Lost
They had escaped the city, just barely. Having stolen a horse and racing through the gates right as they were being closed. Nearly getting hit by arrows and crossbow bolts. Well, that wasn't correct, Lost had gotten a arrow to the back of his right shoulder, and it was still in there.
He could brush off the pain, but the arrow needed to be taken out. Then the wound cauterized. Lost wasn't looking forward to that, but at least the ropes were gone.
Urging the horse on wards, Lost looked down at Fen, who sat in front of him. She was in a daze, whether from killing a person or from all the blood, or both, he didn't know. He knew if she was going to keep following him, she would need to learn to stomach death. And killing people.
The rifle she had been carrying had long since vanished, like an illusion. It was an illusion. How she did it, he didn't know. But this was only adding on more to his theory that with proper training, she could become very powerful.
Lost urged the brown horse to go faster through the trees. The King would likely send out search parties for them, so they had to get as far away as possible.
Where could they go? They sure couldn't hide in these forests for long. To the human country, Hessa? Maybe, but then again, the wall would probably have double security now. Lost and Fen wouldn't be able to get through, especially when he couldn't use magic.
Then it came to him, there was one place that no elves would dare go. Jar’ha. Land of the sprites.
They were tribal savages the last time Lost had been there. The Sprites where a hostile people, who would drive out any invaders from their lands. But that was 1000 years ago.
However small sprites were, they were deadly. With their stealth in the jungles and poison darts.
He remembered Ren’s random babbling. He had talked about a lot of things, most of it not catching Lost’s attention. But the stuff about Jar’ha had.
Ren had said they recently had opened their borders with the elves and humans, trading with them.
If Lost and Fen could sneak onto one of the trading ships, then they had a ticket out of Evrite. They could then take another ship to Hessa. Then they would be home free. Then Lost could start his search for her. To get his sweet, sweet revenge.
It was settled then, they were heading for the elven coast.
******
“Kid, I need you to take this arrow out of my shoulder,” Lost told Fen. They had set up camp when the sun set. Though, it wasn't much of a camp, since they didn't have anything to make fire with and no sleeping bags.
Fen looked at him, her eyes wide. “I-I can’t do that.”
“Well, you're gonna have to. I can't pull this thing out of my shoulder myself,” He said, looking back at Fen with an unwavering look.
Looking unsure, she stepped forward. “What d-do I do?”
“You're gonna have to pull the thing out. Swiftly would be best, but try to be careful. I still want to be able to use my arm.”
Fen gulped, then she shifted around to his back. Lost knew that the blood had clotted around the arrow head, but there was a large amount of stained blood on his shirt.
She froze up, the sight of blood paralyzing her.
“Kid, if you don't take this damn arrow out I’m going to die from infection!” Lost yelled at her over his shoulder.
The wolf girl snapped from her trance, nodded once. She put one hand in the middle of his back and the other on the shaft of the arrow. She started to pull it out, but it got stuck, so she started to wiggle it.
Lost hissed through clenched teeth. Fighting a war with the pain. The agony wasn't the worst he had felt, or so that's what he told himself.
Fen slid the arrow from the wound, fresh crimson blood flowing from it. She dropped the arrow on the ground. “A-are you okay, Mr. Lost?”
“I told you to stop calling me Mister!” Lost said through the red hot pain in his shoulder.
“Only if you stop calling me a kid,” said Fen back at him.
“In your dreams… kid,” Lost said chuckling, then wincing at the pain it caused in his shoulder. “We ain't done yet, you're gonna have to cauterize the wound.”
“C-cauterize?” Fen said, sounding like she was going to be the one to get burned.
“Yes!”
“W-with what?”
That stopped Lost. He hadn't thought about that. They didn't have a fire to heat up a blade to cauterize the wound. He did the only thing he could: cursed.
“We are going to just have to bandage it. Go to the horse, I think I saw some clothes in the saddle bag that you can rip up.” Lost pointed at the horse tied to a tree with his good arm.
“Alright,” Fen said, moving over to the bag and starting to search through its pockets.
She came back after a little bit, holding a gray wool shirt.
“Good. Now rip it up into strips with your knife,” Lost commanded her.
She did as told, pulling out her knife and then started to cut up the bottom of it into strips. After a few minutes, she had six long strips of wool shirt.
Lost wasn't looking forward to this. There was most defiantly going to be more pain.
Ren
He had lost both Lost and Fen! He couldn't find Fen anywhere near the execution and Lost had mysteriously vanished into thin air. To top it off, he was bedridden because of Princess Tessa.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
She had hit him hard. When he had hit that wooden beam, he heard some ribs snap. But one of the great things about magic was that you could use it to suppress pain. Only temporarily, of course.
So here he was, laying in a bed across the room from the princess. His chest bound and wincing at the slightest shift he made.
That face she wore when she saw him, a face of terror. He couldn't get it out of his head. She was scared of him.
It made him question whether or not he was doing the right thing. Helping the Beasters to take over control of the country by overthrowing the King. It was starting to feel like he was a bad guy. But the King was one, right? So, Ren had to be a good guy then.
Regardless of that, he was in pain. And now had no one to teach him to control his magic.
He had agreed to help the resistance on the terms that they would save Lost. They had saved Lost, but they didn't have him as planned. There was no telling where he could be now. Or headed.
Then the fact that the Princess was a magic user just added more onto his mind. She also seemed very skilled at it, too. Or at least at pushing people back with gusts of wind. What was he going to do now?
******
Fen
Lost had passed out after mounting the horse. He was obviously tired from all the blood she had seen him loose. The entire back of his shirt was soaked crimson.
He was slumped forward in the saddle, his breathing shallow. His face was flushed. She had bound his arm and shoulder the best she could. Already, the woolen strips were stained red. Though they seemed successful in stopping the bleeding.
She had used the leftover shirt to wipe Lost’s blood off her hands.
Fen led the horse on by the reigns, through the trees of the forest, not daring to take the road.
She and the horse kept plodding along. Fen didn't know where exactly to go, but they couldn't stay near capital city. Guards were definitely going to look for them.
The execution had been chaos. She hadn't known that other people were going to stop it, though why, she wasn't sure. It looked like they intended to take Lost prisoner, that couldn't have been good.
Fen had not thought as far ahead as those people. She had just planned to try and shoot the guards and give Lost ample time to run. Though it was a good thing the guards were engaged in combat. She doubted she could have fought that many with her illusionary rifle.
It had been quite hard figuring out all the works of how to make it, but it payed off. She had made the barrel out of bronze, the grip out of wood and other parts bronze. She didn't know how she knew how to do it, but had taken her hours in that dark alley, through the night to get the illusion just right. Then she barely had enough magic to solidify it at the execution and fire it.
The fact that she had hit that elf was pure luck. It was still fresh in her mind. Weighing heavily on her mind. She had ended a life, someone with emotion, feelings, memories. They might have even had a family.
Fen slapped herself on the cheek, shaking herself away from those dark thoughts. That guard was going to kill Lost, she couldn't let that happen.
She swished her tail behind her, listen for any sounds in the forest. She could hear Lost’s light breathing and the occasional snort from the horse she led. Birds twittered in the branches of the trees overhead, small animals scurried through the brush.
The rifle illusion was still in her mind, she just had to look for it, like trying to remember a memory.
Fen didn't know how long she walked, it was night now though and her feet were killing her. She still wore Lost’s sword, it was heavy, but its presence was reassuring. If worst came to worst, she could pretend she knew how to use it and threaten anyone. Though, if she would be able to swing it was another thing. It was still wrapped up in Lost’s black cloak, and she wore the leather belt with the sheath. Her shoulders were aching and stiff from carrying it, but it was a good kind of pain.
Eventually, she came upon a clearing in the thick forest. Moonlight illuminated a small cottage in the center, smoke rising from a brick chimney in the thatch roof. Light pouring out from the cracks in its door. It had a porch with no overhang, and a occupied rocking chair.
An old lady rocked back in forth, looking at the shinning stars in the sky. She was a beastwoman. From what Fen could tell of her, she was some sort of raven. The light illuminated half the old woman's face. It was covered in a light amount of gray feathers, the wrinkles under the feathers obvious. She had faded brown eyes and two wings stuck up from her back, folded in. They were covered in gray feathers too. Her legs were that of a bird, sharp talons on them. The old lady was a Harpy beastwoman.
The horse let of a whine, causing the Harpy to notice Fen standing on the edge of the small clearing. Her grayish brown clouded eyes clearing at the sight of somebody else. Then they moved to the horse that which Lost was still slumped on.
Fen backed up, about to bolt.
Then the old woman held her hand out, “Wait, child! Your friend needs medical care now.”
Fen stopped, looking between the unconscious Lost and the old beastwoman. She knew the wound was infected, the flesh around it had been an unhealthy red, swollen. If Lost didnt get help, then he could die from it. But was the old beastwoman trustworthy?
“Child. I will not hurt you or your friend. I am but a hermit living out in these woods. I also know healing medicines,” The old harpy said, almost pleading.
That sealed it. “Okay,” Fen said, rushing forward. She led the horse to the front porch, tieing its reins to one of the posts.
The old harpy got out of her rocking chair. Her posture was slightly hunched over, and the wings in her back were thin and brittle looking.
“Come, child. I will need your help to carry your freind inside.” The Old Harpy motioned for Fen to get Lost out of the saddle.
Fen tried to figure out the best way to get him out. She tried to wake him up, but he wouldn't wake. So, she pulled his slumped form off the saddle. He landed in the grass on his left side, his good side. But he still moaned.
The harpy came down the stairs, claws clicking on the wood. “Help me carry him in, child.” She then grabbed Lost under the shoulders, lifting him up and grunting at the weight, her thin arms shaking.
Fen rushed over and took up Lost’s feet, surprised at his weight. Though he was thin, he was still heavy.
They moved him into the house, through the door the old harpy had opened. She motioned for Fen to help set Lost down on a wooden bed. Shifting over, the harpy gently placed Lost’s head at the top of the bed, Fen did the same with his legs at the bottom.
Fen stood next to Lost laying on the wooden bed. It had a thin mattress of straw and a deep green, wool blanket over it. The inside of the cottage had a stone fireplace in the back. Shelves lined the walls covered in herbs, medicinal plants and remedies.
“Let's have a look at that wound,” The old harpy lady motioned for Fen to help her roll Lost over onto his stomach. She grabbed his side gently and started to flip him over onto his side. The old lady helped her.
She ripped Lost’s shirt open, revealing the wool bloody bandages. The old harpy gentle untied them and pulled them back, looking at the wound. It was a red and puffy around the edges and the smell of rotting flesh reached Fen’s nose.
“Girl. What did this?” The old lady asked Fen.
“An arrow,” Fen responded
“How long ago?”
“About a day.”
“Hmm, it will need to be cauterized, and stitched. It's good that your young friend is asleep for this,” The old harpy frowned, shifting around the cottage, gathering various thing like a knife, a needle, thread and some salve.
“He’s not young, Lost’s over 1 thousand years old,” Fen said, watching the old lady move around.
The old harpy guaffed, “If only someone could live that long.”
“But he is,” Fen insisted.
“Child, I will need you to hold him still.” The old woman came back to the bedside, laying out various things on the edge.
Fen got up on the other side of the bed and held down Lost’s arms. The old harpy nodded, then went to the fire, holding a knife over the flame till it was glowing hot. She came back over.
“I will need you to make sure he doesn't shift to much,” The old harpy said, she hovered the knife over Lost’s wound. “No matter how much he screams, dont let go.”
Then the harpy pressed the hot knife to the festering wound, and Lost screamed in his sleep.