by Morgan Rice
Thor had never really contemplated his mother before. He had always been told she had passed away in childbirth, and had always felt a supreme guilt over this. But now, as he got closer to this island, he sensed her presence. That she was waiting for him.
A huge wave suddenly lifted the boat, hoisted it higher and higher into the air, and Thor felt himself rising higher and higher in the ocean. The wave picked up speed, like a tsunami, and he rode it all the way as it brought him rushing towards the island, faster and faster.
As he got close, he began to see a figure. It was a lone figure, standing atop a cliff. A woman. She wore flowing, blue robes, her chin was lowered, and her palms were out at her side. An intense light shone from behind her, radiated from her palms, shooting out like lightning. The light shone so brightly, that as Thor looked up, trying to see her, he had to shield his eyes. He could not make out her face.
He sensed that it was her. More than anything, he wanted to see her face, to see if she looked like him.
“Mother!” he called out.
“My son,” came a soft voice from somewhere. It was the kindest, most reassuring voice he had ever heard. He longed to hear it again.
Suddenly, the wave came crashing down, and took the boat plunging down with it, and he braced himself as he headed for the rocks.
Thor woke with a start, sitting upright, breathing hard.
The dawn was breaking over the horizon, and all around him, the Legion members were strewn about, fast asleep. His mind spun with the dream: it had seemed so real.
As he got his bearings, he realized that today was the day. The final day of the Hundred. The day they had all been dreading.
He felt a hundred years older than when he’d arrived here a hundred days ago. He could not believe that he had made it, and that this was his final day. His time here had far exceeded his imagination. Each day been harder than the next, each training more grueling, pushing him and his brothers harder and harder. Days became longer and longer, as he had learned to train with every weapon known to man—and some not even known to man. They had been forced to train in every possible terrain, from swamps to glaciers, and had been screamed at from early morning to late at night. More than one of his brothers had dropped out, had been sent home alone on a small ship. Many had been injured. Two had died accidentally, slipping off a cliff on a particularly stormy day. They had all encountered trials and tribulations together, fought against monsters, survived every type of weather. This island was unforgiving, and had gone from hot to cold with no warning, seeming to have only two seasons.
As Thor sat there, Krohn beside him, a part of him dreaded this final day, wanted to lie back down, to go back to sleep—but he knew he could not. These last hundred days had forged him into a different person, and he was ready to face whatever they would throw at him.
Thor sat there in the early morning light, waiting. Soon, they would all arise, gear up, embark on their final mission. But until they did, he could revel in being the first to rise, and sit there and enjoy the silence, watch the sun break one final time over this place he had come to love.
*
Thor stood with the others on the rocky, narrow beach, hands on his hips, looking out at the storm tossed sea, feeling the chill in the air of the new season. He had learned to become so used to adverse weather that he no longer shivered as a freezing gale brushed across his body. He stared out at the sea, his grey eyes glistening, and felt hardened, impervious. He felt like a man.
His brothers in arms stood close by, Krohn beside him, near the fleet of small wooden boats preparing to set sail for the final test of the Hundred. They waited, all anxious, as Kolk paced among them, looking as dissatisfied and intense as ever.
“Those of you who have made it to this day might want to congratulate yourselves. Don’t. You have one final day left, and this day is what sets others apart. If you survive it, you will come back a Legion member. All the trials you have been through, they have all just been preparation for what you’re about to do.”
Kolk stopped and turned, pointing at the horizon.
“That island on the horizon,” he said, “on it lives a lone dragon, an outcast from the land of the dragons. We have lived in his shadow these past hundred days, and have been fortunate he has not attacked. Warriors do their best to avoid the place. Today, we will pay it a visit.
“This dragon jealously guards a treasure. An ancient, golden scepter. He is rumored to hide it deep in his lair. You must find the canyon, descend into it, find the scepter and return with it.”
There came a nervous murmur from the group as the boys turned and looked at each other, fear filling their eyes. Thor’s heart pounded as he looked out at the crashing sea, at the island in the distance, covered in a surreal mist, even on this clear day. He could feel its energy, even from here. Over the last hundred days his power had developed, and he was now able to be more sensitive to sensing energies, even from a distance. He could sense that a formidable creature lived on it, an ancient, primordial creature, and that they were heading into great danger.
“Man the boats and move!” Kolk commanded.
They all ran for the small rowboats, which were rocking wildly in the waters on shore, and one at a time they piled in, each boat holding about a dozen boys. Thor piled in, Krohn beside him, next to Reese, O’Connor, Elden and the twins, each sitting on a bench and grabbing an oar.
Before they pushed off, Thor looked to see William standing on shore, fear in his eyes. Thor had actually been surprised that William had made it this far, expecting him to drop out every step of the way. But now, this final exercise must have been too much for him.
“I said get in that boat!” Kolk yelled, hurrying up to him, the last boy left on the beach.
William stared back, wide-eyed.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t do it,” he said meekly.
Thor sat there, his boat rocking wildly, and his heart dropped for William. He did not want to see him go—not after all they’d been through.
“I’m not going to tell you again,” Kolk warned. “You don’t get in that boat now, you’re out of the Legion. Everything you’ve done will be for nothing. Forever.”
William stood there and shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” William said. “I wish I could. This is one thing I cannot do.”
“I can’t do it either,” came a voice.
Thor looked over, and saw another boy, one of the older ones, jump out of one of the other boats, and stand on shore. They both stood there on the sand, their heads down in shame.
Kolk sneered, grabbed each from behind and shoved them forward, away from the other boys. Thor felt terrible for them. He knew they would be put on the small boat and sent back to the Ring, and carry that stigmatism with them for the rest of their lives.
Before Thor could think of it too deeply, the Legion’s commanders came up behind each boat, and gave each a strong shove, pushing it into the sea. Thor felt his boat moving under him, and moments later he was taking up his oar, with the others.
The churning of the sea grew stronger as they went, and soon they were far from shore, stuck in strong tides, pulling them towards the dragon’s isle.
As they neared it, Thor tried to get a better view, but it was constantly obscured by the mist clinging to its shores.
“I hear the dragon that lives there eats a man a day for breakfast,” O’Connor said.
“Of course they would save something like this for the final day,” Elden said. “Just when we thought we were getting out of here.”
Reese looked at the horizon.
“I’ve heard stories of this place from my brothers,” he said. “The power of the dragon is unfathomable. There is no way we could all defeat it head-on, even together. We just have to hope we tread carefully and don’t rouse him. The island is big enough, and he may be sleeping. All we have to do is survive the day.”
“And what are the chances of that?” O’Connor asked.
&
nbsp; Reese shrugged.
“I heard that not all boys survived in years past,” he said. “But enough did.”
Thor’s anxiety increased as the tides picked up, pulling them towards the island. The rowing got easier, and soon he could make out the distinct outline of its shores, comprised of red rocks of infinite shape and size, shining, glowing, as if they were on fire. They sparkled in the light, like a beach of rubies. He had never seen anything like it.
“Orethist,” Conval said, looking at the rocks. “Legend has it that if you give one to someone you love, it will save their life.”
Moments later their boat landed on shore, and Thor jumped out with Krohn and the others, pulling it up all the way on the rocks. Their feet crunched all around him, boys looked down and picked up the glowing red rocks.
Thor did the same. He grabbed one and held it up, examining it. It sparkled, like a rare jewel in the morning light. He closed his palm and closed his eyes, and a breeze arose as he concentrated. He could feel the rock’s power throbbing through his body. Conval was right: this was a magical stone.
He saw the others boys pocketing as many rocks as they could hold, as mementos, and Thor took one and tucked it deep into his pocket. One was enough for him. He didn’t need one for himself, and there was only one person he wanted to give one, too: Gwendolyn. That is, if he should ever make it back.
They all began to climb the steep bank, the only entrance leading up the steep cliffs. The mist blew in and out and it was hard to see far, but Thor could make out a narrow path, almost like natural steps, leading up the side of the cliff, covered in moss.
They climbed it single file, Thor slipping as the ocean waves sprayed everything, making the path slick. Thor struggled to keep his balance as a strong gust of wind pounded them.
Finally, they made it to the top. Thor stood on the grassy knoll with the others, at the peak of the dragon’s isle, and he looked out. A dark green moss covered the island as far as he could see, and the mist hovered over it. It was a creepy, gloomy place, and as Thor looked out, he suddenly heard a deep roar. It sounded like the earth itself gurgling up, and in the distance, he could see flames and smoke rising in the mist, and disappearing. A strange smell hung in this place, like ash mixed with sulfur. It pervaded everything here. Krohn whined.
Thor swallowed hard. The boys turned and looked at each other, even the bravest of them with fear in their eyes. They had all been through a lot together—but nothing like this. They were really here. It was no longer a drill—it was now life or death.
They all set off as one across the barren wasteland of the isle, walking on the slippery moss, all on guard, all with hands on their swords.
After what felt like hours, the mist swirling all around them, there came a hissing noise, and then a great sound grew, and finally, as the air grew colder, wetter, they reached the edge of a waterfall. Thor looked down over the edge and it seemed to drop forever.
They continued on a trail around the circumference of the waterfall, and headed across a boggy terrain, drenched in spray from the falls, their feet sinking. As they walked and walked, clouds of mist becoming so thick that they could barely see each other, the roar of the dragon came every few minutes, and seemed to grow louder. Thor turned to see where they had come from, but the mist was now too thick to see through. He began to wonder how they would ever make their way back.
As they marched, Reese beside Thor, suddenly Reese lost his footing, and began to fall. Thor used his newfound reflexes to reach out and grab Reese, a moment before he fell. He grabbed him hard by the back of the shirt, and yanked him back. As he stepped forward and looked, he realized that he had just save Reese’s life: below them, the ground opened up into what looked like a massive canyon, dropping hundreds of feet below.
Reese turned and looked at Thor with a look of life-saving gratitude.
“I owe you,” he said.
Thor shook his head. “No you don’t.”
The boys all huddled around, looking down at the immense canyon, sinking hundreds of feet into the earth, and wondered.
“What is it?” Elden asked.
“It looks like a canyon,” Conval said.
“No,” Reese said. “It’s not.”
“Then what is it?” Conven asked.
“It’s a footprint,” Reese said.
“A footprint?” Conven asked.
“Look at the indent, how steep it is. And look at that shape, around the edges. That is no canyon, my friend. That is the footprint of the Dragon.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Erec trotted on his horse in the morning light down the well-worn path, flanked by a contingent of the Duke’s knights, including his friend Brandt. As they went, heading towards the jousting lanes, they were greeted by thousands of spectators, cheering wildly on both sides of the road.
It had been a long hundred days of jousting, and Erec had won every competition thus far. Today was the final day, everyone out in force to celebrate the finale, and as Erec trotted, he could think only of one thing: Alistair. Her face remained frozen in his mind, and as he tightened his grip on his lance, he knew that he would be fighting for her. If he won today, he could, finally, claim her as his bride. And he was determined that no man, in any province of the kingdom, would defeat him.
As they rode through the immense arched stone gates, into the arena, they were greeted by a cheer from thousands more spectators, seated in the outdoor stone coliseum, looking down at the jousting field in its center. People rose to their feet, throwing down flowers as Erec entered. He felt a swell of pride. He had devoted his life to his fighting skills, and in moments like this, when everyone cheered for him, he felt that all of his hard work paid off. Erec had been defeated by no man in battle.
The crowd roared as he trotted in, and he proceeded down the center of the lanes, where he turned and bowed his head to the Duke, who stood with the crowd, flanked by his contingent of soldiers. The Duke bowed back, a smile on his face, and Erec turned and headed to the sideline. All along the sideline were small contingents of knights, hundreds of them, all wearing different armor, of different shapes and colors, riding on a broad array of horses, wielding exotic weapons. They had assembled from all corners of the Ring, each group more exotic than the next. They had been training all year for this, and the competition had been formidable. But Erec had consistently bested them all, and as he thought of Alistair, he knew he would find a way to win today.
Erec waited and watched as a horn sounded, and out charged two knights, from opposing sides of the stadium, one in dark green armor, the other in bright yellow, each holding out their lances as they charged for each other. The green one knocked the yellow off his horse, and the crowd cheered wildly.
Joust after joust ensued, and more and more knights got eliminated. Erec, being the champion, was given the honor of the last spot of the first round.
When the horn sounded he charged without a moment’s hesitation. He was matched against one of the best opposing knights—a burly man with black armor, with a chest twice as broad as Erec’s. He charged on a horse that wore an awful sneer, and the man’s lance seemed twice as long as Erec’s.
But Erec, being the professional that he was, did not allow it to faze him. He focused on the man’s breastplate, the angle of his head, on the way his armor shifted between the plates. He identified the weak spot immediately, in the way the man lowered his left shoulder. Erec waited until the last moment, aimed his lance at just the right spot, and held it until they clashed.
A gasp spread through the crowd as the opposing knight went flying off his horse, landing on the ground in a clang of metal.
The crowd roared in delight, and Erec rode to the other side of the stadium, and waited his turn for the second round. Dozens of rounds remained.
The day grew long. One after the next, round after round, knights fought, until there were but a handful of warriors left. When they reached the final ten a horn sounded, and a break was called, as the
Duke walked out into the middle to address his people. Erec used the opportunity, as did the others, to lift his armor, remove his helmet, and breathe hard. A squire appeared with a bucket of water, and Erec drank some and tipped the rest onto his head and beard. Even though it was now Fall, he was dripping with sweat, breathing hard from hours of fighting. He already felt sore, but as he looked around at the other knights, he could tell they were more tired than he. They did not have the training that he did. He had made a point to train every day of his life, and had never missed a day. He was prepared to be exhausted. These men were not.
The Duke raised both arms to the crowd, and slowly, it quieted down.
“My fellow people,” the Duke yelled out. “Our provinces have sent their best and brightest from all corners of the Ring to compete these hundred days for the best and most beautiful bride our kingdom has to offer. Each warrior here has chosen one woman, and whoever wins today, shall have the right to wed that woman, if she agrees. For these final knights, the bout will switch from jousting to handheld fighting. Each warrior will choose one weapon, and they will all fight each other. There will be no killing—but everything else goes. The last man standing wins. Warriors, good luck!” he shouted as he walked off, the crowd roaring behind him.
Erec put his helmet back on, and looked over the weapons cart his squire had rolled to him. He already knew what weapon he wanted: it sat in his waist. He pulled out his old, trusted mace, with its well-worn wooden staff about two feet long, and at its end a spiked metal ball. He had wielded it since his days in the Legion, and he knew no weapon better.
A horn sounded, and suddenly, the ten men charged each other, meeting in the center of the ring.
A large knight, not wearing a helmet, with light blue eyes and a bright blonde beard, a head taller than Erec, charged right for him. He swung a massive club right for Erec’s head, with a speed that surprised him.
