A Land of Fire

by Morgan Rice

  “Oh, Erec,” Alistair said, rushing forward, bursting into tears at the sight of him. She detected his energy before she even got close, and it was a death energy. She sensed his life force on the way out. She had been away from him for too long. Alistair knew she should not be surprised; the first healing she’d given him had only been enough to immediately revive him. He had needed a longer session of healing to prevent him from dying, and so much time had passed.

  Alistair rushed to his side, knelt down, and grabbed his hand in hers, leaning it on her forehead as she wept. He was cold to the touch. He did not stir, did not even flutter his eyes. He lay perfectly still, as if already dead.

  “Is it too late?” his mother asked as she knelt by the other side of the bed, panic-stricken.

  Alistair shook her head.

  “There might still be time,” she replied.

  Alistair leaned over and placed both her palms on Erec’s chest, slipping them through his shirt, feeling his bare skin. She could feel his heart beating, though faintly, and she leaned over him and closed her eyes.

  Alistair summoned every power she’d ever had, willing herself to bring Erec back to life. As she did, she felt a tremendous heat rushing through her arms, through her palms, then felt it leaving her body and entering Erec’s. She watched her hands turn black, and realized how desperately Erec needed this.

  Alistair remained there for she did not know how long.

  She did not know how many hours had passed when she finally opened her eyes, feeling something subtle shift within her. She looked down and saw Erec open his eyes for the first time. He looked right at her.

  “Alistair,” he whispered.

  He raised a weakened hand and clasped her wrist.

  Alistair wept, and his mother wept, too.

  “You’ve come back to us,” his mother said.

  Erec turned and looked at her.

  “Mother,” he said.

  Erec’s eyes closed again, and he was clearly still weak and exhausted; yet Alistair could see his skin turning back to its old color, could see the life force once again flowing within him. Slowly, his cheeks came back to color, too. She was elated, yet drained.

  “He will be weak for quite a while,” Alistair said. “It could be weeks before he can stand and walk. But he will live.”

  Alistair leaned over, exhausted, nearly collapsing on the bed, all her energy taken from her. She knew that she, too, would need a long time to recover.

  Erec’s mother gave Alistair a look of profound love and gratitude.

  “You saved my son,” she said. “I can see now how wrong I was. I can see now that you had nothing to do with his attempted murder.”

  “I would never lay a hand on him.”

  Erec’s mother nodded.

  “And now you must prove that to our people.”

  “This entire island has me convicted,” Alistair said.

  “I will not let them,” his mother insisted. “You are like a daughter to me. After tonight, I would send myself to the dungeons before you.”

  “But how can I prove my innocence?” she asked.

  His mother thought for a long time, and slowly her eyes lit up.

  “There is one way,” she finally said. “One way you can prove it to them.”

  Alistair looked at her, her heart pounding.

  “Tell me,” she said.

  His mother sighed.

  “We Southern Islanders have a right to challenge. If you challenge Bowyer to the Drink of Truth, he will have no choice but to agree.”

  “What is that?” Alistair asked.

  “It is an ancient rite, practiced by my forefathers. On the highest cliff, we have a fountain with magical waters, the waters of truth. Whoever lies and drinks from it will die. You can challenge Bowyer to the drink. He cannot refuse, or else be assumed to be lying. And if he is lying, as you say, then the waters will kill him—and prove your innocence.”

  She looked back at Alistair meaningfully.

  “Are you prepared to drink?” she asked.

  Alistair nodded back, elated at the chance to prove herself, elated that Erec would live, and knowing that her life was about to change forever.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Romulus opened his eyes slowly, awakened finally by the sound of crashing waves, and the feel of something crawling across his face. He looked up to see a large, purple crab, with four eyes, crawling slowly on his face. He recognized it immediately: it was a crab native to the mainland of the Ring. It narrowed its four eyes and opened its jaw to bite him.

  Romulus reacted instantly, reaching up, grabbing it in his palm, and crushing it slowly. Its claws pierced his flesh, but he didn’t care. He listened to it scream, and he delighted in the sound of its pain, continuing to squeeze it deliberately and slowly. It bit and pinched him, but he didn’t mind. He wanted to crush the life out of it, to prolong its suffering as much as he could.

  Finally, its juices dripping down his palm, the creature died, and Romulus chucked it to the sand, disappointed its fight was done so quickly.

  Another wave crashed, this one rolling over the back of his head, over his face, and Romulus jumped up, covered in sand, shook off the freezing water, and looked around.

  Romulus saw he’d been passed out, washed up on a beach, and recognized it as the shore of the Ring. He turned and saw thousands of corpses, all washed up onto shore, as far as the eye could see. They were all his men, thousands of them, all dead, all washed up, unmoving on the beach.

  He turned and saw thousands more floating in the waves, lifeless, slowly being washed up with the others. Sharks nipped at their bodies, and all up and down the shore was a blanket of purple crabs, feasting, devouring the corpse’s flesh.

  Romulus looked out at the sea, so calm now, at the sunrise of a perfect, clear day, and he tried to remember. There was a storm, that wave, greater than anything he imagined could exist. His entire fleet had been destroyed, like playthings of the ocean. Indeed, as he scanned the waters, he saw it littered with debris, wood from his former ships floating up and down the shoreline, what remained of his fleet butting against the corpses of his men, like a cruel joke. Romulus felt something on his ankles, and looked down to see the remnants of a mast smashing against his shin.

  Romulus was grateful and amazed to be alive. He realized how lucky he was, the sole survivor of all his men. He looked up, and even though it was morning, he could see the waxing moon, and he knew his moon cycle had not ended—and that was the only reason he had survived. Yet he was also filled with dread as he examined the shape of the moon: his cycle was almost up. That sorcerer’s spell would end any day, and his invincible time would come to an end.

  Romulus reflected on his dragons, dead, on his fleet, destroyed, and he realized he had made a mistake to pursue Gwendolyn. He had pushed too hard, for too much; he had never expected the power of Thorgrin. He realized now, too late, that he should have been content with what he’d had. He should have stayed on the mainland of the Ring.

  Romulus turned and looked out at the Ring, the Wilds framing the shore, and beyond that, the Canyon. At least he still had his soldiers here, the ones he’d left behind; at least he still had one million men occupying it, and at least he had razed it to the ground. At least Gwendolyn and her people could never return here—and at least the Ring was finally his. It was a bittersweet victory.

  Romulus turned his gaze back to the sea, and he realized that now, without his dragons, without a fleet, he would have to give up chasing Gwendolyn—especially with his moon cycle coming to an end. He would have no choice now but to return to the Empire—with a partial victory, but with the shame of defeat, the shame of a vanquished fleet. Humiliated yet again. When asked where his fleet was, he would have nothing left to show his people—just the one measly ship he had left on the Ring to transport him back to the Empire. He would return as conqueror of the Ring—and yet deeply humiliated. Once again, Gwendolyn had escaped him.

  Romulus leaned back
, held his fists out to the heavens, and shook them, the veins bulging in his neck as he shrieked in rage:

  “THORGRIN!”

  His cry was met by a lone eagle, circling high, that screeched back, as if mocking him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Thor opened his eyes slowly to the light sound of lapping waves, bobbing up and down, not sure where he was. He squinted at the daylight, and saw that he was lying on his stomach, bent over a plank of wood, floating in the middle of the ocean on a piece of debris. He was shivering, cold in these waters, and he looked up to see dawn breaking, and realized he had been floating here all night long.

  Thor felt a light nipping on his arm, and he looked down and saw a fish and brushed it away. A light wave wet his hair, and he lifted his head, spit out the seawater and looked all around him. The sea was littered with debris as far as Thor could see, thousands of broken planks from Romulus’s fleet blanketing the ocean. He was floating right in the middle of it all, with no land in sight on any horizon.

  Thor tried to remember. He closed his eyes and saw himself on Mycoples, diving down, fighting Romulus’s men. He remembered being underwater, pierced by arrows, then rising up; he remembered summoning the storm. And the last thing he remembered was the immense tidal wave coming down on them all. He remembered being caught in the wave, and about to crash hundreds of feet into the ocean below. He remembered the screams of all Romulus’s men.

  And then all was blackness.

  Thor opened his eyes fully and rubbed his head, his hair caked with salt; he had a tremendous headache, and as he looked around, he realized he was the only survivor, floating alone in the midst of an endless sea, surrounded by nothing but debris. He shook from the cold, and his body stung all over, littered with arrow wounds, and scratches from the dragons’ talons. He was injured so badly, he barely had the strength to lift his head.

  He searched every direction, hoping for a sign of land, maybe Gwendolyn and her fleet—anything.

  But there was nothing. Just vast, limitless ocean in every direction.

  Thor’s heart sank as he lowered his head again, half submerged in the water, and lay there, bent over the plank. The small fish returned, nipping at his skin, brushing up against it, and this time Thor didn’t care. He was too weak to brush it away. He lay there, floating, realizing that Mycoples, whom he had loved more than he could say, was dead. Ralibar was dead. And Thor himself felt like he was dying. He was weaker than he had ever been, alone in an empty sea. He had survived the storm, had saved Gwendolyn and her people, had taken vengeance on the Empire, had destroyed the host of dragons, and for that he felt immense satisfaction.

  Yet now that the great battle was over, here he was, injured, too weak to heal himself, with no land in sight, and no hope left. He had paid the ultimate price, and now his time had come.

  More than anything, Thor ached to see Gwendolyn one last time before he died; he ached to see Guwayne. He could not imagine dying without laying eyes on their faces one more time.

  Please, God, he thought. Give me one more chance. One more life. Allow me to live. Allow me to see Gwendolyn, to see my son again.

  Thor lowered his head in the water as he felt more fish begin to nip, now at his feet and ankles and thighs; he felt his head submerged a bit lower in the cool water, the soft lapping of the waves the only sound left in the endless morning stillness. He felt so exhausted, so stiff, he knew he could not go on any further. He had served his purpose in life. He had served it well. And now his time had come.

  Please, God, I turn to you, and to you alone. Answer me.

  Suddenly, there came a tremendous stillness in the universe, so quiet, so intense, that Thor could hear himself breathe. That stillness terrified him more than anything he’d ever encountered in his life. He felt it was the sound of God.

  The stillness was shattered by an immense splashing noise. Thor opened his eyes wide and looked up to see the ocean part. He saw an enormous whale, larger than any creature he seen his life, and different than any whale he’d ever seen. It was completely white, with horns on its head and all down its back, and huge glowing red eyes.

  The beast shot out of the ocean, letting out a great screech, and opened its jaws, so big they blocked out the sun. It rose higher and higher, then came down, right for Thor, its mouth wide open. The world became dark as Thor felt the whale was about to swallow him.

  Thor, too weak to resist, embraced his fate, as the immense jaws of darkness clamped down on him, swallowing him. He slid into the blackness of the whale’s mouth, and as he began to slide down its throat, its stomach, his final thought was: I never thought I would die like this.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Gwen, standing at the bow of her ship, leaned over, clutched the baby, and peered into the ocean, searching for any sign of Thorgrin. On all sides of the ship her men also examined the waters.

  “THORGRIN!” called out the sailors all around the ship—and this was echoed by the sailors on the other two other ships of her fleet. The three ships, spread a good hundred yards from each other, combed the waters together, all shouting Thor’s name. From the top of the masts, they tolled the bells, all three of them, intermittently, looking for any sign of him.

  Gwendolyn felt like weeping inside. She had been unable to find Guwayne, and now she had no sign of Thor. She hated this ocean, cursed the day that she ever set sail from the Ring. She knew her chances were grim. Thor and Mycoples had ridden fearlessly into battle, one dragon against dozens, and even if they managed to vanquish them, how could Thor defeat Romulus’s entire fleet? How could he possibly survive?

  At the same time, Gwendolyn knew, by sailing in this direction, she was endangering her men, bringing them closer and closer to Romulus’s fleet.

  Gwen heard a sudden cracking noise down below at the hull, and she looked over the edge, startled. Below she spotted debris—planks, an old mast, a remnant of a sail… She scanned the waters, looking closely, and saw a vast sea of debris.

  “What can it be?” came the voice.

  Gwendolyn turned to see Kendrick by her side, Reece coming up on her other side, along with Godfrey and Steffen, all of them joining her and looking down in wonder.

  “Look! The Empire banner!” Steffen called out, pointing.

  Gwen looked, saw the soiled and torn flag, and realize he was correct.

  “This is Empire debris,” Reece said, stating what was on everyone’s minds.

  “But how?” Godfrey asked. “The entire Empire fleet destroyed? How is it possible?”

  Gwen searched the skies for any sign of Thorgrin, wondering. Had he done this?

  “It was Thorgrin,” Gwen said, hoping it to be true, willing it to be true. “He destroyed them all.”

  “Then where is he?” Kendrick asked. The bells continued to toll as they headed south, further out into this sea. “I see no sign of Mycoples.”

  “I do now know,” Gwen replied. “But even if Mycoples is dead, Thor might be alive. If there is debris, Thor might be floating on it.”

  “My lady,” came a voice.

  She turned to see Aberthol standing close by.

  “I love Thorgrin as much as anyone here. But you do realize we are sailing closer and closer to the Empire. Even if Romulus’s fleet is destroyed, surely his million-man army remains on the mainland of the Ring. We cannot head back to the Ring. We must find a new home, set sail in a new direction. You want to find Thorgrin, and I admire that. But it’s been days, and still we have no sign of him. We have limited provisions. Our people are starving. They’re homeless, have lost loved ones, and are mad with grief. They are desperate for direction. We need food and shelter. We are running out of provisions.”

  She knew he was right. Her people needed another direction.

  “Our people need you,” Srog added.

  Gwen stared out into the horizon, holding the baby, and still there was no sign of Thor. She closed her eyes, wiping a tear, and she willed God to answer. Why did life have to be so ha
rd?

  Please, God, tell me where he is. I will give you anything. Just let me save him. If I cannot save my son, let me save him. Please, don’t let me lose them both.

  Gwendolyn waited, very still, hoping for a response. She opened her eyes, hoping for a sign, anything, something.

  But none came.

  She felt hollowed out. Abandoned.

  Resolved, she finally turned and nodded to her men.

  “Turn the fleet around,” she said. “We shall sail this time for land.”

  “Turn the fleet!” echoed up and down the ships.

  Everyone turned and looked in their new direction, except for Gwendolyn. She kept herself facing the direction they were sailing away from, her heart breaking, hoping for any sign of Thor.

  As they began to drift further and further away, the debris getting smaller, Gwen felt every good thing left in the world being stripped from her. Was that what it meant to be Queen? Did it mean you cared more for your people than for your family? For your very own self? At this moment, being Queen was what Gwendolyn no longer wanted. At this moment, she hated her people, hated everything about being Queen. She wanted only Thorgrin and her son, and nothing else.

  But as they set sail in a new direction, as the bells tolled on the masts, she knew it was not meant to be, and they felt like bells tolling on her heart.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Thor tried to grab onto something, anything, as he felt himself sliding down a slimy tunnel, in a gush of liquid and seawater—but there was nothing to hang onto. As the world rushed by him in this cacophonous tunnel, he realized he was being washed down into the belly of this beast. The blackness deepened, and he braced himself for death.

  Thor slid deeper and deeper down the contours of the beast’s endlessly long throat—it felt like hundreds of feet—until finally he found himself ejected into a huge cavernous space. He went flying through the air, shouting as he plummeted a good twenty feet, until he finally landed in a pool of water, up to his knees, on a soft surface. He realized he must have landed on the whale’s soft stomach.