Ren

    Tarquin smashed his fist into the table, yelling, “Dammit!” The silverware and dishes bounced and clinked together. Seria, Tarquin’s wife, got up from the table, realizing it might be best to put the kids to bed. She and the two children left the room quickly.

    Ren sat there, for a few minutes that felt like forever, till his uncle had gone from burning to ice cold mellowness.

  “Uncle, what is it?” Ren asked. A servant had come into their meal over dinner, whispered something into his Uncle’s ear and then quickly scurried out. His face had turned beat red, then he had taken his anger out on the table.

  Blowing air out of his nose, his uncle responded, “My ‘informants’ have told me that your friend, Lost, has been captured and will be executed tomorrow.”

  Ren immediately stood up from the chair, shouting. “How?!”

  His uncle looked down at the table, as if it held the answers. “I’m not quite sure.”

  “I have to go save him, now!” Ren started for the door out of the dining room.

  His uncle reached a hand out as if to stop him, “Don't. This is no time to be rash.”

  “I can't just leave him to die! I sure as hell am not going to let him die!” Ren shouted, turning on his uncle. His anger igniting, he couldn't just stand by and let someone die. Good or bad.

  “Calm yourself, boy! I am not saying we are going to leave him to die. I am saying that we need to figure out how to help him.”

  Ren took a deep breath, exhaling again. He went back to the table and sat in the chair with a thump. “Then what do you suggest we do?”

  Tarquin thought for a moment, “We shall figure it out now, then enact it tomorrow.”

Fen

  Why? Why had she left him? She could have helped, maybe a flash of light to temporarily blind the guards, and then they could have escaped. But then again Lost couldn't stand, and Fen doubted she would be able to drag him away. Plus, her head was clouded by fear, she highly doubted it would have been able to figure out other ways out of there.

  So, then what should she do? She sure couldn't stay here, in this alley, clutching onto the last thing she had of Lost.

  The answer: she could save him. But how? How would she save him? What could a small wolf girl who could make intangible illusions do? Well, what could she do?

  She could make a rope, and make it temporarily solid. Then she could also make a flash of light. Was that it? No, she could hear very well and any elves who look at her would immediately hate her. That was about it.

    Then there was no hope. There was no way to even get close to him, much less save him. They had already set up the stage in the main district square and were ready to chop Lost and the other prisoner’s heads off.

  That was it then, there was no hope. Nothing she could do to save him.

  Fen didn't know what to do, scared of losing the only person to show her kindness. No, the first person to show her kindness. But that elf, Ren, had to be up to something. Maybe she could go to where they were supposed to meet him? No- she wouldn't do that. There was no point. They still had 2 days to meet him, so then his house? That was out of the option, she didn't know her way around the city, and she couldn't ask for directions from the elves. And she didn't remember his directions either. Now she was regretting not listening to his description of the route.

  She could feel her heart descending even deeper into despair. But she had to find a way to save him, so how? How could she save him?

  She needed to be strong.

  She needed her power. She needed to have the power to save him.

  For some reason, some of Lost’s words came back to her. ‘One could call it the anything power, but that's not exactly true.’

  The anything power. She just had to focus and imagine in great detail, right? So, couldn't she create anything from her mind, then solidify it? Though she could only get it to be solid for about 5 minutes, at most.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Fen pulled herself from the pit of despair, maybe she could make something to help her save Lost.

  What could she use to save Lost?

  ‘A rifle.’ Came a thought, but after a moment, she realized it didn't sound like her voice inside her head. Brushing it off as just her imagination, she set to work constructing a rifle in her mind.

******

  Day of Execution

Lost

  They had put a dirty, brown, cloth sack smelling of rotten potatoes over his head. The smell was horrid, but not the worst he had smelled. His hands tied behind his back with rough rope that chafed his skin.

  Lost was pushed forward, he could sort of see through the tiny holes between the weaving of the sack. Only shapes and light, with some colors. But he could hear voices.

  “Get in the cart,” said one of the guards, pushing Lost into wooden stairs. He hit his shins and nearly crumpled, but he regained his balance. Ignoring the pain from it, he took a step up into the cart and was led to a bench. Then roughly shoved down onto it.

  They left the sack on, leaving Lost to breathe the smell of rotten potatoes. He wasn't the only one here, there were three other prisoners. They had yet to say a word.

  After a few moments, the guards left and minutes after that, the cart lurched to life.

  “Heh,” Lost said, trying to make out where exactly he was. But he gave up on that, and turned to the person next to him. “So, do you come here often?”

  A snort, then a gruff voice destroyed by years of alcohol followed, “Its my first time, and my last.”

  “Haha,” Lost gave an unenthusiastic laugh. “The same here. So, by chance do any of you happen to have a way to get this bag off my head?”

  “Wouldn’t you prefer to not see the axe coming?” Came another voice. This one was older, but not as gruff. More like the voice of a grandfather.

  “I prefer to look my death in the eyes,” said Lost, nodding once and moving his wrists, trying to get circulation back into them.

  “It has no eyes, just a sharp blade heading for your neck,” said the third, this one a woman's.

  “Maybe the eyes are just hidden in shadow,” Lost said, thinking about the Wraith.

  “Huh?” The woman said.

  “Nothing,” Lost said. “So you don't have a way to get this sack off my head?”

  He heard some grunting, then felt some shifting next to him. The dirty sack was slowly pulled off his head. Inch by inch. Eventually it came off. Lost turned to the elf next to him.

  He had a bald head, piercings in his long oblong ears. He had dark brown eyes, and was covered in tattoos. His biceps were encased in snake tattoos.

  “Thank you,” Lost said. Then the man spit the sack from his mouth onto the floor of the cart with three more bags, spitting again to get rid of the dirt in his mouth. Lost didn't know how they got the first bag off, and he didn't need to know.

  “The least I can do for a fellow damned,” The man said, “My name’s Klyde. Klyde Farns.

  “I’m Quiros,” A elf across from Lost said, sitting on another bench. He had a bushy, brown beard that looked like it wanted to eat his face, which framed his bright blue eyes. His face was wrinkled, and his hair was just starting to gray.

  “Yaz,” said the only woman. She had muddy brown hair with her ears poking out from the sides, with light green eyes.

  “You can call me Lost,” Lost said, shifting around to find a comfortable way to sit.

  “Yer a human,” Klyde said, looking at Lost with some surprise.

  “Yea? Does it matter? We’re all going to die anyways,” said Lost, defensive.

  “No, just never seen a human before,” Klyde said, turning away from Lost.

  The City Guards had taken everything from him. Even his pants, then burned them and the rest of his clothes because they didn't fit the guards. The same went for his belt, but not the coin purses. They had claimed them on the charge that they were ‘stolen goods’. That made Lost laugh bitterly. The guards left him in dirty cloth clothes that smelled of their last occupant. He shook his head, people's cruelty knew no bounds.

  At least they left him his boots, only after filling them with rocks, of course. Lost wasn't sure about that one, he thought they were just trying to play a cruel joke on him. But after seeing him walk fine, they just left the boots on.

  He wondered who got his coin pouch filled with silver, or was it distributed evenly among the guards? Probably not.

  “Sooo, what got you in here?” Lost asked the elf across from him, Quiros.

  “We got caught trying to steal from a noble merchant. It went awry and he got killed, ” Quiros used his shoulder to point to the other two elves. “You?”

  Lost thought about that. Should he tell them the truth? Did it really matter, since he was going to die? “I was caught sneaking into the castle,” Lost lied.

  Yaz whistled, “How’d you get in? I heard that the King hates humans.”

  “Trade secret,” Lost said, giving a wry grin. “The King was the one who sentenced me to death.” Hey, it was true. He wanted Lost’s head.

  “Why’d you sneak into the Royal Castle?” Questioned Klyde.

  “Why’d you rob a merchant?” Lost shot back. Everyone fell silent.

  “Money to start a new life,” Yaz said after an eternity that spanned a few moments.

  Before Lost could speak, the cart stopped. The guards dismounted and started moving the prisoners out of the cart. Not even bothering to acknowledge that they had taken off the sacks.

  One grabbed Lost’s arm and pulled him out of the cart, throwing him into the dirty cobble street. The guard then kicked him in the ribs. The gathered crowd around threw insults and rotten food at him. He even saw some children in there, their faces twisted by hate, anger and disgust.

  Lost’s breath was taken away, but he quickly regained it, glaring at the guard.

  Grabbing Lost by the back of the neck, he pulled him to his feet. “Time to die, human rat,” said the guard with a sadistic smile.

  Lost and the three criminals were pushed forward toward their death.