by Morgan Rice
“I am Gareth, the former king!” the actor said.
The crowd booed. As Gwen heard his name, it sent a chill through her spine. She flashed back to her killing him. She had no regrets—it was justice for her father. Yet still, the very thought of her former brother pained her. It was too fresh for her.
“And I, McCloud!” Akorth announced, rushing forward.
The crowd jeered, and threw tomatoes at him.
“You shall rule the Western Kingdom, and I shall rule the East!” McCloud said to Gareth.
They both reached out and clasped hands. But as they did, a woman stepped forward from the crowd, holding a long sword, and pretended to stab each of them through the chest. Each one sank to his knees, collapsing to the ground, dead.
The woman turned and faced the crowd, and raised her sword high.
“I am Gwendolyn, the greatest of all MacGil rulers!”
The crowd roared with approval, and Gwendolyn felt herself blush. She was overwhelmed with love for her people, but she also felt a deep sense of lingering sadness for all that transpired. Although six moons had passed, it all still felt like yesterday—and watching this farcical play somehow brought it all back.
“Excuse me,” Gwen said to Thor.
She turned away from the stage, unable to watch anymore, and made her way back to the table. Thor followed on her heels, taking her hand, looking over at her with a concerned expression.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded, wiping back a tear, and forced a big smile.
“It’s just the baby,” she said.
Thor looked down at her huge belly, and he understood.
“You should not be on your feet too long anyway,” he said.
He led her gently to her seat, and this time she sat. She needed to. She felt short of breath, especially on this hot day, and she took a long drink on her sack of water.
Thor sat beside her, and she soon felt better. They looked out, at the incredible bounty all around them, thousands of people eating in harmony, from all corners of the Ring, all corners of the Empire, here in the new King’s Court. It was like a dream.
“Did you ever imagine it would be as glorious as this?” Thor asked.
She shook her head.
“I dreamed. And I hoped. But no—not like this. Seeing it…it’s hard to believe.”
“You have built a greater city than even your father had, even at his peak. It is now invincible. Finally, these people have found peace, thanks to you. You should be very proud.”
Gwendolyn wanted to say: Yes. You are right. Peace has come, and it will last forever.
But she could not bring herself to utter the words. Deep down, something was gnawing at her, she was not sure what. She thought of the blackened fruit. She thought of Argon’s prophecies. She knew she should feel safe, and yet somehow she did not feel entirely settled. Some part of her could not forget Argon’s ominous words, that fateful choice she had made, back in the Netherworld, the sacrifice. His prophecy. Argon’s words rang in her head, like a stranger knocking at her door who would just not go away:
“It is when you feel most secure that you always have the most to fear.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Thor held his torch high and walked beside Gwendolyn in the dark, a procession of thousands of torches winding its way through the summer night. The day’s long festivities had finally morphed into night, and Gwendolyn led the huge procession out through the rear gate of King’s Court, and onto the wide path leading up King’s Hill.
Thor was excited as he realized it was time for the annual Lighting of the Night, the mystical ceremony that occurred on every Summer Solstice. It was a time where the revelries could continue in a more subdued form, lasting throughout the warm summer night. It was a demarcation, a time that changed the nature of the holiday from revelry to a sacred time.
Gwendolyn marched slowly, somberly, as MacGil rulers had done for centuries on this night, lute players following far behind, playing a slow, mournful tune. It was their job to both entice and scare away the spirits that were rumored to dance on this night.
“I am hoping Argon will be there,” Gwen said to Thor.
“I haven’t seen him in moons,” Thor said.
“Nor have I,” Gwen said. “He has the strangest way of disappearing. You don’t think he’s left us forever, do you?”
Thor shrugged. With Argon, one never knew.
Thor took Gwen’s hand as they walked, and he felt the energy coursing through her—not just hers, but also the baby’s. Thor was so on-edge these days, waiting for the baby to come any day, preparing and getting nervous for the huge wedding, finally just days away. He was anxious for everything to go smoothly—the wedding, the birth. He wanted all of the endless waiting to be over already.
Gwen squeezed his hand, and he looked over at her.
“Tonight,” she whispered, smiling. “When the last of this is done, we shall have more time together.”
Thor smiled back. “There is nothing I wish for more.”
High up, in the distance, there came two screeches—Mycoples and Ralibar—circling, letting their presence be known before they soared up and into the night. Thor took solace from their presence. They often flew off in the night, yet they always returned in the morning.
“When I see them,” Gwen remarked, “I feel as if nothing bad can ever come to the Ring.”
“As do I,” Thor said. “With two dragons, the Shield restored, the Ring is finally impregnable.”
They marched, thousands of people filing in behind them, all of them chanting a slow, somber tune designed to bring in the night. As they slowly ascended, the path taking them in broad circles, looping again and again, Thor looked up and saw the hill, rising gradually, hundreds of feet high. This hill was different than all the others, covered entirely with smooth grass, and paved with perfectly round circles etched into its sides. In between each circle was a small moat, filled with perfectly still, reflecting water. As they all slowly ascended the path, circling again and again, Thor watched all the torches reflecting in the water, a thousand points of reflected light lighting up the hill.
King’s Hill was a magical and mystical place, Thor knew, a place only frequented once a year, despite its prominent position on the outskirts of King’s Court. It was also, mysteriously, one of the few places unharmed in the war. As Thor walked, he could feel the power of this sacred placed, the earth feeling alive, humming through his feet.
Thousands of revelers followed Gwendolyn as she took one step at a time, leading the way with her torch, towards the top.
“He’s here,” she said, looking up.
Thor looked up, and saw, with relief, that Argon was there, standing at the top, in white robes and hood, looking down, like a shepherd patiently awaiting his flock.
They were close to the very top, and Thor remained a few steps behind as Gwen continued on, taking her place a few steps below Argon on the highest plateau. She glanced back and saw her people all stood below, spread in circles on the paths all throughout King’s Hill, and she waited patiently for Argon.
Argon finally closed his eyes and raised his palms out before him.
“The Night of Lights falls on the longest day of the year. Yet it also marks the beginning of days of darkness. Intermixed with light, there is always darkness—with joy, tragedy. Days are alive, contracting and expanding; people are not stagnant, either. Our universe is always in flux, and us along with it.”
He took a deep breath.
“This a holy day, not just one for reveling. It is a day and night for reflection. Look at the waters before you. Look at your torch light burning in them. Remember that light will fade. Remember from where you came. Your time here is but short, but a fleeting breath. We are all like a passing cloud, a summer breath, that is no more.”
Argon lowered his head and stepped back, and Gwendolyn climbed the final few steps to the highest point on King’s Hill. She stood there, beside Argon,
and turned and faced the masses. As she did, everyone immediately took a knee and bowed their heads low.
Gwen reached out and raised her amber torch and slowly lowered it, touching it to the narrow strip of water at the top of the mount. As she did, the water mysteriously lit up in flames. Thor watched in wonder as the flames in the water spread, lighting the narrow moats of water all up and down King’s Hill, rings of fire between the paths spaced out every twenty feet, lighting up the mount, and lighting up the night.
All the people settled in now that the waters were lit, taking spots beside the flames and getting comfortable for the night.
Gwendolyn came down, took Thor’s hand, and together they found a spot in the grass, leaning against the hill, beside her brothers and close friends. Sitting nearby, beside the flames, were Kendrick and Sandara, Reece and Selese, Godfrey and Illepra, Erec and Alistair, Elden and Indra and Steffen and O’Connor. Krohn came up beside Thor and sat beside him, resting his head in his lap. Thor looked everywhere for Argon, but he was already gone.
The group sat staring out at the fires all around them, each holding a silver goblet of summer wine, as was the custom. They all waited as Gwendolyn raised her goblet first, as was the custom, took a sip, then reached out and splashed the rest on the fire. The flames mysteriously hissed and rose higher. The others all then raised their goblets, and drank. Thor took a long drink on his, and the strong, yellow summer wine went right to his head.
Thor leaned back beside Gwen, draped an arm around her, and placed his other hand on her belly. He felt a deep sense of content. His body was warm from the summer wind, from the flames, from the wine in his veins. He and Gwen lay back in the grass, as did the other couples in the quiet night, and they looked up at the night sky, filled with sparkling red stars. Thor felt there was no place he’d rather be. Everything felt so perfect in the world, and hoped it would never change.
Nearby, Reece and Selese leaned back, kissing, sharing wine from a goblet, very much in love. Thor admired his friend’s courage in proposing so soon, and he looked forward to their double wedding. Beside them were Elden and Indra, sitting up beside each other, each of them hardened warriors and neither of them expressive in their love for each other. Thor could tell they were in love, yet they were on the opposite spectrum on Reece and Selese in the way they showed it. The night was so quiet, punctuated only by the soft summer wind, and the sound of the flames. Yet the acoustics were odd up here, and the wind carried voices in the air, making Thor hear the others conversations, whether he wanted to or not.
“Now that the wars are over, I must visit my father,” Elden said to her. “Assuming he still lives. It will be a long journey across the Ring to my home village.” He looked at her cautiously. “If you’d like to journey with me?”
Indra stared, expressionless, staring into the flames. She almost appeared as if she were not interested in him—though Thor knew that she was. She just kept up her walls.
She shrugged.
“It’s not like I have anything better to do,” she said.
“Is that a yes?” he asked.
She shrugged again.
“Why not?” she said.
Elden reddened.
“Can’t you just admit that you care for me?” he asked.
She turned to him, frowning.
“I am here with you because your group took me from the Empire. And I am certainly not going back to the Empire.”
“Are you saying then you don’t care for me?” he asked.
She shrugged and looked away.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” she said.
They fell back into silence. That was the way it had always been between them, Indra determined to maintain her cold, masculine, indifferent front, refusing to show any affection for Elden. But Thor could see it in the way she stole glances at him when he wasn’t looking, and he knew that she truly cared for him, much more so than she would ever admit—and perhaps, tragically, more so than Elden would ever know. Thor wondered what would ever become of the two of them?
“That is your third goblet of wine, is it not?” Illepra asked Godfrey, not far away, on the other side of Thor.
Godfrey smiled as he finished the rest of it in one large gulp.
“I wish it were the fourth,” he said with a chuckle. Godfrey laughed and poured himself another.
Illepra frowned.
“You should not be drinking so much,” she reprimanded. “Your injuries still need to heal.”
“Heal?” he said. “That was six moons ago. I was healed within days.”
“You need to stop drinking,” she said. “It is time for you to leave it behind.”
“What difference does it make to you?” he asked.
She reddened.
“I’ve saved your life twice now,” she said. “What was the point, if you will just throw it away?”
“I never asked you to,” Godfrey said.
She raised her hands to her hips.
“Since we returned to King’s Court you had an opportunity to become someone new, to take part in the rebuilding. Instead, you spend all your time in the taverns, celebrating.”
“Is there not much to celebrate?” he asked.
“Have you no better way to spend your time than to become a common drunkard?”
“Is there any better way to spend one’s time?” he countered. “If there is, let me know. I haven’t seen it.”
She scowled.
“You promised me you would give up drink.”
“And I did,” he said sheepishly. “For a while.”
Godfrey, amused by himself, broke out into fresh laughter.
But Illepra was unamused; she suddenly got up and stormed away, furious. Godfrey watched her go, a confused look on his face.
“I don’t understand her at all,” he said aloud.
“Go to her,” Selese said.
“Why should I?”
“Are you that ignorant? Do you not see how much she loves you?”
Godfrey’s face fell in wonder, then recognition, and then he turned bright red, and not from wine. For the first time, he seemed to really recognize it.
He looked down, and kicked the ground at his feet. But he did not move. Instead, he took another long sip of his wine.
Thor wanted to get away from all the voices, to give them all privacy, and so he took Gwendolyn’s hand, stood, and the two of them began a leisurely stroll, walking along the edge of the fires. Thor sighed, wondering about the mysteries of love, of what brought two people close to each other. It all seemed inscrutable to him.
As they went, they came across Kendrick and Sandara, sitting on the outskirts of the group, in a darker corner of the hill. As they approached, Thor could hear them talking.
“But the Ring is your home now,” Kendrick said to Sandara.
Sandara sat there, tall and proud, bearing the resemblance of the Empire, staring into the flames as she shook her head.
“My home is far from here. In a foreign land.”
“In the occupied Empire. Would you rather be there?”
“Home is home,” she replied.
“And what of us?” Kendrick asked. “Do you not care for us?”
She turned and looked at him, and stroked his cheek.
“I care more for us than I could say. That is the only reason I am still sitting here right now.”
Thor took Gwendolyn’s hands and they continued walking, further and further, until they came across Erec and Alistair, talking quietly amongst themselves.
“There appear to be many weddings in the air,” Alistair said to Erec.
“And ours will come soon, my lady,” Erec replied.
Alistair turned and looked at him, eyes widening.
“Really?” she asked, filled with hope.
He nodded back, earnest.
“I want us to marry in my homeland, in the Southern Isles. I want my father to meet you. And all of my people. I want you to have the reception you deserve. My father
is King, and you will be a princess among my people. It shall be a grand wedding. One befitting of you. If you do not mind waiting?”
Alistair leaned in and hugged him tight, and he hugged her back, and they kissed.
“There are too many people here,” Gwendolyn said. “I wish to be just with you. Come with me.”
She reached out and took his hand, and she led him quietly, through the night, heading towards the royal castle.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Thorgrin walked slowly through his old village, bewildered. Here was the place he had grown up, and yet it seemed so foreign to him. The streets were empty, the doors to the houses all left open, as if it had all been abandoned in a rush.
He walked through it slowly, a harsh driving wind whipping his face, stirring up the dirt, and he had never felt so alone.
Thor turned the corner and saw his father’s home, and he walked towards it with dread. It was the only home in the village with the door closed.
He reached it, turned the knob, and slowly pulled open the creaking wood door. His heart stopped.
Standing there, facing him, was not his father—but Andronicus.
Andronicus stepped out, smiling and sneering at the same time, his body half decayed, and reached out a long bony hand for Thor’s throat.
“My son,” he said in his ancient, awful voice. “You may have killed me. But I can still haunt your dreams.”
Thor reached up and swatted the bony hand away, slicing his wrists—and as he did, the landscape changed.
Thor looked down and saw that his wrist was bleeding, scratched not by his father’s skeleton but by a thicket of thorns. Thor struggled to walk through the pile of thorns, higher than his head, scratching his arms every which way as he pushed through. He was entangled, and with each step he was in more pain, the thorns embedding more deeply into his skin.
Thor struggled with all his might, and finally broke through to the other side.
Before him lay a wasteland, sky the color of ash, the soil mud. On it lay thousands of corpses, the corpses of the Empire, of the McCloud’s, of every soldier Thor had ever met and killed in battle. There they all lay, moaning.
