by Morgan Rice
“What is it?” Indra asked. “We can’t control the boat.”
“They sometimes pass through the Upper Isles,” Matus explained. “I have never seen them myself, but I have heard about them, especially this far north. They are a riptide. Once you’re caught in them, they take you where they please. No matter how much rowing or sailing you try to do.”
Thor looked down, and saw the water below them rushing by at twice the speed. He looked out and saw they were heading toward a new, empty horizon, purple and white clouds spotting the sky, both beautiful and foreboding.
“But we’re heading east now,” Reece said, “and we need to head west. All of our people are west. The Empire is west.”
Matus shrugged.
“We head where the tides take us.”
Thor looked out in wonder and frustration, realizing that each passing moment was taking them further from Gwendolyn, further from their people.
“And where does it end?” O’Connor asked.
Matus shrugged.
“I know only the Upper Isles,” he said. “I have never been this far north. I know nothing of what lies beyond.”
“It does end,” Reece spoke up, darkly, and all eyes turned to him.
Reece looked back, grave.
“I was tutored on the tides years ago, at a young age. In the ancient book of Kings, we had an array of maps, covering every portion of the world. The Northern Tides lead to the eastern edge of the world.”
“The eastern edge?” Elden said, concern in his voice. “We’d be on the other end of the world from our people.”
Reece shrugged.
“The books were ancient, and I was young. All I really remember was that the tides were a portal to the Land of Spirits.”
Thor looked at Reece, wondering.
“Old wives’ tales and fairytales,” O’Connor said. “There is no portal to the Land of Spirits. It was sealed off centuries ago, before our fathers walked the earth.”
Reece shrugged, and they all fell silent as they turned and stared out at the seas. Thor examined the fast-moving waters, and he wondered: Where on earth were they being lead?
*
Thor sat alone, at the edge of the boat, staring into the waters as he had been for hours, the cold spray hitting him in the face. Numb to the world, he barely felt it. Thor wanted to be in action, to be hoisting sails, rowing—anything—but there was nothing for any them to do now. The Northern tides were taking them where they would, and all they could do was sit idly by and watch the currents, their boat rolling in the long waves, and wonder where they would end up. They were in the hands of the fates now.
As Thor sat there, studying the horizon, wondering where the sea would end, he felt himself drifting into nothingness, numb from the cold and the wind, lost in the monotony of the deep silence that hung over all of them. The seabirds that had at first circled them had disappeared long ago, and as the silence deepened, as the sky fell darker and darker, Thor felt as if they were sailing into nothingness, into the very ends of the earth.
It was hours later, as the last light of day was falling, that Thor sat upright, spotting something on the horizon. At first he was certain it was an illusion; but as the currents became stronger, the shape became more distinct. It was real.
Thor sat up straight, for the first time in hours, then rose to his feet. He stood there, boat swaying, hands on his hips, looking out.
“Is it real?” came a voice.
Thor looked over to see Reece stepping forward beside him. Elden, Indra, and the rest soon joined them, all staring out in wonder.
“An island?” O’Connor wondered aloud.
“Looks like a cave,” Matus said.
As they approached, Thor began to see the outline of it, and he saw that it was indeed a cave. It was a massive cave, an outcropping of rock that rose up from the sea, emerging here, in the midst of a cruel and endless ocean, rising hundreds of feet high, the opening shaped in a big arch. It looked like a giant mouth, ready to swallow all the world.
And the currents were taking their boat right toward it.
Thor stared at in wonder, and he knew it could only be one thing: the entrance to the Land of the Spirits.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Darius walked slowly down the dirt path, Loti by his side, the air filled with the tension of their silence. Neither had said a word since their encounter with the taskmaster and his men, and Darius’s mind swarmed with a million thoughts as he walked beside her, accompanying her back to their village. Darius wanted to drape an arm around her, to tell her how grateful he was that she was alive, that she had saved him as he had saved her, how determined he was to never let her leave his side again. He wanted to see her eyes filled with joy and relief, he wanted to hear her say how much it meant to her that he had risked his life for her—or at the very least, that she was happy to see him.
Yet as they walked in the deep, awkward silence, Loti said nothing, would not even look at him. She had not said a word to him since he had caused the avalanche, had not even met his eyes. Darius’s heart pounded, wondering what she was thinking. She had witnessed him summoning his power, had witnessed the avalanche. In its wake, she had given him a horrified look, and had not looked at him again since.
Perhaps, Darius thought, in her view, he had broken the sacred taboo of her people in drawing on magic, the one thing her people looked down upon more than anything. Perhaps she was afraid of him; or even worse, perhaps she no longer loved him. Perhaps she thought of him as some sort of freak.
Darius felt his heart breaking as they walked slowly back to the village, and wondered what it was all for. He had just risked his life to save a girl who no longer loved him. He would pay anything to read her thoughts, anything. But she would not even speak. Was she in shock?
Darius wanted to say something to her, anything to break the silence. But he did not know where to begin. He had thought he’d known her, but now he was not so sure. A part of him felt indignant, too proud to speak, given her reaction, and yet another part of him was somewhat ashamed. He knew what his people thought of the use of magic. Was his use of magic such a terrible thing? Even if he’d saved her life? Would she tell the others? If the villagers found out, he knew, they would surely exile him.
They walked and walked, and Darius finally could stand it no longer; he had to say something.
“I’m sure your family will be happy to see you back safely,” Darius said.
Loti, to his disappointment, did not take the opportunity to look his way; instead, she just remained expressionless as they continued to walk in silence. Finally, after a long while, she shook her head.
“Perhaps,” she said. “But I should think they will be more worried than anything. Our entire village will be.”
“What do you mean?” Darius asked.
“You’ve killed a taskmaster. We’ve killed a taskmaster. The entire Empire will be out looking for us. They’ll destroy our village. Our people. We have done a terrible, selfish thing.”
“Terrible thing? I saved your life!” Darius said, exasperated.
She shrugged.
“My life is not worth the lives of all of our people.”
Darius fumed, not knowing what to say as they walked. Loti, he was beginning to realize, was a difficult girl, hard to understand. She had been too indoctrinated with the rigid thought of her parents, of their people.
“So you hate me then,” he said. “You hate me for saving you.”
She refused to look at him, continued to walk.
“I saved you, too,” she retorted proudly. “Don’t you remember?”
Darius reddened; he could not understand her. She was too proud.
“I don’t hate you,” she finally added. “But I saw how you did it. I saw what you did.”
Darius found himself shaking inside, hurt at her words. They came out like an accusation. It wasn’t fair, especially after he had just saved her life.
“And is that such an awful th
ing?” he asked. “Whatever power it was that I used?”
Loti did not reply.
“I am who I am,” Darius said. “I was born this way. I did not ask for it. I do not entirely understand it myself. I do not know when it comes and when it leaves. I do not know if I shall ever be able to use it again. I did not want to use it. It was as if…it used me.”
Loti continued to look down, not responding, not meeting his eyes, and Darius felt a sinking feeling of regret. Had he made a mistake in rescuing her? Should he be ashamed of who he was?
“Would you rather be dead than for me to have used…whatever it was I used?” Darius asked.
Again Loti did not reply as they walked, and Darius’s regret deepened.
“Do not speak of it to anyone,” she said. “We must never speak of what happened here today. We will both be outcasts.”
They turned the corner and their village came into view. They walked down the main pathway and as they did, they were spotted by villagers, who let out a great shout of joy.
Within moments there was a great commotion as villagers swarmed out to meet them, hundreds of them, excitedly rushing to embrace Loti and Darius. Breaking through the crowd was Loti’s mother, joined by her father and two of her brothers, tall men with broad shoulders, short hair, and proud jaws. They all looked down at Darius, summing him up. Standing beside them was Loti’s third brother, smaller than the others and lame in one leg.
“My love,” Loti’s mother said, rushing through the crowd and embracing her, hugging her tight.
Darius hung back, unsure what to do.
“What happened to you?” her mother demanded. “I thought the Empire took you away. How did you get free?”
The villagers all fell grave, silent, as all eyes turned to Darius. He stood there, not knowing what to say. This should be a moment, he felt, of great joy and celebration for what he did, a moment for him to take great pride, for him to be welcomed home as a hero. After all, he alone, of all of them, had had the courage to go after Loti.
Instead, it was a moment of confusion for him. And perhaps even shame. Loti gave him a meaningful look, as it to warn him not to reveal their secret.
“Nothing happened, Mother,” Loti said. “The Empire changed their mind. They let me go.”
“Let you go?” she echoed, flabbergasted.
Loti nodded.
“They let me go far from here. I was lost in the woods, and Darius found me. He led me back.”
The villager, silent, all looked skeptically back and forth between Darius and Loti. Darius sensed they did not believe them.
“And what is that mark on your face?” her father asked, stepping forward, rubbing his thumb on her cheek, turning her head to examine it.
Darius looked over and saw a large black and blue welt.
Loti looked up at her father, unsure.
“I…tripped,” she said. “On a root. As I said, I am fine,” she insisted, defiant.
All eyes turned to Darius, and Bokbu, the village chief, stepped forward.
“Darius, is this true?” he asked, his voice somber. “You brought her back peacefully? You had no encounter with the Empire?”
Darius stood there, his heart pounding, hundreds of eye staring at him. He knew if he told them of their encounter, told them what he had done, they would all fear the reprisal to come. And he would have no way to explain how he killed them all without speaking of his magic. He would be an outcast, and so would Loti—and he did not want to strike panic in all of the people’s hearts.
Darius did not want to lie. But he did not know what else to do.
So instead, Darius merely nodded back to the elders, without speaking. Let them interpret that as they would, he thought.
Slowly, the people, relieved, all turned and looked to Loti. Finally, one of her brothers stepped forward and draped an arm around her.
“She’s safe!” he called out, breaking the tension. “That’s all that matters!”
There came a great shout in the village, as the tension broke, and Loti was embraced by her family and all the others.
Darius stood there and watched, receiving a few halfhearted pats of approval on his back, as Loti turned alone with her family, and was ushered off into the village. He watched her go, waiting, hoping she would turn around to look at him, just once.
But his heart dried up within him as he watched her disappear, folded into the crowd, and never turning back.
CHAPTER NINE
Volusia stood proudly atop her golden carriage, mounted atop her golden vessel gleaming in the sun, as she drifted her way slowly down the waterways of Volusia, her arms outstretched, taking in the adulation of her people. Thousands of them came out, rushed to the edge of the waterways, lined the streets and alleys, and shouted her name from all directions.
As she drifted down the narrow waterways that wound their way through the city, Volusia could almost reach out and touch her people, all hailing her name, crying and screaming in adulation as they threw torn-up shreds of scrolls of all different colors, sparkling in the light as they rained down on her. It was the greatest sign of respect their people could offer. It was their way of welcoming a returning hero.
“Long live Volusia! Long live Volusia!” came the chant, echoed down one alleyway after the next as she passed through the masses, the waterways taking her straight through her magnificent city, its streets and buildings all lined with gold.
Volusia leaned back and took it all in, thrilled that she had defeated Romulus, had slaughtered the Supreme Ruler of the Empire, and had murdered his contingent of soldiers. Her people were one with her, and they felt emboldened when she felt emboldened, and she had never felt stronger in her life—not since the day she’d murdered her mother.
Volusia looked up at her magnificent city, at the two towering pillars leading into it, shining gold and green in the sun; she took in the endless array of ancient buildings erected in her ancestors’ time, hundreds of years old, well worn. The shining, immaculate streets were bustling with thousands of people, guards on every corner, the precise waterways cut through them in perfect angles, connecting everything. There were small footbridges on which could be seen horses clomping, bearing golden carriages, people dressed in their finest silks and jewels. The entire city had declared a holiday, and all had come out to greet her, all calling her name on this holy day. She was more than a leader to them—she was a goddess.
It was even more auspicious that this day should coincide with a festival, the Day of Lights, the day in which they bowed to the seven gods of the sun. Volusia, as leader of the city, was always the one to initiate the festivities, and as she sailed through, the two immense golden torches burned brightly behind her, brighter than the day, ready to light the Grand Fountain.
All the people followed her, hurrying along the streets, chasing after her boat; she knew they would accompany her all the way, until she reached the center of the six circles of the city, where she would disembark and set fire to the fountains that would mark the day’s holiday and sacrifices. It was a glorious day for her city and her people, a day to praise the fourteen gods, the ones that were rumored to circle her city, to guard the fourteen entrances against all unwanted invaders. Her people prayed to all of them, and today, as on all days, thanks was due.
This year, her people would be in for a surprise: Volusia had added a fifteenth god, the first time in centuries, since the found of the city, that a god had been added. And that god was herself. Volusia had erected a towering golden statue of herself in the center of the seven circles, and she had declared this day her name day, her holiday. As it was unveiled, all her people would see it for the first time, would see that she, Volusia, was more than her mother, more than a leader, more than a mere human. She was a goddess, who deserved to be worshipped every day. They would pray and bow down to her along with all the others—they would do it, or she would have their blood.
Volusia smiled to herself as her boat drifted ever closer to the c
ity center. She could hardly wait to see their expressions, to have them all worship her just as the other fourteen gods. They did not know it yet, but one day, she would destroy the other gods, one by one, until all that was left was her.
Volusia, excited, checked back over her shoulder and she saw behind her an endless array of vessels following, all carrying live bulls and goats and rams, shifting and noisy in the sun, all in preparation of the day’s sacrifice to the gods. She would slaughter the biggest and best one before her own statue.
Volusia’s boat finally reached the open waterway to the seven golden circles, each one wider than the next, wide golden plazas that were separated by rings of water. Her boat made its way slowly through the circles, ever closer towards the center, passing each of the fourteen gods, and her heart pounded in excitement. Each god towered over them as they went, each statue gleaming gold, twenty feet high. In the very center of all this, in the plaza that had always been kept empty for sacrifice and congregation, there now stood a newly constructed golden pedestal, atop of which was a fifty-foot structure covered in a white silk cloth. Volusia smiled: she alone of all her people knew what lay beneath that cloth.
Volusia disembarked, her servants rushing forward to help her down, as they reached the innermost plaza. She watched as another vessel was brought forward, and the largest bull she had ever seen was taken off and led right to her by a dozen men. Each held a thick rope, leading the beast carefully. This bull was special, procured in the Lower Provinces: fifteen feet high, with bright red skin, it was a beacon of strength. It was also filled with fury. It resisted, but the men held it in place as they led it before her statue.
Volusia heard a sword being drawn, and she turned and saw Aksan, her personal assassin, standing beside her, holding out the ceremonial sword. Aksan was the most loyal man she’d ever met, willing to kill anyone she asked him with just so much as a nod of her head. He was also sadistic, which was why she liked him, and he had earned her respect many times. He was one of the few people she allowed to stay close to her side.