“OK, crawl up,” he said. “Stay on your hands and knees and keep your back to me as you bend over to retrieve it. And this better be the biggest sack of gold of your life, or else you’re going to sink with it.”
Godfrey, heart pounding, praying that his scheme worked, scrambled up onto the stone. He turned around, his back to the soldier, on his hands and knees, and he bent over into the water and grabbed the small sack of gold. He made a great effort of straining and struggling as he bent over, reaching for it. He grabbed it firmly, closing his eyes, sweating and gulping, praying. He knew he had only one shot at this.
Please God. I know I have been a terrible person. I know I’m probably beyond redemption. But I’m sure this soldier’s a lot worse. At least I’ve never harmed anyone, at least not anyone who didn’t deserve it. Let this work. Let me win. Just this once.
Godfrey knew it was now or never.
He took a deep breath, reached down, grabbed the sack, and held onto it tight. He felt the soldier’s sword jab him in the back.
“Let’s go!” he prodded.
“Here it is, my lord!” Godfrey called out.
Godfrey waited until he felt the soldier lower his sword, then he suddenly hoisted the sack and spun around in the same motion, aiming for the soldier’s sword.
He spun, his momentum carrying him, and the sack of gold swung through the air, and to his amazement, it was a perfect strike. The sack connected with the soldier’s sword, knocking it from his hand and sending it clattering down to the ground.
In the same motion, Godfrey jumped to his feet, stepped forward, and using two hands, swung the bag of gold at the soldier’s face. It all happened too fast for the stunned soldier to react, and the bag connected with his jawbone—again, a perfect strike. The weight of all those coins smacked him across the face, sending him staggered backwards, falling to his hands and knees.
Before he could get up, Godfrey rushed forward and brought the sack of gold down on his face, smashed his nose, breaking it. Emboldened, he smashed him again and again, so hard that the sack finally broke.
Gold coins went flying everywhere, rolling up and down the streets. Godfrey, enraged, feeling good to finally have vengeance on the Empire, stepped forward with all his might, and kicked the man between the legs, finally knocking him out.
Godfrey stood holding the empty sack, trembling, shocked at what he had just managed to do. He didn’t know what had overcome him—and he didn’t realize that he had it in him.
The others all stared at him in amazement.
“Didn’t know you had it in you,” Merek said, clearly impressed.
Godfrey shrugged.
“I didn’t either.”
“See what not having a few drinks can do to a man?” Akorth chimed in, patting him on the shoulder.
“Looks like we lost a perfectly good sack of gold,” Fulton said, gesturing to the scattered coins.
Fulton shrugged.
“I guess it was worth Godfrey’s life,” he said.
Godfrey stood there, dripping wet, shaken from the whole ordeal, hardly believing what had just happened, what he had just done. He looked at his friends standing there, all equally in shock, dripping wet, the sacks of gold sitting by their feet.
Godfrey turned and eyed the loose coins, some of them still rolling in the streets, still settling down with a clinking noise.
“Let’s get our gold and get out of here,” he said.
He began to go but was stopped by a sinister voice, cutting through the night.
“I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere.”
Godfrey wheeled, hairs on edge, and was shocked to see a group of Finians a few feet away, standing there silently, patiently, in their red cloaks, their hoods pulled down, their fiery red hair glowing beneath the torchlight. They were humans, but too pale, too thin, hollowed-out faces, and they stared back at Godfrey, smiling as if they had all the time in the world.
“You are dressed in our clothes,” one of them said, stepping forward, clearly their leader, “and yet you wear them poorly. Next time you rob from Finians, you should be more discreet.”
He smiled wide, examining them, shaking his head, and Godfrey stared back, not knowing what to say. He exchanged a puzzled look with the others, but they seemed to be dumbfounded, too.
“A sorry lot you are,” the leader continued. “You’ll be coming with us now. Along with your gold. Not that we need it. But I’d like to hear your story. And remember: we are not as stupid as the Empire soldiers. If you look closely at my friends you’ll see small crossbows aimed at you. Make one move and you’ll all be dead and floating in the water.”
Godfrey looked over and saw the other Finians indeed holding small crossbows beneath their cloaks, all aimed right for them. He gulped.
“In fact, I have a mind to just kill you right now,” the leader added. “But I am first curious to hear how a sorry lot like you got inside Volusia, how you got our cloaks, how you have so much gold. Then I might kill you. Or maybe not—depending on how good your story is.”
He smiled wide.
“You’ve had your battle of swords,” the leader added. “Now you will have your joust of words. Are you smart enough to outwit us?”
Godfrey looked back at them, dreading the idea of another imprisonment, yet knowing he had no choice. There was something about these people he didn’t like, didn’t trust. They seemed so calm, so friendly, yet deep down, beneath their smiles, he had a feeling that they were even more deadly than the Empire.
They prodded him, and he began marching with the others, all with hands raised high above their heads, being led by the Finians down unfamiliar streets, to God only knew where.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Thor stood at the bow of the small sailing vessel as they sailed away from Ragon’s isle in the breaking dawn and toward the horizon, the direction in which his dream compelled him to go, the direction in which he felt certain Guwayne was awaiting him. The dream had felt so real, it had felt as if he had truly experienced it. He felt with certainly that Guwayne lay just up ahead, that he needed him urgently. Thor stood at the edge peered into the mist, anxious for it to lift, to reveal the location his son; he watched the currents, and willed them to carry his boat faster.
Your child awaits you on the island.
The voice from Thor’s dream echoed in his head, again and again; Thor looked out and squeezed the rail, giddy with anticipation. He could hardly wait to hold Guwayne again; he felt terrible for letting him go, and this time he would let nothing stand in his way until he found his boy.
“Are you certain we sail in the right direction?” Matus asked skeptically, coming up beside him.
Thor tuned and saw all the others—Reece, Selese, Elden, Indra, O’Connor—all standing there, dressed in their new armor, wielding their new weapons, shining in the light—and all looking back at him skeptically.
“This is the direction in which my dream has led me,” he replied.
“And if your dream is wrong?” O’Connor asked.
Thor shook his head.
“It can’t be,” he said. “You don’t understand. It was more than a dream: it was a vision. I saw it. I saw my boy.”
Reece sighed.
“We were all comfortable on Ragon’s isle,” he said. “We had provision, shelter—we finally had a break from our travails. We left so abruptly.”
“And it seemed Ragon was about to reveal to us another surprise—perhaps more weapons, or something else important,” Elden chimed in.
Thor could see the disappointment in their eyes, and he considered their words; he, too, had felt a strong connection with Ragon, had felt the great power of the man, and had been comfortable on that isle. His island had truly been a magical place, an idyllic place, and he, too, had wanted to spend more time there.
He reflected, furrowing his brow, and could not quite understand why he had left so quickly. Were they all right? Had he been wrong to leave? Thor felt confused.
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Yet the vision of that dream would not leave his mind, as if it were right in front of him, pulling him away from the isle and toward the horizon.
“I can’t quite explain it,” Thorgrin said. “It was unlike any dream I’d ever had. It was like a command. It showed me Guwayne in danger, urgently needing me. I just could not allow myself to sit there for one more second.”
Selese sighed.
“I have been a healer all my life,” Selese chimed in, her voice soft and sweet, yet demanding attention. “I know most everything about the human body. Yet I know little about dreams. I don’t know from where they come, or whether they come to help or confuse us. I don’t know if they come from inside us or from someplace else.”
The boat fell silent, and Thor contemplated her words. Could his dream have been sent to confuse him? To trick him? But why? And how?
“I don’t think anyone knows that, my lady,” O’Connor said. “And anyone who professes to know is a liar.”
“One thing I do know,” Reece chimed in. “We’re getting awfully close to the Dragon’s Spine—and that’s one place we do not want to be.”
O’Connor turned and pointed off into the horizon, and they all turned and followed his gaze. In the distant horizon, partially obscured by the mist, were a pair of sharp cliffs, jagged, like a spine, rising hundreds of feet into the air, with perhaps a few hundred yards between them. Treacherous rocks stretched out alongside them, forcing all ships to sail in the narrow waterway between them.
“What do you know of it?” Thor asked.
“It is a place of legend,” Reece added, his voice filled with awe. “Growing up I was drilled on it. The most dangerous spot in the Southern Seas. A place of awful storms, beasts—a place few pass through alive.”
“Up ahead we have the fork,” Elden said. “See the currents? If we wish to avoid it, now is our chance.”
Thor stood there, hands on his hips, staring at the ocean, wondering. Reece came up beside him.
“Which way, old friend?” he asked. “Do we fork north, for an empty ocean, or south, for the Dragon’s Spine? We will follow you any way you choose.”
Thor closed his eyes and tried to tune in, to allow his senses to guide him. He stood there, quiet, listening to the wind, the lapping of the waves against the boat, then suddenly felt a sense of certainty.
“We fork north, my brother,” Thor said, turning to Reece. “Away from the Spine.”
Reece looked much relieved, as did all the others.
They all broke into action, immediately adjusting the sails, grabbing the oars, Thor helping them. Thor grabbed an oar and rowed with the others, pulling them through heavy waves, their boat lifting lower and higher, spray splashing him in the face.
Finally, they finished rowing over the conflicting currents of the fork, and the new current grabbed their boat and pulled them in a new direction. They began to relax on the oars, and let the sails do the work.
There suddenly came a great shriek, from high up in the sky, and Thor looked up and his heart lifted to see Lycoples, circling high. Lycoples flapped his wings furiously, circling low, as if trying to signal something to Thorgrin. He dove down, right by Thorgrin’s face, forcing him and the others to duck, and Thor was wondering what he was trying to tell him.
Lycoples kept circling back toward the island from where he’d come, almost as if he were trying to urge them all to turn back around to Ragon’s isle.
“What do you think he’s trying to tell us?” Indra asked.
“It looks like he wants us to turn back,” Elden replied.
“But why?” Matus asked.
Thor studied the skies, unsure. After many attempts, Lycoples finally gave up, turned, and flew back to where he came.
Thor looked to the skies, puzzled, as he had always been, by the way of dragons. Why would Lycoples want them to turn back around, when Guwayne lay somewhere on the seas ahead?
Hour after hour passed, all of them falling into silence, embraced by the mist. Thor found himself lost in his thoughts, as he thought of Gwendolyn, of what she must be going through. His heart broke for her, and it anguished him that he could not be by her side.
He also found himself thinking of Lycoples, of his son up ahead, and he was filled with a renewed sense of hope. Thor craned his neck and scanned the skies, and wondered: would he ever see Gwendolyn again? He could picture himself returning to her with her son, with a new dragon, starting life all over again. Was it too late? he wondered with a sense of dread. Was she even still alive?
Thor began to hear a faint sound, one that pulled him from his reverie. It was a sound of waves splashing on rocks, against a distant shore. He was certain of it.
Thor looked over and saw the others, too, standing, staring into the mist. They must have heard it, too. They all looked at each other with a questioning look, their eyes all holding the same question: land?
As Thor peered into the mist, slowly, a wind arose, and it began to lift, revealing what lay beyond. The sound of the waves crashing against rocks grew louder, and as Thor looked out, he was surprised to see an unusual island coming into view.
This small island was bordered by a white beach, the brightest white Thor had ever seen, and all the rocks around it—everything—was white. Its trees were all white, too, a dense jungle that stretched nearly all the way to the shoreline, all glowing white. Even the ocean water, as they came closer to the isle, turned entirely white.
Above the isle flew scores of white birds, squawking, circling, unusual birds that Thor did not recognize, of every shape and size.
Selese stepped forward before Thor, and looked out and gasped.
“The Isle of the Lepers,” she said, her voice low with reverence.
“You know it?” he asked.
“Only what I’ve heard,” she said. “It is a place known by all healers. It is a refuge for all those who are afflicted. A place where lepers can live freely. A place for those with no hope of healing. A place to stay far away from—unless you want to catch the disease.”
Thor felt a sense of dread. Could Guwayne be in such a place?
He closed his eyes and as he did, he sensed that this isle was where he needed to go—that this was where his child was.
Thor opened his eyes and shook his head slowly.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “I sense it. This is where I’m being led. This is where my child is.”
“If it is,” Selese replied, “it would be a sad day for him. No one who visits here can escape untouched. It is an affliction for which there is no cure.”
“We must turn around!” Reece said. “We cannot touch down there, lest the rest of us catch it. Do you not see? Even the water is infected.”
Thor examined the isle as they sailed ever close, now hardly a hundred yards away, their boat rising and falling with the waves crashing in his ear.
“I would not risk harming any of you,” he said. “This is a trek for me to take, and me alone. You can all stay on the boat. I will find him and bring him back.”
“You will come back a leper,” Matus said gravely.
Thor shrugged.
“I have been to hell and back for my son,” he said. “Do you think I would let a fatal disease stand in my way?”
They all looked away, silent, none able to offer a response.
The waves picked up and carried them closer to shore, the spray hitting Thor in the face. The closer they got, the more his heart pounded. He could feel his destiny rushing toward him. He knew that his child was out there.
Their boat beached on the shore, and the second it touched down, Thor disembarked, his boots crunching on white gravel.
He stood there and looked out at the island before him in wonder, squinting against the glare. Everything was caked in white, as if washed by salt. Even the mist in the air hung with a white tinge to it. The air smelled a bit different here, too; it smelled not only of ocean, but also of death.
This island, Thor sensed, had a
solemn, abandoned feel to it, as if it were a place forgotten by others, a place of great peace and solitude—yet also of sadness and tragedy. Thor studied the swaying white trees, the huge leaves shimmering in the wind, and he wondered if his dream was true. Could his child really be here?
Thor turned and saw the boys in the boat, and for the first time ever, he could see real fear in their faces. They had followed him into the Empire, across the seas, to hell and back, and had done so fearlessly. Yet this place of fatal disease had clearly stricken them all with terror. None of them wanted to die a slow, lifelong death.
They all sat in the boat, unmoving.
Thor nodded back to them solemnly. He could see in their eyes that they wanted to join him, but were afraid. He understood. After all, walking onto this island would be a death sentence.
Thor turned and began the march inland, toward the dense white jungle, his boots crunching on the gravel, taking one step at a time, the sound of the ocean waves fading. He entered the jungle, the large leaves brushing against him, a new feeling beneath his feet, leaving the shore behind him—and he knew he had crossed the tipping point:
There was no turning back now.
*
Thor marched through the jungle, scratched by branches and not caring, and he peered everywhere, trying to see through the dense canopy, looking for Guwayne. He let his senses guide him, turning left and right, allowing himself to be led through the thick foliage, to the place where his instincts brought him.
“Guwayne!” he called out, his voice echoing in this empty place.
“Guwayne!”
Thor’s cry was met by that of a strange bird, somewhere high above, calling down to him as if mocking him.
Thor marched deeper into the jungle, and he soon emerged as it gave way to a new landscape. Before him were rolling hills of white grass, large white trees swaying in the wind.
Thor did not waste any time leaving the jungle and embarking on the hills, looking all around him, everywhere for any sign of Guwayne.
But this island seemed deserted. There was no sign of anyone or anything—just the birds overhead, whose screeches punctuated the air.