Yet Reece, on the other hand, clearly did not see it that way. He was totally enamored of her, Thor’s friend joyous for the first time in as long as he could remember. Thor could understand: after all, who wouldn’t want the chance to make wrongs right, to make amends for past mistakes, to see someone one was sure he would never see again? Reece clutched her hand, staring into her eyes, and she caressed his face as he kissed her.
The others, Thor noticed, looked lost, as if they’d been to the depths of hell, to a place they could not easily shake from their minds. The cobwebs lingered heavily, and Thor felt them, too, shaking flashbacks from his mind. There was an aura of gloom, as they all mourned the loss of Conven. Thor, especially, turned over and over in his mind if there was anything he could have done to stop him. Thor looked out to sea, studying the gray horizon, the limitless ocean, and he wondered how Conven could have made the decision he had. He understood his deep grief for his brother; yet Thor would never make the same decision. Thor realized he felt a sense of grief for the loss of Conven, whose presence had always been felt, who had always seemed to be by his side, ever since his first days in the Legion. Thor recalled his visiting him in prison, his talking him into a second chance at life, all of his attempts to cheer him up, to snap him out of it, to bring him back.
Yet, Thor realized, no matter what he’d done, he could never quite bring Conven back. The better part of Conven was always with his brother. Thor recalled the look in Conven’s face as he’d remained behind and the others left. It was not a look of regret; it was a look of pure joy. Thor felt that he was happy. And he knew he shouldn’t hold too much regret. Conven had made his own decision, and that was more than most people got in this world. And after all, Thor knew they would meet again. In fact, maybe Conven would be the one waiting to greet him when he died. Death, Thor knew, was coming for them all. Maybe not today, or tomorrow. But one day.
Thor tried to shake the somber thoughts; he looked out and forced himself to focus on the ocean, scouring the waters every which way, looking for any sign of Guwayne. He knew it was likely futile to look for him here, on the open sea, yet still, Thor felt mobilized, filled with a newfound optimism. He knew now, at least, that Guwayne was alive, and that was all he needed to hear. He would stop at nothing to find him again.
“Where do you suppose this current is taking us?” O’Connor asked, reaching over the edge of the boat and skimming the water with his fingertips.
Thor reached down and touched the warm water, too; it rushed by so fast, as if the ocean could not bring them wherever it was taking them fast enough.
“As long as it is far from there, I don’t care,” Elden said, glancing back over his shoulder in fear at the cliffs.
Thor heard a screeching noise, high up, and he looked up and was thrilled to see his old friend, Estopheles, circling high above. She dove down in broad circles around them, then lifted back up into the air. Thor felt as if she were guiding them, encouraging them to follow her.
“Estopheles, my friend,” Thor whispered up to the sky. “Be our eyes. Lead us to Guwayne.”
Estopheles screeched again, as if answering, and spread her wings wide. She turned and flew off into the horizon, in the same direction the current was taking them, and Thor felt certain they were getting closer.
As Thor turned he heard a gentle clanging at his side, and he looked down and saw the Sword of Death hanging at his waist, and it was shocking to see it there. It made his trip to the land of the dead feel more real than ever. Thor reached down, felt its ivory hilt, crossed with skulls and bones, and tightened his grip on it, feeling its energy. Its blade was inlaid with small black diamonds, and as he held it up to examine it, he saw them sparkling in the light.
As he held it, it felt so right in his hand. He hadn’t felt this way about a weapon since he’d wielded the Destiny Sword. This weapon meant more to him than he could say; after all, he had managed to escape that world, and so had this weapon, and he felt they were both survivors of an awful war. They had been through it together. Entering the land of the dead and returning had been like walking through a giant spider web and pulling it off. It was off, Thor knew, and yet somehow he still felt it sticking to him. At least he had this weapon to show for it.
Thor reflected on his exit, on the price he’d paid, on the demons he’d unleashed unwittingly on the world. He felt a pit in his stomach, sensing he’d unleashed a dark force on the world, one not so easily contained. He felt he’d sent something out, like a boomerang, that would one day, somehow, return to him. Perhaps even sooner than he thought.
Thor gripped the hilt, prepared. Whatever it was, he would meet it in battle fearlessly, would kill whatever came his way.
But what he truly feared were the things he could not see, the invisible havoc the demons might wreak. What he feared most were the spirits unknown, the spirits who fought by stealth.
Thor heard footsteps, felt their small boat rock, and he turned and saw Matus walk up beside him. Matus stood there sadly, looking out at the horizon with him. It was a dark, grim day, and as they looked out, it was hard to tell if it was morning or afternoon, the whole sky uniform, as if this entire part of the world were in mourning.
Thor thought of how Matus had quickly become a close friend to him. Especially now, with Reece fixated on Selese, Thor felt the partial loss of one friend, and the gaining of another. Thor recalled how Matus had saved him more than once down there, and he already felt a loyalty to him, as if he had always been one of his own brothers.
“This vessel,” Matus said softly, “was not made for the open seas. One good storm, and we shall all be killed. It is just an outboat from Gwendolyn’s ship, not meant to traverse the seas. We must find a bigger boat.”
“And land,” O’Connor chimed in, coming up on Thor’s other side, “and provisions.”
“And a map,” Elden chimed in.
“Where is our destination, anyway?” Indra asked. “Where is it we are going? Have you any idea where your son might be?”
Thor examined the horizon, as he had a thousand times, and reflected on all their questions. He knew they were all right, and had been thinking the same things. A vast sea lay before them, and they were a small vessel, with no provisions. They were alive, and he was grateful for that, but their situation was precarious.
Thor shook his head slowly. As he stood there, immersed in thought, he began to spot something on the horizon. As they sailed closer, it began to more distinctly come into view, and he felt certain it was something and not just his eyes playing tricks on him. His heart raced with excitement.
The sun broke through the clouds, and a shaft of sunlight poured down on the horizon and lit up a small island. It was a small land mass, in the middle of a vast ocean, with nothing else anywhere near it.
Thor blinked, wondering if it were real.
“What is it?” Matus asked the question on all of their minds, as they all saw it, all of them standing and staring.
As they came close, Thor saw a mist surrounding the island, sparkling in the light, and he sensed a magical energy to this place. He looked up and saw it was a stark place, cliffs rising straight up into the air, hundreds of feet, a narrow, steep, unforgiving island, waves crashing into the boulders that surrounded it, emerging from the ocean like ancient beasts. Thor sensed, with every ounce of his being, that this was where they were meant to go.
“That’s a steep climb,” O’Connor said. “If we even made it.”
“And we don’t know what’s at the top,” Elden added. “Could be hostile. Our weapons are all gone, except for your sword. We can’t afford a battle here.”
But Thor considered the place, and he wondered, sensing something strong here. He looked up high and watched Estopheles circling it, and he felt even more certain that this was the place.
“No stone must be left unturned in our search for Guwayne,” Thor said. “No place is too remote. This island will be our first stop,” he said. He tightened his grip on hi
s sword:
“Hostile or not.”
CHAPTER SIX
Alistair found herself standing in a strange landscape she did not recognize. It was a desert of sorts, and as she looked down the desert floor turned from black to red, drying up, cracking beneath her feet. She looked up, and in the distance she spotted Gwendolyn standing before a ragtag army, but a few dozen men, members of the Silver that Alistair once knew, all their faces bloody, their armor cracked. In Gwendolyn’s arms was a small baby, and Alistair sensed that it was her nephew, Guwayne.
“Gwendolyn!” Alistair called out, relieved to see her. “My sister!”
But as Alistair watched there suddenly came an awful sound, the sound of a million flapping wings, growing louder, followed by a great squawking. The horizon turned black and there emerged a sky filled with ravens, flying her way.
Alistair watched in horror as the ravens arrived in one huge flock, a wall of black, swooped down and snatched Guwayne from Gwendolyn’s arms. Screeching, they lifted him up into the sky.
“NO!” Gwendolyn shrieked, reaching for the sky as they tore at her hair.
Alistair watched, helpless, nothing she could do but watch them carry off the screaming baby. The desert floor cracked and dried further, and it began to split apart, until one by one, all of Gwen’s men collapsed down into it.
Only Gwendolyn remained, standing there, staring back at her, her eyes haunted with a look that Alistair wished she had never seen.
Alistair blinked and found herself standing on a great ship in the midst of an ocean, waves crashing all around her. She looked about and saw she was the only one on the ship, and faced forward and saw another ship before her. Erec stood at its bow, facing her, and was joined by hundreds of soldiers from the Southern Isles. She was distressed to see him on another ship, and sailing away from her.
“Erec!” she called out.
He stared back, reaching out for her.
“Alistair!” he called back. “Come back to me!”
Alistair watched in horror as the ships drifted further apart, Erec’s ship sucked away from her on the tides. His ship began to slowly spin in the water, and it spun faster and faster, Erec reaching out for her, Alistair helpless to do nothing but watch as his ship was sucked down by a whirlpool, deeper and deeper, until it disappeared from view.
“EREC!” Alistair cried.
There came another wail, to match hers, and Alistair looked down to see that she was holding a baby—Erec’s child. It was a boy, and his wails rose to the heavens, drowning out the noise of the wind and the rain and the shrieking of men.
Alistair woke screaming. She sat up and looked around, wondering where she was, what had happened. Breathing hard, slowly collecting herself, it took her several moments to realize it was all just a dream.
She stood and looked down at the creaking floorboards of the deck, and realized she was still on the ship. It all came flooding back to her: their departure from the Southern Isles, their quest to free Gwendolyn.
“My lady?” came a gentle voice.
Alistair looked over and saw Erec standing beside her, looking back at her, concerned. She was relieved to see him.
“Another nightmare?” he asked.
She nodded, looking away, self-conscious.
“Dreams are more vivid at sea,” said another voice.
Alistair turned to see Erec’s brother, Strom, standing nearby. She turned further and saw hundreds of Southern Islanders all aboard the ship, and it all came back to her. She remembered their departure, their leaving a grieving Dauphine behind, whom they had left to be in charge of the Southern Isles with her mother. Ever since receiving that message, all of them felt they had no choice but to set sail for the Empire, to search for Gwendolyn and all the others of the Ring, duty-bound to save them. They knew it would be an impossible mission, yet none of them cared. It was their duty.
Alistair rubbed her eyes and tried to shake the nightmares from her mind. She did not know how many days had passed already on this endless sea, and as she looked out now, studying the horizon, she could not see much. It was all obscured by fog.
“The fog has been following us since the Southern Isles,” Erec said, watching her gaze.
“Let’s hope it’s not an omen,” Strom added.
Alistair gently rubbed her belly, reassured that she was OK, that her baby was OK. Her dream had felt too real. She did it quickly and discreetly, not wanting Erec to know. She hadn’t told him yet. A part of her wanted to—but another part of her wanted to wait for the perfect moment, when it felt right.
She took Erec’s hand, relieved to see him alive.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said.
He smiled back, as he pulled her close and kissed her.
“And why wouldn’t I be?” he asked. “Your dreams are just fancies of the night. For every nightmare, there is also a man who is safe. I’m as safe here, with you and my loyal brother and my men, as I can ever hope to be.”
“Until we reach the Empire at least,” Strom added with a smile. “Then we shall be as safe as we can ever be with a small fleet against ten thousand ships.”
Strom smiled as he spoke, seeming to relish the fight to come.
Erec shrugged, serious.
“With the Gods behind our cause,” he said, “we cannot lose. Whatever the odds.”
Alistair pulled back and frowned, trying to make sense of it all.
“I saw you and your ship being sucked down to the bottom of the sea. I saw you on it,” she said. She wanted to add the bit about their child, but she restrained herself.
“Dreams are not always what they appear to be,” he said. Yet deep in his eyes, she saw a flash of concern. He knew that she saw things, and he respected her visions.
Alistair took a deep breath, looked down to the water, and knew he was right. They were all here, alive after all. Yet it had seemed so true.
As she stood there, Alistair felt the temptation to again raise her hand to her belly, to feel her stomach, to reassure herself and the child she knew was growing within her. Yet, with Erec and Strom standing there, she did not want to give it away.
A low, soft horn cut through the air, sounding intermittently every few minutes, warning the other ships in his fleet of their presence in the fog.
“That horn might give us away,” Strom said to Erec.
“To whom?” Erec asked.
“We know not what lurks behind the fog,” Strom said.
Erec shook his head.
“Perhaps,” he replied. “But the greater danger for now is not the enemy, but ourselves. We collide into our own, and we can bring our entire fleet down. We must sound the horns until the fog lifts. Our entire fleet can talk this way—and just as importantly, not drift too far from each other.”
In the fog, a horn from another of the ships in Erec’s fleet echoed, confirming its location.
Alistair looked out into the fog, and wondered. She knew they had so far to go, that they were on the other side of the world from the Empire, and she wondered how they would ever reach Gwendolyn and her brother in time. She wondered how long the falcons had took with that message, and wondered if they were even still alive. She wondered what had become of her beloved Ring. What an awful way for them all to die, she thought, on a foreign shore, far from their homeland.
“The Empire is across the world, my lord,” Alistair said to Erec. “It shall be a long journey. Why do you stay up here on the deck? Why not go down below, to the hold, and sleep? You haven’t slept in days,” she said, observing the dark rings beneath his eyes.
He shook his head.
“A commander never sleeps,” he said. “And besides, we are almost at our destination.”
“Our destination?” she asked, puzzled.
Erec nodded and looked out into the fog.
She followed his gaze but saw nothing.
“Boulder Isle,” he said. “Our first stop.”
“But why?” she asked. “Why stop be
fore we reach the Empire?”
“We need a bigger fleet,” Strom chimed in, answering for him. “We can’t face the Empire with a few dozen ships.”
“And you will find this fleet in Boulder Isle?” Alistair asked.
Erec nodded.
“We might,” Erec said. “Bouldermen have ships, and men. More than we have. They despise the Empire. And they have served my father in the past.”
“But why would they help you now?” she asked, puzzled. “Who are these men?”
“Mercenaries,” Strom chimed in. “Rough men forged by a rough island on rough seas. They fight for the highest bidder.”
“Pirates,” Alistair said disapprovingly, realizing.
“Not quite,” Strom replied. “Pirates strive for loot. Bouldermen live for killing.”
Alistair examined Erec, and could see in his face that it was true.
“It is noble to fight for a true and just cause with pirates?” she asked. “Mercenaries?”
“It is noble to win a war,” Erec replied, “and to fight for a just cause such as ours. The means of waging such a war is not always as noble as we might like.”
“It is not noble to die,” Strom added. “And the judgment on nobility is decided by the victors, not the losers.”
Alistair frowned and Erec turned to her.
“Not everyone is as noble as you, my lady,” he said. “Or as I. That is not the way the world works. That is not the way that wars are won.”
“And can you trust such men?” she finally asked him.
Erec sighed and turned back to the horizon, hands on his hips, staring out as if wondering the same thing.
“Our father trusted them,” he finally said. “And his father before him. They never failed them.”