Wings of Fury

by Emily R. King

  “What’s to say Decimus will let go of Cleora once he has you?” she hissed. “Surrendering is too risky. He’s likely to seize you both.”

  “I swore to Cleora that Cronus would never have her.”

  “I cannot let you go,” Bronte said, her voice frenzied with panic. “Decimus will say anything to draw you in. He cannot be trusted.”

  I vowed to our mother that I would protect my sisters, yet to help Cleora, I would have to leave Bronte. How could I choose one over the other?

  The sweet voices of muses filled my mind, or outside my head; I couldn’t tell where they were coming from, only that the voices surrounded me.

  Find the Boy God.

  A warmth built at my side, near my hip. I peeked in my pocket. The string from the oracles’ tent glowed as white as a lump of dying coal.

  Bronte monitored the temple. “They’ll be after us soon. We must go.”

  “Family doesn’t abandon family,” I said through gritted teeth, my vision blurred from tears.

  She gripped my shoulders. “We’ll get Cleora back.”

  I glanced at the matron’s crumpled body. Cronus wouldn’t care that his liege men had slain a devout follower of Gaea. He had no respect for the elder gods, or for mortals, only for his own greatness.

  “We have to go,” Bronte pressed.

  Years ago, after the tag was burned into the back of my neck, I convinced my sisters to agree that if I were taken by Decimus, they wouldn’t risk themselves to try to save me. They were to let me go. To make our agreement equal, I committed to the same terms. Leaving without Cleora was the only thing to do. I knew it, and I loathed myself for it.

  I whistled for the mare. A moment later, she trotted out of the woods. Bronte launched herself into the saddle, and I mounted behind her. She clicked her tongue, and we took off into the trees.

  In no time, we heard the sound of riders in pursuit. Bronte directed the mare around a crag and under a shady overhang deep in the woods. The soldiers galloped past us. I pressed my cheek against her shoulder, our heartbeats banging between us, and waited until they were gone, then we backtracked south. Every step we took away from the temple—from Cleora—felt like a jab to the soul.

  We reached the steep, rocky hillside below our cave and hid the mare in a copse of hazelnut trees. The moon’s silvery light glazed the echoing hills and wooded valleys. Bronte and I scaled the rock wall cautiously, mindful of the steeper parts. The cave entrance was set above the tree line, facing the temple and highway.

  Bronte fetched her bow and arrow from the cave, and we sat on the ledge overlooking the treetops. Hooting owls and buzzing insects filled the silence. Though their horses were too far away to hear, we observed the liege men as they rode off, Cleora bound and gagged behind Decimus on his steed. Cronus’s prisoners rarely got away healthy and whole. Getting her back would be next to impossible.

  I pressed my palm against the cool, stony ground, seeking a connection to the earth. Why, Gaea? Why Cleora?

  This wasn’t a prayer—it was an accusation. The only time I acknowledged the goddess anymore was when she failed those who believed in her.

  I didn’t expect an answer, yet something warmed against my hip. I fished the string out of my pocket; the tiny thread glowed in the moonlight. Had the string come from the oracles or another power? Where, or whom, did the oracles draw their divinations from?

  Their counsel had firmly taken root in my mind. The clearest part was their assertion that Cronus would fall, and that my help was needed to bring to pass his destruction.

  I fastened the string around my finger, tying it into a ring. Challenging Cronus, and triumphing, would require strength that I didn’t possess. In order to get Cleora back, I would need the aid of a formidable ally, someone powerful enough to dethrone the God of Gods.

  I needed a Titan.

  6

  The goddess of the dawn, Eos, reigned briefly compared with her brother, Helios, the god of the sun, or their sister, Selene, the goddess of the moon. But Eos’s short display of power was transcendent. The goddess of the dawn was the bridge between night and day, a doorway into the soul of all creation and an ethereal glimpse into the transitions of eternity.

  Dawn was my favorite moment of the day. It was an invitation to seize any opportunities that the day might bring. But today, this divine promise of hope could not rouse me from my gloom.

  Bronte exited the cave and joined me on the overhang, her bow and quiver of arrows over her shoulder. The sky cast a dreamy, rosy light across the forestland before us. I straightened from my hunched position, my eyes bleary and puffy from crying off and on for hours.

  “You’ve been out here all night,” she said. “Come in and sleep.”

  “The soldiers might return.”

  “I’ll keep a lookout.”

  Bronte lifted me to my feet and shuffled me inside where a campfire warmed the small cave. Over the years, we had turned this cold, dark enclosure into a cozy hideaway, complete with a pot for boiling water, ceramic plates, wooden cups, several full waterskins, and bedrolls.

  I lay down on the bedroll nearest the fire and nestled into the warm wool. Sleep came quickly. I dozed until full daylight streamed into the cave, lighting up my face and waking me.

  Bronte kneeled by the fire, picking leaves off a branch of ironwort and humming to herself. A pot of water boiled in the flames.

  I pushed myself up onto my elbows. “How long was I asleep?”

  “I don’t know exactly. It’s early afternoon.” She passed me a bowl of hazelnuts that she had lightly toasted, then dropped a bundle of the ironwort into the boiling water and stirred it in to steep the tea. Bronte had a talent for foraging successfully year-round, as well as hunting game in this forest’s wild hills.

  “When do you think it’s safe to return to the temple?” she asked.

  “I don’t think it was ever safe.”

  She chewed the stem of a linden flower, so the white-and-yellow star blooms stuck out of the corner of her mouth. “Where did you go last night?”

  “I visited an oracle in the city. Rather, there were three oracles.”

  Bronte pulled the flower out of her mouth. “Why would you do that?”

  “I had questions about the future.”

  “Yes, that’s why people visit an oracle,” she replied wryly. “What sort of questions?”

  “I asked about leaving Thessaly and starting over elsewhere.”

  She jolted backward a little.

  “Does that surprise you?” I asked.

  “I suppose it shouldn’t since you bought that boat, but neither you nor Cleora mentioned your intentions to start over elsewhere until yesterday. I knew we might leave eventually, but I thought I was the only one prepared to go.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  Bronte pushed her blonde hair off her face thoughtfully, her hands calloused from endless hours of grinding grain. “I saved coin so we could afford to leave Thessaly. You and Cleora didn’t show much interest.”

  “I didn’t want to upset Cleora by talking about it,” I replied.

  Bronte gave a chagrined nod. We had both hidden our unhappiness for our sister’s sake. “What did the oracles tell you?”

  I weighed my words carefully, uncertain how much hope to give her. The truth was probably the precise dose of optimism we needed. “They said a child of Cronus lives.”

  Bronte’s mouth dropped open. “Cronus would never let one of his children survive. He swallowed them so they couldn’t grow up and overthrow him, like he did with his father.”

  “The oracles believe that a Boy God lives, and that he will rebel against Cronus.”

  Bronte slowly took the pot off the fire. “What does this Boy God have to do with our leaving Thessaly?”

  “The oracles said he wouldn’t succeed without us.”

  Bronte almost spilled the pot of water as she set it down. “They expect us to help a Titan? And not just any Titan—a son of Cronus?”<
br />
  I popped a hazelnut into my mouth and spoke while chewing. “No honor maiden has escaped Cronus, but with a Titan on our side, we might be able to get Cleora out.”

  “Did the oracles tell you anything else?” Bronte asked.

  They did warn that, should I fail, Cronus would rule, unchallenged and forevermore, but I wouldn’t burden Bronte with that. We had just one purpose: to prevent Cleora from meeting the same fate as our mother.

  “The Boy God is on the southern isle of Crete,” I said. “The oracles want us to find him.”

  “And you’ll listen to them?” She smiled humorlessly. “You hardly listen to anyone, including Cleora and me.”

  “I listen. Whether I obey you or not . . .”

  Bronte laughed dryly. “I thought you didn’t believe in the gods or fate.”

  I shook my head. “I trust Mama, and Mama always said Cronus would rue the day he betrayed Gaea. He has to fall somehow.”

  Bronte dipped the wooden cups into the pot of tea, filling them, and handed one to me. “On the night Mama passed away, I saw something outside our bedchamber window that I never told a soul about.” Her quiet voice quivered uneasily. “A black-winged creature was perched on the roof and staring in at us. I buried my head in a pillow, and when I looked again, the creature had gone. I didn’t see it again—until last night. This time, there were three of them, all armed with brass-studded scourges. I think they were the Erinyes.”

  Gooseflesh scuttled up my arms. The infernal goddesses sought vengeance on oath breakers. “Why were the Erinyes there?”

  “I don’t know. Looking for an oath breaker?”

  Twice had I sworn a vow of honor—once to my mother the night she died, and once to Cleora yesterday. The Erinyes wouldn’t have come for me since I was actively working to fulfill my oaths, would they?

  A shadow fell across the entrance to the cave. Bronte and I launched to our feet. I grabbed my spear, and she lifted a branch from the fire like a torch, a faster defense than cocking an arrow in her bow. The daylight obscured our intruder until he stepped into the dim light.

  Colonel Angelos raised his empty hands. “I’m unarmed.”

  His mistake. I jabbed at him, knocking him in the chest with my spear, hard enough to pierce the thin cloth he wore. “How did you find us?”

  “I saw Bronte foraging in the woods, and I followed her.”

  I cast a slantwise look at my sister, who grimaced sheepishly.

  “I’m alone,” he said. “But Decimus will return to the temple and search the area soon.”

  “You came to warn us?”

  “I came to join you.” Colonel Angelos kept his hands raised as he stared down the end of my spear. “I visited an oracle yesterday. Three of them, actually. They told me to find the Lambros sisters.”

  “Why?” Bronte demanded.

  “It’s hard to explain. They did something unusual with a string and my hands . . .”

  “You sound mad,” she countered.

  “I saw him leave the oracles’ tent yesterday,” I said quietly. “The oracles did something similar to me, with a string, when they did my reading.”

  He nodded twice in succession. “Soon after I left, I spotted you in the agora, outside the tavern. Didn’t you wonder where I got the olives?”

  My mouth went dry.

  “The oracles insisted that I accept them,” he continued. “They said a good deed would lead me ‘to the light aligned with my fate.’”

  The oracles had told me a guide would be sent to me, and I would recognize him by his good deeds, and they had told me that after Angelos had given me the olives. Had they sent him to me before I had decided to visit them?

  “This is ridiculous,” Bronte said. “Why would the oracles send you to us? We’ve never even met you.”

  “Colonel Angelos was at the temple the night Mama died,” I explained, my voice low.

  Bronte waved the burning branch at him again, like she would at a stray mutt. “Then why are we even talking to this fool?”

  A fair question. No man in the party of soldiers who’d taken our baby sister, and then handed her over to the Almighty for slaughter, deserved our time.

  Colonel Angelos lowered his hands. “When I was a boy, my mother and I were captured by a slave ship and sold in auction to the Aeon Palace. I worked on several triremes in the royal armada as a deckhand until I was twelve, and grew twice the size of the boys my age. Decimus drafted me into the army, and I swore servitude to the Almighty.”

  “Breaking an oath to the throne is punishable by death,” I said. “You could lose your life just for coming here.”

  “My mother is unwell.” Angelos cranked his jaw, repressing the emotion welling in his eyes. “She’s worked too hard for too long. I found a tavern owner who agreed to acquire her and take her in for easier work, but my mother won’t leave the palace as long as I’m there. As you said, my oath binds me. The oracles said there’s a way for me to retract it, but I must help you travel to Crete.”

  “How did you know about Crete?” Bronte asked.

  “The oracles told me that too. Crete is near my birthplace, Kasos. I haven’t been that far south since I was a boy, but I sailed all over the Aegean Sea while I was in the royal armada. Oceanus’s territory is treacherous to those who aren’t familiar with it. The sea itself is moody and merciless. The god of the sea cares not what mortals do as long as they don’t interfere with his family of Oceanids. Thus, the lawlessness of his realm is ideal for drifters and slave masters.”

  Bronte waved the burning branch at him again, her eyes narrowed. “Why do you think we would ever accept help from you?”

  “The oracles told me that a child of the Almighty lives and will rebel against his father.”

  “And you believe them,” I stated.

  His gaze probed me. “Don’t you also wish it to be true?”

  I let his question hang. It was none of his concern what I did or didn’t hope for. Besides, Theo Angelos could not be the guide that fate was to send us. He served Cronus. No good deed could undo his oath to that tyrant.

  “I’ve served the Almighty a long while,” Angelos said. “He has done horrific things in the name of his throne.”

  “As have his soldiers,” I countered. “Now run back to the palace before your brothers-in-arms notice you’re missing.”

  Angelos steeled himself against my glare. “You cannot fight fate, Althea Lambros.”

  “You have nothing to do with my fate.”

  His amber gaze flowed down me like warm honey. “You are exactly how the oracles described: an unmatchable light.”

  Bronte jabbed the torch at him, close enough that he flinched. “You have no idea who she is, or what either of us is capable of. Get out.”

  “I’ll go,” Angelos said, retreating a step. “May Gaea be with you.”

  “She won’t be,” I retorted.

  Frowning, he bowed his head and marched out.

  Bronte shuffled forward to the entrance of the cave and peered outside. “The nerve! He’s lucky I didn’t burn off his nose.” She dropped the branch back into the fire.

  “He did get one thing right,” I said. “We need to go to Crete.”

  “We aren’t seafarers.”

  “Like I said, we’ll hire a guide.” I twisted the string tied around my finger, hoping we would find our true guide. Angelos was a lifelong soldier, sworn to obey the God of Gods. Sending him away had been the right thing to do.

  Deep voices sounded outside, one louder than the other. I hurried to the entrance of the cave and stopped to listen. Angelos’s voice carried up from the lower forest on the opposite side of the bluff where we’d left the mare.

  “I searched up there already,” he said.

  “Did you?” replied another man. Decimus. “Isn’t it odd that you rode ahead of us and didn’t mention where you were going.”

  “I thought the Lambros sisters would be an easy find, sir.”

  “Don’t forget I t
agged the youngest one.”

  “I haven’t, sir.”

  Bronte joined me at the mouth of the cave. While I had been listening, she had smothered the fire, armed herself with her bow and arrows, and packed a satchel with supplies.

  “How close are they?” she whispered.

  “Wait here.”

  I crawled to the ledge. The liege men wore shimmering helmets with horsehair plumes, making them visible in the woods. Decimus and Angelos stood under the shelter of the tree canopy with Orrin. A bandage wrapped Orrin’s upper thigh. Two more soldiers cased the area, circling closer to our mare.

  Bronte cocked an arrow in her bow and aimed at Decimus.

  “Don’t,” I whispered. “You do that, and they’ll all be after us.” Her shot wasn’t guaranteed either. They were too sheltered by the trees. The risk of missing wasn’t worth wasting one of her arrows.

  “Sir,” Angelos said, his voice barely reaching us. “Should we search the temple one more time? The sisters may have returned there.”

  My quick breaths rang in my ears. I had assumed he’d led Decimus to us. But was he trying to help us instead?

  “Orrin?” Decimus called. “Take your men to the Mother Temple. The rest of us will finish here before joining you.”

  Orrin and two more men mounted their horses and rode west for the temple, disappearing into the woods. Angelos and Decimus moved farther away from the bluff, away from our mare.

  Now was the time to move.

  Bronte put away her bow and arrow, and we climbed down the ridge slowly, holding on to tree roots, careful not to knock over loose rocks. Right before the bottom, at the steepest part, I slipped forward a little and caught myself. The hamadryads in the hazelnut trees surveyed us suspiciously. They didn’t communicate with words—their roots stretched low into the ground and spread out across the forest floor, giving them the ability to feel vibrations around them—but I could sense we were irritating them by pulling on their roots.

  I reached the ground and brushed myself off. Bronte jumped the last stretch, landing beside me.

  Angelos and Decimus had fallen out of sight, but every once in a while, the snap of branches made the hamadryads flinch. The mare sensed their agitation and flicked her tail. I petted her side, calming her, as Bronte lifted herself into the saddle.