The Flame of Wrath (50 page)

             
When news spread across the land, foretelling the brutalities faced by the Pyrosian forces, he was gripped by fear. He had thrown himself into his work on the Empress' behalf rather than face the war. It had been easy to lead the first wave. In that part of the war, he had fought villagers. They never stood any real hope of resistance.

             
He stopped, overlooking the land he loved. A tear fought to escape his eye but he commanded it away. The very last time he had seen his father, he had been asked, “What kind of man have you become, Angelos?” As he took in the night, he wondered that himself.

             
It was clear that his sister did not respect who he was. She had made that clear by her words at dinner. Still, Autumn had a kind heart. She might eventually forgive him. His father however was another issue entirely. There would never be forgiveness from him.

             
A quiet fury began to boil in him. Even in death, his father still haunted him. Now the approval he had yearned for his entire life was even further from his reach. 

             
A pained cry from above called Angelos to look to the sky. His owl was zealously coming to retrieve him. He reached out his right hand. He braced himself for the impact soon to come. His eyes focused on the bejeweled silver staff gripped between his owl's feet. Roughly, he felt the sting of the staff greeting his palm.  He was whisked off of his four-legged mount to join his brave steed of the skies.

             
Angelos stared down at the world seeming to fall away from his feet. He lifted his other arm to firmly grip the staff with both hands. Holding fast, he stared up at his magnificent creature. With all of his being he wished that his animal companion could express the fear he so clearly saw inside its dark black eyes.

             
The owl flew high into the clouds. It burst through them into the dazzling night. It kicked roughly, tossing its rider into the air above before swooping down to catch Angelos upon his back.

             
Angelos reached out, gently patting the owl's back. He held fast to the saddle as his cape danced violently in the winds.

             
Together they flew with a speed only desperation could give.

********

              The forest surrounding the lake had distorted. Each tall tree grew gaunt while lost amongst the dense fog. Its body was steeped in shadowy readiness. Its hands outstretched to ensnare any unwelcome invaders. Faces of anger glared down on those traveling through its littered forest floor.

             
Thickly, the copious silver blanketed the ground. It gripped possessively at the Virtuous' ankles, attempting to pull them down into its depths.

             
When at last they had crossed over the threshold to the shore, the fog was near blinding. It was all but impossible to see more than an arm's length ahead. The only reminder of the lake's nearness was the loud beating of the water against the shore. It seemed that on this night of temperamental elements, the water was no different.

             
Together, the children of Virtue stumbled along the shore.

             
Leading the others, the bishop held up his torch. He whipped it from side to side burning off some of the veil to blind his eyes. At his back, the sobs began.

             
“Demon mother,” the bishop breathed fearfully.

********
             

             
Blood turned to frightful ice as a scream shattered the silence. Angelos recognized that voice piercing through the distance into his very heart. “Faster!” he urged. “Faster!”

             
When the shore was within sight, his owl descended to a safe distance, but Angelos could not wait. He leapt from his mount landing with a quaking brutality between the mob and his sister.

             
Angelos savagely drew his sword. He had stolen the lives of so many with this weapon. Those times, he had done so in the names of causes which meant nothing to him. These people could only imagine what he might do for something he actually cared for.

             
“King Angelos,” the bishop began, “you must stand aside.”

             
“Why have you attacked my sister?” Angelos demanded.

             
“Look at her. Look at what she has become.”

             
The dark-haired knight stole a glimpse over his shoulder. He gasped.

             
Autumn trembled. Every breath she took, she expelled the silver thickness of smoke. She choked out a sob that accompanied her tears of blood. With fear and confusion abound within her blue-gray eyes, she silently pleaded with her brother.

             
“You have been visited by the Dragon,” Angelos voiced hoarsely.

             
The Queen's hand slid shakily down to her abdomen. Autumn felt the undeniable heat coming to touch her palm. She smiled despite herself then shifted her eyes to the angry Virtuous. The glare they received was a look which Autumn had only used upon the battlefield. It usually came before a quick death.

             
Autumn grew a little lower to the ground, solidifying her stance.

             
Angelos shook visibly. He looked between his family and his duty. A war began to wage itself inside of him. He had unfortunately found himself in this dilemma before. The previous time he had chosen duty. What would he decide this time?

             
One exchanged gaze between the siblings told Autumn that her brother was undecided in his loyalties. That hesitation frightened her. It did however make her own decision that much clearer.

             
“Owl,” she called. Her voice startled the others.

             
Reacting to one of its Angels' masters, Angelos' owl swiftly descended into the chaos.

             
Autumn powered her body off the ground with her strong legs, propelling herself into the air. She felt the loyal creature catch her effortlessly. The wind sent the tresses of her wavy hair swaying frantically She gazed down sadly to the very people for whom she had fought so hard.

             
Inwardly, Angelos felt his own being soar to meet her. “Fly, sister,” he whispered soundlessly. “Flee.”

             
“No!” the bishop screamed. “She will doom us all!”

             
The bishop clasped the horn hanging limply at his side. He placed it to his lips, sounding an alarm.

             
Angelos tensed. The horn was a means of contacting the Knights. Its sounding was meant to plead with the Knights to hasten their approach. The bishop using it now could only mean that---- His eyes widened then slit with rage. The Knights were already here. They were coming for his sister.

             
With a growl, Angelos thrust his elbow back into the bridge of the bishop's nose, bringing an immediate end to the trumpeting call. As the holy-man crumpled to the ground, Angelos called upward to his sister. “Autumn, the Knights!”

             
Autumn heard no cries of warning. She ascended higher into the night. Inwardly, she prayed that she could make it into the clouds. There, she would be safe to elude any pursuers.

             
A loud scream left her owl. She reached out for her pet. Her eyes searched wildly for the cause of its cries.

             
With closing eyes, the snowy creature began a slow spiraling plummet. Its once-smooth body was now burred by arrows riddling its form.

             
Desperately, Autumn cleaved to the owl. “No,” she screamed. Her eyes widened in fearful astonishment. The trees zealously approaching were clearly reflected within the pools of her stormy eyes.

             
Autumn and her wounded owl burst through the canopy. The painful crack of branches awakened the wrath of the night. She felt the sting of branches clawing at her smooth skin as together they fell into the trees.

             
Though their fall from grace had been slowed by the trees, the force with which they hit immediately brought about the creeping might of blackness.

             
Weakly, Autumn's eyes fluttered. She fought for sight, but her vision wavered. In the distance of her reality, she thought she heard her brother scream. A hazy light of silver and gold ran toward her. It moved with a mocking slowness to her clouded mind. Until all sight was stolen.

Chapter Twenty-One

Feel the intensity of the eyes which watch you. They are always watching. She sees even when you cannot.

----The Book of Wrath

********

             
While most of the Empire slept, there were a precious few who could not succumb to peaceful dreaming. Inside the Province of Angels, a high-pitched whine rang out throughout the castle to bring its icy touch to many souls.

             
Echo raced through the halls while chasing after the paling beauty of her lover. “Myth,” she called frantically. “What's wrong?” Her heart felt gripped by a sickening feeling.

             
Myth had suddenly lurched upright in their bed before spiriting away into the night. Soon after Echo had followed the wild-eyed woman into the halls, she had heard the horrifying cry of the crystalline dishes. A message of grave importance was coming. Echo had the dire feeling that whatever that message was, it would mean the brutal end of all she knew.

             
Barefoot against the stones, Echo rushed around the corner. She nearly collided with the flushed Guardian entering from an adjacent hall.

             
Long black hair dancing behind her, Echo did not miss a step. Her eyes noted Zahara sprinting in night-clothes at her side. One quick exchanged glance told her that Zahara did not know the reason for the call either.

             
Myth shouldered her way powerfully through the doors, entering the castle study. It still smelled of the late king. His presence was heavy in every aspect of the room. She pushed beyond it, moving to stand at the magical dish radiating with pulsing light.

             
Looming over its brilliant waters, their luminescent light reflected against her face. Myth's green eyes looked away only when Echo and Zahara moved to stand with her. She peered into their breathless faces.

             
A few servants loomed inside the doorway with frightened expressions. “My Ladies,” a woman started fearfully.

             
Myth tapped the dish with a silver hammer sending its melodic tones ringing throughout the room.

             
Slowly the waters began to clear and a woman became visible to their waiting eyes.

             
She was beautiful, but that beauty was marred by fear. Her lightly-freckled cheeks were flushed anxiously. She focused green eyes upon the woman peering back at her.

             
A name wafted inside Myth's mind. “Salem,” she whispered in uncertainty.

             
The woman nodded her head, but there was no time for introductions. “You must listen to me. There is no time to waste,” Salem said frantically. “The Knights of Virtue are closing in on Autumn as we speak. She will be killed unless you can unite with the all the cells of the resistance.”

             
“All the cells?” Myth asked breathlessly.

             
“Yes,” Salem said. Her voice was hushed and frightened. She hurriedly spoke. “Your allied clans are not all that exist as opposition. Find them! The time for action is now. You will need them to save Autumn.”

             
“We'll go to her now,” Zahara said. She turned to leave.

             
“No!” Salem shouted. “You don't understand. You cannot go after her without an army! Do you understand? You must have an army!”

             
“But why?” Echo rasped.

             
“Because this threat isn't strictly against Autumn alone,” Salem whispered. “It's against all of Angels.”

             
Suddenly the waters faded to a murky color as Salem's image fell away to nothing.

             
Those in the room stood paralyzed by fear.

             
A servant stepped forward. “My Ladies,” she queried hoarsely.

             
Echo balled her fists as her jaw clenched. She raised her head nobly. As the highest ranking noble of the house, she was the one to make the decision. “Send out word to all allies of the house,” she commanded. “Those still loyal to the Dragon must go underground.”

             
Zahara's eyes glistened with tears. “What about Lady Autumn?” she demanded.

             
“You heard the informant, Zahara,” Echo countered. “We cannot move until we have reinforcements.”

             
“Are you really willing to gamble Autumn's life on that information?” Zahara argued.

             
“Are you really willing to rush in fool-heartedly only to discover that we are grossly outnumbered?”

             
Zahara looked away, hating the entire situation.

             
“We're going to save her,” Echo promised. She reassuring placed her hand to Zahara's shoulder. “The Empire will have no more members of my family.”

             
Myth lifted her eyes. They were gripped by the glassy realms of trance. “The Dragon is with us,” she whispered.

********

             
“Please! What is my crime? Please, someone help me!”

             
Within the abounding darkness, a body curled itself tighter into a fetal position. If it stretched outward from that position even slightly, it would feel the firm reminder that in this place of hot darkness there was little room beyond the position it held. Quietly cries bounced off the unfeeling walls in this horrid metal box.

********

              She whimpered as her head lolled with an uncoordinated jerk to the side. A frown wrinkled her brow. The stark darkness of her lengthy lashes unfolded to reveal her dim eyes. Below her, the masses were so small. Her frown grew all the more intense as she struggled to make out her surroundings.

             
Their voices were distant. What were they saying? What was happening?

             
She groaned aloud. Her shoulders wriggled. Around her torso, she felt the snake-like grip of tightened ropes.

             
Exhausted, Autumn wondered how long she had been within that cursed metal box. She stared out to the freedom of the horizon. The sun was settling peacefully into hills. She gazed at its beauty longingly.

             
Dazed, she ached for even the tiniest sip of water while her clouded mind fought to piece together a coherent thought. When realization came, it was ushered to her in tandem with the last bushels of wood and hay being placed around the base of the monstrous bonfire.

             
From far below, the Knights stood as the silent enforcers to their Empress. They gazed upward to the woman affixed to a stake. With her demise, these people would be purified and saved from the tragedies of their former pagan ways.

             
With Angelos III dead, Angels' borders were no longer feared. The royal guard marched within its streets as though they belonged there. Their sleek red armor sparkled beneath the light of dusk. They had been called into the area to ready the sacrificial fire. Now that it had been completed, they held poised attention as the barrier between the throbbing crowd and the bonfire waiting to be lit.

             
“Release me!” a distant voice cried.

             
The fearful onlookers parted.

             
Angelos IV struggled and fought. His wrists were bound before him by the same ropes wrapped around his sister's body. He suddenly stopped. The sight of her robbed him of his voice.

             
Awestruck by his sorrow, he gazed upward. He soon found his sister's disoriented eyes. His immobility was rewarded by the forceful jerk of his restraints.

             
His captures flanked him in a number of four. They treated him as if he were some wild beast. Each held a long metal rod at their individual points which connected to the large circular shackle around his neck.

             
Angelos was taken to a waiting dais where he was forced to his knees. He struggled a moment longer before one of the powerful rods was thrust toward him, causing the shackle around his throat to jerk violently. He coughed and gasped. When his breathing had begun to even itself out once more, he lifted his bound hands. His fingertips reached for the distant image of his sister's face.

             
A female voice from the crowd drew the attention of all others. “The Empress!” she cried.

             
A fearful hush inspired a state of reverence.

             
Two ivory owls flew gracefully into sight. Between them, they held a large golden litter which twinkled in the light. The massive animal porters lovingly lowered the litter to the ground, assuring that their precious cargo was safe.

             
Markus moved forward, his golden helmet glinting in the light. He opened the elaborate door then offered his hand to steady the disembarking Empress.

             
The silken softness of a lithe hand emerged from the carriage, accepting the gloved hand. Like pearls and gold, Aurea spoke of richness. She stepped into the light. Her heeled foot lightly touched down to the ground newly showered with flower petals. She stood slowly scouring her surroundings.

             
“Long live the Empress!” people chanted fearfully.

             
Their chants fell on deaf ears. Aurea ignored them, thinking only of the reason which had brought her here.              

             
The Empress moved forward. Each confident step she took toward the pulse of activity was accompanied by her people kneeling in every direction. Aurea was ignorant to their waved descent. She saw nothing save the beautiful woman tied to the large stake.

             
Learning the news that a new Dragon Child had been chosen had caused Aurea to flee from the palace in a violent fury. As she stared up at the new Chosen Mother, the color drained from her captivating face. The Chosen Mother was no longer faceless.

             
“Autumn,” Aurea scarcely exhaled.

             
Her fists balled tightly. The flames inside her eyes were a towering inferno of rage. Inside of Autumn grew the end of her reign.

             
Aurea's mind was swirling chaotically. Her furies about her successor battled with her vicious passion for the question which roared throughout her being. Who had fathered the baby?

             
Her mind flashed back to the night they had spent together? Had that been the night of conception? She forced herself to push that away, focusing instead upon Autumn's willingness to let her go. Her body tensed all the more. Autumn had been so quick to let her go because she had already found someone to replace her. Yes, that had to be the reason.

             
Betrayal rampaged throughout her world. The Sacred Mother had betrayed her by choosing another Child and now Autumn had betrayed her by bedding another.

             
With an eerie slowness, Aurea turned to look at her disgraced Knight. “Angelos,” she said. Her voice alone was heard in the silence. “You are honor-bound to me. You took an oath to serve me.” She slowly walked toward him. Her movements were that of a venomous creature contemplating the strike. “Have your loyalties changed?”

             
Angelos looked away from Aurea to his sister. “I'm loyal to my family,” he answered. In his heart, he finally felt an odd sort of peace. This was the decision he should have made long ago.

             
Aurea almost laughed with contempt. Angelos had long ago lost all ties to anything but the coin. “
I
am your family,” she chastised.  Aurea moved between the siblings' exchanged gaze. “Nothing outside of Virtue exists.” Her eyes narrowed. “Nothing.”

             
Desperately, Angelos attempted to plead his sister's case. “Autumn has fought in your name,” he argued, “in Virtue's name. How can you turn on her this way?”

             
“She perpetuates the pagan cycle. Those who lose Virtue are lost to us.” Aurea gripped his chin in her hand, instructing him to meet her eyes. “Losing Virtue is like a plague, Angelos. It can spread.” Her eyes took on the same passionate air which often captivated those around her. “Think of the many. Is one more important than the many?”

             
Aurea released her hold of him with a disgusted air. She turned away, looking over the sea of terrified faces. “Perhaps it is too late for all of you,” she said. “Perhaps you have all lost Virtue.”

             
Collectively, the masses pleaded for their lives.

             
Aurea turned her head. She spoke over her shoulder to the dark-haired Knight wavering in his loyalties. Angelos was her greatest champion. He had become an incredible asset to her, but she would not hesitate to kill him if he chose poorly.