When Angles Cry, Part Five

Freman was staying in the room he had been forced to grow up in. Only seconds ago, a servant, hired human naturally, had entered to inform him of Lord Wingback’s passing. The news had caused a mixture of emotions. Freman truly did WANT to care for his father, but it did not ever seem as though the Filda “king” had ever returned the sentiment. Even his last corking words had not been whispers of affection or even declamations of pride in his sons… no, it had just been a plea, an order rather, that they keep his work alive. That they, like he had before them, sit rotting in this City of the Loft, making laws, sending envoys, and counting figures. It was not the last meeting Freman had been hoping for, yet as much as he had come to expect…

Freman pushed open the door to his balcony and walked out. His childhood quarters in Wnigback’s castle were situated in a jutting tower… probably, aside from his brother’s room at the top of the winding stair, the highest dwelling in the entire world. Wind blew against him as he stood in the cold night, screaming at him to take flight into the mountain air. But something held him back… they way Cumlius had looked at their father’s bedside. Freman needed to talk with his brother, and he refused to leave before that time. Smirking, Freman spread his wide brown wings to feel the wind. It was rare for familial devotion to hold him here… After fights with his father as a youth, Freman would often find the door to the balcony locked, Wingback knowing his son would have taken flight never to return.

“Not leaving without saying goodbye are we?”

Cumlius’ voice cut into Freman’s mind, causing him to turn. Smiling at his brother, Freman shook his head, pointing to the sky.
“Nay brother, though the night is ripe for it… come, feel the wind a bit!”
Cumlius consented, walking out into the cold air of the balcony. After the two had stood in silence for a bit, staring out into the night, Cumlius crossed his arms over his chest.
“Tell me Freman…” he asked, looking upwards to the gleaming stars, “when our father gave us leave to travel, to have five years to wander the world, where did you go… what did you see?”

Freman join his brother in gazing upwards at the stars. About three and a half years ago, Lord Wingback had, for reasons unknown to Freman, suddenly decided that his two children could leave the City of the Loft, provided they give their most sacred vow to return in five years. It had been while they were gone that he had began to wane in health and vigor, and their five years had been shortened by this visit. Sighing, Freman stepped closer to the edge of the balcony, spreading his wings again as he closed his eyes. The feel of the wind beneath them, blowing back at his brown hair, brought back memories of his travels.

“You flew west brother, so I did the only plausible thing… I flew east. I flew over the sea, Cumlius. Did you ever see it in your travels? So large, so blue… stretching on forever to kiss the sky beyond my sight…”
Freman heard Cumlius chuckle, and step closer behind him.
“Aye… I saw it…”
“I flew over the sea, and found a land to the south and east of here. It was a land where nothing green grew. No plants, no water, no animals or people… nothing… not for miles upon miles. It was a sea of sand nearly as large as the sea of water I had just crossed. So I continued on west, and there I found the decayed husk of a civilization… ruins of castles, towns, farms, temples… this at one time, I thought to myself, must have been a mighty land, filled with people dedicated to kingdom. But yet, I did not see a single living soul… it was as though all the members of that race were slain overnight by the will of the Maker…”
“If the stories I heard were even a tenth correct, then there is some truth to what you came to believe,” Cumlius murmured.
“From their I flew on eastward,” Freman went on, “over a vast forest which I do not think any of the earth-crawlers could have passed. It too stretched for miles, waving in wind below me. I turned to the north east and flew on, where I saw plains, rivers… much like the ruined kingdom, only this one had only the occasional hut below me, people herding goats, sheep, and the like… I flew over these fields back and forth, hoping to find more people, but father’s fliers found me, and so I returned. And what of you brother? What did the famous hawk eyes of Cumlius see?”

Cumlius came and stood next to him, eyes staring out into the night. Freman looked over and saw something glisten in his brother’s eyes. Was it the moon, or was it actually tears? Was he crying? After a pause, Cumlius bowed his head. He spoke low, but clear, feeling in every word.

“I few west, over a great sea, and then I saw the men of earth killing each other on a great field. I flew on and found one of their great cities… there I saw them trample on the old and young… I saw them murder and steal… I heard stories of days past, and legends of days that never were… And then I flew on, over the very pains you found. Then I flew near the forest you traversed, and there, as I headed south, I found the tower of an old and powerful being. He showed me many things… some I had already known, and others I had not.”

Cumlius looked up to the moon, eyes burning with an inner light. Freman felt the intensity burning off him like a flame.

“Freman, our people are scattered and without a true leader. Our father saw this. True, he places this kingdom above his sons, something that was horrible, and he was not a Filda of virtue and truth… but the need he saw was real. The earth-crawlers abuse even their own kind, and they show even less affection towards we Filda…” turning towards Freman, Cumlius held open his hands, “Freman, we cannot let what our father started die… our people need it, and we need to help them…”

Freman looked to the floor. He had not expected this…
“But what about us?” he asked, voice cracking, “our freedom? Our lives?”
“Maybe some of us have to give that up…” Cumlius sighed, head bowing.
“You feel this is what we must do, don’t you?” Freman asked, “but surely it’s not what you dream of doing… the life you want?”
“No, not for either of us…”
“Maybe you are right,” Freman murmured, “but not both of us surely… let one of us stay here, and the other follow his dreams, his freedom…”
“True go, you thirst for freedom, just please come to tell me of what happens to you from time to time.”
Freman felt a flare go off in his mind. Cumlius had long been his only friend, the one who had reasoned on his behalf with their father, the one who had kept him sane over the long years of confinement in the City.
“No!” Freman cried, slamming his fist into his palm, “I will not see you here rotting in this place!”
“I have an idea,” Cumlius responded, holding up a coin, “let’s flip for it! Face, I will stay… crest, you can lead our people!”

The coin flashed in the moonlight as it flew into the air. Freman watched it, and felt a tear slowly fall from his cheek.

When Angles Cry, Part Four

Freman paused in the door, allowing his brother to enter first. It seemed that Cumlius was just as hesitant about the audience though, which gave Freman even more cause to worry. Cumlius was, generally speaking, sharper and good at quickly assessing motives. If he were hesitant about this meeting, it was just an extra warning flag before Freman’s eyes.

However, their father was obviously not as hesitant about beginning what was probably his final conversation. He pushed away the hand of the surgeon that sought to lay him back down from the position he had taken, leaning back against the headboard of the bed, wings awkwardly splayed to either side. Wingback took in another ragged breath and held out his hands. Cumlius sank to a knee at the side of the bed, taking one of Wingback’s hands clasped into his own. Following his brother’s lead, Freman moved to the other side of the bed, holding his father’s other withered, sweaty, hand in his own. It seemed so feeble in his grip, and Freman though back to the days when his father had been a god to him… strong beyond measure. Was this really the Filda that had taught him to fly against the wind… to sleep while in the air… to gain altitude on a calm day… Gripping the hand slightly tighter, Freman fervently prayed to the Maker that he died long before he reached old age.

Wingback’s breath rasped slightly as he looked from one son to another, his blue eyes watering. Swallowing a ragged gulp of something Freman had no desire to name, Wingback cleared his throat and croaked out a raspy speech.

“Freman, Cumlius,” he began, faintly squeezing at their hands with words, “I am no longer dying… look at me, I died days ago!” He broke into a wheezing, gargling sound that Freman figured must be a strangling from of laughing. The surgeon again tried to lean in, but Wingback shook his head.

“The good doctor has assured me the strain of speaking will cause this to be my last night in this world,” he explained, and gargling out a slight laugh, “but after tonight, my last affair will be done, and I see no reason to outlive my life for another day longer than I already have….” with this Wingback fell into a fit of coughing that caused Freman to wonder if his father would actually make it to his ‘last affair.’ After closing his eyes and taking a few heavy laborious breaths through his nose, the Filda king composed himself and continued.

“I die tonight, but the Filda do not die with me… our people are scattered and leaderless. You, my sons, must bring them back together. You must continue to rule this city and our nation. The Maker knows it is a thankless job, being king of the kingless, but it is the lot that falls to us… I am dead now, sons, but my task is undone. I leave it to you. May the Maker bless you both…”

Within the next two hours, those words had become Lord Wingback’s last.

When Angels Cry; Part Three

The two began to walk towards the gates of the city, Freman eying his brother closely. Something was obviously bothering Cumlius, and while it might indeed be their father's failing health, Freman shared enough of a connection with his brother to suspect more.
"Grim times indeed," Freman began, hoping to fish an answer out of Cumlius, "though the elders always fade, and this turn was not unexpected..."
Cumlius merely gave a half smile, an obviously preoccupied look in his yellow eyes. Then they were through the city gates, back into their childhood home... a place Freman could have gone much longer before seeing again.

It did not take long for the two brothers to be met by their father's officers, who quickly escorted them to the bedside of the ailing king. The room, much like the small castle it stood in, was less than impressive. Lord Wingback was the king of a people who rejected the very idea of being governed, and as such commanded neither great wealth or power. Freman did notice, however, that he did possess the resources to have the best surgeon in the city by his bed. Lord Wingback looked to the door from his bed as it squeaked open, and Freman was struck with how gaunt and old the face seemed.

"Come... come in, my sons," he managed to wheezed through ragged breaths. The message had not been wrong at all. Freman noted with a twinge of pity that Wingback looked as though he should have died months ago. The only thing more matted than his ratty, molting wings was his tangled hair. The dark, stone, room smelled of sweat, sickness, and bile. The surgeon, Freman noticed, was no Filda... just a man someone had obviously ferried up to the city. Did the poor doctor know he would never be allowed to return to the ground he had once lived on? Maybe so... his father did have some money, and humans were all too greedy and short-sighted. Their freedom could be bought with a few lose coins... sometimes with even less... No, Freman decided, he would not pity the doctor at all.

How could he when he barley pitied his dying father?

When Angles Cry; Part Two

Freman's wings beat the air with a powerful stroke, attempting to gain extra altitude. While he was no champion of high flying, Freman could outmatch many of his fellows in strength and endurance. His powerful feathered wings continued to pull him upward and onward, towards the City of the Loft, the only Filda city.

Freman normally despised cities, but the City of the Loft was no ordinary town. High atop Mt. Loft, it was totally inaccessible except by the Filda's wings, and even a normal Filda would find the trip exhausting. Still, it was more than this fact that made the City of the Loft an unusual town. "Home", if such a word applies, to Filda, the city naturally had very few long term occupants. Since most Filda despise permanency, spending their days in near endless migration, the city was comprised mostly of temporary housing, rented to the Filda who needed a break from the grind of travel. The town's constant residents were restricted to a few merchants, a handful of family Filda, an assortment of those to old to travel, and the court of Lord Wingback. In reality, Lord Wingback was the only reason Freman was returning to his birthplace of the City of the Loft. The fastest Filda visiting in the city had volunteered to fly in search of Freman and his brother, Lord Wingback's only children. He had received word only three day ago that his father was in very ill health, and near death's door. Even now it might be too late, and part of him wondered if that was for the best. Freman and his father more often than not approached life from very different perspectives.


Freman glanced up at the circular towers of the City of the Loft as they poked up though the clouds that surrounded the peek of Mt. Loft. The Filda had many enemies, so the hidden city was their closely guarded secret. As he neared the gate, Freman's sharp ears picked up the sound of a Filda drawing up out of the clouds below him. Looking down, he saw the form of his brother, Cumlius, pull above the mist and into view.

"Hail, brother," he called down. He had hoped Cumlius would have already arrived, perhaps taking some of the edge off of their father before his visit. Cumlius glanced up, and gave a wave back, wings spread to glide.
"Hail and well met, Freman!"

Soon the two landed on the massive stone balcony, built straight out from the mountain wall. Cumlius looked over to his brother and gave a lopsided grin as the two approached the gates to the city. His eyes were the same yellow, his hair and wings the same brown as Freman. Many had claimed the two were as alike as twins, though in truth Cumlius was several years the elder. He pushed some of the straight brown hair away from his eyes as his smile saddened somewhat.

"Long have wanted to see you brother, I am sorry we must meet over such sad tidings..."