The Flame of Wrath (43 page)

             
Autumn's silhouette stood as a beacon to the soldiers of the allied kingdoms, who desperately needed guidance. As they looked to their new Queen, an airy cloud stretched in the sky beyond her. To their tearful eyes, that valiantly-struggling patch of white embodied outstretched wings, her wings. The Queen of Angels was with them.

             
Autumn's lips parted to release a ferocious roar. Whatever weight of self-preservation she had released her suddenly. She burst forward in an unrelenting charge, never once looking back.

             
Remember to echo the loyalty you are shown and you will never be without an army to fight beside you,
she remembered.

             
Like an omnipotent storm the violent footfalls of a wrathful army echoed thunderously at her back. It was underneath that storm that a flood ravaged the land. It was the flood of Lucidian blood.             

             
Live or die
, the Pyrosian armies spoke with their actions,
the Lucidian army would remember the Allies of Angels.

********

              Aurea jerked away from the hands reaching out to her, the hands desperate to help her stand. “Get off me!” she shouted. She swung out blindly.

             
“This was all wrong,” she thought wildly. “It was all so horribly wrong. It was Angelos III who was meant to die at the front. Autumn had been meant to stay behind to rule Angels in his absence.”

             
The Empress gripped a handful of her long flowing hair while her other hand struggled to grip not only her flaxen curls but also the tear-stained parchment. Her shaking grew fiercer until that earth-shattering force burst out of her in a roar to inspire the domed ceiling above to tremble in fear.

             
The ladies of the court scattered as ants upon a disturbed path. Only one lingered silently, a stone among their frantic flight.

             
Aurea's tears had long since ceased their tempestuous rains against the marble floor when she caught sight of Maven. She stared at her through tired swollen eyes. “Maven,” she whispered.

             
The blond nodded her head wordlessly.

             
Resentful that her upset had been so clearly witnessed, Aurea turned her head. “What do you want?” she croaked.

             
Recognizing the wound still gaping inside of the young woman, Maven drew close. She knelt with a delicate grace. Her hand lightly touched her fingertips to Aurea's pounding temple. Then tenderly, she guided Aurea's head to her lap.

             
Aurea was rigid for a yawning moment. She stared forward into nothingness, overcome by a great feeling of numbness. That absence of feeling soon left her. It was replaced by the ache of fear. She clutched tightly at Maven's gown, feeling the fabric crush within her balling fist. As she felt her breathing grow erratic once more, tears rose hotly inside her eyes yet again.

Chapter Eighteen

Covetous moon for which we dance, brilliant stars for which we quicken, the sky speaks were you only to listen. What it utters speaks of forever.

----The Flame of Wrath

********

             
The Empress had been consumed by one dream, one precious dream. She had seen it born of tiny embers to rise until it was a consuming inferno. She had dreamed its conception with such vivid detail that when it actually came to pass she was not ready for it.

             
From the very instant Aurea had learned of Angelos' death, it had rocked the foundation of her very world. And yet, the truth of his demise had not inspired tears. There was no grief for the fallen King.

             
Because of this, Fate struck her angrily. It insisted that if she would not grieve for a lost King then she would cry for a Queen surrounded by peril.

             
Autumn's immediate succession upon the battlefield haunted the Empress. It was by those circumstances that her life was doomed to the confines of fear.

             
The hours became days while the days labored into weeks. The terror which saturated every breath she took seemed such a part of her now that Aurea could scarcely remember what life had been before it.

             
These things had come during a time which should have been her golden reign.

             
Under the Empress, the religion of Virtue had evolved into historical magnificence. Aurea was revered with unmatchable adoration. Such devotion might have been inspired by the wondrous deeds performed in her name. Schools had been built. Churches had been raised. Gold had been dispersed among the poor. A mouth under Aurea's reign never went without food.

             
It was a nirvana for the masses. That is, it was if you were a virtuous Pyrosian. For those who were not, such as druids or those still loyal to the old ways, life could be a state of constant dread.

             
Smiling faces came to plaster the land. One never knew if it was because a person was genuinely happy beneath Aurea's rule or if it was the frightened mask of someone anticipating the end.

             
The Empress' propensity for swift wrath was legendary. However, to those loyal to the Empress, it became necessary to turn a blind eye to her fury. After all, those who had awoken its intensity must have warranted it, yes? They could only hope it was so. A very different reality, one which suggested otherwise, was far too horrible for them to bear. 

             
Still despite the darkened shadows which lingered around Aurea's reign, within the people's eyes, she had performed a great service to mankind. The Empress was the sole salvation to the Holy Land. She had made it her life's quest to save it from Lucidian pillage and desecration. For that, history could not remember her as anything less than a hero.

             
One would have thought that the Empress' nights would be spent sleeping soundly, but the darkness of night only brought with it the truest torment of her nightmares. She witnessed Autumn's death again and again inside her subconscious mind. Each time, it was more gruesome than before. Aurea's screams shattered the peace of night like bells tolling the procession of hours.

             
With each new morning, Aurea ripped the reports from the messenger's hands. She read for any news of the soldiers at the front with a struggling heart. A part of her begged her not to read the reports while another part urged her to obtain whatever news she could. When the tallies came with the individual names of each fallen soldier, the Empress would read over every name. Her heart stopped with the start of each new name wondering if the one to follow would be that of her beloved Autumn.

             
The bitter dance took its toll upon her. Aurea grew reclusive. She ate very little. She slept even less, but more than anything when she thought no one's eyes were upon her, she wept.

********

              Something alarming caused the palace inhabitants to anxiously hold their breaths. It occurred during the height of preparation for the Celestial Rains Ceremony. The holiday was an old tradition, but it was one which the Empress had deemed a “virtuous” act of nature meant to celebrate the light of humanity so it was permissible under Virtue's blessing to honor the coming meteor shower.

             
Though the entire palace staff was busy preparing for the celebration, all had noted a painful absence. Not a single word had come from the field. They busied themselves by decorating the many palace rooms. As they worked, they wondered why there had been no news.

             
The lack of any reports soon began to leave its stigma upon the impending festivities. What was supposed to bring a bit of happiness and joy to a war-torn land was actually a mindless chore which only served to further stress the people of the imperial house.

             
The cosmic event drew closer while the Empress grew further from inspiring herself to care. She too had noticed that no news had been delivered to her door. For twenty-six long days, she had noticed and for twenty-six long days she had agonized over the possible reasons why. It was more than she could bear.

             
She reasoned that the time for further patience was at an end. Action was what was needed or else she feared for her tattered sanity.

             
That very evening she summoned the High Priest of the Order. He came wearing the mask of empathy, but his condolences, his well-spoken sympathies were not what she craved.

             
“Do you have it?” she demanded sharply.

             
He stared at her with a face twisted in affront. Using the tip of his middle finger, he pushed his glasses high upon the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Empress,” he began tersely. “I have it, but I hardly think that----”

             
“I don't care what you think,” the Empress snapped.

             
Aurea stomped past him as a large chest was brought into the room at the High Priest's back. She tightly gripped the heavy canvas draped over it. Violently, she pulled it away, gazing in desperation at the locked trove beneath.

             
Her body tensed as she realized the manner in which she had been speaking to the highest-ranking religious official of her order. She sighed as she forced herself to regain composure. Turning to look over her shoulder, she gazed up at him with weary, but apologetic eyes.

             
“Forgive me,” she spoke softly. “As you can tell I have not been well. I thank you for all the help you have given.”

             
The Prince of Virtue slowly lowered his guard. It was true. As he watched over Aurea now, he could clearly see that she was unwell. Her face was a sickly pallor which he did not recognize. Her eyes ----usually so bright and intense---- were now a weary blue with flames that scarcely reached a flicker.

             
The man in flowing robes moved cautiously toward his Empress. He knelt at her side then placed a cool hand atop the chest. “These trifles hold nothing of any real consequence,” he voiced gently. “These books are the old pagan ways. We are beyond their superstitious beliefs. We are so much more civilized and----”

             
“I need them,” Aurea said behind a smile. That smile strained under the weight of her growing frustration.

             
“But why?” he asked.

             
“The key.” The blond extended her hand impatiently.

             
The older man sighed aloud. He removed a chain from his neck. As he did, the key kept hidden safely beneath his robes emerged to waiting eyes.

             
Aurea quickly snatched the key from his hand. She stared at it, tracing its length. As her mouth suddenly went dry, she cleared her scratchy throat. “Thank you. You may have just greatly influenced the outcome of the war.”

             
The High Priest's eyes widened in disbelief.

             
Affect the outcome of the holy war
, he thought dreamily.

             
He stammered over his words, unable to truly express how honored he was to have helped. As he attempted to try articulating that profound feeling despite his stuttering, he was ushered from the room.

             
Aurea tightly sealed the doors at his back. She locked them, ridding herself of any and all distractions. Her hands shook as she hurried toward the chest. Kneeling, she hoped for a bit of providence.

             
The evening before when sleep had eluded her, a memory had spoken its timid truths. As a child, she had once witnessed the incredible feats of a man using spells to manipulate the world around him. Much of that knowledge, she realized, the Druids possessed.

Or monopolized
, she thought darkly.

So much of that knowledge she had seen die with the Druids. Yet there was a fleeting portion which existed in books which Aurea had commanded to be kept under lock and key. Only the High Priest and
she knew the books had not been destroyed while so many others believed the knowledge of the old ways had died within cleaning fires of purification.

             
As Aurea heard the key click inside of the lock, she tensed. She was at the threshold to the knowledge of the past. It sent her mind reeling at what she might find.

********

              The twenty-ninth night and still no messenger had managed to break free of Lucidian interference. The Pyrosians' every move seemed to somehow be anticipated though no one knew how.

             
Many whispers came among the soldiers that the witches of Lucidia were involved. It was believed that they spoke into the ears of their soldiers, instructing them precisely where and how to find the Pyrosian messengers. 

             
The Pyrosian leaders had attempted to quell such fearful thoughts, but it did little good. Isolation prevailed instead, bringing cause for more rumors.

             
On that timid night, the sky was alive. Its blue-black skin crawled in fearful anticipation. Each goose-bump to pebble its surface burned brightly as piercing stars.

             
The occasional wind to break from its depths was felt as a cool breath. Beneath that breath, soldiers were unable to resist a shudder. They huddled closer to their campfires. 

             
A solitary figure moved between the clusters of soldiers. Autumn passed silently while taking in her surroundings. She heard many voices, some speaking in different dialects, but all their voices were familiar. She knew them well. At the front, they were the people of Angels, Illusions and Black Flame. As she found them looking to her more with each passing day, she understood how once, a good king had described them as his children.

             
“Father,” she thought longingly. “If only you were still here.”

             
She frowned as inwardly she recoiled from that thought. Perhaps it was best that her father was not alive to see the world as it was now. The churches of Virtue were spreading across the Pyrosian land. Now even their beautiful province was host to Aurea's religion. With no one to protect Angels' borders, Aurea's forces had wasted no time in infiltrating the once-forbidden province.

             
Autumn felt her insides twist. “Forbidden,” it would seem meant very little to Aurea. If anything, it made her lust for something all the more.

             
She broke away from the others, following the path of a bloodstained moon. As her eyes lifted to the sky, she found herself taken in by the glowing rings reverberating around the moon. She forced her eyes away from its unnatural presence. What her eyes found instead was the intensity of ethereal ribbons burning as luminescent cardinal across the distant horizon. She stopped, unable to take her eyes from the radiant lights slithering across the sky.

             
What was happening to this land, she wondered. What had been unleashed upon them?

             
The Queen withdrew into herself. She knew the answer to that question.

The Empress, she thought. The Empress was what had been unleashed upon this land.

              To the men below, her silhouette was seen moving slowly against the pulsing moon. Autumn trudged up the hill away from the many campfires alight in the distance. She had visited the wounded. She had engaged in meetings with her commanders, but now was the time for rest, and if one prayed, now was the time to ask forgiveness for the lives taken.

             
Autumn wrapped her cape around her body, needing not the warmth but the comfort of being held. She slept away from the others despite the protests of her men. When the battle had stalled for the day, she craved solace. She craved solitude.