“You made it. I… I thought this was it,” Lucas confessed. “How did you get here?”

  Heavy rain began to descend upon the ancient jungle. A single drop fell upon Lucas’s face as he lay upon the moist ground beside Frankfer, panting. He turned his gaze toward the adjacent side of the river, where his fellow Roosters silenced the cries of the Wildmen priests who had sought to sacrifice him, like so many of their brothers.

  “We walked.” The stern yet welcoming voice of Falix filled his ears. “This is a two-pronged assault, all thanks to Klawn. His skills at torture are as majestic as his skills at healing. Our prisoner informed us where to look, and of this river of death to follow.”

  Lucas took in all the information as his fellow Roosters lifted him to his feet.

  “Go with them,” Falix ordered. “We will save the rest.”

  “No,” Lucas said between heavy breaths. “I know where they are… I can show you, and it’ll be a fight. A big one. There are many.”

  “You have done well,” Falix said. “We are expecting a fight. Go home… I doubt you would survive the journey if you do not leave no—”

  A chorus of terror escaped the burrow as a mass of feminine shrieking poured from it.

  “What is that?” Lucas asked, taking a step back.

  “Something that is going to die soon,” Falix answered. “Now go home, Lucas.” He stepped forward, removing the blade at his side. “Everyone with me. We will kill our way through. Your fellow Roosters’ lives depend on it!”

  Lucas felt the urge to fight against his master’s words, but his weary body argued against it.

  “I will see you back home,” Lucas muttered, disappearing beyond the thick brush.

  The band of boys followed Falix across the river, weapons drawn. The sound of leaves pummeled by falling droplets filled their ears as they surrounded the burrow’s entrance.

  “If our captured Wildman did not lie, there should be great resistance. We slither through their tunnels as silently as possible. Blow darts first,” Falix explained, removing a hollowed bamboo blow dart from his pelt. “Keep your swords at the ready. When the time comes, we fight in a four-man shield formation. The rear guard will form a line to defend our retreat. Monkey boys guard the burrow’s entrance. Take no prisoners.”

  The band of boys shared glances and nods.

  “Do your best not to die,” Falix added. “Let’s go.”

  He led the descent, kneeling and disappearing into the dark. Frankfer took a deep breath before sinking his feet into the soil of the burrow’s engulfing darkness.

  WHERE THE WOOD ROTS

  The eyes of orphans peered through the dark underbelly, their forms hidden within the encompassing darkness, their bodies pressed against the strange, entangled roots that made up the tunnel walls. Falix led their silent charge toward a large burrow where illuminating mushrooms cast a bright yellow hue, piercing the dark. He gazed upon a large empty burrow, where strange belongings fashioned of stone and twig lay broken and trampled. His eyes sought possible Wildmen lingering in the shadows, yet as moments passed, not a movement stirred.

  Boldly braving the light, Falix stepped forward, awaiting an unseen trap… Nothing. Releasing a light whistle, the orphans entered the room, shields forward. Still nothing. Examining the complex, Falix studied the ground where many footsteps lay.

  “They were in a hurry…” he said. “Those cries we heard. They have been put on alert, received a call for aid.”

  “It must be our forces above,” Frankfer said. “We must be winning.”

  “Assuming we are not,” Falix replied. “Let us make haste. Our brothers await us.” He pointed toward a group of shield boys. “Hold the line here. Nothing passes. Frankfer, with me.”

  The rest of the boys swiftly followed their master, continuing their descent down the ever-silent network of tunnels, where burrow after burrow lay empty. As Falix entered yet another abandoned burrow, the familiar sound of a child’s whimpering drew his attention. He froze, lifting his head as if examining the atmosphere. When yet another whimper caught his ear.

  “This way,” he whispered.

  Walking across a cavernous burrow, Falix felt a strange twinge within him, an ancient sense that something was amiss. Slowing, he felt a light rumble beneath his feet. “The ground…” he muttered.

  Swiftly turning, he locked eyes with Frankfer, who followed mere feet behind. “Stop,” he quietly commanded.

  Frankfer shifted his head, not quite hearing his master’s words. Taking yet another step, the ground beneath him released a loud crack. Looking downward, Frankfer’s eyes widened. The hollow floor gave way, crumbling. Frankfer looked upward, locking eyes with his master as he fell into the darkness below.

  Falix refused to look away, keeping his eyes on the boy until his visage was no more. His heart sank, yet his face remained firm. “Damn it…” He looked toward the panicked Roosters who called Frankfer’s name as he fell. “Silence,” Falix ordered. “Silence… There is nothing we can do. One by one, hug the walls and make your way here. Your brothers await us.”

  THE PRISONER BURROW

  The young Cole clung to the cold wall of the small, damp burrow he and his fellow Roosters huddled against, far from the entrance from which their fellow brothers had been taken. His eyes remained frozen upon that entrance, in hopes that Lucas would find his way back for them. Through that pitch-black, the sight of a swiftly glowing flame approaching coaxed the spirit of hope within the captured child. Cole perked up, eyes widening as the shadows of thin, sickly men appeared. The sound of their hefty snarls echoed off the walls as their hideous figures cursed Cole’s eyes.

  Three of the Wildmen marched in, as others continued past, rushing down unseen tunnels. The Wildmen before them chattered among themselves in their strange language, glaring about the boys as they did so. The long trail of Wildmen behind them disappeared within the dark. Their departure clearly disturbed the three Wildmen. They hurried themselves and reached into the mass of boys, stirring fear within them. The boys scattered into the dark corners of the burrow. Cole, looking toward his older brothers, followed their lead. Yet as he stood, he felt cold, callous hands grasp his arm, followed by a forceful yank, ripping him off his feet.

  Cole opened his mouth to cry out, yet an unknown fear held his tongue as that despair found its way into his heart and crushed it under the heavy weight of hopelessness. That forced his muscles into submission, conquering the spirit of hope within him. His arms went limp, his voice mute, and his eyes closed…

  Cole felt his feet drag across the muddied ground when that forceful grip that pulled him tightened, then loosened as his captor released him. Looking upward, Cole saw the snarling figure glare toward the wall, its free hand pressed against its neck, where it removed a small red needle. The familiarity of it sent a jolt through Cole. He pressed his feet into the ground, lifting himself and taking a bite into his captor’s arm, forcing a cry of pain from the Wildman. The beast gripped its arm as its high-pitched cry escaped the burrow, then came to a sudden silence as all three Wildmen fell to the ground.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Look!” A hopeful voice escaped the group of orphans.

  Cole’s face drew a smile as Falix stood at the burrow’s entrance, accompanied by fellow Roosters.

  “Come on, boys,” Falix said. “It’s time to go home…”

  Cole’s eyes locked upon him. A held vulnerability escaped him as tears ran down his dirt-smeared face. “Master!” he said, throwing himself into Falix’s arms.

  “Calm yourself,” Falix said, hugging the boy. “We are far from safety.”

  The faces of war-ready Roosters peered from the entrance.

  “The path back is clear,” one of their fellow Roosters spoke.

  “This way,” Falix said, pressing Cole toward the entrance with one hand and reaching for the fear-stricken captives, sick with hopelessness.

  One by one, they reached for their master, grasping his familiar hand and finding their way toward the entrance. As the prisoners’ burrow emptied, Falix turned away, following the trail of Roosters. He hesitated, looking over his shoulder toward that long tunnel disappearing in the blinding dark, descending further into the labyrinth.

  “What is it?” a Rooster asked, donning a confused look.

  “Go,” Falix said, turning toward the dark.

  “Master?” the Rooster asked.

  “I thought I heard the crow of a Rooster,” Falix said. “Go now… My fate lies elsewhere.”

  THE ROOSTERS’ ENCAMPMENT

  The once bustling encampment sat still. The far-off roars and rustling of the forest engulfed the silent home of the Roosters, where a single armored knight stood stone-like, his large blade thrust into the soft clay beneath him, his armored hands resting upon the hilt. His eyes continuously scanned the lively green surroundings. The once-grand fire smoldered, its white smoke slithering toward the sky, escaping beyond the open canopy.

  “Did he die standing up?” Marcus asked, nursing his wounded arm as he spied upon the knight exterior to the cabin where he rested.

  “He’s on sentry duty,” Tom said, leaning up against the exterior wall of the cabin, speaking to his fellow Roosters through the open window.

  “Something you should be doing,” Fernando said, a scowl resting upon his face.

  “Can’t believe you’re this upset you couldn’t make it to the fight,” Marcus said.

  “I’m not upset…” Fernando said. “I mean, not about that. I’m upset because of Tom’s lack of good posture during sentry duty.” He mocked, coercing a laugh out of Tom the elder, and the younger Tom Tom, with the youngest of the Tom brothers asleep within the cabin, his light snores accenting their humor.

  “The fight would be over by now if Fernando was there,” the light voice of an orphan so young they could not face the brutality of combat.

  Peering over his shoulder, Fernando smiled. “Exactly. We need not an army when we have my mighty prowess.”

  “Foolish,” William said, resting beside the boy near the rear of the cabin full of the injured and young.

  “Nonsense,” Fernando shot back. “Even with an arrow in my shoulder, I killed five Wildmen.”

  “Is that true?” the young boy asked.

  “Of course it is!” Fernando quickly replied. “That’s why they attacked me first, knowing what I am capable of.” William and Marcus looked away from his continuous self-proclamations. “The first is always the best.” Fernando sank into his bedding. “Everyone knows that.”

  Tom the elder rolled his eyes, pulling himself away from the conversation, his brother’s heels right behind him. “Stay,” Tom told his brother.

  His eyes drifted toward the Monkey Boys overhead. Over a dozen capable fighters scanned the treeline, prepared for combat. His eyes shifted toward the glint of light half-blinding him, reflecting from well-kept armor. Tom took soft steps toward the stone-still knight. “Have you seen combat?” he asked over the knight’s shoulder.

  The knight removed a single hand from his hilt. His right hand shuffled about his neck before firmly gripping the helmet and removing it with his single hand, exposing orderly, short dark hair.

  “I have,” he replied, locking eyes with Tom.

  “And…” Tom paused, collecting his thoughts. “Have you faced the Wildmen before?”

  “I have only heard of their kind,” the knight confessed.

  “Oh… They’re scary, but weak alone.” He stopped, looking toward the ground as a thought formed. “What’s it like out there, where you come from?”

  The knight held his gaze, his face stoic. “We come from the Merchants’ road, where we usually police.”

  “A road?” Tom asked, cocking his head.

  “Of course. Where else would we be?” the knight replied.

  “I don’t know. I’m from here,” Tom said. “Never been anywhere else.”

  “And you are a Rooster?” the knight asked.

  “No… Not yet,” Tom said. “I gotta pass a test first.”

  “I see…” the knight replied. “They tell stories of you. Stories are prime entertainment… Children play, pretending they are the brave orphans of this far-off place, navigating the sprawling tent city as if it were this very forest. Tell me, do you really crow?”

  Tom smiled. “What is your name?”

  “Sir Vega Lewis,” he said, bowing his head.

  Tom pursed his lips, releasing a playful crow, and from above, the various Monkey Boys joined in.

  Sir Lewis smiled. “I suppose some of the stories are true.”

  “Well, we never retreat, and I do not believe we’ve ever lost a fight,” Tom said, taking a step closer. “Why do you wear roses on your armor?”

  Lewis tilted his head. “We are the Knights of Rosa, hailing from the Legion of Rosa… I suppose you don’t know who that is?”

  “Is she a queen?” Tom asked.

  “She is a princess, one of four, each hailing their own Legion, each policing a territory of our Empire,” Lewis boasted.

  “I guess that’s why I’ve never heard of you before,” Tom replied. “The forest doesn’t belong to anybody. No one but us patrols it. But it does not belong to us.”

  “These are strange lands,” the knight replied.

  Lewis held his gaze as Tom seemed silent, his eyes looking past the knight. Following his gaze, Lewis felt his blood rush as a pair of scorching red eyes glared towards them, through the treeline. A loud swoosh cut the air as Lewis raised his blade.

  “I suppose this is where we fight,” Lewis said, taking a defensive stance, awaiting his enemy.

  A monstrous roar escaped the treeline as a single tall beast shrouded in branches and brush rushed forward. As it did, the startled Tom fell back, feeling the moist ground stain him with mud. He took in a deep breath as he lifted himself, yet something from the corner of his eye drew him. He cocked his head right, locking eyes with yet another beastly creature covered in shrubs running toward them in near silence. He quickly swiveled his head right, witnessing yet another beast charging the knight.

  He released a deep breath, echoing a loud crow of alert, signaling the Monkey Boys overhead who joined in the chorus. From the canopy, a single clay pot found the leftward-charging beast, exploding into a fine red mist that surrounded the creature, staggering its charge. The mist met a spark, caused by the shattering of the clay, which ignited it in... Rising to his feet, Tom readied his slingshot with the heaviest stone he could find, ripping his sling back and loosing the stone toward the rightward-charging beast. Yet as the stone met its mark, the creature did not flinch. “Dungheap!” Tom cursed, rushing away toward the cabin, where injured boys sealed the window, and Fernando stood limping beside the door frame, reaching outward toward Tom.

  Seeing the forward charge, Sir Lewis released a battle cry of his own, meeting the beast’s speed and flailing his sword downward as its monstrous hands reached outward, claws at the ready. With a single swoop, the beast cried as its large arms met the blade’s cutting edge that tore through the tissue of bark and flora. Its large arms flew toward the canopy, where Monkey Boys taunted the creature with whoops. Lewis looked over his shoulder, stepping back from the flailing, armless mass of fauna that shot black tar-like substance about the camp. Overhead, the boys launched an assault of heavy stone and clay pots, burst into flames around the suffering beast.

  Lewis locked eyes with the remaining beast, its back to him as it flailed at the heavy cabin door, where a half dozen wounded orphans pressed their bodies against it, holding off their attacker. Lifting the sword upward, Lewis made not a sound as that heavy blade fell upon the head of the assaulting creature. It released a momentary cry of anguish as Lewis felt the pressure of its body give way to his blade, carving the beast in half, staining the walls with the darkened tar.

  “Are you okay?” Lewis called.

  “I think so,” a youthful voice muffled through the door.

  “I believe all is well,” Lewis said, yet, at that moment, another cry of inhumanity escaped the brush.

  Lifting his blade, he put his back toward the wall, his eyes glancing upward toward the readied Monkey Boys, prepared for combat, when yet another roar met his left ear, and another from his right, and another from his left, and even more from all sides. “We are surrounded…”

  Lewis held steady as the boys who were still strong enough to fight removed the barricades from their windows and prepared arrows and slingshots for what might come. As the roars surrounded them, a shifting of cries from battle-ready terror to anguished pain drowned the near-empty encampment. The surrounding brush ruffled as the beasts ran forth from all directions, only to be slain by musket fire that released a loud report, leaving a smoky cloud to escape the thick brush and enter the encampment. Lewis peered in all directions as the sight of white-armored knights appeared alongside an equal number of red-armored knights.

  “Is this what you were afraid of?” the voice of Garcia spoke as he lifted the head of a bestial man covered in tar and shrub.”Where are your masters?” he asked the orphans, standing amidst a band of red-armored knights. “And that woman… We have business.”