by Morgan Rice
“You wish to see my daughter,” the woman said, her expression hard. She had the face of a warrior, and Darius could see from her expression that she was a mother of sons—of warrior sons. It was the face of a cautious, protective mother, one determined not to repeat past mistakes.
“Your daughter is very beautiful,” Darius finally said, his first words, not knowing what else to say.
She scowled.
“I know that she is,” she said. “I don’t need you to tell me she’s beautiful. Anyone can see that. She has been desired by every boy in this village. You are not the first to seek her hand. Why should I let her spend any time with you?”
Darius’s heart pounded as he tried to figure out what to say. He wanted to be respectful, but he was not willing to back down either.
“I will admit that I do not even know your daughter,” he said slowly. “But I have witnessed her great strength of spirit and of courage. I admire her very much. That is the same strength of courage I hope to have in my wife, in the mother of my children. I would like to get to know her. I mean only the highest respect to you and to her.”
Her mother stared at him long and hard, as if debating, her expression never changing.
“You speak well for your age,” she finally said. “But I know who your father was. He was a rebel. An outcast. A warrior. A great man, but a reckless one. There is no room for heroics among our people. We are slave people. That is our lot. It will never change. Ever. Do you understand me?”
She stared at him long and hard in the thick silence, and Darius swallowed, not knowing what to say.
“I don’t want my daughter with a hero,” she said. “I’ve already lost one son learning that the Empire cannot be destroyed. I will not lose my daughter, too.”
She stared at Darius, cold and hard, unyielding, waiting for an answer.
Darius wished he could tell her what she wanted to hear, that he would never fight the Empire, that he would be docile and complacent with his lot as a slave.
But deep down, it was not how he felt. He was not willing to lie down, and he did not want to lie to her.
“I admire my father,” Darius said, “even though I barely knew him. I have no plan to attack the Empire. Nor can I promise you I will lie down in defeat my entire life. I am who I am. I can pretend to be no one else.”
Her mother studied him, squinting her eyes in the interminable silence, and Darius felt sweat forming on his forehead in the small cottage, wondering if he had ruined his chances.
Finally, she nodded.
“At least you are honest,” she said. “That is more than I can say for the other boys. And honesty counts a great deal.”
“Great!” Loti said, suddenly standing. “We’re done then!”
She grabbed Darius’s arm, pulled him up and before he could react, led him out of the cottage, past her mother, to the open the door.
“Loti, I did not say we are done!” her mother cried out, standing.
“Oh, come on, Mother,” Loti said. “The boy barely knows me. Give us a chance. You can attack him when we return.”
Loti giggled as she opened the door; yet before they were halfway out, Darius felt a cold grip on his arm, squeezing his bicep, yanking him back.
He turned to see mother staring at him sternly.
“If anything happens to my daughter because of you, I guarantee you I will kill you myself.”
*
Darius sat across from Loti in the small boat and he rowed down the slow-moving river on the outskirts of their village, bordered by marshland, following the route of this lazy river which circled the village. This river ran in a continuous circle, and it was a favorite among small kids, who would place small toy boats in it, release them, and wait for them to return on the current. It would take an entire day.
It was also a favorite among lovers. With its slow-moving current and idyllic breezes, the river was the best place to be at sunset, as the heat of the day dissipated and the wind picked up.
Darius had been delighted by the look on Loti’s face when she saw where he had brought her. Finally, he felt as if he had done something right.
Now she leaned back in the boat and looked up at the sky as if she were in heaven, as Darius rowed them gently down the river. The current carried them, so he did not need to row much, and he rested his elbows on the oars and allowed the boat to be carried by its own weight. As they floated there in the silence, Darius thought of how lucky he was to be here, and of how beautiful Loti looked, her dark skin lighting up in the sunset.
Darius leaned forward and clasped his palm over the soft back of her hand, and she looked up, smiling. She still played with the flowers he had given her, and as her eyes met his, he had forgotten what he was going to say. She stared back at him, her eyes filled with intensity and passion, as if looking into his soul.
“Yes?” she asked.
Darius wanted to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. So they floated silently as he blushed, passing swaying marshes, lit up in the sunset, a beautiful amber and scarlet, rustling in the breeze.
“You’re different from the others,” she finally said. “I don’t know what it is. But there’s something about you. I can sense you are a warrior, yet I can also sense something else…I don’t know, a sensitivity, maybe. As if you see things. As if you understand things. I like being with you. It sets me at ease.”
Darius blushed as he looked down. Did she know about his powers? he wondered. Would she hate him for it? Would she tell the others?
“Most boys your age,” she said, “are already with girls, or are already married. Not you. I’ve never seen you with others.”
“I did not know you saw me at all,” he said, surprised.
“I have eyes,” she said. “You are a hard person to miss.”
Darius blushed some more. He looked down at the boat and toed it with his foot. He did not know how to respond, so he kept silent. He had always been shy around girls; he did not have the natural talent for speech that other boys had. Yet he also felt things very deeply. He watched other boys be quick to find girls, and quick to toss them away when they were done with him. But Darius could never do that. Any girl he would be with he would take very seriously, and it had kept him back from committing to anyone. He felt too much at stake.
“And you?” Darius finally mustered the courage to ask. “You are not married either.”
She stared back at him proudly.
“There is no shame in that,” she said, defensive. “I make my own decisions. I do not follow my passions easily. I’ve turned away all those who have approached me.”
Darius felt nervous at her words. Would she turn him away, too?
“Why?” he asked.
“I am waiting for someone remarkable,” she said. “More than just a man; more than just a warrior. Someone who is special. Who is different. Who has a great destiny before him.”
Darius was confused, and suddenly wondered if this whole trip was a waste.
“Then why are you sitting here with me?” he asked.
Loti laughed, and the sound of it, high-pitched and sweet, caught him off guard. When she finally stopped, her eyes, playful, settled on him.
“Maybe I have found it,” she said.
They locked eyes for a moment, then they each looked away, embarrassed.
Darius began to row again, not quite understanding her yet also feeling a stronger connection with her. He didn’t quite understand what she wanted, or what she saw in him. He was afraid he might lose her. He wanted to impress her somehow, to convince her to like him. But he didn’t know what to say.
They continued floating down the river in silence, the air thick with the rustling of the marsh, with the sound of the breezes, with the night insects beginning to sing. Darius’s muscles slowly relaxed, tired from a long day of labor. It was unusual for him to relax, to not be thinking of his work the next day, of his miserable existence, of craving a way out of here. For the first time in a long
time, he was happy right where he was.
“Does it not bother you,” he asked, “knowing that tomorrow when we arise, we’ll be answering to someone else?”
Loti did not meet his eyes, but stared out in the distance and shrugged.
“Of course it bothers me,” she finally replied. “But there are some things you must learn to live with it. I have learned to.”
“I have not,” he said.
She studied him.
“Your problem,” she said, “is that you are narrow-minded. You only see one way to resist.”
He looked back at her, puzzled.
“What other way is there to resist than to throw off the chains of our oppressors?” he asked.
She smiled back.
“The highest form of resistance is to enjoy life, even in the face of oppression. If you can find a way to live a life of joy in the face of danger, if you have not let them crush your spirit, then you have defeated them. They can affect our bodies, but not our spirit. If they can’t take away your joy, then you are never oppressed. Oppression is a state of mind.”
Darius pondered her words, never considering it that way before. He had never met anyone who thought like her, who saw the world the way she did. He not know if he agreed with her, but he could understand her way of thinking.
“I think we are very different people,” he finally said.
“Maybe that is why we like each other,” she replied.
His heart beat faster at her words, and he smiled back. For the first time, he felt relaxed, more confident.
Their boat rounded a bend, and as it did, she opened her eyes wide, and he turned to look. The current had taken them under the Tree of Fire, and as Darius turned and laid eyes on it, he was awestruck, as always. The tree, hundreds of feet high and wide, was as ancient as this land. Its branches leaned over the river, all the way down until they touched it, its leaves a flaming red, bright red flowers blooming at the end of them, and all aglow in the sunset. It looked magical. Darius could smell its strong fragrance from here, like cinnamon crossed with honeysuckle.
Darius stopped their boat beneath the branches, the flowers nearly touching their heads, emitting a soft glow as evening fell, lighting up the twilight. Loti leaned forward, so close that her knees were touching Darius’s, and she reached up and placed a hand in his. He could feel her trembling, and as he looked into her eyes, his heart pounded.
“You are not like the others,” she said. “I can see it in your eyes. I want to be with you.”
Darius stared back at her, and could see the earnestness in her eyes.
“And I with you,” he said.
“I do not give out my heart lightly,” she said. “I do not want it broken.”
“I promise it shall never be,” he said.
Darius then leaned forward, and as his lips met hers, as he reached up and touched her face, as the two of them floated there, under the Tree of Fire, he felt, for the first time, that he had something to live for.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Gwen stood at the rail, looking down into the waters, and she raised her hands to her eyes to shield them as a sudden light filled the sky. The haze hanging over the sea was infused with gold, and as she squinted into the light, she suddenly spotted something sailing toward her. She narrowed her eyes and wondered if she were seeing things: there, before her, bobbing in the waters, floated a small, shining golden boat, reflecting the sun. Gwen looked closely as it came closer, and her heart soared to see who was inside. She could not believe it.
There, inside, was Thor, standing, smiling triumphantly. And in his arms he held their baby.
Gwen’s heart soared, as she burst into tears at the sight. There they were, just feet away, returned to her, both alive and safe and well.
Gwen turned for a moment to summon the others on her ship, to share the good news—yet as she did, she was confused to find her ship empty. She could not understand where everyone had gone.
Gwen stepped into the small lifeboat on deck and quickly lowered the ropes until she reached the water. As she touched down, her boat bobbed wildly in the waves, and the thick rope connecting her to the ship snapped.
Gwen craned her neck and looked up, and was horrified to see her ship floating away on the strong ocean tide.
Gwen turned back to Thor and Guwayne, and she was horrified to see that her boat was suddenly getting sucked away, faster and faster on the tides, bringing her farther from them.
“NO!” she called out.
Gwen reached out a hand for Thorgrin, who still stood there, smiling, holding Guwayne. But the ocean tide carried her faster and farther away from him, away from her ship, away from everything she knew, deep into the limitless ocean.
Gwen awoke with a start. She looked all around, breathing hard, sweating, wondering what had happened. She saw that she was still in her ship; that she lay on deck; that it was filled with people. It had all been a nightmare. Just an awful, cruel nightmare.
Gwen’s relief quickly morphed to disappointment as she saw the state of her people. A thick fog settled in over everything, carried on the wind, and Gwen could only see her people piecemeal. But she saw them slumped over their oars, lying curled up on the deck, leaning against the side rail, all of them languid, no one moving. She could tell right away that they had all been devastated by hunger. They all lay there, motionless, looking more dead than alive.
Gwen did not know how many days they had been floating here; she could no longer remember. She knew it was long enough, though. Too long. Land had never come, and here her people lay, all on the steps of death.
Gwendolyn felt hunger pains tear through her body, and it took all her might just to pull herself up to a sitting position. She sat there, holding the baby, who cried as Gwen gave her a bottle empty of milk. Gwen felt like weeping, but she was too exhausted for that. After all they been through, after having come so far, it killed her to think that now her people were all going to die here, in the middle of nowhere, from hunger. It was too much to take. For herself, she could suffer; but she hated to see her people suffer like this.
Gwen could sense the stale odor of death in the air, feel that this ship had become a floating tomb, and that, soon, they would all be dead. She could not help but feel as if it were all her fault.
“Do not blame yourself, my lady,” came the voice.
Gwen turned to see her brother, Kendrick, sitting not far away, smiling weakly back. He must have read her thoughts, as he often did growing up, as he sat there, so noble, with such a strength of spirit, even at a time of such hardship.
“You have been a remarkable Queen,” he said. “Our father would be proud. You’ve taken us further than anyone else could have dared hope. It is a miracle we lived this long.”
Gwen appreciated his kind words, yet still, she could not help but feel responsible.
“If we all die, what have I done?” she asked.
“We will all die one day,” he replied. “You have achieved honor. That is far more than we could have asked of ourselves.”
Kendrick reached out a reassuring hand, and Gwen took it, grateful for his always being there.
“I should think you would have been a better King than I a Queen,” she said. “Father should have chosen you.”
Kendrick shook his head.
“Father knew what he was doing,” he said. “He chose perfectly. It was the one great choice of his life. He chose you not for the good times—but for a time like this. He knew you would lead us out.”
Before she could ponder his words, Gwen heard a shuffling of feet, and she turned and looked over to see Steffen looking down at her, dark circles under his eyes, looking weak, Arliss at his side, holding his hand.
Steffen cleared his throat.
“My lady, I have never made a request of you,” he said, his voice weak, “but I have one now.”
She looked at him, surprised, wondering what it could be.
“Whatever it is that I can grant, you sha
ll have it,” she replied.
“Would you stand as witness between us?” he asked. “We wish to marry.”
Gwen stared back at them both, eyes wide in surprise.
“Marry?” she repeated, stunned. “Here, now?”
Steffen and Arliss nodded back, and Gwen could see the seriousness in their eyes.
“If not now, when?” Arliss asked. “None of us expect to make land. And before we die, we wish to be together, forever.”
Gwen looked back at them both, overwhelmed by their devotion to each other. It made her think of Thorgrin, of her unfulfilled desire to wed him.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Of course I shall,” she replied.
Kendrick, Godfrey and the others close by who had overheard, all managed to muster to their feet and to join Gwen as she accompanied Steffen and Arliss to the bow of the ship.
Steffen and Arliss stood beside the rail, held hands, and turned and smiled to each other. Gwen stood before them, looking out at the fog, which rolled in and out on the silent ship, and she admired their courage, their affirmation of life in the midst of these dying moments.
“Do you have vows you wish to exchange?” Gwen asked.
Steffen nodded. He cleared his throat as he looked into Arliss’s eyes.
“I, Steffen, vow to love you always,” he said, “to be a faithful husband, and to remain at your side, whether in this life or the next, whatever the fates may bring.”
Arliss smiled back at him.
“And I, Arliss, vow to love you always, to be a devoted wife, and to remain at your side, whether in this life or the next, whatever the fates may bring.”
They leaned in and kissed, and as they did, Gwen noticed tears running down Arliss’s cheek. It was a sacred moment, and a somber one; it was a moment when they all looked death in the face, and tried to beat it with their love.
It was an eerie affair, at once both the gloomiest wedding Gwendolyn had ever attended, and the most beautiful, all of them, Gwen realized, floating into nowhere, and as fleeting as the fog that rolled in and out with each passing wave. More than ever, Gwen felt death coming—and she felt lucky she had been alive long enough to witness, at least, one wedding of those she loved.
