Chapter 2
The Deer and the Eagle
Jabez rolls to his side, drawing in a slow breath before releasing it all in a loud sigh. Astra abandons the bones she’d been playing with to cuddle up next to him, curling up beside him and resting her head on his foreleg, a wing over his flank. He twists his neck at an awkward angle, a pained, yet happy, expression crossing over his face as he gazes at his daughter before he lays back down and closes his eyes.
I take a few steps toward them to keep watch, swiveling my ears every so often to listen for any sign of Guard or Soldiers.
The Sea is relatively quiet. Some bustle around, moving things around and reconstructing tents with what supplies we can find and scrounge together. I rest a hind hoof, swishing my tail against flies.
I’ve helped out where I can, assisting in removing debris too far destroyed to be reused and transporting things too heavy for people to move easily. Astra has tagged along, both because she doesn’t want to leave and because I don’t want her to go.
Jabez helps as much as he can, but he rarely leaves Astra either. He’s tried to apologize for the King’s actions, saying that the King wasn’t like this when he first met him and that he would’ve stopped the King if he could’ve and that if only he’d known.
Guilt swims in the depths of Jabez’s eyes every time he sees another tent that collapses beneath charred logs that could no longer support the weight asked of it underneath the damage, the injuries sustained by someone that would never heal right, the sobs of friends and family members forced to say goodbye to a loved one too soon, a parent holding an empty infant swaddle.
Jabez startles awake when what I assume is a tent cracks and crumbles, sending a loud boom rolling across the Sea as it crashes to the ground. Astra stirs against Jabez’s side, but he hushes her, nosing against her until she settles back down and falls back asleep. She curls her tail up against her legs, grey plates at the end whispering across each other as she shifts around until she’s comfortable.
Jabez turns to me, eyes wide with fear and ears pinned to the sides of his head.
“The King only could’ve done this if some part of him was like this,” I murmur to him. “You cannot apologize for the King’s actions; what he does is not your burden to carry. His actions are not your own. The King has had every opportunity to assist and help us rebuild the Sea, and he has chosen every single day not to. He could choose right now to help, and we both know that he will not. He could walk down here and make a genuine apology and vow to do better and prove through his actions that he means what he says, but we both know that he will not even offer empty words.”
“I should’ve known,” he croaks, eyes turning glassy as tears drip down his cheeks and freeze along his jaws. “I never should’ve approached him when I was Ice.”
“You had no way to know. You were doing what you thought was best. The King is not a good guy, but he seemed nice.”
“He was nice,” Jabez whispers, voice hollow. “He was nice. I… I thought he was nice. What kind of monster does that make me? He tricked me, and I fell for it!”
“You’re not a monster. I grew up in a very different situation, but I believed the King was nice, too. He’s tricky. He’s smart. He’s… He’s… The King’s the monster, Jabez. The King’s a monster with a shifting face.”
“If he has a shifting face,” Jabez says, “then I should’ve seen. He showed me his real face at some point, but if I ever saw, I wasn’t truly seeing. I wasn’t letting myself. I saw what I wanted and he got the Amethyst Throne, I lost everything for decades and forever, and only Lucius knows how many have died because of Bryant’s actions the second he became King Garonda XIV.”
I sigh, closing my eyes and shaking my head. Jabez’s jaw trembles, slack with agony a century old.
“We’ll stop him,” I murmur.
“How?” Jabez doesn’t sound angry. He just sounds tired, exhausted beyond just not sleeping well. His blue eyes look dozens of shades paler, one for every year he’s been alive, another weight added to his shoulders.
I swish my tail when I feel a fly land on my hip.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly, gaze finding Astra as she noses into Jabez’s foreleg, breath stirring the fur around the scars across his skin. The tip of his tail flicks but he doesn’t otherwise move.
“I don’t know,” I repeat, “but we will find a way. The King will fall. He has to. Astra needs somewhere safe to live. There’s nowhere here on Ragdon, and I cannot create another Field. Even if I can, who’s to say the King won’t just find it? He found us the last time.”
Jabez pants, eyes flashing. He looks down at his daughter, flexing the toes on a forepaw. “I know. I just can’t forget who he was. He was so nice. I thought Bryant was the best. I trusted him, Brook. How am I supposed to explain to my own daughter that I trusted the most dangerous person to her so much that I would have died for him? How do I explain that to her? That I fucked up so much and that he screwed with me that much?”
“I don’t know,” I say, “but she will listen. She’s Astra. You and Freedom raised her well. I continued with what you started
Jabez hums. “Maybe.”
xxxx
“Come, Brook!” Katelin shouts, fear blooming in her dark eyes. Brown hair swishing around her shoulders as she comes to a brief halt and beckoning me with rapid movements of her hand, she barely stops before readying herself to run the same way she came. “Someone’s trapped. It doesn’t look good. We need your help.”
I jerk upright, stomach twisting at the information.
“Stay with Jabez and meet us there,” I tell Astra. “Stay with your father.”
I fix her with a firm stare, ensuring that Astra understands. She nods.
“Camden will come over in a few minutes. He’s on his way,” Katelin adds. “He told me he made you a present.”
Astra pricks her ears, raising her wings. “A present?”
Katelin nods. “It’s a surprise, but he said he thinks you’ll really like it.”
When Astra settles back down beside Jabez, I pause for long enough for Katelin to step up onto a log we haven’t been able to remove yet, then grasp my mane and clamber up onto my back. I don’t let myself react when her knee digs in behind my ribcage; she’s relatively short, and Wyatt, who’s the taller than Grey or Camden, would likely have a bit of trouble climbing up onto my back. I twist my neck and offer my head as leverage, careful of the horn on my head. Katelin takes the assistance, pushing off my forehead.
Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!
“Ok,” she says once she’s centered across my back, and I take off, following her directions on where to go. I’m not fast; I’m far stronger than I am fast. But I summon every bit of speed I have, racing through the Sea.
Katelin’s fingers curling into my mane, she leans down, legs hugging my sides as she hangs on, then moves to wrap an arm around my neck, before moving to hold on to my mane higher up my neck.
“I won’t let you fall,” I say, turning my head to glance at her, since, with Katelin on my back, she’s just barely out of my field of vision.
“The only horses on Ragdon are in the King’s army. I’ve seen them, but have only ridden one once and that was because the King has a twisted sense of humor and was feeling particularly rude! Turn left here and then it’s straight on. You’ll see. Right where that crowd is.”
Galloping along, I draw my ears back and push myself a little faster, turning where Katelin says to.
There’s a crowd gathered on the side of the pathway Katelin has ushered me down, a growing collection of antsy people moving all around each other in one continuous swirl. Some try to shove forward, while others stumble back.
“Come, come, come,” someone shouted, beckoning me.
I slow down only when I’ve reached the group.
With most of the people only reaching my shoulders, I can see clearly what’s going on: Someone lays trapped beneath a collapsed tent, yet another instance of destruction after the havoc the King and his Dragon wreaked. One of the supporting logs of the tent crushes the person’s abdomen and legs, leaving them unable to escape, and, despite multiple other people attempting to push it off, they’re still stuck.
Katelin slides off my back, catching her balance when she sways on her legs.
“Help me, and I can get the log off them. Will someone be able to assist them after? Wyatt’s not here, and they need medical attention.”
“I’m not Wyatt, but I can help,” someone says.
I don’t recognize them, but they’ll be able to help.
I stand still as people fasten a harness around my shoulders and across my chest. Listening to the weak groans of the person trapped —Milla, I heard someone say— I rock on my hooves and swish my tail, antsy to get moving. I feel people tighten buckles and belts around my body. The feeling has become far more familiar than it’s been in close to a century with how much I have been assisting in rebuilding the Sea.
The King keeps the vast majority of the horses on Ragdon in his army for use within the Guard and Soldiers. There’s only one other that I know of in the Sea, a young pangaré bay colt. Much leaner than me, he’s lighter on his feet and faster, far nimbler. He has approached me a few times, prancing around, somewhere between a foal and a young stallion.
“Ok, we’re ready, Brook,” someone barks.
I throw my entire weight into the harness, digging my hind hooves into the hard-packed soil of the Sea and carving out gouges as I find traction. It takes me a few moments to get the log to give beneath the force I use to pull it. I can feel the age in the straps used, how old they are and how many times they’ve been used.
One chance, I remind myself. Milla is counting on us. She needs us. We must succeed.
“Keep going, Brook. It’s working,” the person acting in Wyatt’s stead says. “You’re freeing Milla.”
I keep the pressure and take another step, slowly removing the log from Milla. When someone tries to grab at the harness around my shoulders, I throw my head and snort, pinning my ears and flattening my neck when I make a move to nip at them. I’d tell them no, but I’m too tired and I need to focus. The dirt beneath my hooves keeps slipping. The panic and fear oozing off everyone makes for an unsettling internal experience that throws me off.
“Hey!” Katelin shouts.
She shoulders her way through the crowd, outfit of multiple shades of grey with golden buttons, a light shirt with a high collar, and a thick belt around her waist.
“Leave Brook alone. She’ll let us know if she needs help. Let her do her job.”
“I just wanted to make sure the horse knows where to go. The colt doesn’t know. He needs a guiding hand.”
I draw my ears back as irritation grinds through me in the same sharp, fiery burst like the spicy pepper a few Guard once gave me for a few laughs. I’d felt sick for the rest of the day with burning and pain curling through my mouth and body, but the Guard had laughed it off and let me remain in my stall. I hadn’t understood what they had done or why they had done it. Still to this day, I do not know, but I don’t think there is a reason. They knew they’d be able to get away with it, and I was an easy target at the time, just a horse in the King’s army who happened to be at a convenient place of the wrong place at the wrong time and I became the unknowing victim they had fed a spicy pepper to and ate it willingly despite the funny smell, not realizing what would happen.
“The colt can understand you, even if he cannot speak to you like I can,” I say, voice rough from exertion and frustration.
The person turns to me. “Well…” they gasp. “I-I know that!”
“Your comment did not imply that.” I pause to take in a deep breath as I pull the log the last way until it’s a safe distance away from Milla.
I stop, head low as I pant. Eyes closed, I don’t see who tells Katelin what to do as they remove the harness from my body. With the weight gone, I feel like I can stand a little taller, even if I sometimes welcome the weight.
Please, Lucius, I silently beg as I hear the tense voices turn to shouts. I cannot tell you how to do your job. It’s not my place to understand, but please. I beg of you. I do not know Milla. I have never met her, and only you and Erebus know her in her soul, but is this what she deserves?
I flinch when the stand-in for Wyatt cries out, hoarse, voice cracking and breaking.
What if Wyatt hadn’t left? What if I had picked somewhere else for the Field to be, and then Phoenix had never found us, and then Grey wouldn’t have come to the Field and brought Alex, and then we wouldn’t have all gone up to the top of Ragdon Volcano, and then Astra wouldn’t have solved Arcane’s riddle to bring back Ky, and then Arcane wouldn’t have shed the Midnight Tear, and then Alex wouldn’t be missing now, and then Wyatt wouldn’t have gone with Grey. Wyatt would be here now to help Milla, and they could work with everyone and they could save Milla.
Someone screams, and I squeeze my eyes shut, pinning my ears, but I know better than to think that will save me from hearing such sounds again in my nightmares..
I’m so sorry.
xxxx
I’m still where I stood as Katelin helped take the harness off my body. The harness lays beside me as a young child crouches next to it and wipes away the dirt and sweat.
“Thank you,” I murmur, lowering my head, careful of my horn.
When I see movement out of the corner of my eye, I perk up, expecting to see Jabez and Astra. Perhaps Camden, too. However, I do not see any of them.
Instead, I see two beings I do not recognize.
I frown when I see the walking person, and I frown far harder when I see the walking eagle. Standing at a height of somewhere above my withers, the eagle is tall, covered with golden feathers, with wings and a tail tinged with a darker brown color. The center feather on the eagle’s tail is a light grey that I wonder if it is genuinely grey, or if it is some other light color instead.
The two stop a ways away from us. Nibbling at their wing to scratch an itch, the eagle seems relatively unbothered, but the person rubs their chin, eyes trailing across everything in their vicinity.
“Yeah…” the person says, brushing a lock of tightly curled black hair over their shoulder. “So is this, like… Ragdon. It’s not, is it?”
Two circular green earrings dangle from their ears, and a green stud stands out against the dark skin of their nose. Around their neck and hanging from a black cord, a light grey rectangular pendant with two three-tined antlers. They wear similar clothes to what the Ragdonians in the Sea wear; plain white, khaki, but rather than the very light colors faded over time into greys, this person wears clothing that has a little more brown within it.
They turn to the golden eagle standing beside them. The eagle’s bright golden feathers fluff out as they turn to the person, arching their neck as they blink, chirping. Something flashes over their gaze. A yellow necklace with twin folded bird wings rests against their chest.
“Don’t talk to me like that, Icarus.” The person waves a dismissive hand at the eagle. “Ignore him. He’s got an attitude.”
The eagle —Icarus— turns at the dig. He squawks, taloned feet stomping on the ground. He flares out a wing, but only one. I squint when he hardly moves the other, until I see the wing hanging limp at his side. Golden-brown feathers lay scrunched up, with some cracked and broken, the wing itself stuck locked in a folded position, wrenched beyond how it would naturally bend by a metal ring and leather straps. I can sense a power very similar to the Amethyst Throne, but with something distinctly other.
I can sense something that reminds me of Arcane, yet I can also tell he had nothing to do with why Icarus’s wing is bound; that bit of power I can sense on both Icarus and the person currently leaning against him.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” I ask, stepping forward and tapping into my powers in case I’ll need them.
“I’m Seneca, and we are here because of Arcane. And because the King is a nasty fucker. We are the Deer and the Eagle, and we can help.”