********
A mighty clapping of wings beat back the air as if it were a foe. The birds of prey let loose furious screeches then zealously took to the skies.
The Knights ruled the skies as wrathful lords. It was from these heights that they would send their mighty fury to rain down upon their enemies. In their wake, the Imperial army began their charge forward.
Across the broad battlefield, Autumn alone moved into action. She drew in a deep breath then released it in a controlled current of copious smoke.
It fanned wildly across the plane. From the tendrils of smoke, forms began to take shape. The snarling faces of dragons' heads sprang out from their wispy ends. The vaporous phantoms snapped at the horizon.
Soundlessly, Autumn stepped backward into the haven of her child's breath.
Peering down into the thickness, the Knights glowered. Nothing could be seen within the accursed fog.
Angelos drew back at the reins, guiding his mount in the direction of his soldiers. He swooped down within earshot of his archers. “Burn off the fog,” he commanded savagely.
A great wall of archers drew back their strings. Together, they sent brutality's shooting stars streaking across the sky. The blazing arrows thrust into the murky field, hoping to shed some light. Much to their horror, the flames were swallowed up.
“Again!” Angelos shouted. “Again!”
A series of chants spoken in perfect unison were lowly voiced from within the smoke. When the merciless onslaught showered down upon the rebellion again, the arrows were repelled by an inexplicable force. One by one, they ricocheted sharply off the protective barrier.
The archers lowered their weapons slightly. Disbelief washed over their faces collectively. Nothing could withstand their arrows. It was impossible. “Magic,” they gasped fearfully.
Angelos chomped his teeth together. He grit them with a bestial flush rising inside his cheeks. His fisted hand motioned his men forward. “Into the fog,” he bellowed. He glared hatefully to his Knights. “Everyone into the fog!” he ordered pointedly. The Knights would be no exception.
The advancing Imperialists kept close ranks as their cumbersome might marched into the silver obscurity. As they trudged forward, the Shadow Reign siblings dropped from their mounts to join their men within the thick unknown.
Now the last to remain beneath the warmth of the sun, Angelos felt his heart pound. He drew in sharp breaths. He summoned up adrenaline to pass for courage. With a roar, he disembarked from his snowy owl to venture down into the dragon's breath where he was consumed wholly.
The King landed violently against the ground. His legs crouched in readiness. Tightly, he gripped the sword awaiting a bodily sheath. He navigated the fog cautiously. He could scarcely see, but while lost in this source of disadvantage, his ears perked to an awareness he had never known.
All around him, he could hear the sounds of battle. They were amplified to clearly embody nightmares. Swords clashed mightily. The wrath with which they hit, sent flickering sparks into the horizon like dancing fireflies. Cries of pain echoed in this world of sound. That sound was usually always followed by the muted melody of a body hitting lifelessly against the waiting terra.
Angelos felt his body knocked roughly by the departing body of a monstrous beast. He screamed loudly.
A snarling wolf turned his head to glare at him from over his shoulder. It was then that Angelos saw ruby eyes lock upon him.
Snow white fur blurred within the prominent fog. Soren in his wolf form exuded power and wisdom. Yet something about his muzzle wrinkling in rage to bare his dagger-like teeth made him terrifying and horrific. The brilliant red marring his face only furthered that frightening illusion. A growl reverberated lowly from the depths of his throat before he raced away, disappearing into the soupy fog once more.
Those eyes haunted Angelos' sight. He staggered backward quickly.
The wolf's retreat meant the brutal deaths of so many others. Angelos was certain of it as the air was filled with the sudden increase of bloodcurdling screams.
Frightened, Angelos raced in the opposite direction of the transformed druid. He traveled through the fog with wild eyes. A body slammed into him. He growled then thrust his sword wildly into his attacker.
As the man fell limply against the ground at his feet, Angelos gasped. The fallen warrior was one of his men. He searched his surroundings, furious that he could still see nothing. Were his men so blinded by the fog that they could possibly be fighting one another?
A voice broke his line of thought.
“How does it feel, Hunter, to be the hunted?”
Angelos frowned. His eyes narrowing dangerously. He knew that voice. “Autumn, come out,” he demanded.
“Do you suppose the druids felt such fear?”
A chant grew loud within the air. From every vantage, Angelos witnessed the emergence of hooded figures. They stepped forward with hands clasped in prayer. He could make out the red of their eyes from the sheltering darkness of their hoods.
“The druids,” he gasped. Angelos remembered how their ghosts had tortured him within the prison. He shook with fear. They had come for him!
He shook his head violently. Desperately, he struggled to regain his composure. “No, we killed you. You're all dead.”
Just as quickly as they had come, they disappeared from sight. Their forms were distorted lines of color which streaked within a mystical wind. The wind carried their likenesses away with the hissing sound of sands sifting through an hourglass to tickle his ears.
Beneath the weight of his armor, Angelos felt his chest struggling for air. His eyes were wild. “Autumn,” he called frantically. “Sister, come out. Surely, we can compromise.” Nervously, he huffed a solitary laugh though he, himself, was ignorant of its sound. “We are family.” His eyes brightened in thought.
The baby, he remembered.
“You can leave now,” he bargained. “No harm will come to you or the baby. Just leave, Autumn. Run away. Hide!”
“I'm not the one who wishes to run.”
Angelos began to turn in a slow circle. The direction of the voice had changed. Dizzily, he spun around faster, hoping to pinpoint its origin.
“Please,” Angelos implored. “Autumn, we must stop this. Would father want his children at war?”
“What kind of man have you become, Angelos?”
The voice was no longer his sister's voice. In that moment, it had been the strong baritone of his father.
“Stop it!” Angelos took an angry swipe at the fog. His movements were wild and erratic. “Curse you, father!” His sword sliced the thickness manically.
Angelos' call for peace had been seen for what it truly was, a ploy, but he did not care. Rage and fear had taken over reason.
The King cried out. His sword lashed out at the horizon with all the might of his years of bitterness.
Momentarily, the silver wall was divided. Two halves of one body longed achingly to be reunited. They merged together once again. Lost in their embrace, their unified bodies created the return of their inescapable world, the return of slow-approaching death.
A question was posed to him with the soothing softness of his sister's voice.
“Have you ever seen a grain of sand when it's free from the bosom of the earth?”
Angelos' shaking violently worsened. “What?” he stammered.
In the furthest reaches of his mind, he thought he recalled a story once stressed to him by their father. It was a story their mother had told them when Autumn was but a mere babe. The fable voiced the importance of never shunning what you are because in the end you will cower alone before your foolishness. He frowned. That could not be what Autumn meant. Why would she bring up childhood stories at a time like this?
“What sand?” His panic rose in the wild movements of his expressive arms. Somewhere inside of him, a voice answered him. It was his mother's voice. She was reminding him of whom and what he was. “What are you talking about?” he l
amented.
Angelos heard the sounds of his ancestors' voices rushing to meet him. Their voices were many. Their words were persistent whispers which bled together into a maddening noise. Then all at once, there was silence.
The dark-haired King heard the rasp of his labored breath. His eyes were wide with fear. The silence was deafening. Then his sister's voice returned with a distinction and a closeness which made his blood run cold.
“It trembles.”
From out of the thickness, Autumn emerged like a wrathful god. Her sword streaked with unforgivable quickness. For an instant, it was a flash of glowing silver that reflected inside storming orbs.
********
Enigmas held captive within the sultry line of a woman's body, they were a small collective. The Lucidian beauties dressed somberly in black gazed upward to a snow-covered hill. Their eyes focused intensely upon the child who had been dancing and twirling within the wintry scene of her own making.
Nestled against the blanket of white were a row of indentations. The last indentation actually housed a bright-eyed child who giggled loudly as she gazed up at the sky.
A red-haired sorceress gave an inquiring look as she looked away from the playful child to their leader. “Snow angels?”
Serenity had clearly heard the sorceress' words, but she did not answer. Instead, with dark eyes, she followed the humming child. Inwardly she smiled if only for a brief moment.
The little girl's happiness bubbled out of her in the form of a joyously carefree laugh which slowly proved to be infectious.
Bringing her cape a bit closer to her neck, Serenity studied the way in which the Vessel never quite allowed her body to make a full imprint within the last snow angel. She furrowed her brows, reading the symbolism of the Vessel's message.
When she turned to face the others, Serenity was as always the symbol of poise. “The Empress' enforcers, her angels, have fallen.” She paused then frowned. The numbers were incorrect. The Knights were seven, but she saw only five snow angels. The last one to be made was little more than a half attempt at creating the likeness.
“One has escaped,” she explained. Her voice was quiet. Its confidence spoke to her absolute faith in the Vessel's sight. “And we know that the other remaining inhabits the Holy Land.”
The ladies turned as the Vessel happily bounced to her feet. She ran in circles around the partially made angel, creating a dizzying pattern of her footfalls in the snow around it. She jumped into a massive drift.
All around her, snow whooshed upward as airy lightness. It thickened the air with white. When the snow had settled to reveal her, she was sitting crouched on hands and knees. Her right hand reached out and mightily batted at the snow.
The beautiful little girl threw back her head with a loud howl.
Where the snow angel's silhouette had once been so beautiful it was now marred by the slashes of what appeared to be claws.
As the Sisterhood Council intensified their gazes, the Vessel let loose another long mournful howl. Its sound lingered heavily in the air then transformed into a torrent of uproarious giggles before the child fell onto her side, holding her body as she laid against the pillows of snow.
********
“Run!” a voice screamed desperately. “Get away! Please!”
The last word had been a bloodcurdling plea which was echoed by the painful cries of bitter end.
Olivia ran through the tiniest bit of clarity within the fog. Her helmet had long ago been knocked from her head. Her golden hair was matted by mud and blood. Some of that blood, she knew to be her own by the stinging she could feel at her scalp, but most of it had been from the battle.
She ran with a noticeable limp. Her tearful blue eyes spoke of tragedy. She had recognized the voice crying out to her. It had been her beloved sister, Leigh.
The tears came harder as Olivia ran faster. The sounds of the battle were growing further away. In the distance, she could begin to make out the mountain. If she could only reach it, she knew that her owl would be waiting. She could then get word to the Empress. She could tell her that the resistance was far stronger than any of them had ever dreamed. She could warn her that the Empire was in danger. Virtue was in danger.
Her pains fell away. They had succumbed to the numbness of mourning. Her family was dead. She and Donovan were all that remained. And who knew how long it would be before Logos devoured her eldest brother? Tears streamed soundlessly down her cheeks.
When she reached the mountain, her hands clawed at the mountainside. She pulled herself up its steep terrain. A shard of light rained down on her soothingly.
She wept harder at its ethereal brilliance. “Virtue save us,” she prayed in a sob.
********
Like the veil of dreaming gently releasing the mind from its seduction, a warrior in bronze began to see through her child's breath. With her kill still twitching at her feet, the Honored Mother narrowed her steel-blue eyes. In the distance she caught sight of a small glint of light. Its gold winked to betray the origin as a member of the Imperial elite. Perhaps even a Knight.
Autumn raced into the depths of silver. It swirled around her, protecting her lovingly. She sprinted harder. She slashed at those obstacles impeding her path, but always her eyes remained focused on the glint of light she had seen reflecting off someone's armor.
No one within Aurea's army could escape this battle, she vowed. No one could leave to warn the Empress.
Autumn shoved her opponent from her path. She did not see the wounded soldier crumpling into the dust. She exhaled heatedly. The act sent her child's breath into the air, as if even from the womb her child yearned to claim its birthright.
********
Along the mountainside, Olivia reached an area where the path widened. She stood there breathlessly. Her hands gripped her knees as she struggled to slow her racing heart.
A shadow reached out to merge possessively with her own.
Seeing the faint movement, Olivia's head jerked upward. She glared in the figure's direction with a carnal ferocity darkening her youthful features.
Then suddenly the youngest of the Shadow Reign siblings released a choked sob. She lurched forward with a softening expression. Her legs buckled as she collapsed to her knees. She wrapped her arms fiercely around a narrow waist. “Oh, my Lady,” she croaked. “The battle was awful. The heathens---” Her voice faltered as she took note of Aurea's flaming eyes. “Empress...”
The Empress stared down at Olivia. She was little more than a darkened silhouette bathed in radiant light. Her eyes, however, stared out from the darkness that was her very nature. Their glowing cerulean was relentless.
“You failed,” Aurea said quietly.
“No, Empress!” Olivia's panic filled the air. She cleaved tightly to Aurea's tunic.
“Then why have you retreated,” the Empress demanded.
“I came to warn you! I came because Virtue spared me.”
“I am Virtue!” Aurea snapped. “Me!” Her flames rose higher. “And I have spared nothing,” she seethed. “Not yet!”
“I will prove myself,” Olivia promised desperately. “I will! You will see that I am virtuous.”
********
Rays of sunlight pierced ethereally through the fog. The hopeful shards grew until their strength burned away the Dragon Child's breath. With its absence came an ominous truth.
Proud silhouettes stood defiantly while all around them lifeless bodies littered the ground. The survivors were breathless and battered. They wore the magnitude of the battle within the haunting depths of their eyes.
Aurea's army had been defeated.
A white wolf used his colossal gate to cross the spans of the battlefield. His footfalls slowed as he reached the epicenter of the field. With light bathing his body, the great wolf shrank. His features morphed from an animal to a man. The weariness of his eyes betrayed the toll which each magical act took from him.
The druid arched his brow. With a slow movement of h
is head, he scoured the horizon. “Where is Autumn?” he asked aloud.
While in his weakened state, Soren's gift of sight could only glimpse the future in breaths. He saw the lingering shadows of auras or the fleeting auras of the world mere moments ahead of them, but nothing more. As he searched the faces of those around him, an uneasy feeling filled him
The rebel soldiers began searching among their own battle-dusted faces. They removed indistinguishable helmets, exposing their faces to others searching for one particular face among the many. When it was clear that Autumn was not standing among them, they resorted to searching among the fallen, but Autumn was nowhere to be seen.
Soren loudly spoke an ancient chant. He grit his teeth painfully as his body underwent transformation.
The titanic white wolf lowered his head to the ground. He inhaled deeply. Through the myriad of scents he caught the one he desired. He followed the scent until he found a motionless body. A low growl accompanied his grimacing muzzle.
“Angelos,” he snarled.
He lowered his nose to the earth once more. Autumn's scent was here. His ruby eyes could see the lingering traces of her aura. He followed it, thinking only of Autumn. Her aura led away from the battle. Its hue began to change as it drew further from the others. It was the complex shade which he had only seen once before.
With a sudden brutality, the wolf lifted his majestic head. He stared with passionate red eyes to the warriors. His thin lips moved with an unnatural motion as he spoke. “Shed your armor and leave your weapons. Then burn the battlefield as Autumn commanded. Let the Empire believe our forces died here.”
Zahara opened her mouth to speak. She was silenced by Soren's voice.
“Return to the haven. I will go after Autumn.”
********
Autumn scaled the mountainside with a fierce determination burning inside her eyes. As her hands gripped possessively at the rocks, she propelled herself upward. She was numb from war, dazed by its horrors. And yet, she was determined to see this day through to the end.
The Queen slipped slightly on the mountain. She dug her nails and feet into the rock, regaining her grip. She reminded her weary body that there was still so much to do.
The Flame of Wrath Page 42