by Morgan Rice
Nearby on the desert floor, slept Steffen and Arliss, Kendrick and Sandara, Illepra and the baby—everyone, it seemed, had someone to lie with but her. At moments like this she missed Thor more than anything, would give her life to be able to hold Guwayne. But everything good in the world, she felt, had been stripped away from her.
Gwen opened her eyes, wiping the red dust caked to her eyelids, yet she hadn’t really slept. She’d lay awake all night, as she had most nights here in the Waste, tossing and turning with worry for her people, worry for Thorgrin, for Guwayne. She blinked back tears, wiping them away quickly so no one would see them, even though most of her people were asleep. It was at moments like these, in the stillness of dawn, that she allowed herself to cry, to mourn for everything that she had lost, for the bleak future that seemed to lie ahead. Out of sight of the others, she could allow herself to reflect on all that she had and to feel sorry for herself.
Yet Gwen only allowed it for a moment; she quickly wiped it away and sat up, knowing that self-pity was only harmful and would not change anything. She had to be strong; if not for herself, than for others.
Gwen looked about, at all her hundreds of people sprawled out around her, among them Kendrick, Steffen, Brandt and Atme carrying Argon, Illepra carrying her baby, Aberthol, Stara, and dozens of Silver, and she wondered how many days they had been out here. She had lost track of time. She had been warned that the Great Waste had a way of doing that to you.
It had been one endless march, trekking deeper and deeper into a desert with no landmarks in sight. It had been a cruel monotony. Her provisions were running even lower, if possible, and her people were getting weaker, sicker by the moment—and even more disgruntled. Just the day before—or was it two days? Gwen could not remember anymore—they lost their first victim, an older man who had simply stopped walking and collapsed at his feet. They had all tried to rouse him, but he lay there, already dead. Nobody knew if he had died of the heat, of illness, starvation, of dehydration, of a heart attack, of an insect bite, or of some other unknown malady out here.
Gwendolyn heard a crawling noise, and she, still sitting there, looked up to see a large, black insect with an armored back, a long tail, and an even longer head, crawling up to her. It stopped, raised its front legs, and hissed.
Frozen in fear, Gwen sat perfectly still. It craned its neck, its glowing eyes fixed on her, and a long tongue slipped from its mouth. She sensed it was about to strike. She had seen one of her people die of one of these before, and it wasn’t pretty. If she were standing, she could crush it with her boots—but it had caught her here, in the early morning, sitting, vulnerable. And now she had nowhere to go.
Gwen looked around and saw the others were all asleep, and she began to sweat, thinking what awful way this would be to die. She slowly backed away, but as she did, it crawled closer and closer to her. Suddenly, she saw its armor plates rise up, and she knew it was about to launch.
There came a snarling noise, a scrambling of paws, and as the creature leapt into the air, Krohn, apparently watching and waiting the entire time, suddenly leapt forward, snarling, and caught the insect run in midair in its jaws, just inches before it reached Gwendolyn. The creature wiggled in its mouth until Krohn clamped down on it. With a high-pitched cry, it finally died, green ooze leaking from its body, falling limp in Krohn’s mouth.
Krohn dropped the limp carcass down to the ground, and Gwendolyn rushed forward and hugged him, stroking him and kissing him on the head. Krohn whined, rubbing his head against her.
“I owe you, Krohn,” she said, hugging him, so grateful for him. “I owe you my life.”
Gwen heard a baby cry, and she looked over and saw Illepra sitting up with the baby girl Gwen had rescued from the Upper Isles. Illepra looked over and smiled tiredly back to Gwendolyn.
“And I thought I was the only one awake,” Illepra said, smiling.
Gwen shook her head.
“She’s kept me up,” Illepra added, looking down at the baby. “She’s not sleeping. Poor thing—she’s so hungry. It breaks my heart.”
Gwen examined the baby, the small girl she had rescued from the Upper Isles, and she felt anguished, overwhelmed with guilt.
“I would give her my food,” Gwen said. “If I had any.”
“I know, my Queen,” Illepra said. “Yet there is still something you can give her.”
Gwen looked back, surprised.
“A name,” Illepra added.
Gwendolyn nodded, her eyes lighting up. She had thought of naming her many times, and yet each time she had been unable to settle on one.
“May I hold her?” Gwen asked.
Illepra smiled, stepped forward, and placed the baby in Gwen’s arms as Gwen stood. Gwen held her tight, rocking her. As she did, the baby finally fell quiet, looking up into Gwen’s eyes with her large beautiful blue eyes. She seemed to find a sense of peace, and Gwen, too, felt a sense of peace holding her; she almost felt as if she were holding Guwayne. They were nearly the same age.
It made her cry—and she quickly turned and wiped away her tears.
Gwen wanted so badly to name her, but as she stared into her eyes, she came up blank. Try as she did, it would not come to her.
She handed the child, sadly, back to Illepra.
“When the time is right,” Illepra said, understanding.
“One day,” Gwen said to the baby, before she let her go, “when we are done with all this, we shall have much time together. You will know my son Guwayne. You shall be raised together. You shall be inseparable.”
In Gwen’s mind, she quietly resolved to raise this child as if she were her own; yet deep down, she knew they might not even survive for that day.
Gwen wished she could give the baby food, milk, water—anything. But she had nothing left to give. All of her people were slowly wasting away, and she herself had not had a good meal in days, giving most of her rations to the baby and to Krohn. She wondered if her people would even have the energy to march through another day. She had a sinking feeling that they would not.
The sun rose higher and all her men began to scramble to their feet, her camp soon alive and awake, preparing to face another day. She led the way wordlessly, wasting no more time as the heat grew by the minute, the ragtag procession all beginning to fall back into place, to march, all heading deeper into the nothingness.
“And where to now, my lady?” called out Aslin, in a loud, taunting voice, emboldened once again, loud enough for all the others to hear. “What great destination do you have in store for today?”
Steffen, beside her, darkened and lay a hand on his sword as he turned and faced Aslin.
“You best mind your tongue,” he snapped. “It is your Queen you speak to.”
Aslin scoffed.
“She is no Queen of mine,” he spat. “Not any longer. A Queen leads a people, and she has led us nowhere but to death.”
Steffen moved to draw his sword, but Gwen reached out and laid a reassuring hand on his wrist.
“Save your effort,” she said softly to him, and he grudgingly released his grip and continued marching with her.
“Never mind them, my lady,” Kendrick said, coming up beside her. “You are a far greater Queen than they could ever hope for. A far greater Queen than they deserve.”
“I thank you,” Gwendolyn said. “But they are right. I have led them nowhere. I don’t know if Father foresaw this when he chose me to succeed him.”
“It was exactly for times like this that Father chose you,” Kendrick insisted. “There has never been a time like this, and he knew you would have the steady to hand to guide your people through. Look at how far you’ve taken us already. You have already saved us all from a sure death on the Ring. It was only because of your foresight that we escape. We are all living on borrowed time. Time we were not supposed to have. Time we only have because of you.”
Gwen loved him for his words, which as always set her at peace, and she laid an appreciative hand on his wris
t, then took it away.
They marched and marched, all of them deeper and deeper into the Great Waste, the suns creeping higher overhead, Gwen already feeling herself covered in sweat. She trembled, shaking as she went, and she no longer knew if it was from the violent change in temperature, the exhaustion, or the lack of food and water. Her mouth was so parched, it was hard to swallow; even speaking was becoming an effort.
Hour after hour passed, deeper into the Great Waste, and Gwen found herself looking down, tracing the lines in the desert floor, losing all sense of space and time. She was beginning to feel dizzy.
“UP AHEAD!” a voice suddenly cried.
Gwendolyn, yanked from her thoughts, stopped and looked up, hearing the frantic tone of the voice and knowing it must be real. As she did, she was shocked by the sight before her.
There, in the distance, something was emerging on the horizon, and at first she wondered if it were a mirage. It looked like a large mound, perhaps a hundred feet tall, with nothing else around it. It was the first object they had encountered in this endlessly empty desert.
They all picked up the pace as they walked faster and faster, encouraged, approaching the mound. They marched as one, with a renewed energy, the bickering finally stopped, Gwen’s heart pounding with excitement as they neared the structure. It rose into the sky, a dark brown color, made of a strange material Gwen could not quite understand. At first she thought it was an immense boulder, but as she got closer realized it was not. It looked as if it were made of clay.
They marched closer, till they were hardly twenty yards away.
“What do you think?” Kendrick asked, just beside her.
Gwen examined it, unsure.
“It is not a rock formation,” Aberthol chimed in. “Nor is it a structure.”
“Sandara?” Gwen asked, as she walked beside her. “This is your homeland. What is this?”
Sandara squinted, and slowly shook her head.
“I wish I knew, my lady. I’ve never been this far into the Great Waste. None of my people have. I have seen or heard nothing of this before. It is nothing I recognize.”
“Food!” one of her people yelled out.
Suddenly, there was a rush of people, all of them stampeding for the huge mound. Led by Aslin, they rushed to the mound and as they got closer, Gwen saw what they were looking at: a sap-like material oozed from it, ran down its sides, collected in a puddle at its base.
“It’s sweet!” Aslin yelled, reaching out and licking the sap with his fingers. “It tastes like honey!”
Gwen salivated at the thought, but something about this did not feel right.
“I don’t know what that mound is!” Gwen cried out, over the din. “It may not be safe! All of you, get back here! Step away until we’ve examined it closely!”
To Gwen’s surprise, though, none of her people, already convened at the mound, listened to her. Only her entourage and the Silver remained behind, obeying her.
“And why should we listen to you?” Aslin called out. “We are done listening to you and your advice!”
The crowd cheered, to Gwen’s dismay, and they continued eating, grabbing the sap hand over fist and stuffing their mouths.
“It is a mountain of honey!” another person yelled out. “We are saved!”
Gwen watched them, looking up into the sun and examining the mound, with a deep sense of foreboding.
“My lady?” Kendrick asked, turning to her. “It seems safe enough. Shall we eat?”
Gwendolyn remained where she was, a good thirty yards away, examining the mound, unsure. It all felt too good to be true. She sensed something was just not right.
Gwen began to feel a slight trembling on the desert floor beneath her feet, and began to hear a soft buzzing noise.
“Do you hear that?” she asked.
“Hear what?” Steffen asked.
“That sound…”
Suddenly, Gwen’s eyes opened wide in fear, as she realized what was happening.
“GET BACK!” she shrieked. “ALL OF YOU!” Back away from the mound NOW!”
Suddenly, before any of her people could react, the walls of the mound exploded, sending its clay everywhere, and inside it there appeared an enormous monster, bursting out of its shell.
Gwendolyn looked up, shocked to see an enormous creature, a hundred feet tall, with aqua skin, rippling muscles, and impossibly long arms. It had a face like an ox, yet with long sharp teeth, and jagged horns all up and down its jaw. Horns protruded all over it, in every direction, like a porcupine. It looked ferocious, enraged—as if awakened from a deep slumber.
It leaned back and let out a roar, and all of Gwendolyn’s people, now standing at its feet, stopped, frozen, honey dripping from their hands, all too terrified to move.
There was no time for them to react anyway. The creature suddenly swiped down with its claws, faster than Gwen imagined, and in one swipe, it killed dozens of her people. They went flying up into the air, shrieking, and fell down with a splat on the desert floor, their necks broken. It then stepped forward and stomped them to death.
“ARROWS!” Gwen commanded.
The soldiers and Silver who had remained behind with her immediately obeyed her command, stepping forward, drawing their bows and releasing their arrows, all firing for the creature’s head, Steffen and Kendrick unleashing more than the others.
Dozens of arrows pierced the creature’s face and head, and it shrieked, then reached up and tore them right out of its skin, as if they were all merely an annoyance. The monster then lunged forward, raised one arm high, made a fist, and brought it straight down like a hammer on a dozen more of Gwen’s people, the spikes on its arms impaling them on the spot.
Kendrick, Brandt, Atme, and Steffen formed a protective circle around Gwen, along with dozens of Silver, all raising their swords, bracing themselves as the creature came close.
Gwendolyn knew she had to take some dramatic action; if she didn’t do something, all of her people, she knew, would be dead within moments. She turned and looked everywhere, desperate for some solution, and she suddenly had an idea: she spotted Argon, still motionless, carried on the shoulders of healers on a stretcher, and desperate, she ran over to him.
“ARGON!” she cried out, shaking him again and again.
She was sure he would rouse, find some way to help her; he had always been there for her in times of crises.
But even he did not respond.
Gwen felt crushed, hopeless, as the beast tore through her people, killing them like ants, their screams filling her ears. This time, she was truly on her own.
“My lady!” came a frantic voice.
Gwen turned and saw Sandara standing beside her, panic in her eyes.
“I know this beast,” she said. “It has attacked my people before. It is a Mound Hatcher. There is only one way it will die: by the blood of a ruler.”
“I will do it,” Gwendolyn said, without hesitating. “I will give up my life to save my people.”
Sandara shook her head.
“You do not understand,” she said. “It does need your life. Just your blood. Give me your hand.”
Gwen reached out and opened her palm, and Sandara sliced it quickly with her dagger. Gwen cried out in pain, the cut fast and sharp, and felt the hot blood rushing from her palm.
Sandara quickly reached down and caught it in an empty vial. She then handed it to Gwen.
“It is for you to do, my lady. You must douse the beast!”
Gwendolyn grabbed the vial of blood, capping it with her thumb, and ran, rushing through all her people, avoiding the monster’s feat and spikes. The ground shook as the beast roared and stamped his foot, crushing people all around her.
“HERE!” Gwen shrieked up to it, waving her arms, trying to get its attention.
The monster finally turned and set its sight on her, lowered its head, looking her in the face as if examining her.
“Take me!” Gwendolyn yelled.
The monst
er snarled, opened its mouth wide, and came rushing down at her, as if to swallow her whole.
Gwen reached back and hurled the vial of blood with all her might; she watched with wonder as it landed inside the creature’s open mouth.
The monster stopped in midair right before it could reach her, and froze. It began to ossify, turning to stone from top to bottom, cracking as it went.
There came an explosion, and the Mound Hatcher shattered, showering down all around her, small fragments of rock and dust.
Suddenly, all was still. Gwen looked around in the chaos, the bloodshed, and saw that some of her people, at least, had survived. One more horror of this desert, at least, was behind them.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Soku, commander of Volusia’s armies, could not believe the twists and turns that fate had taken. But a moon ago, he had been in command of only a few thousand soldiers, guarding the well-fortified city of Volusia, with little for him to do. It was a steady and safe position that had not changed much ever since even the time of her mother.
How much, and how quickly, things changed. Now, since Volusia’s capture of Maltolis, her gaining of two hundred thousand soldiers, the men under his command had grown far beyond what he could have expected. Their missions had grown increasingly bold, their conquests increasingly greater. At every turn Volusia had proven him wrong, had surprised him, had shown more cunning and ruthlessness than any general he had ever known.
And yet, he also was not pleased with the current state of affairs. Volusia was too unpredictable, too reckless, too fearless; he did not know what she would do moment to moment, and he did not like to take orders from people he did not understand. She had won thus far, and yet it may have all been by chance.
Most dangerous of all, she believed too much in herself, was too drunk with her own power. At first he had thought that her claiming herself to be a goddess was merely a plot, a cunning ploy to keep power over the masses. He had admired it.