The sun had begun to set when Micah put the last pile of dirt on Otis's grave. Fletcher was still in the truck cab, alive, but oblivious to the world. Neither Micah, nor myself, had the heart to wake him, to tell him that his best friend was no longer there.

Micah and I stood under the large oak tree where Otis was buried, his name etched into the tree's trunk. I placed a small bouquet of white lilies on the grave, tears pouring down my cheeks.

"He was special, wasn't he?" a deep and solemn voice resonated behind us.

Micah and I jumped in alarm, turning to see Fletcher staring at the mass of dirt. He was pale and shaky.

"After I lost my powers and was banished from Tueri, I was depressed for a long time. It wasn't until Otis came along that I felt some sense of happiness again," Fletcher said, a tear slipping down his weathered cheek.

"I'm so sorry, Fletcher," I said, giving him a hug.

I couldn't help the guilt running through me when I saw his pain. This entire thing was my fault. If I hadn't used magic, the Malin never would have tracked us. Otis died because of her foolish actions.

"We'll give you some privacy, Fletcher," Micah said, motioning for me to follow him.

"Do you think he's going to be okay?" I asked, watching Fletcher as he kneeled by the grave. I knew it would be hard for him to say goodbye. It made my  heart ache to know he had lost his best friend. 

I hobbled to a nearby tree trunk, sitting down painfully as Micah walked to the front of the truck and began assessing the damage.

"He'll be upset for a while, but protectors are resilient. He'll be okay- in time," Micah said, propping open the truck's hood.

He bustled around for several minutes, tinkering with the truck's mechanics.

"Well the radiator's busted and the drip pan is cracked," he said with a sigh. "We won't make it very far in this. Maybe a couple of hours, but then we're going to have some serious walking to do. How badly are you hurt?"

Knowing it would do no good to hide my injury, I lifted my faded blue jeans to show my leg. My knee was abnormally large, swollen to the point that it resembled a grapefruit. Cuts and scrapes covered my leg from my thigh to my ankle. It was already starting to bruise, showing a rainbow of colors as splotches of green, purple and black began to decorate my ivory skin.

Most shocking of all was seeing that my kneecap no longer appeared to be in the correct spot. It was now located disproportionally inward, almost touching my inner thigh.

Micah let out a high-pitched whistle. "Wow," he said, his eyebrows furrowing as he examined the injury.

"You should talk," I muttered, eyeing the wound on his shoulder where the firebomb had hit him. I could see through his scorched shirt to a deep red wound decorated with angry blisters and oozing pus.

"This is nothing," Micah said, waving the air in a dismissive gesture. "What we really need to be concerned about is your leg. You need to be able to run in case we're attacked."

He probed the swollen area of my knee with his fingers, causing me to wince and jerk away.

"It looks like it's dislocated," Fletcher said, walking over to help examine my leg.

Micah and I glanced at each other, neither knowing what to say to provide him with comfort.

"I'm fine... Really," he said, giving them a small, watery smile.

He turned my knee gently from side to side; even the smallest movement made me grimace.

"Can you fix it?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"I can, but I'm not sure you'll want me to. It'll be painful, very painful. And we don't have the right medicine to minimize the pain, so you'll feel everything," Fletcher admitted.

I swallowed nervously, glancing back and forth from Micah to Fletcher, waiting for someone to suggest a better, less brutal method.

"I think it's your only option, Lexi," Fletcher said, sensing my apprehension. "It won't heal unless we put it back in place."

I contemplated this for a moment, before reluctantly agreeing that he was right. I gave a small nod as nervous butterflies danced in my stomach.

Micah and Fletcher grabbed my arms and helped me stumble over to the truck. Even the slightest jarring brought tears to my eyes. I knew that Fletcher was right- this was the only way.

We climbed inside the truck bed and closed the door behind us. Fletcher reached for his satchel and dug out a pair of socks.

"You'll need to put them in your mouth to muffle the sound, just in case other Malin are nearby," he said apologetically, handing me the socks.

I wrinkled my nose in disgust, and he let out a small chuckle.

"Don't worry. They're clean," he said with a pat on her shoulder. I grabbed hold of them, more nervous than ever.

"Before we do this, I need to apologize, Fletcher. I never should've used magic. It was stupid, and Otis was the one who paid the price. I'm so, so sorry," I said, my eyes welling with tears.

I stared at my hands, unable to bear looking Fletcher in the eye. Micah muttered something about theatrics, but I ignored him.

"Lexi, you have nothing to apologize for. Otis had a long, happy life. Although it's going to be sad without him, I know that this is the way he would have wanted to go," Fletcher said as he wiped away my tears.

"He wouldn't want you to feel guilty about this. You didn't kill him- the Malin did, by orders of the King. If you really want to get justice for his death, you'll train hard, and win this battle."

I smiled a sad smile and gave him a nod. I would try my hardest to win, to avenge the loved ones who had sacrificed themselves for me.

"Are you ready now, Alexis?" Micah asked softly.

I wiped away the remaining tears and leaned back against the truck wall. I wanted nothing more than to tell them that I'd changed my mind, but I knew I didn't have a choice.

"Let's just get this over with," I muttered.

I put the socks in my mouth, biting forcefully to help alleviate some of my terror. I squeezed my eyes shut, as Fletcher placed his hands on either side of my injured leg.

"I'm going to count to three," Fletcher said. I clenched my fists tightly as I braced myself for the oncoming pain. "One... Two..." SNAP!

I sat straight up as hot, excruciating pain permeated my leg. I let out an agonized scream, tears pouring down my cheeks, and was instantly covered from head to toe with a clammy sweat.

Fletcher and Micah tried to talk to me, to tell me that I was okay and that it was over. But their voices were just a distant blur as everything went black, and I slipped into the beyond.

"Where are the others?" a powerful voice asked. It sounded detached, as though it were coming from another room.

I felt an odd sensation of numbness running through my body as I opened my eyes, trying to find the source of the voice.

It took me a moment to realize that I was no longer in the truck with Fletcher and Micah. I was now sitting in some sort of foyer, surrounded by stone walls. The room was cold, so cold that it seemed to be cutting me to my core.

The room was dark, save for a few torches along the far wall, making the space feel more like a dungeon. In the firelight, I can see a metal throne on the opposite side of the room. Only then do I realize that I was not alone; several soldiers were also in the chamber.

My eyes were drawn to the center of the room, where a tall, sturdy man with blonde hair and brown eyes sat on the metal chair.

The man's eyes were hardened, desensitized of morality. His face, however, was soft and innocent- he had to be in his early teens. An air of authority was reflected on his face, seeming oddly out of place on someone so young.

All around the room, soldiers were adorned in thick and heavy armor, their muscles showing through intimidatingly. Each of them wielded a military rifle, loaded and ready for use at a moment's notice. They were pointed menacingly at a man who knelt in front of the throne, trembling from head to toe with fear.

I let out a gasp of recognition as I realized that the man was the Malin solider who escaped from our battle mere hours ago.

I covered my mouth, knowing that my gasp would have brought unwanted attention. The soldiers, however, didn't seem phased. In fact, they hadn't acknowledged me at all. It was as if they didn't even know I was there.

"T-t-the others... didn't make it, m-my liege," the kneeling soldier said, his voice shaking.

"Please tell me, Rollcliff, how I lost two of my most skilled trackers?" the blonde man asked, his voice eerily and dangerously calm.

"They were killed, King Casimir. The rebels were better trained than expected," the Malin mumbled.

I took a step back as though I had been shot. My heart caught in my throat, and I felt as if I might faint at the Malin's words. This was the King? He looked so young to be such a force of evil.

If this was the King, it meant that I was in his castle. The idea made me shudder. How did I get here? More importantly, what would happen if he saw me? I stood stiff as a board, trying to blend into the shadows of the room. But the King seemed more preoccupied with the Malin soldier at the moment.

"They?" the blonde man asked, his eyebrows raising in curiosity.

"Yes, sir. A young f-f-female witch and the protector who accompanied her. He was the most trouble," the Malin said with a snarl. "And t-t-there was an older man. I heard one of them call him 'Fletcher'."

"Fletcher?" the man on the throne said, leaning forward excitedly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, s-s-sir. I heard it clearly."

"It's them. They're on the move..." the King said, barely audible.

His eyes widened in eagerness as he looked out of the room's only window to the deep green hills in the distance.

"I'm s-sorry, sir-what did you say?" the kneeling man asked, nervously twisting his hands.

"None of your concern," he snapped, bringing his attention back to the frightened man. His deep brown eyes narrowed into slits, causing the Malin soldier to tremble uncontrollably. "You have failed me, Rollcliff, and I do not take kindly to failure." He had a hard glint in his cold eyes.

"P-please, my liege... Have mercy!" the man begged. "I s-swear to you, it won't happen again!" he stammered.

"You're right- it won't," the King said, his face void of emotion. "Vos Dolorum!" he thundered, holding his hands toward Rollcliff.

The man's cries of pain mingled with the King's maniacal laughter as my vision went black once more.

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© Dawn Norwell