To Be King

Marisol’s blood froze in her veins as she watched the tip of the blade rip a hole in Racqein’s shirt. The pressure of his arm against her chest was grounding and she clung to it, staring blankly at the sharpened blade.

Racqein looked up, finally meeting the soldier's eyes. The soldier’s hand jerked back, slicing Racqein’s dirty shirt open.

Marisol swallowed a scream, her hand flying to her mouth.

“This little shit is Sun Clan!” he yelled to his companions, raising his sword above his head to strike down Racqein.

Racqein tilted his head to the side and said, “what are you talking about?” His voice was lighter and more mature than before. His back straightened, his stance widened, and he casually rested his wrist on the hilt of his sword... Cruxion had taken over and Marisol’s blood tentatively began to flow again.

The soldier paused just as he was about to bring his sword down, “what they fuck- your eye-?” With Cruxion in charge of the body, his visible eye turned a glowing violet. In the bright sunlight the flow was not as clear.

“Harrison! Why are you dawdling?” One of the King’s guards that had simply rode past came back, his sun-weathered face pinched with annoyance. All the soldiers had back-tracked at this point, enclosing the three kids in a tight half-circle. Orfen pressed closer to Marisol behind Racqein and she could feel the vibration of a trapped growl where his side pressed against hers.

“That blade is too fine for these little shits. They are thieves and likely murderers. That boy,” he pointed his slightly shaking sword at Racqein’s chest once more, “used some foul Sun Clan magic to hide his vile yellow eyes.”

Racqein, no, Cruxion laughed, “that is not a talent that any branch of the Sun Clan possesses. The yellow eyes are their curse, the exchange for their progenitor’s immortality.”

The soldier’s, Harrison’s, face twitched in rage, “like I’d listen to what you say.”

Marisol fought her fear long enough to raise her head and glance around at the group of soldiers. Most of them had their eyes trained on Cruxion, many with the hands on the hilts of their swords. But the one who seemed to be the leader was squinting at Orfen while scratching his dark, scruffy beard, “take off your hood, boy.”

Orfen stopped all motion beside Marisol, becoming impossibly still as if that might hide him. The leader looked at one of the soldiers and jerked his head towards Orfen. The soldier urged his horse forward and reached for Orfen’s hood. And diplomacy was thrown away.

Cruxion grabbed the hilt of his sword and Orfen began to transform, cloak and hood torn to pieces as he took the form of a ferocious lion.

“A were!”

“Fuck!”

“Kill the beast and capture the thieves!” The leader shouted, drawing his sword.

Cruxion dashed forward and met him blade for blade in a loud clang. “Marisol! Get down! Close your eyes!”

Marisol scrambled to obey, stumbling off the road, crouching down, and screwing her eyes shut.

Orfen roared, horses whinnied, men shouted, more swords were unsheathed, and the world descended into the cacophony of battle. Marisol covered her ears at a man’s scream and tried to melt further into the tall grasses at the side of the road.

Suddenly, her arm was grabbed and she was yanked to her feet. Her feet tangled in tall grass, she tripped and fell against cold, unfeeling armor. Her hands were forced away from her ears and the sounds of fighting and pain poured into her. She opened her eyes and found she was staring up into the harsh, rage-filled, dark brown eyes of the first soldier who stopped. She tried to pull away but her thin wrist felt close to snapping in his gauntleted hand as he held her tight against him.

Her head whipped around as she searched for rescue. Her eyes widened in horror.

Two of the half-dozen soldiers were on the ground, unmoving. Cruxion was matching swords with the leader.. And clutching his side with his left hand, blood seeping through his fingers. One soldier stood back, holding a wound on his stomach while the last one sunk his sword into Orfen’s side. “No!” Marisol screamed out.

There was a cold kiss of sharp metal against her throat and the soldier holding her shouted out, “drop your sword or I slit her throat!”

Cruxion looked over and met Marisol’s eyes. His purple eye flickered back to MorningSun gold and Racqein threw the sword down. “She’s just a kid,” Racqein said, as if it wasn’t also true of himself.

As Racqein faced Marisol and the man threatening her, his back was now to the leader. The leader took a step forwards and struck Racqein hard in the back of the head with the pommel of his sword. Racqein crumpled to the ground.

Orfen roared. Marisol stifled a scream, the blade at her neck, nicking her as she shook.

The leader crouched over Racqein’s prone form, binding his hands behind his back, “hurry up and kill the beast!”

Before the soldier facing off with Orfen could fulfill his orders, Orfen suddenly shrunk. His large lion form becoming a blonde, long-furred domestic cat. Still bleeding from his wounds, his small cat form darted into the tall grass and disappeared.

The soldier started to pursue but the leader shouted out, “leave it. You’ll never catch it on your own. We’ll put out a warning notice when we get to the city.”

On the ground, Racqein started to stir, wriggling ineffectually with his hands tied behind his back. The leader hauled him to his feet by his arms, picked up Cruxion’s sword, and said, “you’ll go on trial when we find who this blade really belongs to.”