by Morgan Rice
Their boat level again, Thor turned and saw that they were bearing down on the island. They were close to shore, hardly twenty feet away, which brought him a sense of relief.
But at the same time he realized that the shore was comprised of a virtual minefield of jagged boulders. There was no safe, smooth place to land. The huge waves were cresting and crashing down on the rocks. Suddenly another wave came, their boat was lifted high, and all the boys in the boat screamed at once as they came crashing down, straight for the rocks.
There was no time to react. A moment later, their entire boat shattered against the rock, the impact strong enough to shake Thor’s jaw, as their boat splintered into pieces. The boys were all thrown from the boat.
Thor went flying head over heel and found himself back in the water, the churning red sea all around him, flailing, trying to orient himself. This time Krohn was near him, and Thor managed to reach out and grab him. Another wave came and picked them up, and brought them crashing down.
Thor dodged, and narrowly missed landing against a sharp rock. But another wave was coming, and he knew he had to do something quick.
He spotted a boulder flatter than the others, and he swam for it. He reached it just as a wave was receding and tried to climb up onto it; but it was covered in a slimy moss, and he kept losing his grip. Another wave came and pushed him up onto it, crunching his stomach against it but also lifting him up high enough to reach its plateau.
Finally on top of the rock, Thor turned and searched the waters for Reese. He saw him, flailing down below, and scurried down the boulder and reached down to grab him. But he was just out of reach.
“Your bow!” Thor screamed.
Reese understood-he reached onto his back and pulled off his bow and held out one end to Thor. Thor grabbed it and used it to yank him up, onto the rock. He made it safely, just before another wave crashed over him.
“Thanks,” Reese said, smiling. “Now I owe you one.”
Thor smiled back.
The two of them turned and Thor lifted Krohn and stuffed him into his shirt as they jumped to the top of the next boulder, then to the top of next one. They went on like this, boulder to boulder, getting ever closer to shore, until finally Thor slipped off of one and went hurling down into the sea. But he was close to shore now, and when the next wave came, it propelled him even farther, and he found himself able to stand, the water up to his waist. He waded his way towards shore, a tiny, narrow strip of black sand, and one final wave pounded him on his back and propelled him all the way.
Thor collapsed on the sand, Reese beside him, Krohn jumping out of his shirt and laying down, too. Thor was physically and mentally exhausted. But he had made it. He could not believe it. He had made it.
He sat up and turned and saw his fellow Legion members in the water, all wading to shore, waves crashing on their backs, washing up all around him. Some followed in his footsteps, hopping boulder to boulder; others were just thrown in the waves, bracing themselves and doing their best to avoid the rocks. He could see O’Connor, Elden, the twins, and other boys he recognized, and was relieved to see they were okay.
Thor turned the other way, and looked up at the steep cliffs behind him, rising straight up into the sky, leading to the island, somewhere up there.
“Now what?” he asked Reese, realizing they were stranded on this narrow, rocky strip of shore.
“We climb,” Reese responded.
Thor examined the cliffs again; they soared a hundred feet, and looked wet, covered in the ocean spray. He didn’t see how they could.
“But how?” Thor asked.
Reese shrugged.
“We don’t have much choice. We can’t stay down here. This beach is too narrow, and the tide is rising-we will be engulfed by the waves soon enough if we don’t move.”
The waves were already encroaching, the small strip of beach narrowing, and Thor knew he was right: they didn’t have much time to waste. He had no idea how they would climb this cliff, but he knew they had to try. There was no other option.
Thor stuffed Krohn back into his shirt, turned for the cliff wall, crammed his hands into whatever nooks and crannies he could find, found some crags for his feet, and began climbing straight up. Beside him, Reese did the same.
It was incredibly hard, the cliff nearly smooth, with only small crags in which to place his fingers and toes. Sometimes he found himself having to pull himself up by just the tips of a few fingers, pushing off with just the tips of his toes. He had only gone a few feet, and his arms and legs already shook. He looked up, and saw at least a hundred feet before him; he looked down and saw a ten foot drop to the sand below. He was breathing hard, and did not know how he would make it. Krohn whined inside his shirt, wriggling.
Reese climbed at the same rate, and he rested beside him, also looked down, and shared the same bewildered look.
Thor took another step, and as he did, he slipped. He slid several feet. Reese reached out for him, but it was too late.
Thor went flying backwards, through the air, hurling, bracing himself for a rough impact on the sand. Krohn yelped, jumping out, flying through the air beside him.
Thor heard the crashing of a wave, and luckily, the wave hit the sand just before impact. Thor landed in the water, splashing down, and was grateful that it had softened the blow.
He sat up, and watched as Reese, too, lost his grip and came flying down and landed in the water, not too far from him. The two of them sat there, and wondered. All around them, other boys were arriving on the shore, and also looked up in wonder.
Thor didn’t see how they could make it to the top, how they could ever make it to the island.
O’Connor, wading onto the sand, stood there and examined the cliff for a good minute before he reached back and removed the bow from his shoulder. From his waist he removed a long bunch of rope, and as Thor watched, he tied the rope to the end of an arrow.
Before Thor could ask him what he was doing, O’Connor fired.
The arrow carried the rope, higher and higher through the air, until it reached the very top of the cliff and looped itself around a small tree. It was a perfect shot, the arrow falling cleanly over one end and sliding back down the mountain. O’Connor tugged at it, making sure it was stable; the tree bent but did not give. Thor was impressed.
“I’m not a complete waste,” O’Connor said, with a proud smile.
The other Legion members crowded around him and his rope, as O’Connor began to climb it.
He pulled himself up relatively quickly and easily, climbing higher and higher, until he reached the top. When he did, he tied the arrow around the tree, providing a secure rope for the others.
“One at a time!” O’Connor called down.
“You go,” Reese said to Thor.
“After you,” Thor said.
Reese climbed up, and Thor waited until he reached the top, then followed. It was easy compared to climbing the rock face, and soon Thor reached the top.
He was sweating, breathing hard, beyond exhausted, and he collapsed on the grass as he reached the island. It was real, soft grass, and after what he had been through, he felt as if he had landed on the most luxurious of beds.
Thor lifted his head enough to look out at the sunset all around him, casting a mystical light onto this strange place. It was craggy, desolate, forlorn, covered in an eerie and unwelcoming mist. The mist seemed to taint everything, seemed to threaten to swallow him whole. It was hardly a place he would call welcoming.
Thor swallowed. This desolate place, in the middle of nowhere, at the top of the world, would be home for the next hundred days.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Gwendolyn ran through the back streets of King’s court, twisting and turning, trying to remember her way to the alehouse. She had only been here once in her life, when trying to retrieve Godfrey for some occasion, and she had never frequented this part of King’s Court since. It was too seedy for her, and she felt uncomfortable from all the stares as
the streets became populated with unruly types. It saddened her that Godfrey had wasted so much of his life here, in this place that was beneath him. It had put a stain on the honor of the royal family, and she knew he was better than that.
Tears still poured down her cheeks and her heart still pounded as she ran through her mind, again and again, what had just happened at the river. She reached up and felt the small cut on her cheek, still stinging, still fresh, and wondered if it would scar. Gwen looked down at her hand and saw it was covered in blood. She had not taken time to bandage it-but that was the least of it now. She realized how lucky she was not to have been killed or maimed; she thought of Ephistopheles, and felt certain her father had saved her. Looking back, she should have heeded her dream more carefully. But how? Dreams were still a mystery to her. She never quite knew the right course of action to take, even when it seemed clear.
She knew of Gareth’s dog’s reputation for butchery, knew how many people he had maimed for life and marveled that she had escaped. She grew cold thinking that Gareth had sent him to her. Her mind spun with the implications. Obviously he would not have sent him unless he had something to hide about their father’s murder. She felt more certain of it than ever. The question was how to prove it. She would not give up until she did-even if it meant risking her own life. Gareth must have thought that that man would scare her away-but the opposite was true. Gwen was not one to back down. And when someone tried to scare or threaten her, she always fought back twice as hard.
She turned yet another corner, and finally saw the tavern, crooked, sagging on one end, the structure way too old and never tended well to begin with. The door was partially open, and two drunks stumbled out of it, one of them lighting up at the sight of her.
“Hey, look here!” he said, elbowing his buddy, who, more drunk than he, turned and belched at her.
“Hey miss, going our way?” he yelled, and shrieked with laughter at his own joke.
They lurched towards her, but after what she had been through, Gwen was not afraid. She was in no mood for everyday cretins-and she pushed them roughly out of her way. Caught off guard, they stumbled back, drunk.
“Hey!” one screamed, indignant.
But Gwen hurried past them, unafraid, right into the open tavern. In the mood she was in, if one of them followed her in, she would find an empty glass and smash it on his head. That would make them think twice about addressing a member of the royal family so disrespectfully.
Gwen strode into the tavern, the smell hitting her, and as she did, the rowdy atmosphere fell silent, all heads turning. There were dozens of seedy types in here, all drinking, all slovenly; she could scarcely believe how many people were so deep into drink so early in the day. It was not a holiday, at least as far she could recall. Then again, she supposed that for these people, it always was.
One man, seated at the bar, was slower to turn than the others, and when he did, his eyes opened wide at the sight of her.
“Gwen!” he called out, surprise in his voice.
Gwen hurried over to Godfrey, feeling all the emotion pouring out of her. Godfrey looked at her with real concern, stumbled up from his barstool, and hurried over to her, laying a protective arm around her.
He guided her away from the others, to a small table in the corner of the tavern. His two friends, Akorth and Fulton, kept others at bay, and created a wall for their privacy.
“What happened?” he asked, quietly and urgently, as he sat beside her. “What happened to your face?” he asked, reaching towards her cut.
Her back to all the others, she sat beside her brother, and finally felt all her emotion pouring out. Despite her best efforts, she broke down sobbing, covering her face in her hands, in shame.
“Gareth tried to kill me,” she said.
“What!?” Godfrey exclaimed, horrified.
“He sent one of his attack dogs after me. I was bathing, in King’s River. He surprised me. I should have been more vigilant. I was stupid. I was caught off guard.”
“Let me see,” Godfrey said, pulling back her hand from her scar.
He looked at her cheek, then turned and snapped his fingers at Akorth, who ran off behind the bar and returned shortly with a clean, wet rag. He handed it to Godfrey, who wiped her cheek carefully and thoroughly. The cold water stung as he did, but she was grateful for his help. He handed her the rag and she held it to her cheek.
She saw his genuine concern, and for the first time in her life, she felt a real brotherly love for him, felt proud that Godfrey was her brother, felt that he was someone she could rely on. It broke her heart that he stayed in this place.
“Why are you here?” she asked. “I looked for you everywhere, and I was told that you’d come back here. You promised. You promised your drinking days were over.”
Godfrey looked down at the table, crestfallen.
“I tried,” he said, crushed. “I really did. But the pull of drink was too strong. After today, after our failure in the servant’s quarters…I don’t know. My hopes got so high. I was sure Steffen would give us the proof we needed. But after that failed, I lost hope. I got depressed. And then I heard the news of Kendrick, and that pushed me over the edge. I needed a drink. I’m sorry. I couldn’t control it. I know I shouldn’t have come back here. But I did.”
“What news?” Gwen asked, alarmed. “What news of Kendrick?”
He looked at her, surprised.
“You haven’t heard?”
She shook her head, welling with anxiety.
“Gareth had him arrested. He’s been charged with our father’s murder.”
“What?” Gwen called out, horrified. “Gareth can’t get away with that! That is ridiculous!”
Godfrey looked down and shook his head slowly.
“He already has. He is King-he can do whatever he wants now. It is heresy to question the King’s judgment, isn’t it? And worse: Kendrick is set to be executed.”
Gwen felt a pit in her stomach. She didn’t think she could feel any worse than she had this morning. But now she did. Kendrick, who she loved more than anything, imprisoned, set to be killed. It made her physically sick to think of it, to think of him, such a fine man, wallowing away in the dungeon, and executed like a common criminal.
“We must stop it,” Gwen urged. “We can’t allow him to die!”
“I agree,” Godfrey said. “I can’t believe Gareth tried to harm you,” Godfrey said, looking really stunned.
“Can’t you?” Gwen asked. “It seems he will stop at nothing until we’re all dead. We’re all obstacles, don’t you see? We’re all obstacles in his mind. He needs us out of the way. Because we know his true nature. He is guilty of our father’s murder. And he won’t stop until the rest of us are dead.”
Godfrey sat there, shaking his head.
“I wish we could do more,” Godfrey said. “We have to stop him.”
“We both do,” Gwen answered. “We can’t wait any longer.”
“I was thinking, this morning,” Godfrey said, sitting up straight, eyes lighting with excitement, “of something that happened the other day. In the forest. I crossed paths with Gareth. He was with Firth. There is supposedly a witch’s cottage not far from there. I’m wondering if that’s where he was coming from. I was thinking of going to see if I could find this cottage. Perhaps I can discover something.”
“You should go,” Gwen answered. “It is a good idea. If not now, when?”
Godfrey nodded.
“But first, you need to stop all of this,” she said, looking around the bar.
Godfrey looked into her eyes and he must have saw her meaning, as she looked around the tavern. She meant that it was time for him to stop his ways. To stop the drinking, once and for all.
Something shifted in his eyes as he looked at her, and she could almost see the transformation happening before her eyes. She could see his resolve. It seemed real this time.
“I will,” he said, with a confidence unlike any she had ever heard. She
felt it, and she really believed him.
“And I will go to our brother,” Gwen said. “I will find a way to get to Kendrick in the dungeon, and I will find a way to get him out. Whatever I have to do. I cannot let him die.”
Godfrey reached out and laid a hand on her wrist.
“Protect yourself,” he urged, “Gareth will come after you again. You are the weakest link. You cannot walk around unprotected. Take this.”
Gwen heard a clank, and looked down and saw him slide forward a small piece of wood on the table. She examined it, puzzled.
Godfrey reached over, and showed her the trick to it. He grabbed the wood and pried it open, an invisible crack down the middle, and both sides split in half, and there emerged a hidden dagger.
“It is the weapon of choice in the taverns,” he explained. “Easy to hide. Untraceable.”
Godfrey turned and looked at her meaningfully.
“Keep it close. And if anyone comes near you again, don’t ask questions. Plunge it into their heart.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“On your feet!”
Thor opened his eyes with a jolt and looked up, disoriented, trying to figure out where he was. Several Legion commanders stood over him and the other boys, all of whom lay scattered on the ground, deep in sleep. Hands on their hips, the commanders prodded the boys with their feet, and Thor felt a boot in his side, and looked over to see Kolk prodding him. Krohn snarled in Thor’s defense, and Kolk moved on to the next boy, screaming, taking his metal axe and slamming into his metal shield right above O’Connor’s head. There was a resounding boom, and O’Connor leapt to his feet, eyes open wide.
Thor stood, too, rubbing his head, trying to process it all. They were all in a cave, that much he knew. With him were about a dozen other Legion members, all in his age range. His head was splitting, and he could see from the mute light entering the cave that it was the crack of dawn. He tried to remember.
