A Tale of Traitors

Willow: Shadow Weepers

          A coughing fit seized everyone in the car. Professor Cain slammed on his brakes, hoping not to cause a car accident. He lost control of the wheel as he attempted to breathe. We swerved almost fully in a circle, and the car began to tip over. The professor rolled down the car's windows, and the smoke poured out like poison seeping into an infected body. Through the openings in the smoke, I could see onlooking humans, also called Averages, were screaming. The few cars on the road had stopped, and their owners whipped out cell phones to call their police, desiring to feel as if the control of the extraordinary was theirs. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I sensed danger. I flung around and stared daggers out of the window, searching for a gap in the smoke. I covered my mouth with my arm and continued coughing as I observed. Light burst through the gas for only a moment, and it seemed that hope in our party was restored. As I peered through the opening, fear grasped hold of me once more. The eyes staring back at me were cold and unfeeling, with something else in them that I couldn't detect. The Assassin's nose and mouth were covered by a black mask, his messy blue hair was long enough to creep over his eyes, and the gun clasped in his hands was more menacing than any I recalled seeing in the human world. I recognized it from somewhere--Elvish weapon disguised as a human one, with the aim of a sniper rifle and the power of an AK-47. What did I call that? I wondered, before registering that the gun was pointed at me.
"Duck!" I yelled, with the last of my breath. Flinging my hands defensively over my head, I ducked as low as I could get. Three bullets tore through the back window and landed in the passenger's chair--right where my head would have been--and one went straight through the front windshield. Luckily, Dee ducked in time. Professor Cain was dismayed when he glanced out his rear view mirror and understood the sniper's line of fire.
"Why'd he stop shooting?" Queen asked nervously, stealing glances out the windows.
"He didn't," the mysterious man's voice shocked all of us, and when he opened my door, we all panicked.
"Relax, I am here to help you," he continued, stretching out his hand to help me out of the car. The man spoke English well, but it was obviously his second language. His accent was heavy and familiar, but I couldn't place it. Before letting him escort me out of the car, I examined his appearance. Ancient arrows were poking out of the leather quiver slung over his back, and an ornately carved bow made out of bone rested in his hand. He had an extremely muscular build, but his eyes reflected the gentleness and emotion of a lifetime of perseverance.
"Who are you?" I asked, noticing the armor over his chest was smeared with multiple colors of paint.
"My name is not important in your presence, Warrior," he smiled, revealing a set of perfect, shiny teeth. "Come. We will answer your questions when we retreat."
"We?" I asked as I, refusing to take his hand, stepped unaided out into the sunlight. A glittery rainbow bubble surrounded the area around our vehicle, shielding us from the relentlessness of the Assassin's weapon. He sneered as he locked eyes with the chief. With a snap of his fingers, he launched into the air and exploded into gray dust, which formed a storm cloud above us. Rain started to pour menacingly from the evil source, but, no matter how viciously it pounded against our field, it could not penetrate it.
"Where did he go?" I asked anxiously, thoroughly searching the cloud with my eyes.
"Back to his master," the chief said. "After all, we have escaped him until this charm wears off. It is a simple spell, really, but powerful magic. He'll be back in no time."
A young woman hurried to the chief's side and began to mumble in another language. Elvish. Words I used to recognize. The woman looked to be about sixteen, and she was very beautiful for her age. Her blond hair was tucked into an extremely tight ponytail that extended to her waist, and her eyes were a deep violet, like the chief's. I noticed several other men and women who were surrounding the outside of the bubble, aiming arrows toward the storm cloud above us. Each one was covered in armor that was coated in decorative paint, giving each one a name, history, and story. For a split second, as I translated the paint on each one, I felt as if I belonged. I felt like I was home.
"Who are you?" I asked quietly as we were ushered into a getaway car.
"We are outcasts," the chief started the engine and pulled into traffic, which had picked up by now.
"Outcasts," I echoed in confusion.
"Outcasts of the Elvish society," the chief's face expressed his emotion. "For our own reasons, we were unwanted by the government there, perhaps seen as a threat or a burden to our neighbors. We were shoved across the border, through the blue line of fire. Our families watched and cried, being powerless to prevent our fate. It is rumored in our old land that those who cross the line endure spiritual torture  that lasts an eternity, but, since no one has come back alive, our fate was unknown. For some, they would endure this rumored pain. Those of us who survived attempted to live here and blend in with the humans, but we quickly found this impossible. When I was walking down the street one day, I ran into a man who was grasping a bow, and I realized he must have recently been banished from his realm. We decided to stick together and to help the other one succeed. I suppose our mission grew from there. Old, young, men, and women from each and every tribe in Realm One were reunited because of our group. We have developed our own magical powers, symbols, and codes which we use to communicate and identify each other. Our group is growing in the shadows of a once flourishing realm; they do not know we exist, and they weep for us. Our sobs and cries go unnoticed on the regular. No one can help us but ourselves. We have been seeking an opportunity to help overthrow Tormod--he is the one who wished banishment and torture upon us, who persecutes our families, and who rules with an iron fist. He deserves the fate that calls for him. If we can do anything to help you and your colleagues, then we will do so."
I was speechless.
"What do you call yourselves?" Queen asked, suspiciously eyeing the women who were sitting near the locked doors.
"The Shadow Weepers," Professor Cain grinned from ear to ear. "Perfect timing, Syrnafin, as always."
"It is wonderful to see you, Professor. I hope all is well with you and your travels."
"It is going marvelously," Cain smiled as he spoke, "you see, I just came back from--"
A thud struck the roof. Syrnafin glared alarmingly at me from the rear view mirror.
"Fullyecaep epels," he chanted. Instantly, my world went dark.