by Morgan Rice
Thor walked with a new bounce to his step, walking double-time, heading towards the plains. Morning turned into afternoon, as he walked and walked. It was a beautiful summer day, and the light shone brilliantly on the fields all around him. Krohn bounced along at his side, stopping every now and again to pounce on a squirrel, which he carried triumphantly in his mouth.
The trail became steeper, windier, and the meadows faded, giving way to a desolate landscape of rocks and boulders. Soon, the trail, too, faded. It became colder and windier up here, as the trees dropped away too, and the landscape turned rocky, craggy. It was eerie up here, nothing but small rocks, dirt and boulders as far as the eye could see; Thor felt like he was journeying on a wasted earth. As the trail completely disappeared, Thor found himself walking on gravel and rock.
Beside him, Krohn began to whine. There was a creepy feeling in the air, and Thor felt it, too. It wasn’t necessarily evil: it was just different. Like a heavy spiritual fog.
Just as Thor was beginning to wonder if he was heading in the right direction, he spotted on the horizon, high up on a hill, a small stone cottage. It was perfectly round, shaped as a ring, built of a black, solid stone and low to the ground. It had no windows, and just a single door, shaped in an arch—yet with no knocker or handle. Could Argon really live here, in this desolate place? Would he be upset that Thor had come uninvited?
Thor was beginning to have second thoughts, but forced himself to stay on the path. As he approached the door, he felt the energy in the air, so thick he could hardly breathe. His heart beat faster with trepidation as he reached out to knock with his fist.
Before he could touch it, the door opened by itself, a crack. It looked black in there, and Thor could not tell if only the wind had pushed it open. It was so dark, he could not see how anyone could be inside.
Thor reached out, gently pushed open the door, and stuck his head in:
“Hello?” he called out.
He pushed it wider. It was black in here, save for a soft glow on the far side of the dwelling.
“Hello?” he called out, louder. “Argon?”
Beside him, Krohn whined. It seemed obvious to Thor that this was a bad idea, that Argon was not at home. But still he forced himself to look. He took two steps in, and as he did, the door slammed close behind him.
Thor spun, and there, standing on the far wall, was Argon.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” Thor said, his heart pounding.
“You come uninvited,” Argon said.
“Forgive me,” Thor said. “I did not mean to intrude.”
Thor looked around, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and saw several small candles, laid out in a circle, around the periphery of the stone wall. The room was lit mostly by a single shaft of light, which came in through a small, circular opening in the ceiling. This place was overwhelming, stark and surreal.
“Few people have been here,” Argon replied. “Of course, you would not be here now unless I allowed you to be. That door only opens for whom it is intended. For whom it is not, it would never open—not with all the strength of the world.”
Thor felt better, and yet he also wondered how Argon had known he was coming. Everything about this man was mysterious to him.
“I had an encounter I did not understand,” Thor said, needing to let it all out, and to hear Argon’s opinion. “There was a snake. A Whiteback. It nearly attacked us. We were saved by my leopard, Krohn.”
“We?” Argon asked.
Thor flushed, realizing he had said too much. He didn’t know what to say.
“I was not alone,” he said.
“And who were you with?”
Thor bit his tongue, not knowing how much to say. After all, this man was close to her father, the king, and perhaps he would tell.
“I don’t see how that is relevant to the snake.”
“It is entirely relevant. Have you not wondered if that is why the snake came to begin with?”
Thor was completely off guard.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“Not every omen you see is meant for you. Some are meant for others.”
Thor examined Argon in the dim light, starting to understand. Was Gwen fated for something evil? And if so, could he stop it?
“Can you change fate?” Thor asked.
Argon turned, slowly crossing his room.
“Of course, that is the question we have been asking for centuries,” Argon replied. “Can fate be changed? On the one hand, everything is destined, everything is written. On the other hand, we have free will. Our choices also determine our fate. It seems impossible for these two—destiny and free will—to live together, side by side, yet they do. It is where these two intercede—where destiny meets free will—that human behavior comes into play. Destiny can’t always be broken, but sometimes it can be bent, or even changed, by a great sacrifice and a great force of free will. Yet most of the time, destiny is firm. Most of the time, we are just bystanders, put her to watch it play out. We think we play a part in it, but usually we don’t. We are mostly observers, not participants.”
“So then why does the universe bother showing us omens, if there’s nothing we can do about them?” Thor asked.
Argon turned and smiled.
“You are quick boy, I will give you that. Mostly, we are shown omens to prepare ourselves. We are shown our fate to give us time to prepare. Sometimes, rarely, we are given an omen to enable us to take action, to change what will be. But this is very rare.”
“Is it true that the Whiteback foretells death?”
Argon examined him.
“It is,” he said, finally. “Without fail.”
Thor’s heart pounded at the response, at the confirmation of his fears. He was also surprised by Argon’s straightforward response.
“I encountered one, today,” Thor said, “but I don’t know who will die. Or if there is some action I can take to prevent it. I want to put it out of my mind, but I cannot. Always, that image of the snake’s head is with me. Why?”
Argon examined him a very long time, and sighed.
“Because whomever will die, it will affect you directly. It will affect your destiny.”
Thor was increasingly agitated; he felt that every answer bred more questions.
“But that’s not fair,” Thor said. “I need to know who it is that will die. I need to warn them!”
Slowly, Argon shook his head.
“It may not be for you to know,” he answered. “And if you do know, there may still be nothing you can do about it. Death finds its subject—even if someone is warned.”
“Then why was I shown this?” Thor asked, tormented. “And why can’t I get it from my head?”
Argon stepped forward, so close, inches away; the intensity of his eyes burned bright in this dim place, and it frightened Thor. It was like looking into the sun, and it was all he could do not to look away. Argon raised a hand and placed it on Thor’s shoulder. It was ice to the touch and sent a chill through him.
“You are young,” Argon said, slowly. “You are still learning. You feel things too deeply. Seeing the future is a great reward. But it can also be a great curse. Most humans who live out their destiny have no awareness of it. Sometimes the most painful thing is to have an awareness of your destiny, of what will be. You have not even begun to understand your powers. But you will. One day. Once you understand where you are from.”
“Where I’m from?” Thor asked, confused.
“Your mother’s home. Far from here. Beyond the Canyon, on the outer reaches of the Wilds. There is a castle, high up in the sky. It sits alone on a cliff, and to reach it, you walk along a windy stone road. It is a magical road—like ascending into the sky itself. It is a place of profound power. That is where you hail from. Until you reach that place, you will never fully understand. Once you do, all your questions will be answered.”
Thor blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he found himself, to his amazement, s
tanding outside Argon’s dwelling. He had no idea how he got here.
The wind whipped through the rocky crag, and Thor squinted at the harsh sunlight. Beside him stood Krohn, whining.
Thor went back to Argon’s door and pounded on it with all his might. There came nothing but silence in return.
“Argon!” Thor screamed.
He was answered only by the whistling of the wind.
He tried the door, even putting his shoulder to it—but it would not budge.
Thor waited a long time, he was not sure how long, until finally the day grew late. Finally, he realized that his time here was over.
He turned and began to walk back down the rocky slope, wondering. He felt more confused than ever, and also felt more certain that a death was coming—yet more helpless to stop it.
As he hiked in that desolate place, he began to feel something cold on his ankles and he looked down and saw a thick fog forming. It rose, growing thicker and rising higher by the moment. Thor did not understand what was happening. Krohn whined.
Thor tried to speed up, to continue his way back down the mountain, but in moments the fog grew so thick, he could barely see before his eyes. At the same time, he felt his limbs grow heavy, and, as if by magic, the sky grew dark. He felt himself growing exhausted. He could not take another step. He curled up in a ball on the ground, right where he stood, enveloped in the thick fog. He tried to open his eyes, to move, but he could not. In moments, he was fast asleep.
*
Thor saw himself standing at the top of a mountain, staring out over the entire kingdom of the Ring. Before him was King’s Court, the castle, the fortifications, the gardens, the trees and rolling hills as far as he could see—all in full bloom of summer. The fields were filled with fruits and colored flowers, and there was the sound of music and festivities.
But as Thor turned slowly, surveying everything, the grass began to turn black. Fruits fell off the trees. Then the trees themselves shriveled up to nothing. All the flowers dried up to crisps, and, to his horror, one building after the next crumbled, until the entire kingdom was nothing but desolation, heaps of rubble and stone.
Thor looked down and suddenly saw a huge Whiteback, slithering between his legs. He stood there, helpless, as it coiled around his legs, then his waist, then arms. He felt himself being suffocated, the life squeezed out of him, as the snake coiled all the way around and stared at him in the face, inches away, hissing, its long tongue nearly touching Thor’s cheek. And then it opened its mouth so wide, revealing huge fangs, leaned forward, and swallowed Thor’s face.
Thor shrieked, and then found himself standing alone inside the king’s castle. The castle was completely empty, no throne left where one used to be, and the Destiny Sword lying on the ground, untouched. The windows were all shattered, stained-glass lying in heaps on the stone. He heard distant music and turned and walked through empty room after empty room. Finally he reached huge double doors, a hundred feet tall, and he opened them with all his might.
Thor stood at the entrance to the royal feasting hall. Before him were two long feasting tables, stretching across the room, overflowing with food—yet empty of men. At the far end of the hall sat one man. King MacGil. He sat on his throne, staring right at Thor. He seemed so far away.
Thor felt he had to reach him. He began to walk through the great room, towards him, between the two feasting tables. As he went, all the food on either side of him went bad, becoming rotten with each step he took, turning black and covered with flies. Flies buzzed and swarmed all around him, tearing apart the food.
Thor walked faster. The king was getting close now, hardly ten feet away, when a servant appeared out of a side chamber carrying a huge, golden goblet of wine. It was a distinct goblet, made of solid gold and covered in rows of rubies and sapphires. While the king wasn’t looking, Thor saw the servant slip a white powder into the goblet. Thor realized it was poison.
The servant brought it closer, and MacGil reached down and grabbed it with both hands.
“No!” Thor screamed.
Thor lunged forward, trying to knock the wine away from the king.
But he was not fast enough. MacGil leaned back and drank the wine in big gulps. It poured down his cheeks, down his chest, as he finished it.
MacGil then turned and looked at Thor, and as he did, his eyes opened wide. He reached up and grabbed his throat until, gagging, he keeled over and fell off his throne; he fell sideways, landing on the hard stone floor. His crown rolled off it, hit the stone floor with a clang, and rolled several feet.
He lay there, motionless, eyes open, dead.
Ephistopheles swooped down, landed on MacGil’s head. It sat there, looked right at Thor and screeched. The sound was so shrill, it sent a shiver up Thor’s spine.
“No!” Thor screamed.
*
Thor woke screaming.
He sat up, looking all around, sweating, breathing hard, trying to figure out where he was. He was still lying on the ground, on Argon’s mountain. He could not believe it: he must have fallen asleep here. The fog was gone, and as he looked up and saw that it was daybreak. A blood red sun was breaking over the horizon, lighting up the day. Beside him, Khron whined, jumped into his lap and licked his face.
Thor hugged Khron with one hand as he breathed hard, trying to figure out if he was awake or asleep. It took him a long time to realize it had just been a dream. It had felt so real.
Thor heard a screech and turned to see Ephistopheles, perched on a rock, just a foot away. He looked right at him and screeched, again and again.
The sound sent a chill up Thor’s spine. It was the sound from his dream, and at that moment he knew, with every ounce of his body, that his dream had been a message. The king was going to be poisoned.
Thor jumped to his feet and, in the breaking light of dawn, sprinted down the mountain, heading for King’s Court. He had to get to the king. He had to warn him. The king might think he was crazy, but he had no choice: he would do whatever he could to save the king’s life.
*
Thor raced across the drawbridge, sprinting for the castle’s outer gate, and luckily, the two guards recognized him from the Legion. They let him through without stopping him, and he continued running, Khron by his side.
Thor sprinted across the royal courtyard, past the fountains, and ran right to the inner gate of the king’s castle. There stood four guards, who blocked his way.
Thor stopped, gasping for air.
“What is your purpose, boy?” one of them asked.
“You don’t understand, you have to let me in,” Thor gasped. “I need to see the King.”
The guards looked at each other, skeptical.
“I am Thorgrin, of the King’s Legion. You must let me through.”
“I know who he is,” one guard said to the other. “He’s one of us.”
But the lead guard stepped forward.
“What business have you with the king?” he pressed.
Thor still fought to catch his breath.
“Very urgent business. I must see him at once.”
“Well he must not be expecting you, because you are ill-informed. Our King is not here. He left with his caravan hours ago, on court business. They won’t be returning until tonight, until the royal feast.”
“Feast?” Thor asked, his heart thumping. He remembered his dream, the feasting tables, and eerily felt it all coming to life.
“Yes, feast. If you are of the Legion, I am sure you will be there. But now he is gone, and there is no way you can see him. Come back tonight, with the others.”
“But I must get him a message!” Thor insisted. “Before the feast!”
“You can leave the message with me if you like. But I can’t deliver it any sooner than you.”
Thor did not want to leave such a message with a guard; he realized it would seem crazy. He had to deliver it himself, tonight, before the feast. He only prayed it would not be too late.
CHAPTER
TWENTY SEVEN
Thor hurried back to the Legion’s barracks at the crack of dawn, luckily arriving before the day’s training began. He was winded when he arrived, Khron at his side, and he ran into the other boys just as they were waking, beginning to file out for the day’s assignments. He stood there, gasping, more troubled than ever. He hardly knew how he would make it through the day’s training; he would be counting down the minutes until the night’s feast, until he could warn the king. He felt certain that the omen came to him so that he could warn him, that the fate of the kingdom rested on his shoulders.
Thor ran up beside Reece and O’Connor as they made their way out to the field, looking exhausted, and began to line up.
“Where were you last night?” Reece asked.
Thor wished he knew how to respond—but he didn’t really know where he had been himself. What was he supposed to say? That he had fallen asleep outside on the ground, on Argon’s mountain? It made no sense, not even to him.
“I don’t know,” he answered, not knowing how much to tell them.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” O’Connor asked.
“I got lost,” Thor said.
“Lost?”
“Well you’re lucky you made it back when you did,” Reece said.
“If you had come back late for the day’s assignments, they wouldn’t have let you back into the Legion,” Elden added, coming up beside them, clapping a beefy hand on his shoulder. “Good to see you. You were missed yesterday.”
Thor was still shocked at the difference in how Elden treated him since their time on the far side of the Canyon.
“How did things go with my sister?” Reece asked, in hushed tones.
Thor blushed, unsure how to respond.
“Did you see her?” Reece prodded.
“Yes, I did,” he began. “We had a great time. Although we had to leave abruptly.”
“Well,” Reece continued, as they all lined up side-by-side before Kolk and the King’s men, “you will get to see more of her tonight. Put on your finest. It’s the King’s feast.”
