Thor felt content around the flames; he looked around and saw the others seemed content, too—except, of course, for Elden, glum ever since returning from the forest. He had lost his confident swagger from earlier in the day, and he sat there, sour and swordless. The commanders would never forgive such a mistake—Elden would be kicked out of the Legion upon their return. He wondered what Elden would do. He had a feeling he would not go down easily, that he had some trick, some backup plan, up his sleeve. Thor assumed that whatever it was, it would not be good.
Thor turned and followed Erec’s gaze to the distant horizon, in the southern direction. A faint glow, an endless line as far as the eye could see, lit up the night. Thor wondered.
“What is it?” he finally asked Erec. “That glow? The one you keep staring at?”
Erec was silent for a long time, the only sound that of the whipping of the wind. Finally, without turning, he said: “The Gorals.”
Thor exchanged a glance with the others, who looked back, fearful. Thor’s stomach tightened at the thought of it. The Gorals. So close. There was nothing in between them and him except for a simple forest and a vast plain. There was no longer the great Canyon separating them, keeping them safe. All his life he had heard tales of these violent savages from the Wilds who had no ambition except to attack the Ring. And now there was nothing between them. He couldn’t believe how many of them there were. It was a vast and waiting army.
“Aren’t you afraid?” Thor asked Erec.
Erec shook his head.
“The Gorals move as one. Their army camps out there every night. They have for years. They would only attack the Canyon if they mobilized the entire army and attacked as one. And they wouldn’t dare try. The power of the Sword acts as a shield. They know they cannot breach it.”
“So then why do they camp out there?” Thor asked.
“It is their way of intimidating. And preparing. There have been many times throughout the course of history, in the time of our fathers, when they attacked, tried to breach the Canyon. But it hasn’t happened in my time.”
Thor looked up at the black sky, the yellow and blue and orange stars twinkling high overhead, and wondered. This side of the Canyon was a place of nightmares, and had been ever since he could walk. The thought of it made him fearful, but he forced that from his mind. He was a member of the Legion now, and had to act like it.
“Do not worry,” Erec said, as if reading his thoughts. “They will not attack while we have the Destiny Sword.”
“Have you ever held it?” Thor asked Erec, suddenly curious. “The Sword?”
“Of course not,” Erec retorted sharply. “No one is allowed to grasp it, except for descendants of the King.”
Thor looked at him, confused.
“I don’t understand. Why?”
Reece cleared his throat.
“May I?” he interceded.
Erec nodded back.
“There is a legend around the Sword. It has never actually been hoisted by anyone. Legend has it that one man, the chosen one, will be able to wield it by himself. Only the King is allowed to try, or one of the King’s descendants, if named King. So there it sits, untouched.”
“And what of our current King? Your father?” Thor asked. “Can’t he try?”
Reece looked down.
“He did once. When he was crowned. So he tells us. He could not lift it. So it sits there like an object of rebuke for him. He hates it. It weighs on him like a living thing.
“When the chosen one arrives,” Reece added, “he will free the Ring from its enemies all around and lead us to a greater destiny than we’ve ever known. All wars will end.”
“Fairytales and nonsense,” Elden interceded. “That Sword will be lifted by no one. It is too heavy. It is not possible. And there is no ‘chosen one.’ It’s all hogwash. That legend was invented just to keep the common man down, to keep us all waiting for the supposed ‘chosen one.’ To embolden the line of MacGils. It is a very convenient legend for them.”
“Shut your tongue, boy,” Erec snapped. “You will always speak respectfully of your King.”
Elden looked down, humbled.
Thor thought about everything, trying to take it all in. It was so much to process at once. All his life he had dreamt of seeing the Destiny Sword. He had heard stories of its perfect shape. It was rumored to be crafted from a material no one understood, was supposed to be a magical weapon. It made Thor wonder what would happen if they didn’t have the sword to protect them. Would the King’s army then be vanquished by the Empire? Thor looked out at the glowing fires on the horizon. They seemed to stretch to eternity.
“Have you ever been out there?” Thor asked Erec. “Far out there? Beyond the forest? Into the Wilds?”
The others all turned and look at Erec, as Thor anxiously awaited his reply. In the thick silence, Erec stared at the flames for a long time—so long that Thor began to doubt he would ever answer. Thor hoped he had not been too nosy; he felt so grateful and indebted to Erec, and certainly didn’t want to get on his bad side. Thor also wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.
Just when Thor was wishing he could retract his question, Erec responded:
“Yes,” he said, solemn.
That single word hung in the air for too long, and in it, Thor heard the gravity that told him all he needed to know.
“What is it like out there?” O’Connor asked.
Thor was relieved that he was not the only one asking the questions.
“It is controlled by one ruthless empire,” Erec said. “But the land is vast and varied. There is the land of the savages. The land of the slaves. And the land of the monsters. Monsters unlike any you can imagine. And there are deserts and mountains and hills as far as you can see. There are the marshes and the swamps and the great ocean. There is the land of the Druids. And the land of the Dragons.”
Thor’s eyes opened wide.
“Dragons?” he asked, surprised. “I thought they didn’t exist.”
Erec looked at him, deadly serious.
“I assure you, they do. And it is a place you never want to go. A place even the Gorals fear.”
Thor swallowed at the thought. He could hardly imagine venturing out that deep into the world. He wondered how Erec had ever made it back alive. He made a mental note to ask him another time.
There were so many questions Thor wanted to ask him—about the nature of the evil empire and who ruled it; why they wanted to attack; when Erec had ventured out; when he had returned. But as Thor stared into the flames it grew colder and darker, and as all his questions swirled in his head, he felt his eyes grow heavy. This was not the right time to ask.
Instead, he let sleep carry him away. He lay his head down on the ground. Before his eyes closed for good, he looked over at the foreign soil, and wondered when—or if—he would ever return home again.
Thor opened his eyes, confused, wondering where he was and how he had gotten there. He looked down and saw a thick fog up to his waist, so thick he could not see his feet. He turned and saw dawn breaking over the canyon before him. Far away, on the other side, was his homeland. He was still on this side, the wrong side, of the divide. His heart quickened.
Thor looked at the bridge, but strangely, it was now empty of soldiers. The whole place, in fact, seemed desolate. He could not understand what was happening. As he watched the bridge, its wooden planks fell one after another, like dominoes. Within moments the bridge collapsed, dropped down into the precipice. The bottom was so far down, he never even heard the planks hit.
Thor swallowed and turned, looking for the others—but they were nowhere in sight. He had no idea what to do. Now he was stuck. Here, alone, on the other side of the Canyon, with no way to get back. He could not understand where everyone had gone.
Hearing something, he turned and looked into the forest. He detected movement. He rose to his feet and walked toward the sound, his feet sinking into the earth as he went. As he got closer, he spi
ed a net hanging from a low branch. Inside it was Elden, spinning around and around in circles, the branches creaking as he moved.
A falcon sat perched on his head, a distinct-looking creature with a body that gleamed of silver and a single black stripe running down its forehead, between its eyes. It bent over, plucked out Elden’s eye, and held it there. It turned to Thor, holding the eye in its beak.
Thor wanted to look away but could not. Just as he was realizing Elden was dead, suddenly, the entire wood came to life. Charging out of it, from every direction, was an army of Gorals. Huge, wearing only loincloths, with immense, well-muscled chests, three noses placed in a triangle on their face, and two long, curved sharp fangs, they hissed and snarled, sprinting right for him. It was a hair-raising sound, and there was nowhere for Thor to go. He reached down and grabbed for his sword—but looked down to discover it was gone.
Thor screamed.
He woke sitting straight up, breathing hard, looking frantically in every direction. All around him was silence—a real, alive silence, not the silence of his dream.
Beside him, in the first light of dawn, Reece, O’Connor, and Erec slept sprawled out on the ground, the dying embers of the fire near them. On the ground, hopping, was a falcon. It turned and cocked its head at Thor. It was large and silver and proud, with a single black stripe running down its forehead, and it stared at him, looking him right in the eye, and screeched. The sound made him shiver: it was the same falcon from his dream.
It was then he realized the bird was a message—that his dream had been more than a dream. That something was wrong. He could feel it, a slight vibration in his back, running up his arms.
He quickly got to his feet and looked all around, wondering what it could be. He heard nothing wrong, and nothing seemed out of place; the bridge was still there, the soldiers were all on it.
What was it? he wondered.
And then he realized what it was. Someone was missing. Elden.
At first Thor wondered if maybe he had left them, headed back across the bridge to the other side of the Canyon. Maybe he was ashamed over losing his sword and had left the region altogether.
But then Thor looked to the forest and saw fresh indentation in the moss, the footprints heading toward the trail in the morning dew. There was no doubt that those were Elden’s. Elden had not left; he had gone back into the forest. Alone. Maybe to relieve himself. Or maybe, Thor realized with a shock, to try to retrieve his sword.
It was a stupid move, to go alone like that, and it proved how desperate Elden was. Thor sensed right away that there was great danger. Elden’s life was at stake.
The falcon screeched at that moment, as if to confirm Thor’s thoughts. Then it kicked up and flew, diving right for Thor’s face. Thor ducked his head—its talons just missed and it rose in the air, flying away.
Thor leapt into action. Without thinking, without even contemplating what he was doing, he sprinted off into the woods, following the footprints.
Thor didn’t stop to feel the fear as he sprinted alone, deep into the Wilds. If he had paused to think how crazy it was, he probably would have frozen, would have felt himself flooded with panic. But instead, he just reacted, feeling a pressing need to help Elden. He ran and ran—alone—deeper into the wood in the early light of dawn.
“Elden!” he screamed.
He couldn’t explain it, but somehow he sensed Elden was about to die. Perhaps he shouldn’t care, based on the way that Elden had treated him, but he couldn’t help himself: he did. If he were in this situation, Elden would certainly not come to rescue him. It was crazy to put his life on the line for someone who cared nothing for him—and, in fact, would gladly see him die. But he could not help it. He’d never felt a sensation like this one before, where his senses were screaming to him to react—especially over something he could not possibly have known. He was changing somehow, and he did not know how. He felt as if his body were being controlled by some new, mysterious power, and it made him feel uneasy, out of control. Was he losing his mind? Was he overreacting? Was it all just from his dream? Maybe he should turn around.
But he did not. He let his feet lead him and did not give in to fear or doubts. He ran and ran until his lungs were bursting.
Thor turned a bend, and what he saw made him stop short in his tracks. He stood there, trying to catch his breath, trying to reconcile the image before him, which did not make any sense. It was enough to strike terror into any hardened warrior.
There stood Elden, holding his short sword and looking up at a creature unlike any Thor had ever seen. It was horrific. It towered over them both, at least nine feet tall, and as wide as four men. It raised its muscular, red arms, with three long fingers, like nails, at the end of each hand, and a head like that of a demon, with four horns, a long jaw, and a broad forehead. It had two large yellow eyes and fangs curled like tusks. It leaned back and screeched.
Beside him, a thick tree, hundreds of years old, split in two at the sound.
Elden stood, frozen in fear. He dropped his sword, and the ground beneath him went wet.
The creature drooled and snarled, and took a step toward Elden.
Thor, too, was filled with fear, but unlike Elden, it did not immobilize him. For some reason, the fear heightened his senses, made him feel more alive. It gave him tunnel vision, allowed him to focus supremely on the creature before him, on its position to Elden, on its width and breadth and strength and speed. On its every movement. It also allowed him to focus on his own body position, his own weapons.
Thor burst into action. He charged forward, between Elden and the beast. The beast roared, its breath so hot, Thor could feel it even from a distance. The sound raised every hair on the back of Thor’s neck and made him want to turn around. But he heard Erec’s voice in his head, telling him to be strong. To be fearless. To retain equanimity. And he forced himself to stand his ground.
Thor raised his sword high and charged, plunging it into the beast’s ribs, aiming for his heart.
The creature shrieked in agony, its blood pouring down Thor’s hand as Thor plunged the sword all the way in, to the hilt.
But to Thor’s surprise, it did not die. The beast seemed invincible.
Without missing a beat, the beast swung around and swiped Thor so hard he felt his ribs crack. Thor went flying across the clearing, smashing into a tree before collapsing to the ground. He felt a terrible headache as he lay there.
Thor looked up, dazed and confused, the world spinning. The beast reached down and extracted Thor’s sword from its stomach. The sword seemed tiny in its hands, like a toothpick, and the beast reached back and hurled it; it went flying through the trees, taking down branches, and disappeared into the wood.
It turned its full attention on Thor and began to bear down on him.
Elden stood where he was, still frozen in fear. But as the beast charged Thor, suddenly, Elden burst into action. He charged the beast from behind and jumped onto its back. It slowed the beast just enough for Thor to sit up; the beast, furious, flung back his arms and threw Elden. He went flying across the clearing, smashed into a tree, and slumped to the ground.
The beast, still bleeding, panting heavily, turned its attention back to Thor. It snarled and widened its fangs as it approached him.
Thor was out of options. His sword was gone, and there was nothing between him and the monster. The monster dove down for him, and at the last second, Thor rolled out of the way. The monster hit the tree where Thor had been with such force it uprooted it.
The beast raised its foot and brought it down for Thor’s head. Thor once more rolled out of the way; the creature left a footprint where Thor’s head had been.
Thor leapt to his feet, placed a stone in his sling, and hurled.
He hit the monster square between the eyes, a fiercer throw than he had ever made, and the creature staggered back. Thor was certain he had killed it.
But to his amazement, the beast did not stop.
Thor tri
ed his best to summon his power, whatever power it was that he had. He charged the beast, leaping forward, crashing into it, aiming to tackle it and drive it down to the ground with a superhuman power.
But to Thor’s shock, this time his power never kicked in. He was just another boy. A frail boy, next to this massive beast.
The beast merely reached down, grabbed Thor by his waist, and hoisted him high above its head. Thor, helpless, dangled high in the air—and then he was thrown. He went flying like a missile across the clearing, and smashed again into a tree.
Thor lay there, stunned, his head splitting, his ribs cracked in two. The beast raced for him, and he knew this time he was finished. It raised its red, muscular foot, preparing to bring it down right on Thor’s head. He prepared for death.
Then, for some reason, the beast froze in midair. Thor blinked, trying to understand why.
The beast reached up and clutched its throat, and Thor noticed the head of an arrow protruding from it. A moment later, the beast keeled over, dead.
Erec came running into view, followed by Reece and O’Connor. Thor saw Erec looking down on him, asking if he was okay, and he wanted to answer, more than anything. But the words would not come out. A moment later, his eyes closed on him, and then his world went black.
Chapter XVIII
THOR OPENED HIS EYES SLOWLY, dizzy at first, trying to figure out where he was. He was lying on straw, and for a moment wondered if he was back in the barracks. He propped himself up on one elbow, on alert, looking for the others.
He was somewhere else. From the looks of it, he was in a very elaborate stone room. It looked as if he were in a castle. A royal castle.
FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy Page 71
