by Morgan Rice
Were there really lepers here? Thor wondered. Or was it all a myth?
Thor hiked and hiked, finally cresting a hill, and as he did, he looked down and saw a new landscape, and all of his questions were answered before him. There, sitting in a small valley, nestled amidst the hills and large trees, with a small river running by it, was a low, circular building made of all-white stone, looking ancient, as if it were one with the landscape. It was only perhaps a hundred yards in diameter, with a flat white roof, and no windows that he could see. It had but one door.
On the white landscape that surrounded it, Thor saw signs of life: there were cauldrons hanging over small bonfires, chickens wandering, signs of people living here—people who had no fear of leaving their livestock and food and cooking out in the open, who had no reason to be guarded. People who did not expect any visitors. Ever.
Thor took a deep breath and steeled himself as he marched down the hill, toward the building, not knowing what to expect. He had a strong feeling rising up within him, an inner voice telling him that his child was inside. How, he wondered, was that possible? How could Guwayne have gotten inside? Had someone abducted him?
Thor knew that, with each step he took, he was getting closer to his death sentence. He knew leprosy was an awful affliction and that he would certainly catch it; it would stay with him the rest of his life, turning his skin white, and eventually result in an early and weakened death. He would become an outcast, a person no one wanted to be near.
Yet he did not care. His son was all that mattered to him now. More than his own life.
Thor reached the door and hesitated before it. Finally, he passed the point of no return—he reached out and grabbed the handle, the same handle that all the lepers touched, an all-white skull and crossbones, and he turned it. He knew as he touched it that there was no turning back.
Thor stepped inside and immediately sensed a heavy feeling in the air: it felt of death. It was solemn in here, quiet. His eyes adjusted to the one long, dim room, yet it was not nearly as dim as he had expected. On the far wall were a series of arched, open-air windows lining the wall, letting in the refracted sunlight and ocean breezes, white drapes billowing in the wind.
Thor stopped and looked at the sight before him, his heart pounding, taking it all in, peering through the haze for any sign of his child. He saw a series of straw beds, each ten feet apart, lining the walls. On each bed lay a leper, their skin all white, some with bandages around their faces, some on other parts of their bodies. Most lay there, quiet and still, perhaps two dozen of them. Thor marveled that so many people could coexist in one room and not make any sound at all.
As he entered, they all suddenly turned and looked his way, and he could see the surprise in their faces. Clearly, they had never had a visitor before.
“I’m looking for my child,” Thorgrin called out, as they all stared back. “Guwayne. An infant boy. I believe he is here.”
They all looked at him silently, none of them moving, none of them saying a word. Thor wondered when the last time was any of them had even spoken to an outsider. He realized that this life of seclusion, of being outcasts, had probably worn away at their psyches.
Realizing after a long silence that no one was going to respond, Thor began slowly walking down the aisle between the beds. He checked their faces as he went, and they lay where they were and stared back with sad faces, faces that had lost hope long ago, and observed him in wonder.
Thor looked everywhere for signs of Guwayne, any evidence at all that a child had been here—yet he could find none. He did not hear a baby’s cry; nor did he see any signs of a bed that could hold a baby.
Yet as Thor reached the final bed, a sensation arose within him, a burning feeling, and his heart pounded as he suddenly felt that his child was there, behind that curtain, in that final bed. He turned to look, pulling back the curtain, expecting to see Guwayne.
Instead, he was baffled to see a child lying there, staring back at him. She looked to be perhaps ten. She looked as surprise to see him as he was to see her. She had large, crystal blue eyes, the color of the sea, mesmerizing, eyes filled with love, with hope—with life. She had long blonde hair, beautiful, wild, looking as though if it had never been washed. The skin on her face was remarkably clear, free from any blemish, and Thor wondered if she was in the wrong place. She did not appear to have any sign of the disease.
Then Thor looked down and saw her right arm and shoulder, bright white, the skin eaten up by the disease.
She immediately sat up in bed, alert, filled with life and energy, unlike all the others. She appeared to be the only one of the bunch that had not been broken by this place.
Thor was perplexed. He had sensed his child was behind this curtain—and yet she was the only one here. Guwayne was nowhere to be found.
“Who are you?” the girl asked, her voice inquisitive, full of life and intelligence. “Why have you come here? Have you come to visit me? Are you my father? Do you know where my mother is? Do you know anything about my family? Why they have left me here? Where is my home? I want to go home. I hate this place. Please. Don’t leave me here. I don’t want to stay here anymore. Whoever you are, please, please, please take me with you.”
Before Thor could respond, still trying to process it all, she suddenly jumped up from the bed and threw her arms around his legs, holding him tight.
Thor looked down at her in surprise, not knowing how to react. She knelt there, crying, clutching him, and his heart broke.
He reached down and gently laid his hand upon her hair.
She sobbed.
“Please,” she said, between cries, “please don’t go. Please don’t leave me here. Please. I’ll give you anything. I can’t stay here another minute. I will die here!”
Thor stroked her hair, trying to console her as she wept.
“Shhh,” he said, trying to calm her, but she would not stop crying.
“I’m so sorry,” he finally said. “But I came here looking for my son. A baby. Have you seen him?”
She shook her head, clutching harder.
“There is no baby here. I would know it. There is no baby anywhere on this island.”
Thor’s stomach dropped as the words sunk in. Guwayne was not here. He had somehow been misled. For the first time in his life, his senses had led him astray.
And yet, why had he sensed his child in that bed, right before he drew the curtain? Who was this girl?
“I pray to God every night for someone to come and rescue me,” she said between tears, her voice muffled against his leg. “To take me away from this place. I prayed for someone exactly like you. And then you arrived. Please. You can’t abandon me here. You can’t!”
She hugged his legs, shaking, and Thor tried to process it all. He had not expected this, but as she clutched him, he could feel her distress, and his heart broke for her. After all, she had not asked for this affliction, and clearly, her parents had abandoned her here in this place. The thought of it angered him. What sort of parents would abandon their child, regardless of the affliction? Here he was, willing to cross the world, to enter hell, to take on any affliction for himself to find his own child.
It also tore him up because he, too, he realized, had been abandoned by his own parents. He hated things being abandoned. It struck deep into his heart.
“You don’t want to come with me, child,” Thorgrin said. “When I leave this place, I will be going on a dangerous quest. I don’t know even where exactly I am going, but it won’t be safe. I will be facing hostile enemies, foreign lands, heading into battle. I won’t be able to do that and protect you. Your chances of living are greater here. Here, at least, you will be safe and cared for.”
But she shook her head insistently, tears flowing from her eyes.
“This isn’t living,” she said. “Here there is no life. Only waiting for death. I would rather die while trying to live than live while waiting to die.”
Thor looked into her eyes as she
looked up, her crystal eyes glistening, and he could see the warrior spirit within her, shining back at him. He was overcome by her fierce will to live, to really live. To overcome her circumstance. He admired her spirit. It was a fighting spirit. He could see that she would be deterred by nothing. And it was a spirit that, try as he might, he just could not turn away from.
He knew he could make no other decision; his warrior’s spirit would not allow it.
“Okay,” he said to her.
She suddenly stopped crying, froze, and looked up at him, eyes wide in shock.
“Really?” she asked, dumbfounded.
Thor nodded, and he knelt down, looking her right in the eye.
“I will not leave you here,” he said. “I cannot. Pack your things. We shall leave together.”
She looked at him, her eyes filled with hope and joy, a joy greater than he had ever seen in anyone, a joy that made all of it, any risks he was taking, worth it. She leapt forward into his arms, wrapping her arms around him, hugging him so tight he could barely breathe.
“Thank you,” she said, crying, weeping. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Thor hugged her back, and as he did, it felt like the right thing to do. It felt good to be able to hold and protect and nurture a child, even if it was not Guwayne. He knew that to hold her was infecting him, even now, and yet he knew he could make no other choice. After all, what was the purpose of life, if not to help those in need?
Thor turned to go, and she suddenly stopped and turned around and ran back to her bed, grabbing something before returning to him and taking his hand. He looked down to see her clutching a small white doll, a crude one, made from the sticks and leaves of the island, and wrapped with a piece of bandage.
She grabbed his hand and yanked him and led him quickly out of the place, to the amazed eyes of all the others lying there listlessly, watching them go.
They walked outside, exiting the building, and Thor was momentarily blinded by the glare. He held up one hand, and as his eyes adjusted, he was shocked by the sight before him.
Standing before him were all his brothers—Reece and Selese, Elden and Indra, O’Connor, Matus—all of them standing outside the building, waiting for him patiently, all dressed in their new armor, bearing their new weaponry. They had come after all. They had crossed the island, had risked their lives, for him.
Thor was touched beyond words, realizing what they had sacrificed for him.
“We took an oath,” Reece said. “That first day we met, back in the Legion. All of us. It was a sacred oath. An oath of brothers. An oath stronger than family. It was an oath to watch each other’s backs—wherever we should go.”
“Wherever we should go,” all the others repeated, as one.
Thor looked back at them all, each one, face to face, and his eyes welled up as he realized that these were his true brothers, blood thicker than family.
“We couldn’t leave you,” Matus said. “Not even for a place like this.”
The girl stepped forward, looking up at them curiously, and all eyes turned to her, then questioningly to Thor.
“We have a new companion,” Thorgrin said to them. “I would like you to meet…”
Thor, puzzled, realized he didn’t know her name. He turned to her.
“What is your name?” he asked her.
“Here, we never knew our parents,” she said. “We were all given up at birth. None of us know our names. Our real names. So we name each other. Here, they all call me Angel.”
Thor nodded.
“Angel,” he repeated. “That is a beautiful name. And you are indeed as pure as snow.”
Thor turned to all of his brothers and sisters.
“Guwayne is not here,” he announced. “But Angel will be joining us. I am taking her from this place.”
They all looked at him, and he could see the uncertainty flashing through their eyes, could see what they were all thinking: to bring her would infect them all.
Yet, to their credit, not one of them objected. All of them, Thor could see, were willing to risk their lives for her.
“Angel,” Selese said sweetly, smiling, stepping forward, addressing her. “That is a very fine name, for a very sweet girl.”
She stroked her hair, and Angel smiled back broadly.
“No one’s ever touched my hair before,” Angel said back.
Selese smiled wide.
“Then you shall have to get used to it.”
Thor stood there, wondering what this all meant. He had been certain Guwayne was here. He recalled his dream: Your child awaits on the island. He looked at Angel, smiling back at Selese so sweetly, so filled with life, with joy, and he wondered: is she my child? Maybe she was. Not in the literal sense of the word—but maybe he was meant to raise her, as his own. An adopted child?
Thor did not understand, yet he did know it was time to move on. Guwayne was still out there, and he had no time to lose.
As one, they all began to walk—Thor, Reece, Selese, Elden, Indra, Matus, O’Connor, and now Angel, holding Selese’s hand—an unlikely group, yet somehow all fitting perfectly together. Thor did not where this could lead, and yet he knew that somehow, this all felt right.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Erec stood at the bow of the ship, hands on his hips, studying the sight before him in awe. There, rising up from the seas, were two ancient rock formations—the Dragon’s Spine—serrated rocks that rose in a jagged formation, a hundred feet high, with rocky shores sprawled alongside them, forcing all ships to travel between them. Erec looked up at it looming before them as they sailed closer and closer, mouth agape at their immensity. He’d never seen anything quite like it. Two sets of red cliffs, rocks sharp, shaped to points, in rows, like the curved spine of a dragon. The currents raged, getting stronger with each moment, and they sucked the ship toward the center, like an angry beast sucking prey for its open mouth.
Making matters worse, the waves and tides were vicious here, growing ever more intense the closer they got, the winds stronger, the clouds darker. In the middle of the Spine, Erec could see, the waves rolled a good thirty feet high, then crashed down against the jagged rocks on either side, the entire channel between the spines like a violent whirlpool in a bathtub. It seemed like a sure death.
The Dragon’s Spine lived up to its reputation; indeed, as they neared it, their ship bobbing wildly, Erec could begin to see the remains of dozens of other ships, washed up on its rocks, pieces of them still clinging to boulders as if clinging to life, a vestige of what once was. Those pieces, Erec knew, represented countless sailors’ deaths. Even now, in death, waves crashed mercilessly against them, pounding the fragments to ever smaller pieces. It was a fierce testament to all the ships that had tried foolishly to broach the Spine.
Erec gripped the rail, his stomach dropping as their ship suddenly dropped twenty feet in a wave, and clung to Alistair’s waist on his other side, to make sure she was okay. On his other side stood Strom, his face wet from the spray, slipping on the deck but hanging onto the rail.
“Did I not tell you to go below?” Erec pleaded with Alistair again, yelling over the wind to be heard.
Alistair shook her head, gripping the rail.
“I go where you go,” she replied.
Erec looked back and saw his fleet behind him, and looked over and saw Krov’s all-black ships sailing alongside him, flying the black flag of the Bouldermen. He spotted Krov, hands on his hips, standing at the bow, looking over at him, clearly unhappy. Krov, though, somehow managed to stand with steady legs, balancing on his boat even with the waves crashing all around him, looking unfazed, as if it were just another sunny day at sea.
He shook his head at Erec.
“You couldn’t go around, could you?” he yelled out, annoyed.
Erec turned and looked straight ahead at the looming waves and rocks. He turned back and saw many of his men going below the decks.
He turned again to Alistair.
“Get do
wn below,” he said. “I beg you.”
She shook her head.
“I shall not,” she insisted. “Not for anything.”
Erec turned and looked at Strom, who shrugged back as if to say: I can’t control her.
“She is a wife fit for a King,” Strom said. “What do you expect?”
A towering wave suddenly crashed over the deck, knocking them all back off their feet, sliding across it. Erec, his nose filling with salt water, was momentarily blinded, as the bow went entirely underwater, submerged.
Just as quickly the boat straightened, and they stopped sliding, each of them banging their backs into the rail.
“All the ships single file behind us!” Erec commanded, rushing to his feet. “NOW!”
Several of his soldiers rushed to do his bidding, shouting the orders up and down the ranks. Erec heard a horn sounding, and he looked back to see his fleet gathering single file. Erec knew this was their only chance of all making it, of threading the needle of the Dragon’s Spine comfortably.
“STEER FOR THE MIDDLE!” Erec yelled. “Stay as far from the rocks as possible! The current’s pulling left, so steer compensate right. Lower the sails, and get ready to drop anchors if need be!”
Men rushed about in every direction executing his commands, and Erec had barely finished giving the orders when he turned and looked up. He braced himself as he saw another immense wave crashing down.
Erec grabbed Alistair’s wrist, hanging on to her as their boat was thrown left and right, rocking as well as plummeting. Alistair reached out and grabbed a thick rope, and as Erec slipped, it was she who held onto him, wrapping the rope around his wrist just before he fell overboard and another wave subsumed them. Because of that rope, he remained on board, in her grip.
They straightened and Erec, so grateful to Alistair, looked all about. They were now in the midst of the Spine, right between the two huge rocks, and their boat was being jerked in every direction. It veered suddenly as a strong current took it and almost smashed into a sharp rock on their left. At the last second, the current jerked the other way and somehow, by the grace of God, pulled them back away from disaster. But not unscathed: as they grazed the jagged shoreline, Erec heard a cracking noise that put a pit in his stomach and he looked over to watch half the rail of his ship taken out, swiped by the rocks. He swallowed hard, realizing what a close call it was, how they had been spared from far worse damage.