The Flame of Wrath

by Christene Knight

  As she took confident strides toward her waiting mount, she embodied the approaching storm. With a fluid motion, she mounted her celestial war horse. Its hoof drumming almost rhythmically against the earth awakened the soldiers to arms like a growling thunder on the mountain. Aurea’s golden armor was the lightning to quicken the sky and her scarlet cape was the blazing flag billowing beneath fury's wind.

  The Empress realized more every day that they had reached the precipice of war. The time for games between her and Angelos III was at an end. Something or rather someone would have to break. There could be no other way. If he had Autumn, she would storm his lands to find her. And if her men could manage to seize the rebellion's men before they reached Angels' lands then they would serve as a bitter reminder to those who stood against her of what the penalty was for defying her.

  A loud cry caused all eyes to ascend to the heavens.

  Aurea felt the distinctive rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins as she took in the familiar beauty of the Guardians descending from on high. It seemed so long ago that this vision had once inspired her innermost dreamer. Their grace, their beauty, they had called to her so profoundly once. She had created an elite group of her very own to emulate their majesty. Still, the days of her admiration for the Guardians were gone.

  The Empress hardened. She withdrew into herself as one by one the heavenly creatures touched down upon the earth. “Where is she?” she demanded lowly. Her voice heavily enunciated each word with a brutal sting.

  The land was divided into two halves both night and day. The approaching night sent shadows over the Guardians while the warm light of day shimmered off the imperial forces.

  Though the Empress could make out the incredible beauty each possessed the combination of the otherworldly veil of night and their omnipotent masks made it nearly impossible to determine the identities of each warrior. And yet, even in the dying light, Aurea's eyes narrowed in on the silhouette of the woman dismounting from her powerful eagle. She watched the confident slowness with which she moved, stopping just beyond the fleeting sunlight. Her eyes moved toward the trident peeking its head over a proud shoulder.

  “Who?” she heard.

  Aurea's heart thundered inside her ears. “Zahara,” she breathed scarcely above a whisper. She had been so sure that Zahara was in route to the border. No one had reported catching sight of the woman or her warriors. How had she gotten to Angels? That question soon gave way to a quaking fear. What if Zahara's mission had been successful?

  There was a quiet laugh which filled the air as melodious bells. “You sound almost disappointed to see me, Empress. Did you not call for me?”

  The Empress fumed with Zahara's laughter. Her fists balled tightly against the reins. “I will ask you again,” she began. “Where is she?”

  “This conversation is over,” Zahara sighed. The Guardian slowly began to turn as if to leave when Aurea's rage spilled from her mouth.

  “Do not turn away from me!” Aurea snarled. “Ever!” Her eyes were dangerous slits of rage. “Now tell me where you have taken Autumn or----”

  The warrior of Angels stopped mid-motion. “Or what?” Zahara asked calmly. “You do not dare to cross this border. You will have the might of Angels upon you and that, my dear Empress, is a battle you could never win. My King would have every right to your life and it would be my pleasure to deliver it to him.”

  Aurea's entire body shook with fury.

  “It would be divine justice for all the druids you have slain.”

  The flames of Aurea's eyes pitched violently. Her voice hushed to a deadly silkiness. “Divine justice for the extermination of a pestilence?” She huffed in disgust. “I hardly doubt it. That would require the wrath of the Gods and you forget, Zahara.” She extended her hands to the land around them, to the devoted people awaiting her command. “In the eyes of the people, in the eyes of history forevermore----” She leaned forward, peering icily into the soldier daring to stand against her. “I am a God.”

  A shadow's lurching movement spooked the Empress' warhorse so that the animal danced nervously. Aurea battled to regain control of her horse even as her eyes scoured the impending darkness for what ghostly thing had frightened her horse so intensely. Her heart shuddered as she caught sight of crimson eyes.

  “Druid,” she spat.

  A solitary figure stood away from the others. A hand rose to claw at the base of his throat. Fingertips gathered the fabric shielding his skin before the masked cowl was pulled away. Soren turned his head toward the rows of Guardians he witnessed standing as the only thing stopping Aurea from completely unleashing her bitterness upon the world.

  “Do you still cleave to hope?” he asked softly.

  Aurea glared from the druid she hated above all others to the lead Guardian. Her brows furrowed in confusion. What did he mean, she wondered. Why would Zahara still cling to hope? What hope? And hope for what?

  “Yes,” Aurea heard, “but not for her. Hope for the Empress is dead.”

  The Empress tensed. The rigidness of her body caused her to sit painfully erect in her saddle. Inwardly, she shrank so far into herself that she feared her soul might somehow pass through her back and fall to the earth.

  “That voice,” Angelos IV whispered. He stepped forward with the other Knights at his sides. His face was pale with a mixture of emotions.

  The women of Angels all stepped closer to the light. One by one, their hands rose to their golden masks, but it was the leader in silver who frightened the ruler of Pyros beyond reproach.

  The weight of her words gathered in the pit of her stomach, grounding Aurea with unmerciful might. She was dramatically pale. Her heart-shaped mouth swallowed convulsively. She slumped forward, gripping desperately to the saddle horn for support.

  Maven had been listening to the goings-on through the luxurious materials of Aurea's royal tent. She emerged with a desperate need to know. Her hand snatched a torch from one of the stunned guards. She rushed past the motionless Knights until she was as close to the Angels border as she dared to go.

  With a glistening trident at her back, the lead Guardian fell under the torchlight.

  “Autumn,” Maven gasped. Her hand covered her mouth as she trembled.

  The Princess of Angels allowed her eyes to rake over the blond leisurely. She had seen where Maven had emerged. “I congratulate you, Lady Maven. It didn't take long for you to slither into her bed.”

  Maven had never known guilt for any of her actions, never known shame for doing what she must in order to attain the goals she desired but as she gazed into Autumn's eyes something in them frightened her. For years, she had always felt herself to be superior to Autumn. In the years she had known Autumn, Autumn had glowed with a naiveté which made her incapable of being perceived as a real threat. Now as Maven stared into those cool steel-blue orbs, she noted the absence of any real innocence and the garnered strength found in righteousness. It was the kind of righteousness birthed of dire necessity.

  Unable to stand the heat of their intensity, Maven turned her head.

  The words which frothed from her lips came like the body's acidic retribution. “Soren, this is your doing! You have bewitched her... just as you bewitched her father!” Aurea screamed.

  Autumn smiled in a way which made her appear all too sad. “You have never been a modest soul, my Love,” she said. “Don't give credit to Soren when it is you, alone, who have damned us.” Her voice grew softer. “Damned us all.”

  Sensing the searing pain raging rampantly throughout his friend, the man donning the ghost's shroud moved close to Autumn. Soren placed his hand tenderly against her shoulder.

  “Get away from her!” Aurea fumed. She charged her horse forward. Her ivory steed stopped at the border's edge. It reared back angrily, kicking its powerful front legs as if to stomp the druid to death.

  With a come-hither air, Soren bid the dark-haired woman to leave.

  “You cannot hide from me forever!” the Empress w
arned the departing druid.

  Autumn stopped, her arm still held in Soren's soft hand. She glared over her shoulder to the Empress. “Forever,” she mused. “You use that word so often. You promised it to me.”

  The dreams that they had once shared came rushing to Aurea in the dramatic softening of her face and voice. “Our forevers are intertwined,” she reminded the woman.

  Autumn nodded ruefully. “Yes.” Then her eyes lost their glimpses of clearing skies. They instead gathered in storming strength. “And now my forever will be spent stopping you.”

  The Princess raised her hand. It balled into a fist as a signaled command for the Guardians to depart. The immediate response of the poised soldiers gave little room for dispute. Autumn had assumed command as lead opposition to the crown. Autumn of Angels had taken her place as the leader of the Guardians.

  “Autumn, please----” Aurea felt as though the moment might choke her with its overwhelming finality.

  Autumn turned her back upon the extended hand and pleading eyes. Together, she and Soren moved closer to her waiting eagle.

  What was happening? Aurea was losing everything. Her face crumpled in sorrow. She slowly began to shake her head. “No,” she uttered with a cracking voice. She repeated the word more forcibly as her conviction returned. “No!” She angrily drew a dagger from her hip then hurled the weapon zealously at her hated enemy.

  Soren cried out as the blade found a home inside his right shoulder. His exposed back had been the true target he realized as he slumped forward into Autumn's arms. He felt her heft his arm about her shoulders as she took on his weight. Together they refused to look back, refused to stop and acknowledge the woman whose tantrum demanded it.

  Silently, Autumn helped the druid atop her mount. She then gripped the saddle horn as her foot slipped into the stirrup. Behind her, she felt Aurea more acutely than she had ever felt anything or anyone ever before. Aurea was calling to her. It was the way that dreamers sometimes morbidly wish to recall their nightmares.

  The new lead Guardian steeled herself. She mounted her eagle then took to the skies, leaving behind the desired things of her youth.

  The Empress watched their ascent. She could not look away as they drew higher and higher above them, as Autumn grew further away from her. Then she let loose a cry of absolute rage so strong that it might have been birthed from the gates of hell opening to this world.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Father Time is dying for he is fading as the Past. There is no hope for his return more than fleeting memories... unless he may be born again as the Future which rises from the ashes.

  ----Book of Wrath

  ********

  Beneath the howling winds of early morning, scattered carriages broke through the desolation of a passionate blizzard. Though their ornate glory possessed the enigmatic beauty of dreams, the large sleek vessels could scarcely be seen. They were but streaks of sparkling white accented by glistening silver while their runners glided across the snow.

  Above the howling winds, the muted storm of thundering hooves beat with rampaging fury. The source of the carriages' incredible speed was the powerful centaurs, who acted as honored protectors to the highest ranking houses within the land.

  Tucking their heads against the bitter winds, the centaur guard burst ahead. The heavy feathering about their lower legs kept out the biting cold. A violent blast of cold air shoved at their bodies, but it did not reach the bareness of their skin. Instead it danced through the thick fur coats wrapped about their bodies. They leaned forward, pulling with focused determination through the dense drifts of snow.

  The centaurs raised their heads to catch their bearings. The road had all but vanished. They trudged ahead, grateful that the sleigh-carriage at their back glided over the snowy land rather than being forced to plow through it.

  All around them, encompassing white had covered the world with a relentless assault. It rose higher until travel had all but ceased. Despite that fact, the nobles of the land could not afford to waste time waiting for the snow to subside. The time for action was now.

  Every noble within the royal court was converging upon Origin. Lucidia's life blood had turned to ice with the news spreading across the land. The Holy Land had been seized. What did this mean for their people? Was Lucidia next? The Empress of Pyros was a threat to not only her own people, but also to all Lucidians.

  From all directions, carriages drew closer to the grand Road of Truths. Long ago, it was given this name because among their culture a prevalent belief was nurtured by all Lucidians. That belief was this: Truth inevitably led to all ones answers and whatever answers one might seek could always be found in the capital city of Origin, where the Vessel reigned and the Sisterhood of Tears watched over all protectively.

  Origin had many directions from which it could be entered but it was the main road, the Road of Truths, which never failed to inspire awe to those who reveled in its glory. The image was one that broke through the menacing storm as if to grant peace to those coming to Origin's comforting bosom.

  The land fell away in a gentle slope, but from its heart ran an iron bridge. The magnificent bridge reached out into a boundless sea. Its road was paved in creamy white stones, reminiscent of the massive icebergs adrift within deep sapphire seas. On the horizon the dark richness of the ocean merged into the bright intensity of sky.

  A massive arch reached out from the frigid waters. Its mouth was gaping. To the city's chosen, it was a welcoming sight, but to those outsiders set on invasion, it was the reminder that the elusive peoples of dreaming had evaded them yet again because the arches present at every entrance to the capital city were a wonder which only Lucidians could navigate.

  The centaurs, drawing closer to the arch prepared themselves to speak the words of entrance. Yet before the opportunity was theirs to take, a solitary figure in black appeared in the road.

  She was a mystery which revealed only her eyes, her powerful brown eyes. Her long flowing hair caught majestically in the winds, masking her face. She extended a graceful hand which immediately compelled all those before her to halt by unnatural forces. Around her sensuous elegance, a black gown embraced her closely. The length of it whipped within the polar winds.

  She spoke.

  In that very instant, her words were uttered in perfect unison by her sisters each sister having silently materialized within the coaches of every royal carriage.

  “Your fears have been heard by the Vessel,” they voiced collectively. “Do not despair. Our people will not endure the insults made by the Empress. By invading the Holy Land, Aurea has broken the treaty. Her offenses will not go unpunished.”

  With these words the nobles both, breathed a sigh of relief and trembled before the precipice of war.

  War. Could they really survive a war with the mighty Pyros?

  The clarity of the women in ebony wavered chaotically. They were trembling reflections rippling inside a dancing pool. “May Dragon's tears rain upon you,” they blessed softly. Then in an instant they vanished, leaving only the weight of their words.

  ********

  She was the blessed emissary to her people. They had blessed her with their trust and infused her with their timeless wisdoms. She could feel their strength teeming throughout her being.

  As the emissary moved through the sky, the violent grumble of thunder shifted from cloud to cloud in the sky above. Her body was a passing flicker of light maneuvering through white clouds. Her arrival darkened the clouds for an instant before she moved on to the next.

  The air crackled loudly with static. She willed herself to move faster, realizing that she did not have much time before the magic afforded to her waned and she was left with nothing.

  ********

  Aurea laughed merrily amidst her adoring aristocracy. She brought a chalice to her lips. From its nectars, she drank away the bitterness housed within her body. She allowed the beauties surrounding her to console her wounded pride.

  Anythin
g, she thought. Think of anything, but Autumn.

  A flash of Autumn's wrathful face was Fate's answer to Aurea's longing for distraction.

  You will not forget, Fate demanded with a punishing vitality.

  Maven entered the ballroom as swaying sea foam. Her skin glowed with her anticipation for the night. Something stirred inside her like the quick-moving waters of Logos. She was giddy with its intoxicating feeling. She threw her head back with a melodic laugh as she lost herself among the throngs of bodies dancing decadently.

  The music heightened to a powerful boom. Hearts raced. Colors grew more intense. The heat of the night pitched up like the essence of Pyros. Suddenly white light blinded the world.

  Fathomless silence followed a menacing clap. The center of the ballroom was scorched stingingly by lightning which rattled inside a woman's hair.

  She was nude. Her body steamed with glorious fury. Her long black hair ended just above the small of her back. Her skin was the beautiful blue-black nature of storming clouds. She stepped outside of the destroyed ring made by her arrival.

  The Pyrosians of the room gasped in horror. The Knights drew closer to the Empress, ready to defend her from this witch at a moment's notice.

  Aurea quelled her shivering. She was determined not to show her fear.

  “Who are you?” Aurea demanded. “How dare you enter my home?”

  The woman smiled slowly. Its seductive air warned of something dangerous. “You have made demands of the world around you, Aurea of Pyros,” she said. “Now the world demands your destruction.”

  “Kill her!” Aurea shrieked.

  “This is war.”

  The Knights of Virtue lunged forward. As their weapons sliced through the intruder, her body morphed into crystalline waters which puddled lifelessly to the ground.