them -- they were as good as dead.

Fueled by the anger of that thought, Logan lunged forward to shove the point of his blade through the soldier’s throat. The man’s eyes bulged in surprise as he grappled, with blood-covered fingers, the hole Logan left behind when he yanked his sword away. Shoving him to the side, Logan moved past him to the next man, swinging in a wide arch and taking two men down together, before moving on again.

He could hear the women around him as the minutes turned into an hour. They screamed in pain, in anger, but they fought on and soon the battle shifted closer to the forest where fewer bodies littered the ground beneath their feet, tripping them. Shoving another body out of his way, Logan lifted his head and searched the faces of those around him, looking for one in particular. All around him flew white hair and gray, black and brown, and blonde. The roaring in his ears returned as he searched, with fervor now, slicing men down as they interrupted his progress for the red hair.

Sunlight glinted across metal like a dancing orb of white light all over the hill around him drawing his attention away from the fight. Then he saw her. Buried near to the waist by bodies of men who saw her skill and foolishly decided they alone could best her. Logan leapt over bodies as he ran for her. Soon she would be unable to wield her weapons with so many dead around her, with so many attacking at once. Athena was obviously magical but no amount of magic could explain how she spun with blades outstretched as though she and the metal were both weightless and part of the same body. The tips of her blades found marks no person on DeSolar should know about, arteries and jugulars that, with the slightest of nicks, could bring a man to his death.

And she brought so many to it.

He was half a dozen yards away from her side when the ground fell out from beneath his feet and he flew uncontrollably toward the forest. Stunned, he lay still, blinking at the sunlight in his eyes, ignoring the sweat, or blood, that dripped into them. All he heard was the roaring of his blood pumping through his ears and his body shook with a force his heartbeat should have been unable to evoke.

When his eyes cleared, he rose to sit, never tearing his gaze away from the Queen Mother’s castle. Like every other soldier on the hill, be he the Queen’s soldier, or Athena’s, as they all stared with horrified eyes, at the burning structure now toppling to the ground.

Raven, he mouthed.