by Morgan Rice
“Precisely,” Gwendolyn replied, her voice filled with a new determination. “If I cannot find my child, at least I can find Thorgrin. I will not move on without him.”
The thought of returning for Thorgrin, however irrational it might be, was the only thing allowing Gwen to, in her mind, give up the search for Guwayne and change course. Otherwise, her heart would just feel too heavy.
There was a long and heavy silence amongst her men, as each looked to the other guiltily, as if all were reluctant to say something to her.
“My lady,” Srog finally said, clearing his throat, stepping forward. “We all love and admire Thor, as much as we love our own selves. He is the greatest warrior we’ve ever known. Even so, I fear to say, there is no way he can survive against all those dragons, against the Empire’s million men. Thorgrin set himself up as a sacrifice for us, to buy us time, to allow us to escape. We must accept his gift. We must save ourselves while we can—not kill ourselves. Any of us would give our lives for Thorgrin—and yet, I fear to say, he may not be alive when we return for him.”
Gwen stared back at Srog, long and hard, something hardening within her, the only sound the breeze rippling on the ocean waters.
Finally, she came to a decision, a fresh strength in her eyes.
“We are not going anywhere until I find my Thorgrin,” she said. “I have no home without him. If it brings us into the heart of battle, into the very depths of hell, then that is where we shall go. He gave us his life—and we owe him ours.”
Gwen did not wait for their response. She turned her back, holding the baby to her chest, and peered into the water, signaling their conversation was done. She heard footsteps behind her as the men slowly dispersed; she heard commands ordered, heard them to begin to turn about the ship, as she’d requested.
Before they turned, Gwen peered one last time into layers of fog so thick, she could not even see the horizon. She wondered what lay beyond, if anything. Was Guwayne out there, somewhere beyond? Or was there nothing but a vast and empty sea? As Gwen watched, she saw a small rainbow appear in the midst of the fog, and she felt her heart breaking. She felt that Guwayne was with her. That he was giving her a sign. And she knew she would never, ever stop searching until she found him.
Behind her, Gwen heard the creaking of ropes, the hoisting of sails, and she slowly felt the ship turn, heading in the opposite direction. She felt her heart remaining behind as she unwillingly was brought back in the other direction. She looked back, the entire time, over her shoulder, staring at the rainbow, wondering: was Guwayne somewhere beyond?
*
Guwayne rocked alone in the small boat in the vast sea, carried on the waves, up and down, as he had been for hour after hour, the ocean current pulling him in no particular direction. Above him the tattered canvas sail whipped aimlessly in the wind. Guwayne, on his back, looked straight up at it, and he watched it, mesmerized.
Guwayne had stopped crying long ago, ever since he had lost sight of his mother, and he now lay there, wrapped in his blanket, all alone in the empty sea, without his parents, with nothing left but the rocking of the waves and this tattered sail.
The rocking of his boat had relaxed him—and as it suddenly stopped, he felt a rush of panic. The bow stopped moving as it lodged itself firmly on a beach, in the sand, the waves bringing it ashore. It landed on a foreign, exotic isle way north of the Upper Isles, near the far northern edge of the Empire. Upset from the rocking motion being over, Guwayne, his boat stuck in the sand, began to cry.
Guwayne cried and cried, until the cry evolved into a piercing wail. No one came to answer him.
Guwayne looked up and saw great birds—vultures—circling again and again, looking down at him, getting closer and closer. Sensing danger, his wails increased.
One of the birds dived down for him, and Guwayne braced himself; but suddenly it flapped its wings, startled by something, and flew away.
A moment later, Guwayne saw a face looking down at him—then another, then another. Soon, dozens of faces, exotic faces, from a primitive tribe, with huge ivory hoops through their noses, stared down at him. Guwayne’s cries increased as they jabbed spears at his boat. Guwayne screamed louder and louder. He wanted his mother.
“A sign from the seas,” one of the men said. “Just as our prophecies have foretold.”
“It is a gift from the God of Amma,” another said.
“The gods must want an offering,” said another.
“It is a test! We must give back what is given to us,” said another.
“We must give back what is given to us!” repeated the rest, clacking their spears against the boat.
Guwayne wailed louder and louder, but it didn’t do any good. One of them reached down, a tall skinny man wearing no shirt, with green skin and glowing yellow eyes, and scooped Guwayne up.
Guwayne shrieked at the feel of his skin, like sandpaper, as the man held him tight and breathed down his bad breath on him.
“A sacrifice for Amma!” he cried.
The men cheered, and as one they all turned and began to carry Guwayne away from the beach, toward the mountains, their sights set on the far side of the island, on the volcano, still smoking. None of them stopped to turn around, to look back at the ocean from which they’d left.
But if they had, even for an instant, they would have seen an unusually thick fog, a rainbow in its center, hardly fifty yards away. Behind them, unnoticed by anyone, the fog slowly lifted until finally the skies were clear, revealing three ships, turning around, all with their backs to the island, and all sailing the other way.
CHAPTER NINE
Thor lay atop Mycoples, both bobbing in the waves, slowly sinking into the ocean, completely surrounded by the Empire’s fleet. Thor lay there, his body pierced by dozens of arrows, dripping blood, in excruciating pain. He felt the life force seeping out of him, and as he held onto Mycoples, he felt her life force leaving her, too. There was blood in the water everywhere, and small, glowing fish came to the surface and lapped it up.
Slowly, they sank, the water submerging Thor up to his ankles, then his knees, then his stomach, as Mycoples sank and went under. Neither had the strength to resist.
Finally, Thor let himself go and he went under, his head dunking beneath the surface, too weak to stop it. As he did, he heard the distant sound of arrows piercing the water, striking him even beneath the surface. Thor felt as if he were being struck by thousands of them, as if everyone he’d ever fought in battle was taking their vengeance. He wondered, as he sank further, why he had to suffer this much before he died.
As Thor sank deeper and deeper toward the bottom of the ocean, he felt his life could not end this way. It was too soon. He had too much left to live. He wanted more time with Gwendolyn; he wanted to marry her. He wanted time with Guwayne; he wanted to watch him grow up. Wanted to teach him what it meant to be a great warrior.
Thor had barely begun to live, had just stepped into his true stride as a warrior and as a Druid, and now his life was ending. He had finally met his mother, who had granted him powers greater than he’d ever known, and who had foreseen more quests for him—even greater quests. She had also seen him become a King. Yet she had also seen how his destiny could be changed at any moment. Had she been seeing truly? Or was his life really meant to end now?
Thor willed that he not die, with every ounce of his being. As he did, he recalled his mother’s words: You are destined to die twelve times. Each moment, fate will intervene, or it will not. It will depend on you, and whether you’ve passed the test. These moments of death might also become moments of life. You will be supremely tested and tormented. More than any warrior has ever been tested before. If you have the internal strength to withstand it. Ask yourself, how much suffering can you tolerate? The more you can handle, the greater you will become.
As Thor felt himself sinking, he wondered: was this one of those tests? Was this one of his twelve deaths? He felt that it was, that it was a supreme test of phys
ical strength and courage and stamina. As he sank, his body pierced by arrows, he did not know if he was strong enough to pass it.
Thor, his lungs bursting, was determined to summon a reserve strength. He was determined to become bigger than he was, to tap into some internal power.
You are bigger than your body. Your spirit is greater than your strength. Strength is finite; spirit knows no bounds.
Thor suddenly opened his eyes underwater, feeling a burning heat within him, feeling himself reborn. He kicked, overcoming the pain of the arrows piercing his body, and forced himself to swim to the surface. Covered with arrows, he swam and swam, heading for daylight, his lungs bursting, and finally he surfaced, like a giant porcupine, from the waters, gasping for air.
Thor used his power and momentum, and with a great shriek he lifted up into the air and landed on the deck of the nearest boat, on his feet.
Thor summoned some ancient part of himself, and he turned off the pain. He reached over, grabbed the arrows piercing his arms, shoulders, chest, thighs, and two, three, four at a time, he yanked them out. He shrieked a great battle cry, and he felt bigger than the pain as he removed every arrow.
Standing before Thor were two shocked Empire soldiers, who stared back at him, eyes wide in fear. Thor reached out, grabbed them both, and smashed them together, knocking them out.
Thor charged the group of soldiers on the ship; he kicked the one closest to him, sending him stumbling backwards into the others—but not before he snatched the sword from the soldier’s scabbard. Thor raised the sword high and charged forward into the stunned crowd, slashing and killing everyone in his path. They tried to fight back, but Thor was like a whirlwind, racing through the ship, killing two soldiers before one had time to try to block a blow.
Thor raced through the ship and he fought and fought until there was not a soul left on board. As Thor reached the bow, he looked out and found himself facing Romulus, on the bow of another ship, who was staring back at him in shock. Thor did not hesitate; he let out a shriek as he pulled back his sword and threw it.
The sword spun end over end, shimmering in the light, aiming right for Romulus.
Romulus, still in shock, realized what was happening too late, and turned his back and tried to run.
Romulus dodged as he ran, trying to escape the deadly blow—and he spared himself a certain death. But he was not quick enough to escape injury: the sword grazed his head and sliced off one of Romulus’s ears.
Romulus shrieked as he sank to his knees and reached up to his missing ear, blood gushing down on his fingers.
Thor grimaced back. At least he had some satisfaction—yet still Romulus was not dead.
Suddenly, all of the Empire soldiers on the other ships began to regroup, and they fired arrows and hurled spears at Thorgrin, who stood there, exposed.
Thor saw them all coming, a sea of black ready to kill him, and this time, he closed his eyes and raised his palms and summoned an inner power. He cast an orb of light around him, a yellow shield, and as the arrows and spears neared, they bounced harmlessly off it.
Thor stood there, invincible, in the midst of all these men, and he leaned back and raised his palms to the sky—determined to kill them all.
Thor felt the energy of the sky entering his palms; he also felt the energy of the ocean below, mirroring the heavens. Thor felt one with the power running through the universe; it was a great current, greater than he could ever imagine. He felt the very fabric of the air, of the waters, and he felt that he could harness it.
Heavens rage; oceans churn, Thor commanded silently. I will you. For the sake of justice. Purge this evil I see before me, once and for all.
As Thor stood there, slowly, he could feel something happening: he felt a great wind pick up, tickling his palms, and as he opened his eyes, he watched as the sunny day turned black. Thick, dark clouds rolled in, thunder clapped, and lightning flashed. The waters churned, and his ship began to rock and sway as the ocean became stormy.
Another clap of thunder, and Thor felt the waves get stronger, his ship rising and falling, as the wind became louder and rain fell.
Universe, I summon you. You are one with me. And I with you. Your fight is my fight, and my battle is your battle.
Thor let out a great shriek, and the entire horizon lit with lightning, not disappearing. Thunder clapped again and again, so loud it shook the boats, and Romulus and all the Empire turned, fear in their eyes, and faced the horizon lit by lightning.
Thor watched with awe as suddenly, a massive tidal wave came their way.
Romulus and the others all cried out in terror as they raised their arms to their faces, cowering.
But there was nothing they could do. They were in the path of the wrath of the seas, and as the great wave rushed forward, in moments the ships were all caught up in it, climbing higher and higher to its crest, getting lost, like ants in the great wave.
It was the biggest wave Thor had ever seen—as tall as a mountain—and he, too, became caught up in it, rising and rising with the rest of the Empire fleet. Thor rose a hundred feet, then another hundred, and another—and he watched in shock as the wave began to crash, as he began to plummet down with all the others, his stomach dropping. The shrieks of all the Empire were drowned out by the wind and the rain, and Thor’s shriek, too, was swallowed up. As he looked down, plummeting back into the ocean, he knew the impact would crush him. He had summoned a storm that even he could not control.
As Thor prepared to die, once again, he felt that, if he could take any solace in his death, it was that he had, at least, taken the Empire out with him.
Thank you, God, he thought, for this victory.
CHAPTER TEN
Alistair followed Erec’s mother through the night, as she led her in the darkness, twisting and turning down the narrow alleyways of court, her heart pounding as she tried to keep up and not be seen. Long shadows were cast across the stone walls and paths, the only illumination coming from the sporadic torchlight, and Alistair, freshly escaped, could not help but feel like a criminal.
His mother finally led her behind a wall and crouched down low, out of sight of the guards, and Alistair squatted down beside her. They crouched in silence, listening, watching the guards pass by, and Alistair prayed they would not get caught. Erec’s mother had waited until nightfall to lead her here, so that they would not be detected, and they had twisted and turned down the series of labyrinthine streets and back alleys that led the way from the dungeons to the royal house of the sick, where Erec lay. Finally, they were close, close enough that Alistair, peeking around the corner, could see its entrance. It was well guarded, a dozen men standing before it.
“Look at that door,” Alistair whispered to his mother. “Why would Bowyer keep it so well guarded if he was really convinced I am the one that tried to kill Erec? He has positioned these men here not to protect Erec—but to prevent him from escaping, or to kill him, should he recover.”
Erec’s mother’s nodded in understanding.
“It will not be easy to get you past the guards,” she whispered back. “Lower your hood, lower your eyes, keep your head down. Do as I tell you. If this does not work, they will kill you. Are you willing to take that chance?”
Alistair nodded back.
“For Erec, I would give up my life.”
Erec’s mother looked back at her, touched.
“You could escape if you choose, yet instead you risk your life to heal Erec. You really do love him, don’t you?” she asked.
Alistair’s eyes filled with tears.
“More than I can say.”
Erec’s mother took her hand, suddenly stepped out from behind the wall, and led Alistair right up to the main doors of the building, walking proudly, straight down the middle, right to the guards.
“My Queen,” said one.
They all bowed and began to allow her through, when suddenly one guard stepped forward.
“Who accompanies you, my lady?” he asked.
“Dare you question your Queen?” she snapped back, her voice made of steel. “Dare speak like that again, and you shall be removed from your post.”
“I am sorry, my lady,” he said, “but I follow the chain of command.”
“Whose command?”
“The new King, my lady—Bowyer’s.”
The Queen sighed.
“I shall forgive you this time,” she said. “If my husband, the former king, were alive, he would not be so kind. So you know,” she added, “this is my dear friend. She has fallen ill, and I am leading her to the sickhouse.”
“I am sorry, my lady,” the guard said, his head low, reddening, and stepped aside.
They opened the doors for her and Erec’s mother rushed in, holding Alistair’s hand, and Alistair, heart pounding, keeping her head down, heard the door slam closed behind them.
Erec’s mother reached up and pulled back her hood. Alistair looked around and saw they were inside the house of the sick, a beautiful marble building, with low ceilings, dimly lit by torches.
“We have not much time,” she said. “Follow me.”
Alistair followed her down the halls, twisting and turning, until finally his mother instructed her to raise her hood, and approached Erec’s door. This time, the guard stepped aside without any questions, and his mother strutted in, holding Alistair’s hand.
“All of you, leave us,” Erec’s mother commanded the guards in the room. “I wish to be alone with my son.”
Alistair kept her head down, waiting, her heart pounding, hoping no one detected her. She heard the shuffling of feet as several guards filtered out of the room, and finally, she heard the slamming of the wooden door behind her, and an iron bolt being slid into place.
Alistair pulled back her hood and scanned the room immediately, looking for Erec. It was a dim room, lit by a single torch, and Erec lay in a kingly bed on the opposite side, beneath piles of luxurious furs, his face more pale than she’d ever seen it.
