by Morgan Rice
Thor, Reece, O’Connor, Elden, and Erec all sat on the ground, forming a circle around a blazing fire. The five of them sat glum and silent, Thor surprised it could be this cold on a summer night. There was something about this canyon, the chilly, mystical winds that swirled around, down his back, and mingled with the fog that never seemed to go away, which left him damp to the bone. He leaned forward and rubbed his hands against the fire’s heat, unable to get them warm.
Thor chewed on the piece of dried meat the others were passing around; it was tough and salty, but somehow nourished him. Erec reached over and handed him something and Thor felt a soft wineskin pressed into his hand, the liquid sloshing in it. It was surprisingly heavy as he raised it to his lips and squirted it into the back of his mouth, for too long a time. He felt warm for the first time that night.
Everyone was quiet, staring into the flames. Thor was still on edge. Being on this side of the Canyon, in enemy territory, he still felt as if he should be on guard at every moment, and marveled at how calm Erec seemed to be, as if he were casually sitting in his own backyard. Thor was relieved, at least, to be out of the Wilds, reunited with Erec, and sitting around the reassurance of a fire. Erec watched the forest line, attentive to every little noise, yet confident and relaxed. Thor knew that if any danger came, Erec would protect them all.
Thor felt content around the flames; he looked around and saw the others seemed content, too—except, of course, for Elden, glum ever since returning from the forest. He had lost his confident swagger from earlier in the day, and he sat there, sour and swordless. The commanders would never forgive such a mistake—Elden would be kicked out of the Legion upon their return. He wondered what Elden would do. He had a feeling he would not go down easily, that he had some trick, some backup plan, up his sleeve. Thor assumed that whatever it was, it would not be good.
Thor turned and followed Erec’s gaze to the distant horizon, in the southern direction. A faint glow, an endless line as far as the eye could see, lit up the night. Thor wondered.
“What is it?” he finally asked Erec. “That glow? The one you keep staring at?”
Erec was silent for a long time, the only sound that of the whipping of the wind. Finally, without turning, he said: “The Gorals.”
Thor exchanged a glance with the others, who looked back, fearful. Thor’s stomach tightened at the thought of it. The Gorals. So close. There was nothing in between them and him except for a simple forest and a vast plain. There was no longer the great Canyon separating them, keeping them safe. All his life he had heard tales of these violent savages from the Wilds who had no ambition except to attack the Ring. And now there was nothing between them. He couldn’t believe how many of them there were. It was a vast and waiting army.
“Aren’t you afraid?” Thor asked Erec.
Erec shook his head.
“The Gorals move as one. Their army camps out there every night. They have for years. They would only attack the Canyon if they mobilized the entire army and attacked as one. And they wouldn’t dare try. The power of the Sword acts as a shield. They know they cannot breach it.”
“So then why do they camp out there?” Thor asked.
“It is their way of intimidating. And preparing. There have been many times throughout the course of history, in the time of our fathers, when they attacked, tried to breach the Canyon. But it hasn’t happened in my time.”
Thor looked up at the black sky, the yellow and blue and orange stars twinkling high overhead, and wondered. This side of the Canyon was a place of nightmares, and had been ever since he could walk. The thought of it made him fearful, but he forced that from his mind. He was a member of the Legion now, and had to act like it.
“Do not worry,” Erec said, as if reading his thoughts. “They will not attack while we have the Destiny Sword.”
“Have you ever held it?” Thor asked Erec, suddenly curious. “The Sword?”
“Of course not,” Erec retorted sharply. “No one is allowed to grasp it, except for descendants of the King.”
Thor looked at him, confused.
“I don’t understand. Why?”
Reece cleared his throat.
“May I?” he interceded.
Erec nodded back.
“There is a legend around the Sword. It has never actually been hoisted by anyone. Legend has it that one man, the chosen one, will be able to wield it by himself. Only the King is allowed to try, or one of the King’s descendants, if named King. So there it sits, untouched.”
“And what of our current King? Your father?” Thor asked. “Can’t he try?”
Reece looked down.
“He did once. When he was crowned. So he tells us. He could not lift it. So it sits there like an object of rebuke for him. He hates it. It weighs on him like a living thing.
“When the chosen one arrives,” Reece added, “he will free the Ring from its enemies all around and lead us to a greater destiny than we’ve ever known. All wars will end.”
“Fairytales and nonsense,” Elden interceded. “That Sword will be lifted by no one. It is too heavy. It is not possible. And there is no ‘chosen one.’ It’s all hogwash. That legend was invented just to keep the common man down, to keep us all waiting for the supposed ‘chosen one.’ To embolden the line of MacGils. It is a very convenient legend for them.”
“Shut your tongue, boy,” Erec snapped. “You will always speak respectfully of your King.”
Elden looked down, humbled.
Thor thought about everything, trying to take it all in. It was so much to process at once. All his life he had dreamt of seeing the Destiny Sword. He had heard stories of its perfect shape. It was rumored to be crafted from a material no one understood, was supposed to be a magical weapon. It made Thor wonder what would happen if they didn’t have the sword to protect them. Would the King’s army then be vanquished by the Empire? Thor looked out at the glowing fires on the horizon. They seemed to stretch to eternity.
“Have you ever been out there?” Thor asked Erec. “Far out there? Beyond the forest? Into the Wilds?”
The others all turned and look at Erec, as Thor anxiously awaited his reply. In the thick silence, Erec stared at the flames for a long time—so long that Thor began to doubt he would ever answer. Thor hoped he had not been too nosy; he felt so grateful and indebted to Erec, and certainly didn’t want to get on his bad side. Thor also wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.
Just when Thor was wishing he could retract his question, Erec responded:
“Yes,” he said, solemn.
That single word hung in the air for too long, and in it, Thor heard the gravity that told him all he needed to know.
“What is it like out there?” O’Connor asked.
Thor was relieved that he was not the only one asking the questions.
“It is controlled by one ruthless empire,” Erec said. “But the land is vast and varied. There is the land of the savages. The land of the slaves. And the land of the monsters. Monsters unlike any you can imagine. And there are deserts and mountains and hills as far as you can see. There are the marshes and the swamps and the great ocean. There is the land of the Druids. And the land of the Dragons.”
Thor’s eyes opened wide.
“Dragons?” he asked, surprised. “I thought they didn’t exist.”
Erec looked at him, deadly serious.
“I assure you, they do. And it is a place you never want to go. A place even the Gorals fear.”
Thor swallowed at the thought. He could hardly imagine venturing out that deep into the world. He wondered how Erec had ever made it back alive. He made a mental note to ask him another time.
There were so many questions Thor wanted to ask him—about the nature of the evil empire and who ruled it; why they wanted to attack; when Erec had ventured out; when he had returned. But as Thor stared into the flames it grew colder and darker, and as all his questions swirled in his head, he felt his eyes grow heavy. This was not the right time to ask.
Instead, he let sleep carry him away. He lay his head down on the ground. Before his eyes closed for good, he looked over at the foreign soil, and wondered when—or if—he would ever return home again.
