Only the Worthy

by Morgan Rice

  Voyt stepped aside, and as he did, Royce spotted a light in the distance in the black of night. It was dim, far off, bobbing, and it took him a few moments to realize what it was: a lantern, swinging on a ship. A small wooden ship sat anchored in the rough waters near the shoreline, and Royce, stunned, looked over at Voyt, who nodded back with a knowing look.

  “The time has come to leave,” he affirmed.

  Royce could not help but feel a mixture of triumph and sadness; of longing to be back home, and despair for the death to come. As much as he had hated this isle, he had also become a warrior here, had learned more about himself than he’d ever cared to know. A part of him was loath to leave. Voyt, as harsh as he was, had become something of a father figure to him. He was as close to being a father as Royce had ever had. Royce realized he would miss him.

  “Law requires us to shackle you,” Voyt continued. “I shall not. You may not be free in the eyes of the kingdom, but you are free in ours. For all true warriors are free. Sail back, fight, die a glorious death, and make us all proud.”

  The men parted ways, and one at a time, Royce and the others, wearing their new breastplates, wielding their new swords, began to walk toward the coastline, toward the ship waiting in the blackness. Royce fell in last, and as he went, he heard rocks crunching and looked over; he was surprised to find Voyt walking beside him.

  “I shall accompany you,” Voyt said. Royce thought he could detect sadness in his voice.

  They walked for a long time in silence on the craggy isle, Royce wondering what his mentor had to say, if anything. Perhaps they would just walk the entire way in silence.

  “Soon the waves will bring another crop of boys,” Voyt said, his voice pensive. “And soon those boys will meet their deaths.”

  Royce looked over and saw Voyt was looking straight ahead as they walked, as if examining the black ocean for something he could not find.

  “You are apart from the others,” he added.

  Royce pondered his words, wondering what they meant. He recalled his mysterious power, recalled how he had always felt as if the others were looking at him askance. How, after all, had he defeated that beast? How had he done so many things he should not have been able to do?

  Royce looked down and studied his necklace, shining in the moonlight, and it occurred to him to ask Voyt a question he had feared to ask his entire stay here.

  “My father,” Royce said, nervous, his voice tremulous. “You never told me about him.”

  There came a long silence, one so long that Royce was sure Voyt would never respond, as they continued to walk for the coast.

  But then, finally, Voyt sighed.

  “The time is not right,” he said. “You are not ready. I can tell you only that you have a great legacy behind you. And a great destiny before you.”

  Voyt suddenly grabbed hold of Royce, gripping his arm tight as they reached the boat. As the others walked up the plank, he stood there and turned his intense eyes on Royce. Royce saw death in those eyes. A killer’s eyes.

  “When the time comes,” he said with urgency, “you will know what to do. The realm depends on you. Do not let your father down.”

  Royce stared back, baffled, as Voyt turned and abruptly strode off, back toward the raging bonfire in the distance, back toward his men on the barren isle. What had he meant?

  Royce turned and saw his three brothers-in-arms awaiting him, standing on the long plank leading to the ship. He joined them, and the four of them boarded the wildly rocking ship together.

  The moment they did, the plank was raised, and a soldier stepped forward and chopped the rope. The ship set off into the night, the waters lifting it and carrying it away, and Royce stood at the stern, watching the Black Isle disappear. It was hard to believe they were leaving this place. This island had given them much, but had taken more. They were all haunted men now.

  The waters picked up speed, and Royce knew the mainland was somewhere out there, waiting for them. His heart raced with excitement.

  Genevieve, he thought, looking out into the night. I’m coming for you.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Genevieve stood outside Altfor’s chamber, the fort still so late into the night, raised the heavy iron ring, and knocked. It sounded hollow, too loud on the thick oak, and it was odd to think of herself standing here, in a drafty stone corridor, and knocking on her husband’s door to be let in.

  She stood there, waiting in the silence, her heart pounding. So stupid of her, she realized, not to do this sooner. She only prayed it was not now too late. What if that girl was now behind that door, wrapped in her husband’s arms? What if Altfor opened the door and slammed it in her face? What chance would she ever have of saving Royce then?

  She stood there, waiting, hoping it was not too late.

  Genevieve reached up to knock again, but this time, before she could grab the knocker, the door opened with a creak. There stood Altfor, eyes narrowed with suspicion, silk robe pulled tight. Genevieve watched his eyes widen in surprise when he saw her.

  He paused ever so briefly in the door, and as he did, Genevieve’s heart pounded.

  Please don’t let it be too late.

  Then, slowly, he took a step back, and to her immense relief, he said:

  “Come in.”

  Genevieve walked in as he closed the door behind. She reached back and bolted it, and he looked at her in surprise.

  She then quickly scanned the room, praying for no signs of the girl. She was relieved to find none.

  Genevieve took a deep breath. It was just her and Altfor. There they stood, in the dim light of the torches, nothing but the soft crackle of the fireplace as the moonlight shone through the window.

  “A funny question for my wife,” he said, his voice soft, “but why have you come here?”

  She stared at him, took a step forward, and, hands trembling, heart pounding, reached up and gently placed her palms on his shoulders.

  “To be with you,” she replied, her voice tremulous.

  His eyes widened in surprise. He stared for a long time, and she could feel him summing her up, as if gauging her to see if she were genuine.

  Finally, he reached out, took her hand, and led her to the bed.

  Genevieve, heart pounding, allowed herself to be led, each step like a knife in her heart. She did not want this. But for Royce, she would do anything.

  He guided her into bed, and as he began to undress her, she tried with all she had to hide her tears, to put her mind anywhere but here.

  And as Altfor pulled the covers over them, she had only one final thought:

  Royce. Forgive me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Royce stood at the bow holding the weathered rail, and as he studied the crashing waves, their spray hitting his new breastplate, he wondered what his future might bring. On one side of him stood Mark, on the other, Altos, the three of them standing there as one, looking out at the infinity of the ocean. They’d been through so much together, the three of them. Moons of grueling training, crossing the ocean here and back, losing so many friends and brothers-in-arms. They had formed a bond that was stronger than friends, stronger than brothers. They were family now. They were all each other had left in the world. And they were the only ones in the world who could understand what they had each gone through.

  It was hard to believe that they had set out from Sevania so many moons ago, on a ship packed with hundreds of boys, so full they could barely move. And now here they were, the sole survivors, returning alone. In one sense, they had been the lucky ones. And yet still, death awaited them. So had they been lucky after all?

  Royce studied the rolling waves, their ship rising higher and lower in the ocean, and tried not to contemplate what awaited him. He knew he would soon be thrown into the Pits. Dying did not frighten him, not anymore. What bothered him was that he would be forced to kill others, for sport. That went against everything he was. He hated, too, knowing his friends would die, and he knew that when th
ey reached the mainland, they would be divvied up, each sent to their own pit.

  As he felt the spray of the ocean on his face, Royce’s thoughts turned to what mattered even more than all of this: Genevieve. She, after all, was the reason he had been shipped off to this isle in the first place. For her, he would do it all over again. Was she waiting for him? What had become of her?

  Images of her floated before his face, and his heart quickened at the chance to perhaps see her, to see his family, again. He did not want to raise his hopes. They’d be physically closer, on the same continent, and yet he would obviously not be escorted to her presence; she would probably not even know he had returned. Instead he would be dropped into a pit somewhere to fight and to die, and ironically, though closer to her, he would likely never see her again. The thought pained him to no end.

  “Will you kill?”

  Royce looked over, snapping out of his reverie, to see Altos standing beside him, also staring out to sea, his eyes also filled with uncertainty. It was a soft question, to the point. It was, indeed, the question on all of their minds.

  Would he kill?

  There was no question he would fight gloriously, would fight with honor and pride, would fight to defend himself in battle. Of course he would.

  But that wasn’t the question, Royce knew. It was: would he kill another human being for sport? Because their masters told them to?

  Killing them would feed the machine, would fuel the masters’ entertainment, would make him no better than any of the others. It would give the masters what they wanted: complete control over him once and for all.

  To not kill, though, would mean his own death. It would also make him a coward in the eyes of all his fellow citizens.

  “I do not wish to die a coward,” Mark chimed in. “If someone comes to kill me, I don’t see what choice I have.”

  A long silence followed.

  “And yet, to kill them,” Altos said, “is to give the kingdom what it wants.”

  “What choice do we have?” Mark countered.

  Royce stood there, gripping the rail, looking out as the waves changed from blue to green and sharing the same thoughts as his brothers. They were being put in an impossible situation. A situation worse than death.

  “If we kill someone just for sport,” Altos said, after a long silence, “what happens to us is worse than death. Our soul is killed.”

  Royce could not help but think that Altos was right. He glanced back at the soldiers guarding the ship, and he wondered again if there was some way to escape. Dozens of them lined the rails, weapons at the ready. And dozens more, he knew, would be awaiting them on shore.

  “And if you could escape?” Mark asked, catching his glance and reading his thoughts. “What would you do?”

  “Free Genevieve,” Royce answered without hesitation.

  Mark nodded in approval.

  “How would you free her?” Altos pressed.

  “I would kill any soldiers in my way and get her out.”

  “So you would kill, then,” Altos said with a grin.

  Royce shook his head.

  “Killing for justice is not killing for sport,” he replied.

  There came a long silence, their ship gently rising and falling, until finally Mark spoke.

  “Perhaps they shall assign us together,” Mark said. “Perhaps we shall be put in the same pit, and fight side by side.”

  Altos shook his head.

  “They separate the fighters,” he replied. “We shall be divided up when we reach shore and never see each other again.”

  The thought made Royce’s heart fall.

  “Let us make a pact, then,” Altos said. “If one of us should break free, he will seek out the others, and the three of us shall try to break free together.”

  Altos put out his arm, Mark clasped it, and Royce clasped it, too. It was a pact between brothers. There was nothing, Royce knew, more sacred than that.

  *

  Many hours later, late into the night, Royce still stood there, at the rail, alone, long after the others had fallen asleep. He stood frozen, looking up at the moon, out at the waters, watching the waves rise and fall, numb to the world. He felt as if he were counting the minutes left to his life, and he kept thinking of Genevieve. He wondered if she were awake now, staring at the same moon. He wondered if he could use his power to defeat his captors.

  And yet when he tried to summon his power on demand, nothing came. Would it show up for him in the Pits? Or was it gone forever? What was it? Where did it come from? Why couldn’t he summon it when he wished?

  Royce was looking out into the remains of the night when he heard a creaking behind him, and he turned, on guard, remembering Rubin. He was, after all, somewhere on the ship. Royce turned, drawing his sword, ready.

  Rubin stood there, several feet away, walking slowly toward him, and he put his hands up innocently in the air.

  “I’m not here to fight you,” Rubin explained. He looked down to the ground, clearly shamed. “Only to thank you.”

  Royce examined him, and he noticed Rubin looked like a different man. He looked broken, humbled.

  Royce slowly sheathed his sword. He studied Rubin as he looked back up.

  “You saved my life,” Rubin said in disbelief. “When you did not need to. When you had every reason not to. I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve come to ask why.”

  Royce looked at him, startled. He had never expected this.

  “Because every life is worth saving,” Royce said. “Even those of your enemy. Even those of the bullies who have tormented others.”

  Rubin stared back, clearly taken aback, then slowly nodded.

  “I owe you my life,” he said. “When you saved me, something changed within me. It made me realize…”

  He trailed off. He stepped forward, next to Royce, and gripped the rail and looked out to sea. Knuckles white, he remained silent for a long while.

  “It made me realize…how wrong I have been. What a fool I have been. How ashamed I am. I am a changed man. I know I cannot expect your forgiveness, but I want to ask you for it.”

  Royce was shocked by his words. He had not expected this. He studied Rubin for a long time, and finally concluded he was genuine.

  “The way I acted, the way I treated everyone,” Rubin said. “It was because I was…afraid. Afraid that others would treat me that way. It was defensive. I was raised by a father who would beat me every night. My mother left me when I was young. My brothers tormented me. Being tormented…it was all I’d ever known.”

  He sighed.

  “It wasn’t until you saved me that I realized that people can be otherwise in this world. You saved me. More than this entire isle, more than all those moons of training, your one act of grace is what saved me.”

  He took a deep breath and faced Royce.

  “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he said, “but I need to ask you for it anyway.”

  Royce stared back, unsure what to say. Clearly, Rubin was a changed man.

  Finally, Royce nodded.

  “I harbor no ill feelings towards you,” Royce said. “But it is not I alone from whom you need forgiveness. There are a great number of boys you tormented. Including Altos and Mark.”

  Rubin nodded in agreement.

  “I shall ask forgiveness of them all. I have changed. You must believe me.”

  Royce looked at him more intently, and his words felt true.

  “I believe you,” Royce replied.

  Rubin stepped close.

  “I want you to know that you have a friend in me for life,” Rubin added, holding out his arm.

  Royce wondered briefly if this were a trick, until he saw the sincerity in his eyes. Rubin was indeed a changed man. A broken man. A man who had faced death and who had not expected to come out the other side.

  Royce reached out and clasped his arm in return, and in that grip, he sensed he’d found, in the most unlikely of places, with the most unlikely of people,
a friend for life.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Genevieve walked slowly with Altfor, arm in arm, across the wide marble plaza at the top of the palace grounds, taking in the world of opulence. The marble stretched as far as the eye could see and was interlaced with formal gardens, bubbling fountains, flowering orchards—a true picture of luxury. Of everything her people had been denied. She looked down at herself, dressed in the finest silks, wearing precious jewelry, and was surprised to realize that she had become indistinguishable from the royals. It made her hate herself even more.

  What had she become?

  Ever since that fateful night when she had gone to Altfor’s bed, had given herself to him, had stopped resisting and had accepted her role as his wife, things had changed radically for her. She had been showered with everything her heart could want and more, down to the heavy jewels she wore around her neck. She had been allowed to leave the castle grounds, to roam where she wished. She’d been afforded the highest respect not only by Altfor, but by the entire royal family, down to the castle guards. They all looked upon her, she could see, as one of their own.

  Yet the more she was given, the more respect she was afforded, the sadder she became. She did not want any of it. She only wanted Royce.

  It was a funny feeling. Her entire life she had been viewed as a peasant, like all the people she had grown up with. As she walked the grounds and they bowed to her, she felt uncomfortable; she could not help but feel as if they had her confused with someone else.

  What felt even stranger than all of this was walking arm in arm with Altfor, the reality that he was her husband. The word filled her with a sense of dread. She felt, with every step she took, as if she were rejecting Royce. She told herself again and again that she was doing this for him. This was the path to power, she had to remind herself constantly, the only way to save Royce and her people. If she continued to resist, she would be of no use to anyone.