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.