Michael clasped on tightly with both hands, but chanced a glance over his shoulder. Sefu was already behind him, but so was the roak. It landed on the nest and examined its eggs, tilting its head from side to side. It called loudly, like the shriek of a thousand eagles. It did not sound happy.
Michael wondered if there was any way to make his feather move faster. He tried yanking on it to see if it would pull him up again or thrust him forward, but it only threatened to make him lose his grip.
He looked back at the bird. It was now staring directly at him, cocking its pink, featherless head from side to side. Michael prayed that it didn’t take off, but of course it did. With a screech, it flapped its vast wings and lurched into the air. With a few powerful beats, it swooped over Michael’s head. The force of its wings gusted past Michael, rocking him back and forth. It flew past Maya and Grant, jostling them as well. It then dipped a wing and turned around, flying back towards Michael.
“Look out!” shouted Sefu, but there was nothing Michael could do. The bird plucked him from the sky, grabbing him by the left arm with talons as big as his bicep. Pain flashed in his shoulder and Michael was forced to drop the feather. He watched it sail beneath his feet. The bird was carrying him back to its nest where it would tear him apart.
Sefu reached for his staff with one hand, but there was nothing to be done. The bird whooshed past him, sending him tumbling out of the way. Michael was afraid Sefu would lose his grip, but he somehow managed to hang on. He held out his staff, but did not attack. Michael realized that even if Sefu could aim well enough to hit the roak from his awkward position, he might only make the bird drop him.
Michael had to do something. The bird had him tucked in tightly to its body, so Michael ignored the pain in his arm and reached for the only thing he could― a fistful of belly feathers. The roak screeched in surprise, releasing its grip on Michael as he ripped them away.
The wind whipped in Michael’s ears as he plummeted towards the ground, but he held tightly onto the bouquet of short, golden feathers and in a moment was buoyed upwards again. He gasped with confusion― too much up and down too fast for his stomach to handle.
Michael was descending again but much faster than he liked. The small, downy breast feathers lacked the loft of the larger plumes. He skimmed over sharp rocks and had to dodge one especially tall tree top. But then the hills dropped off again and he found himself floating high above the city. Smoke and flames leapt from the windows and rooftops. Demons poured into the streets and ran down civilians. He could hear their screams and the frightened cries of children. He watched a group of soldiers kick down a door and another group drag a family into the streets. One of them threw the mother to the ground and struck her in the head. The father stood up to defend her, but before he could, they brutally slugged him in the face. He collapsed on the ground, unconscious.
Michael was horrified. Is this what his friends and family had had to endure as the demons searched for him? He had to do something. He drew his sword with his free hand and fired upon the demons below. He shot at any one that he could, but most of his shots missed. It was not easy to aim with his left hand, but then he struck a soldier running below him, sending him somersaulting down the cobblestone street and into a heap of boxes on the side of the road.
Michael saw a group of demons chasing a group of children. The lead demon had his arms outstretched, about to scoop up a small straggler. Michael struck him in the back, sending him crashing face first into the cobblestones. The demons running behind him tripped over his body and careened into a furious pile. As they lay there, they finally noticed Michael passing overhead and yelled to their cohorts nearby, who lifted their swords to the sky and fired. A flurry of red bolts zipped by Michael’s head. They narrowly missed, but he knew they would adjust their aim and strike him down with a second volley. Before that could happen, Michael passed through a column of smoke rising from a burning building. Beams of red light tore through the smoke, illuminating it like lightning inside a cloud, but they could not find their mark.
Michael could barely breathe. He coughed violently and tears poured from his eyes, but he maintained his grip on the life-saving roak feathers. Finally, he passed beyond the smoke. Through his bleary eyes he could see that he was just above the rooftops. He glimpsed the blue sea and the tall ships ahead, but they were still far away. He would never make it at this pace.
He took a chance and touched down on the flat roof of an apartment building. He did not land so much as be dragged across it, dinging his sword against a chimney and skinning his knee. Warm blood trickled down his shin. He righted himself and ran to the roof’s edge, but found that he was still three stories up. He needed to get into the street and run to the docks as fast as he could. If the demons reached the harbor first, his chances of escape would be lost.
With the feathers still in hand, he jumped off the roof and aimed for the wide boulevard below. A melee of humans and demons spread out below him. They were all running towards the ocean.
As Michael neared terra firma, he jogged his legs through the air. He did not want the feathers to drag him across the ground again. His heart pounded with adrenaline and as soon as his feet touched the cobblestones he took off running as fast as they could carry him. He swerved around demons who yelled out in surprise as he shot past. Michael was sure he had never run so fast in his life.
But all of a sudden, it felt like he was slammed by a bull. He was thrown onto the sidewalk, and rolled to a halt. He was about to stand up and keep running, but a familiar voice kept him glued to the ground.
“Look who’s here!” declared Drastos with a leering grin. It was the demon captain who arrested Michael at the Crossroads. A white bandage and dark bruises still adorned the bridge of his nose where Maya had slugged him. Another covered the cheek where Acheron cut him. “When you got away from us in the North you got me in a fair bit of trouble.”
Michael rose to his feet as the captain brandished his sword.
“You can’t kill me,” said Michael, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. “I heard your orders.”
“The rules have changed,” he hissed, relishing the words. “We figured out that you’re the Creator’s only son. We don’t have to take prisoners anymore.”
With that, he slashed at Michael, but Michael jumped back and parried the thrust that followed. Other demons approached Michael from the rear.
“He’s mine!” Drastos commanded. “This one is special!”
He swiped at Michael again, but Michael knocked his blade aside with a resounding clang. He thrust back, narrowly missing Drastos’ shoulder.
“Looks like you’ve learned something since I last saw you,” Drastos taunted, “but it won’t do you any good.”
Michael dodged his next thrust, but not the kick that followed. It landed right on his ragged knee. He almost toppled to the ground, but righted himself just enough to block Drastos’ next slash. The force of it reverberated through his arm. Drastos struck again and Michael fell backwards, tripping over the curb. He was on the ground, but rolled out of the way just as Drastos slashed the pavement, spraying gravel like buckshot.
Michael scurried out of reach while Drastos fired red bolts from the tip of his sword. They thwacked against the wood framed building behind Michael.
“I’m going to put your head on a spike!” Drastos threatened. The other demons jeered at Michael and pressed Drastos to finish him.
Michael was out of breath. He was angry that he was so close to the ships yet could not reach them. He tried to recollect everything he had been taught about fencing in the past week, but Drastos was too fast. Michael was fighting more by instinct than reason, almost like Sefu’s recent advice had come true― he would have to learn by necessity. He was sick of running and hiding. He was sick of seeing the demons hurt people. Drastos knew how to fight― his scarred and contorted face was a history of the battles he had survived. He maybe had years of practice, but a
s Michael dodged another blast from his sword, he reminded himself that he knew something that Drastos did not― his own destiny. Whether he was mortal or not, he would take responsibility for the prophecy. He told himself that he was Light and Drastos was Dark and Drastos was going to lose. It was as simple as that.
Michael turned towards Drastos and tightened his grip on his weapon. His knuckles went white with rage. Drastos growled as he lunged again, but Michael was ready. In the blink of an eye, he extended his sword and the demon, unable to halt his momentum, simply impaled himself upon it. Drastos hung frozen on the end of the blade, his own sword raised above his head. His sneer turned to surprise and his growl was replaced by a low gurgling utterance. The other demons gasped as Michael withdrew his bloody sword from the demon’s chest. Drastos slumped to the ground, dead.
Michael stared at the crumpled body for a moment. His anger quickly turned to disbelief. He had never killed somebody before. He didn’t even like squishing spiders. The other demons were stunned as well, but not for long.
“He slew Drastos!” called one.
“Kill him!” resounded another.
The lot of them charged at once. There were far more than Michael could fend off. His sudden confidence dissipated with Drastos’ demise and he froze in place.
As the demons advanced upon him, a shot came out of nowhere and knocked one of them out. Suddenly Sefu rushed between them, whirling his staff. “Run!” he commanded Michael.
“But―” Michael protested. He didn’t want to leave Sefu behind.
“You have to go!” Sefu urged him. “I’ll hold them off!” He blasted a spray of flames at the encroaching demons, keeping them at bay.
Michael gathered his wits and ran to the ships as fast as he could. Up ahead he could see his friends.
“Michael!” exclaimed Maya. “You’re okay!”
“Yeah!” he huffed as he ran, not entirely convinced that he was.
“Look out!” called Grant, but his warning was too late. A squadron of demons charged into their path and blocked the docks. Michael could see that many of the ships were already on fire. Smoke rose from their decks and devoured their sails, their white canvas charred to ash.
The demons unleashed a volley of missiles, but Maya spun her short sword. A thin veil of incandescent filaments followed her blade and deflected some of the shots, but she could not thwart them all. One of the bolts struck Daniels directly in the chest. The force of it sent him crashing backwards.
“Dan!” exclaimed Grant as he dove for his friend. He caught Daniels under the arms as he collapsed, but from his upturned eyes and the crimson that instantly washed across his shirt, it was clear that he was already dead.
The Demons were indeed not taking prisoners. They charged with both swords and eyes ablaze.
The world slowed down for Michael. He was suddenly, desperately aware of everything around him. Flames licked hungrily at the apartment buildings around them. Glass clattered down from the windows above. He could hear the cries of the townspeople and the battle calls of the demons as they cut into the populace. Michael and Maya brandished their swords as the squadron charged upon them, but they were like two pebbles holding back an avalanche.
But then a shadow enveloped the street and the unmistakable stink of sea rot flooded Michael’s nostrils. The demons halted their assault. Some even fell back in terror. The roak touched down in the middle of the boulevard, its vast wings spanning from one side of the street to the other. It had to tuck the tips in so as not to scorch its feathers on the burning facades.
Still furious over his incursion to its nest, still eager to protect its young, it reared its awful bald head over Michael and screeched. But all of a sudden, it whirled about and shrieked as the demons stupidly opened fire upon it. They were so surprised by the giant bird that they didn’t realize that it was not after them. The roak lunged at one of the soldiers and snatched him up like a grasshopper. His skinny legs splayed out of either side of the bird’s massive beak. He screamed as he was lifted into the air.
“Let’s get out of here!” said Michael, realizing their opportunity.
“Not without Daniels,” said Grant, still clutching his friend.
Michael helped lift the dead man’s feet while Grant supported his torso. He was torn between Grant’s insistence and their desperate rush to reach the boat. The dead man was heavy, but Michael did not have the wherewithal to argue at this point, especially because Daniels had died trying to help Michael off the island.
They slunk as discreetly as they could around the bird, which thrashed about violently as it attacked the remaining demons. Some of the soldiers turned to flee, while others began shooting more aggressively to try to release the soldier who still filled the roak’s maw. The bird was torn between its increasing rage at being shot and its desire to swallow the wriggling demon.
Just beyond this mayhem, they reached the docks. Every boat was on fire except for one. The demons tasked with burning it were probably those distracted by the roak.
The pier was packed with panicked people. Some dragged suitcases bursting with clothes, photos, and documents. Others clutched crying children or huddled with their loved ones. Michael and his friends followed a cue of townspeople running up the gangway. The thin platform bounced and thundered beneath Michael’s feet as they pounded up the ramp. As they stepped onto the ship, a man with a scruffy brown beard and blue jacket shouted orders, “Everyone on board! Cut the lines! Set sail immediately!”
A sailor carrying a machete shoved Michael out of the way, causing him to drop Daniels’ legs.
Grant shouted at the man, but he paid them no attention as he sprinted over to one of the ropes binding them to the dock. He did not bother to untie it, but simply hacked at it with his blade until it frayed in twain and the boat rocked away from the pier.
“Wait!” shouted Michael. “Where’s Sefu? We can’t leave without him!” he exclaimed, stepping back towards the gangplank.
Maya grabbed his arm. “You can’t!” she beseeched him. “This is the last boat. If it leaves without you, you’ll be trapped!”
Sefu was not the only one being left behind. The docks were still full of people as the ship began to roll away. A few managed to climb up the gangplank as it was pulled in, while others toppled into the harbor. There were still dozens of people on the docks who screamed for the boat to stop when the last rope was severed. They begged for the sailors to take their wives and children. Passengers on board reached out for their friends and neighbors. It was heart wrenching, but the captain refused to wait.
Michael pushed his way to the stern to see if he could catch a glimpse of his uncle. He expected to see him running down the pier, victorious, having vanquished the soldiers. Instead, a platoon of demons was charging down the docks. Their long-horned leader barked at them to stop the ship. Michael watched as they forced their way through the panicked crowd, shoving people into the water. But as they reached the end, the boat was already out of reach. The commander scowled in disgust before turning away.
Michael stood at the back of the boat still expecting Sefu to appear. His uncle was cunning. He was sure he would devise some kind of plan to escape, to find another boat, or some way to Move himself to safety, but as the town shrank in the distance, there was no sign of him. Michael watched the giant roak take off, a demon still hanging from its mouth. It spiraled upwards through the columns of smoke before heading back towards the mountains.
Michael watched the city recede in the distance for a long time, hoping to see some sign of Sefu, but no other boat appeared. They were the only ones who had made it― perhaps the only ones who had made it off all of Ennor.
Michael dispiritedly made his way through the crowd. People were softly sobbing while others watched their city shrink in the distance. He found Grant sitting beside Daniels cradling his head.
“He was a good friend,” murmured Grant without looking up. “We traveled together for many years.
He helped me build the club. He was like family.”
“I’m sorry,” Michael said hoarsely. “I promise to help lay him to rest.”
“Thank you,” said Grant as he looked up at Michael with tear-stained cheeks. “Don’t forget what I told you last night and don’t forget that he died trying to help you. Remember him. When you are king, you have to remember him.”
•••
Michael stayed with Grant for some time before making his way below deck. The few small bunks were already filled with refugees, but he found a cabinet and lay down against it. He looked down at the sword still in his hands. He had not let go of it, even when carrying Daniels. It was still smeared with Drastos’ blood. He found it strange that the blood was red. Even though these creatures came from an alien world, their blood looked so much like his.
Their escape was miraculous, but Michael was angry at how many people they had left behind, especially his uncle. He felt that the cries he heard as the boat pulled away would haunt him for a long time. He wished he could have saved them all, or even one more. He questioned whether he even had the right to be on the boat. Shouldn’t he have stayed to fight?
He recalled Drastos again, his lifeless body hanging from the end of his sword. He remembered the wet squelch of skewered organs as his blade penetrated his chest. Drastos was a spiteful monster, but Michael did not intend to be his judge and executioner. Michael also thought of Daniels with his poor vacant eyes and the red stain spreading outwards from the hole in his chest. It was like Sefu and Daniels’ lives were traded for Drastos’― a balancing of the scales― something good for something bad.
Maya came downstairs and sat next to him.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He nodded, but he wasn’t really sure.
“I’m sorry about Sefu,” she said consolingly.
“Me too. I don’t know what we’re going to do without him.”
“We’re going to do what we have to,” she reassured him.
It reminded him of what his uncle had said about necessity.
“I spoke with the sailors,” she went on. “We’re heading to America. We’ll find the help we need there and come back with an army. We’ll toss out these invaders and get our families back.”
But Michael’s mind had drifted off.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, noticing his forlorn distance.
“I killed someone today,” he confided. “Remember the demon, Drastos?”
Maya nodded.
He described how Drastos accosted him on the boulevard and how they fought. “I think I killed others, too, when I shot them from the air. The world is probably a better place without them, but I don’t feel like celebrating. I’m supposed to be a force for good, not a killer.”
“You are good,” she said, reassuringly taking his hand, “but we’re at war. You were protecting yourself and your people. You’re going to be king someday, maybe even some kind of god. I saw that river carry you away. I saw that roak attack you. Drastos tried to kill you, too, but couldn’t. Each time you should have been killed, but you were protected. I believe in everything Sefu told us. This prophecy is bigger than petty matters of right or wrong― it determines everything.”
Michael considered the unlikelihood of his continued survival. He had to acknowledge that against all odds he was somehow still alive and sitting on a boat heading to America next to this lovely, supportive girl.
“You are Michael Endwar,” she said, staring into his eyes with conviction, “and after everything I have seen, I believe you are destined to end the war between Light and Dark. Do not feel guilty for who you are or what you must do. You may have to do many more things you never imagined you were capable of before this war is over.”
###
About the Author
Mover of Fate is the first novel in The Creator’s Eye series by author and artist R.N. Feldman. Feldman lives and works in Los Angeles, CA where he teaches at Otis College of Art & Design and spends as much time hiking through the local mountains as he can. Art, metaphysics, useless scientific trivia, and extensive backpacking treks throughout the world have all been major influences in his work.
Other books by R.N. Feldman
Please visit your favorite ebook retailer to discover other books by R.N. Feldman:
The Creator’s Eye Series
Mover of Fate, Part I
Mover of Fate, Part II (coming October 2015)
Mover of Fate, Part III (coming Spring 2016)
Mover of Fate, Part III (coming Spring 2016)
Connect with R.N. Feldman
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