Stolas burst into Kalou's bedroom dressed in his rags. "Kalou, are you ready? Dad is in his office with some weird fellow, and they brought wine with them. They will be hours. Let's go!" He said with a gapped smile. His little body filled out the loose clothes more as their outings increased over the past year, now they almost fit.
"Eh?" Kalou groaned as he flopped over the side of his bed, half hanging upside down. "You're up early," he yawned. "I doubt the others will even be out at this time."
"We can look, and if not, we can go get them," Stolas rocked back and forth on his heels. I don't know where they live though, he remembered. Kalou let out a monstrous sigh and swiftly tucked himself back into bed.
"Five more minutes." Stolas pouted.
"Fine," he whined. A devious smile creeped up his face. "I'll go myself." Kalou answered with a snore and Stolas left on his tiptoes.
With every step closer to the outside, the electric ball of excitement in his chest doubled until he broke into a run. He traced the gap he wore through the ivy-covered wall all the way south to the lower town and cut back into the forest. In the spring, the land broke free of its frozen blanket. Plumes of leaves covered the bare bones of the trees and tiny white flowers poked out of the frost. Stolas revelled in it.
"Silveste! Wes, Graer!" He cried at the top of his lungs, a chuckle escaping at the end. "Víđarr, are you hiding in the trees again?"
"No. Sleeping. Shut up." Stolas spun around and darted into the clearing where the old wolves' nest rested. In the cove, he saw a dash of black amongst grey. Víđarr lay buried amongst the sleeping wolves, his mop poking out the top of the huddle. He cracked one eye.
"The cat that sleeps among the wolves." Stolas marvelled. Víđarr popped out his entire head.
"It's warm." He grumbled.
"Is this where you have been living?" asked Stolas, "Do you not have a home to go to?" Víđarr's brow creased.
"They kicked me out of the orphanage."
"Eh? Why, what happened? That's not very fair." Víđarr yawned and crawled out of the furry bed.
"I became a 'liability'. Whatever that means," he scoffed. A curious gleam caught in his eyes. "Where do you live?" Stolas panicked, and as with most young boys, that emotion painted his face.
"Uh," He fumbled with his fingers. Víđarr latched on.
"Why do you look so scared? Hiding something, Michaeas?" he teased. Stolas took this interrogation to heart.
"No, I'm-" he laughed, cutting him off.
"Relax, I'm kidding! You know your whole face goes red when you get flustered. I don't care where you live. Can't be that great anyway, given how eager you are to come out every day."
"It's not so bad." Stolas hummed. Víđarr ran his hands through his hair, exposing his face, and a sigh escaped his lips. Under the mess, he had some looks to him.
"You know, I think whether you are a prince or a pauper, everyone wants to escape something. For me, and I think for you too, raising these wolves did a lot. You came out of your shell."
"I have never had such fun." Stolas thought aloud. He perked up. "Anyway, want to play hide and seek?" Víđarr cocked an eyebrow.
"You won't be able to find me."
"My observational skills may surprise you." Stolas challenged.
He looked everywhere. Ducking in and out of bushes, batting away piles of snow, climbing trees and even delving into hollow logs. His friend eluded him. Stolas wandered back to the sleeping wolves and peeled them away from each other to check within. Nothing. Perhaps he got bored and went to sleep somewhere else, Stolas thought.
"Hah," he sighed, sending a plume of vapour into the air. He picked up a stick and batted at leaves as he walked. "Víđarr, I give up. You win. I'll treat you to some dried meat, okay?" Stolas yelled into the woods. The wind whistled and sent the leaves dancing. Between the tree trunks that travelled deep into the wilds beyond, he saw no trace of his friend. The loud silence summoned a light panic within him. "Víđarr?" he cried out. "Víđarr, where are you?" Fingers obstructed the swirls of steam that trickled from his lips and he stiffened as another arm wrapped around his waist. They hauled him into the bushes, and too stunned to speak, he remained still.
"Do not panic, it's me." Stolas recognised the voice and scent of his assailant.
"Kalou?" he whispered. Horns sounded from within the town, and the barking of hounds drew closer. His brother spoke in his ear.
"We are being invaded."
"The palace-"
"They have not reached it yet. We need to return immediately; father will be in a bloodthirsty rage already." Stolas pulled down his brother's hand and faced him.
"What about Víđarr? I can't leave him here." Kalou replaced his finger on Stolas' lips and his eyes sharpened. Stolas shivered as the rhythm of boots on dirt echoed from their makeshift forest trail. Behind them, a dozen Galdrian soldiers emerged. He recognised the leader as the third prince of Galdria, his royal highness prince Arawn Elhanan Ròs.
"They have allied with the south. If they find us, our heads will roll." Kalou breathed. Stolas knew little of the ongoing war for the scattered southern territories, only that his brother would arrive on the front lines the moment he turned fifteen. For Galdria - a neighbouring country - to join their enemy, a fool would know that meant nothing good.
Through the leaves that concealed them, the brothers watched the invaders draw closer. Their muttered whispers formed into words, and a bolt of fear pierced his chest as Stolas heard the voices.
"-through here. We may be able to reach the palace gardens."
"I never liked that pair of brats. Those silly children are numb to the horrors their father commits. Of course, they are not in the lottery to be enslaved by Lohur."
"Your royal highness, I understand you are passionate, but we must be quiet. If we are heard, it's all over."
"I will sever their heads and present them to him." The redheaded prince's eyes shone. He paid no mind to his companions, listing off every brutality he could fathom. "Iordan may have a taste of his own wrath."
Stolas took in a sharp breath at the mention of his father, locking eyes with Kalou. His body trembled, his breathing sporadic and accelerated. The distress clouded his mind like fog until he could no longer process the rapidly overlapping thoughts. Kalou scrambled to stifle his little brother's whimpers. The party came to a halt.
"What was that?" said Arawn. Stolas's pulse built up so much pressure he thought his eyes could burst out from their sockets.
"Must be an animal sire, I doubt there will be anyone in these woods," A soldier spoke up. A shushing finger silenced him. "Although we cannot be too careful." he muttered. The foreign prince creeped forward, his eyes darting about for any sign of movement. Step by step, his leather boots tread closer, crushing snow and sticks beneath them. Like a countdown, Stolas considered each step the same as a ticking gear on the clock that timed out his life. Straining his neck, he spied the foxy tresses that shifted in the subtle breeze. If he had the courage, he could reach and touch one. Arawn huffed.
"Whatever, let's go." The group travelled past in a moment, and as the last soldier disappeared from earshot, the boys let go of each other and gasped for air. On the brink of hyperventilating Stolas kept his head in his hands and cleared his head. Kalou leaned back, coming down from the high of adrenalin. Both sat in disbelief.
"Brother," Kalou called. "We need to go back."
"I know."
"We need to warn-" Kalou spoke a horrid, mangled word. Hung against a tree by his neck, Kalou gagged and clawed at the mighty fist that held him there. Arawn's chilling smile shone with a disturbed and twisted amusement.
"Surprise! Did I get you? What are you doing out here, my little princes?" His icy blue eyes rolled down to meet Stolas. "A child's cries are not easily mistaken. Should have been quiet, silly." he jeered.
Stolas shrunk.
"Run!" Kalou gasped. He tried. He ran away, he fought, he cried. Every scenario and option he played over in his head, yet his feet remained planted. Stolas shuddered and gasped as he felt a warm sensation spread in his crotch that trickled down his trouser leg. Arawn's lip curled.
"Ugh, you call yourself a prince. So pathetic you cannot move even one finger in defence of your brother." He tutted. "Disappointing."
"Do not."
"What?" said Arawn. Kalou's face flushed red, although not from the suffocation. "Hah, do not, speak to him - that way!" He reached out and scratched across the man's throat. Arawn clutched his neck on reflex, dropping Kalou to the floor. "Stolas!" He screamed. The prince's companions rushed them. Arawn pulled himself together. Stolas snapped out of his paralysis just in time for him to see the blade travelling towards his chest.
And see it stop.
The chaotic scene turned to a standstill. Atop Arawn's broad shoulders perched a small form. He held up his bearded chin with one hand and finished Kalou's work with the other. Like a glove, blood coated Víđarr's arm and knife. It flooded out of Arawn's neck in a constant stream, soaking into his armour and what remained of his once mighty beard. Víđarr's troubled expression met with Stolas, and his eyes screamed at him to flee.
"Víđarr." Stolas wept. Víđarr leaped off, Arawn staggered and toppled to the ground. The boy shook and his fist clenched around his weapon.
"You- do you know what you have just done?" A soldier bellowed as he unsheathed his sword. "You will pay for your transgressions against the crown!" His words rallied the others, and a melody of scraping metal rattled their ears. Kalou grabbed the pair of them by the arm and turned to bolt, but Víđarr slid his arm free.
"What are you doing?" Kalou cried in disbelief. Stolas observed a shift in his friend's demeanour.
"Go. Warn your father."
"Víđarr, are you mad?"
"Go!" He barked. The boy placed his fingers between his lips. "I have backup." A shrill whistle rang throughout the forest. It travelled with the wind in every direction, surrounding them, and summoned with it a harrowing, guttural growl. The soldiers faltered. Víđarr grinned.
Stolas remembered his face clearly as his brother carried him away. His heart weighed heavily, and guilt dampened his cheeks.
"Go back!" He cried, hammering weak punches on Kalou's back. "Stop!"
"We had to leave him!" Kalou grit his teeth and squinted away tears of his own. "We had no choice!"
"No," Stolas sobbed. He didn't comprehend the rush back home but let loose his distress in a wash of emotion that clouded his memory. Without realising, the sky transformed from the billowing pillars of smoke to the painted ceilings of the royal palace.
Two guards tended to them. Stolas focused on his brother's face, scrunched up with worry.
"Brother, please say something. Tell the guards that you are alright." The soldiers searched them for injuries and muddled about in alarm. He nodded his little head.
"I'm not hurt." He spoke. The group flinched as the King's booming voice shook the walls. Followed by Doctor Harowe and the stranger, Iordan barrelled down the hallway and screamed their names.
"My sons," He whispered. Iordan dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around them both, his face red and puffy. Amongst all the other feelings brewing in his mind, Stolas registered shock at his expression. His father, ever stoic, broken to this point? The guilt multiplied.
"Dad, Arawn Elhanan is dead." His father flinched. And pulled back to face him.
"What did you say?"
"In the woods, we were hiding as he and his soldiers came out from the trees. He said all these horrible things about what he would do to us to teach you a lesson." The king's equanimity shattered like glass. "I got scared and made a noise. We thought he didn't hear us, but then he came back and lifted Kalou by the throat and choked him. I did nothing… I was pathetic." Stolas crumbled and cried. "Then, then Kalou scratched him, and he let go. Everyone was coming, and he was going to stab me but Víđarr he-"
"Our friend killed him to save us. He fought the others off while we escaped, so we could warn you." Said Kalou. "There could be more battalions."
"Take Kalou to his room. Lock the door and barricade the balcony. I'll take Stolas."
"Will do." Their father released them.
"Wait, father, what about Víđarr?" Exclaimed Kalou as the stranger took him away. Iordan looked to the guards.
"Find anyone you can and scout the forest. If you find the boy, bring him back to the palace." Like a ragdoll, Stolas flopped into his father's arms. Exhaustion hit him, and he fell limp. Mentally spent.
"Dad?"
"Yes Stolas?"
"When you find Víđarr, don't be angry at him. We lied to him; he didn't know who we were until today." Stolas felt his father smile against his cheek.
"He saved both of your lives. That boy will have a knighthood." They reached his bedroom, and Iordan placed Stolas down on the bed. Within minutes, his father constructed a barrier out of the wardrobe, tables and chairs. With the curtains drawn and the doors locked behind it, not a scrap of light shone through. He left him with a single candle and a copy of the Aschan Testament. "When I leave this room, you will push your dresser in front of your door, do you understand?"
"Yes." The king slammed and locked the door behind him. Stolas did as he was told, and as he stepped away from the door and curled up in bed, the darkness sunk in, and the cold's clawed hands snatched at the heat. Silence allowed him to hear the flowing of blood in his veins, focus on himself and blow up his senses to their most creative. In the blackest corners, the darkness fizzled and warped, shadows danced and shifted into figures. The figures in the painted ceiling changed their expressions. Every slight creak and groan of the wooden floors made him jump. All of it so consuming and above all; lonely. I want my friends back, he thought. Their faces etched into his mind, he pictured their smiles, laughs. Every moment and memory together through a blood red filter. It drowned them. Stolas wiped away his tears once again. His hand laid to rest on the pages of the open book and wiped away the ink with streaks of crimson.
"What?" He muttered, when movement caught his eye. Stolas looked down, and scenes of innocence transcended to horror. For by the foot of his bed he saw eyes. Eight of them. The gore brought a wave of sickness within that went far beyond any physical retching. This deformed creature of many heads and many limbs, bathed in the blood and flesh that made it hummed and moaned. It called to him. Upon the bed it crawled, and it spoke:
"Kill us."
Stolas' eyes flicked open. Sweat dripped from his face and adrenaline had his heart pumping.
"Brother, please let go of me." His eyes widened at the sight of his brother beneath him. Stolas clasped him to the bed in a chokehold.
"Kalou." He said, breathless.
"Hey kid, everything is okay, you were having a nightmare." Caine approached from behind, holding up his hands. "Let him go." The faces in this room Stolas recognised. Alongside Caine and his brother, two small boys peeked around the door frame.
"What," he trailed off, shaking his head. "What happened, what's going on?" The moment the words left his mouth, the memory hit him like a tonne of bricks. Stolas removed himself from his brother and sprung backwards.
"Where is the angel?"