by Morgan Rice
Lycoples, too, joined in, lashing out with her talons at all gargoyles who dared attack her. She was young, but vicious—and fearless. She raised her razor-sharp talons and slashed gargoyles left and right, reaching them before they reached her and slicing them in half. She reached out and grabbed others by their heads and squeezed to death, while still others she grabbed and threw, hurling them down through the air, to the ocean. Others still she bit, opening her huge jaws and sinking her teeth into their scales as they shrieked out in pain.
Finally, as a fresh swarm came at them, Lycoples threw back her head, screeched, and let out a stream of flames. Her flame was not as strong yet as her parents’, yet still it was strong enough to wreak havoc: the dozens of remaining gargoyles, engulfed in the flames, let out an awful shriek as they were immersed in the cloud of fire, their horrible screams filling the air as they tumbled down, aflame, to the sea below.
Thor was taken aback by Lycoples’s power, not expecting such a stream of flame, and the few gargoyles who remained alive also looked back with scared expressions—and a whole new fear of Lycoples. They turned and flew off into the horizon, catching up with the other half of their flock.
“Faster, Lycoples, faster!” Thor cried out, lowering his head and holding on tight as she, enraged, flew at an even greater speed.
Lycoples needed no prodding. She tore through the air faster than Thor could breathe, and they dove in and out of clouds, the scarlet sun beginning to set as they bore down on the gargoyles. The gargoyles dared not turn to face them now, but rather flew with all their speed, flapping their wings furiously to try to get away.
As they approached, Thor could finally see Guwayne again, up ahead—and his heart beat faster. He was so close now, nothing would get in his way. He would slaughter each and every one of these creatures, and soon they would be reunited again.
As Thor glanced up at the horizon, he did a double take, shocked by the sight before him. On the horizon, there slowly appeared what seemed to be a waterfall in the sky. It stretched in every direction, as far as he could see, a wall of running water—stained red. It ran from the heavens, right down to the oceans, so thick he could not see through it, and he heard a great roaring noise as he came closer. He began to realize what it was: a waterfall of blood.
Thorgrin suddenly knew, without a doubt, that it was a barrier, a wall blocking off another world: the entry to The Land of Blood. And as he saw all gargoyles heading for it, he suddenly realized where they were going—and realized that it might provide them safe harbor.
“FASTER!” he cried.
Lycoples managed to fly even faster, closing in on them, fifty yards away, then thirty, then ten…. The waterfall loomed before them, the noise now deafening.
The gargoyles flew just a bit too fast, and as Thor neared them, they all suddenly entered the waterfall of blood, disappearing into it.
Thor braced himself, too, preparing to enter after them—but suddenly, to his surprise, Lycoples stopped short in the air, rearing her head, refusing to enter it. Thor could not understand what was going on. It was as though Lycoples were scared to enter.
She flapped her wings, hanging there, arching her back, screeching, and Thor realized that, for some reason, she could not pass through this magical barrier to the Land of Blood. Thor reddened, realizing the gargoyles knew that all along.
Lycoples, frustrated, screeched again and again, clearly wanting to enter and frustrated that she could not.
Thor felt his heart breaking as he watched the gargoyles disappear into the waterfall with his son, disappearing from view.
Thor thought quickly. He looked down and scanned the ocean, and he saw in the distance, on the horizon, his Legion brothers, following in their ship. Thor directed Lycoples back down, across the ocean, toward his friends, knowing he had no choice. If Lycoples could not enter the Land of Blood, then Thor would have to enter without her.
Lycoples flew Thor down to the ship, and as she dove low and slowed, Thor jumped off her back and onto the deck. He stood there, looking up at her, and she flapped her wings, disappointed, wanting him to ride her again.
Thor shook his head.
“No, Lycoples,” he said to her. “You can be of no use to me where I need to go. You can help me elsewhere: go find my beloved. Find Gwendolyn, wherever she is. Tell her I live. Guwayne lives. And save her for me from whatever danger she might be in.”
Lycoples screeched and hovered, clearly not wanting to leave Thor’s side.
“GO!” Thor commanded firmly.
Lycoples finally, reluctantly, turned and flew off, disappearing in the horizon.
All the others gathered around Thor on the ship and stared at him, stunned. He looked out, past the bow, to the looming waterfalls of blood, and knew what he had to do.
“Brothers and sisters,” he said, “tonight we enter the Land of Blood.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Gwendolyn walked side-by-side with the Queen, escorting her across the golden skywalk that spanned the capital of the Ridge. The path was made of solid gold cobblestones, elevated fifteen feet above the city streets, spanning from the castle exit to all corners of the city. It was a walkway reserved for royals, and as they walked the Queen’s servants trailed behind them, holding up parasols to block the sun.
The two strolled arm-in-arm, the Queen affectionately linking arms with her and insisting that she take her on a tour of the city. The Queen fondly showed Gwen all the sights as they went, pointing out notable architecture and orienting her to the various neighborhoods of this ancient city. Gwendolyn felt comforted by her presence, especially after such a long stretch without female company. In some respects, the Queen was like the warm mother that she never had.
It made Gwendolyn reflect on her own mother. Her mother had been a cold and hard Queen, always deciding based on what was right for the kingdom—but not necessarily what was right for their family. She had also been a cold, hard mother, and Gwendolyn had had endless arguments and power struggles with her. Gwendolyn recalled the first time she had met Thorgrin, her mother’s epic struggle to keep the two of them apart. It brought back fresh bitterness and resentment.
It also caused Gwen think of other times, other places; she recalled the balls in her father’s court, everyone dressed in their finest, the jousts, the festivals, the endless years of bounty and good times, years Gwen was certain could never end. She recalled the first time she had ever met Thorgrin, back in the bounty of the Ring, just a young, naïve boy entering King’s Court for the first time. It felt like another lifetime. She felt so aged since then, so much upended in her life. Even here, within the splendor of this place, she had a hard time imagining days of comfort and security like that coming back to her again.
Gwen snapped out of it as the Queen pulled her along and pointed up ahead.
“This quarter is where most of our people live,” the Queen said proudly.
Gwendolyn looked down at the beautiful city, afforded a sweeping view from up here on the skywalk, and was in awe at its beauty and sophistication. The city was crammed with pristine houses of every shape and size, some built of marble, others limestone, all snuggled in close together, giving the city a cozy feel. The city looked perfectly worn, crisscrossed by cobblestone streets, horses walking through, slowly pulling carriages through the streets. Lining the streets were people selling their wares, and everywhere there was the smell of food: stalls were overflowing with massive fruits, while vendors sold sacks and barrels of wine. Other shops were everywhere, tanners selling hides, blacksmiths weaponry, and jewelers sparkling gems. Everyone was dressed in their finest, and they strolled about this luxurious city in harmony.
Gwen looked up and saw the impressive fortifications walling in the city, its ancient stone walls lined with knights, their armor gleaming in the sun. She saw the castle towering over the city, like a watchman, its ramparts staggered and lined with more knights, beacons of strength and perfect discipline. Church bells tolled softly in the
distance, dogs barked below in the streets and children squealed in delight as they ran after them. A gentle breeze, heavy with moisture from the lakes, caressed her as she walked, and Gwen realized this place was as close to perfection as one could imagine. In the distance, the waters glistened and in the far distance, the peaks of the Ridge loomed over all of them, a faint outline on the horizon, shrouded in mist, making this place feel even more protected.
Gwen saw people open and closing their shutters, hanging clothes out to dry, and as she glanced down, she noticed many people waving up at them affectionately. She felt too elitist walking up here, on this pathway.
“You are distracted, dear Queen,” the Queen said to her, smiling.
Gwen blushed.
“Excuse me,” she said. “It’s just that…I prefer to interact with my people. I like to embrace them, to walk the same streets as they.”
Gwen hoped she hadn’t offended her, and she was relieved to see the Queen’s smile widen.
“You are a girl after my own heart,” she said. “I was hoping you would ask. I don’t like to live as royals do, either—I would rather be with my people.”
She led her down a curved, golden staircase, into the streets, and as they descended, there was an excited rush amongst her people; they all gushed at the Queen’s presence and rushed forward to greet her, handing her fruits and flowers. Gwen could see how loved she was by her people—and she understood why: she was the kindest Queen she’d ever met.
Gwen enjoyed walking the streets, loved the vitality, the smells of cooking meat stronger down here; it was bustling with people, and she loved the energy of this place. These people of the Ridge, she was coming to realize, were warm and friendly people, quick to smile and to embrace strangers. She was beginning to feel at home.
“Our walking through the street is, in fact, most convenient. My daughter whom you wish to see is on the far end of the city, perched in her library. This is the quickest way to get there.”
Gwen thought of where they were going—the Royal Library—which she so badly wished to see, and she grew excited. She also thought of the Queen’s youngest daughter, whom the King asked her to see first, and she wondered once again about her.
“Tell me about her,” Gwen said.
The Queen’s face lit up at the mention of her.
“She’s remarkable,” she said. “She has a mind unlike anyone I’ve ever met. You will see that there is really no one like her. I don’t know where she gets it from—certainly not from me.”
The Queen shook her head as she spoke, her eyes watering with admiration.
“How can it be that a ten-year-old girl can have an intellect powerful enough to be the scholar of the kingdom? Not only is she the fastest thinker I’ve ever met, but she retains scholarship unlike anyone I’ve ever met. It’s more than an affinity—it’s an obsession. Ask her anything about our history, and she will tell you. I’m ashamed to say her knowledge is greater even than mine. And yet, I am so proud of her—she spends all her days in that library. It is making her far too pale, if you ask me. She should be out, playing with her friends.”
Gwen thought of it all as she walked, remembering her first meeting her at the feast, and how taken she had been by her. Clearly, this was an extraordinary girl. Being so enamored of books, the two of them had clicked instantly, as Gwen had sensed a kindred soul in her. It made Gwen think of her time spent in the House of Scholars, and she knew that if her father had not intervened, she would have spent all her days locked away in that building, lost in books.
“Your husband told me I must see her first,” Gwen said. “He said I should ask her of the history before visiting the tower and your other son, Kristof. He said she would give me a primer, a better understanding of it.”
Gwen watched the Queen’s face darken at the mention of her other son. She nodded sadly.
“Yes, she will tell you all about that cursed tower and more,” she said. “Though I don’t know what good it will do. My children in that tower are lost to me now.”
Gwen looked at her, stunned.
“Children?” she repeated. “The king mentioned but one son. Have you others?”
The Queen looked down as they walked, cutting through the streets, passing vendors, and she remained silent for a very long time. Just when Gwen began to wonder if she would ever answer, finally, the Queen wiped a tear and looked at her, her face filled with sadness.
“My daughter lives there, too.”
Gwen gasped.
“A daughter? Your husband did not mention it.”
The Queen nodded.
“Kathryn. He never mentions her. He acts as if she does not exist. Just because she is touched.”
Gwen looked back, puzzled.
“Touched?” she echoed.
The Queen looked away, and Gwen realized it was too painful for her to discuss it, and she did not want to pry. A silence fell back over them as they walked, Gwen more curious than ever. These people of the Ridge seemed to hold endless secrets. It made Gwen think of the Queen’s other son, Mardig, and made her wonder what darkness lay in their family.
They weaved their way throughout the streets and finally turned a corner, and as they did, the Queen came to an abrupt stop. She looked up, and Gwen did, too.
Gwen gasped, in awe at the building before her. It was a building unlike any Gwen had ever seen, built of shining marble, with huge golden doors shaped in a tall arch, intricately carved. The doors were adorned with golden images of books carved into them, and long, tapered stained-glass windows lined the exterior. It resembled a church but was more circular in shape, and even more impressive, set in the midst of an open city square with nothing around it in every direction, encircled by a circular courtyard of clean, golden cobblestone. Gwen could see right away the respect that this city had for books, for scholarship; after all, this Royal Library sat like a beacon in the center of the city.
“My daughter awaits you inside,” the Queen said, a sadness now to her voice. “Ask her anything you will. She will tell you all. There are some things that are too painful for a mother to speak of.”
She gave Gwendolyn a quick hug, then turned and disappeared in the streets, followed by her servants.
Gwen, alone, faced the huge golden doors, twenty feet high, a foot thick, and as she reached out and laid a hand on their golden handles, she pulled, and felt ready to enter another world.
*
As Gwen entered the Royal Library, waiting to greet her was Jasmine, standing there alone in the vast hall of marble, her hands before her, lightly clasped at her waist, and staring back with a sweet, excited smile, intelligence shining in her eyes.
She rushed forward, beaming, and took Gwen’s hand.
“I’ve been waiting and waiting for you!” she exclaimed, as she turned and excitedly began to give Gwen a tour. “My dad said you would be coming this morning, and I’ve waited ever since. I must have checked the windows a hundred times. Did my mom take you on one of her long and boring tours?” she asked with a short laugh, delighting herself.
Gwen could not help but laugh, too, this child’s enthusiasm infectious. She was captivated by Jasmine from the moment she saw her, so intelligent and endearing. She was also talkative and fun. There was a bounce to her step, a playful giddiness which Gwendolyn did not expect. She expected her to be serious and somber, lost in books, like any other scholar—but she was anything but. She was like any other child, carefree, skipping along, joyous, warm and good-natured. In some ways, she reminded Gwendolyn of the carefree, joyous spirit she’d once had herself as a youth. She wondered when, exactly, she lost it.
As Jasmine led her through the halls, her talking never ceasing, she moved from one topic to the next with surprising dexterity, pointing out one rack of books after the other.
“This stack on the right are the tragedies of our first playwright, Circeles,” she said. “I consider them to be basically trite works, what you might expect from the first generation of Ridg
e playwrights. Of course, they were suited for different occupations back then—mostly martial. As Keltes says, with each generation comes a refinery, a move from martial to higher skills. We all strive for higher forms of grace, do we not?”
Gwen looked back at her, dazzled by her speech, her nonstop flow of words and knowledge, as she continued relentlessly, pointing out rack after rack of books. They passed through endless corridors, decorated with ornate wall paintings, their floors lined with gold.
The library was like a maze, and Jasmine led her down winding, narrow corridors lined with books on either side. The racks of books, made of gold, rose twenty feet high, and all the books looked ancient, leather-bound, penned, Gwendolyn could see, in the ancient language of the Ring. There were a staggering number of books, even for someone like Gwendolyn, and amazingly, Jasmine seemed to recognize every single one.
“And here we have the histories, of course,” Jasmine continued, pulling down a book as she walked and leafing through it. “They stretch for miles. It’s organized from the early historians through the latter ones—it should, in fact, be the other way around. You’d think the latter would stand upon the shoulders of the former, offer a more enlightened perspective into the history of the Ridge and the Ring—but that’s not so. As is often the case, the original historians were better versed than any who followed. I think there’s some truth to the notion that latter generations outdo the former—yet there is more truth to the notion of former generations holding ancient wisdom untouchable by the latter ones,” she said. “The firstborn syndrome, is it?”
Gwen’s mind spun in a flurry, trying to process everything she was saying, and she could not help but feel as if she were speaking to an eighty-year-old. This dynamo of a girl held the wisdom of Aberthol and Argon combined, but with a speed and energy to her that left Gwen dizzy. Gwen realized right away that she was outmatched by this young girl’s intelligence and scholarship—and it was the first time she had ever felt that way before, with anyone. It was both intimidating and exhilarating.
