by Morgan Rice
The inside of this shack was even smaller than the outside. It was a one room home, and as they walked in, the boy’s parents stood a few feet away, and turned and faced them, alarmed. The mother had been engaged in knitting, the father in tanning a hide, and they both stopped what they were doing, stood upright, and stared at the intruders, then looked down to their boy with concern.
Godfrey finally released the boy, who ran to his mother’s side, hugging her tight around the waist.
“Blaine!” she said to the boy, worried, hugging him. “Are you okay?”
“Who are you?” the father demanded, angry, taking a step towards them. “What right do you have to charge into our home? And what have you done to our boy?”
“I did nothing to your boy,” Godfrey answered. “I only brought him back home, because I want answers.”
“Answers?” the father demanded, angrier, confused, walking towards him threateningly. He was an older man, with a large nose, covered in warts, and strong face-and he did not look pleased.
“Your other son poisoned me last night,” Godfrey stated.
The father stopped in his tracks, as the mother burst out weeping.
“You speak of Clayforth,” the father said. He looked down sadly, and slowly shook his head.
“They chased me home all the way from the grave mama,” the boy said.
“I believe that Blaine knows something about my attempted murder,” Godfrey said to the mother.
She looked at him with alarm, protective of her son.
“And what makes you say that? You know nothing of our son.”
“He ran from us at the grave. He is hiding something. I want to know what it is. I don’t want to hurt your boy. I just want to know why his brother poisoned me, and who was behind it.”
“My boy knows nothing of such devious plots,” his father snapped. “Clayforth was trouble, I admit. But not Blaine. He would never sink to business like that.”
“But his brother would?” Godfrey asked.
The father shrugged.
“He’s dead now. He has paid for his sins. It is what it is.”
“It is NOT what it is,” Godfrey corrected, his own voice rising. “I was almost killed last night. Do you understand? I am the son of a King. Do you know the sentence for attempted murder on royalty? Clayforth is dead, but that does not make amends. Blaine knows something. That makes him an accessory to the crime. By King’s Law, he can be punished. Now you will tell me what you know, or I will bring the Royal Guard here!”
Godfrey stood there, red-faced, breathing hard, more worked up than he had been in a long time. He had had enough, and he wanted answers.
The father looked alarmed for the first time, and he turned and looked at his son, now unsure. Blaine clung to his mother’s waist.
“Blaine,” his father said to him, “is there something you know that you are not telling us?”
Blaine looked from his father to his mother, shaking his head nervously.
Godfrey sighed, thinking what to do. He finally reached into his pocket, pulled out a sack of gold, and threw it on the floor before them. Tons of gold coins spilled out over the floor of the small house, and the mother and father both gasped at the sight.
“King’s Gold,” Godfrey said. “The finest. Go ahead, count it. It’s enough for you to live the rest of your lives and never have to work again. I don’t want anything in return. It is yours to keep. All I want is the truth. All I want is for your son to tell me what he saw. I know that he knows something. I just want to know what it is. I will protect him. I promise.”
The mother stroked her boy’s hair, squatted down, and kissed him on the forehead.
“Blaine, if you didn’t see anything, don’t be afraid. We don’t need this gold.”
But the father marched over sternly and grabbed Blaine by the chin.
“Blaine, these men believe you know something. That money can change our family’s life forever. If you have something to say, say it. Remember, I have taught you to always speak the truth. Do not be like your bother. Go on now. Be a man. You’ve nothing to fear.”
Blaine swallowed nervously, then finally looked up at Godfrey.
“I was with Clayforth the other night,” Blaine said. “A man we had never seen before came up to him. He knew that Clayforth was a runner, for the den, and he asked him if he would put poison in a man’s drink. At first my brother said no. But then he showed him gold-more gold than even you have here. He still said no. But he kept showing him more and more gold. And then he gave in.”
Blaine took a deep breath.
“You must understand,” he added, “my brother had never done anything like that before. But the money-it was too much for him to turn down. He said it would change our lives forever and that we’d never have to come back to this part of town. He wanted to buy mamma and papa a new house somewhere clean and safe.”
“Did you see this man’s face?” Godfrey asked.
The boy nodded, slowly.
“He was a tall man. Taller than any man I’d ever seen. And he was missing a tooth.”
“On the right side?” Godfrey asked.
The boy nodded, his eyes opened wide. “How did you know?”
Godfrey knew, all too well. It was Afget, Gareth’s new attack dog. There was no one else who fit that description. And now he had a witness. He had a witness that proved that Gareth’s man attempted assassination on him, the King’s son. It was grounds to have him deposed. It was the proof they needed.
“I need your son to be a witness,” Godfrey said to his father. “What he witnessed is of importance not just to me, but to the kingdom itself, to all of King’s court. To the entire Ring. I need him to testify. It will make amends for his brother trying to take my life. None of you will be in danger. You will all be protected, I guarantee it. You can keep all this gold and more.”
A thick silence hung over the room, as they all turned to the boy.
“Blaine, it is your choice,” the father said.
Blaine looked Godfrey up and down, then looked at his parents.
“Do you promise my parents will be safe?” Blaine asked Godfrey. “And that they can keep all the gold?”
Godfrey smiled.
“All of this and more,” he reassured. “And yes, you have my word. You will all be safer than you’ve ever been.”
Finally, Blaine shrugged.
“Then I don’t see why not. After all, like you said, papa, it never hurts to tell the truth.”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Thor galloped back across the desert, getting farther which each step from his hometown, from memories of his encounter with his father-or, rather, the man who had raised him. It had been a life-changing trip, both dreadful and inspiring. The encounter had been painful, yet it had also finally given him the clarity he had always sought. His entire life he had suspected that he was different from his father, from his brothers, from his village; that he didn’t belong there; that some great secret about his past was being hidden from him; that he was destined for something, some place, greater.
Now, finally, after hearing everything his father had to say-that he was not really his father, that those were not really his brothers-that his mother was alive-that he was truly different-it all made perfect sense. Despite the troubling confrontation, he finally felt a sense of ease, deeper than he’d ever felt in his life. He was finally beginning to peel back the layers of the mystery of his true identity, to understand more of who he was.
Thor kept turning over in his mind all the things his father said. He was overjoyed to know that his mother was alive, that she cared for him; he could feel her necklace against his bare throat even as he rode, and the feeling comforted him, made him feel as if his mother were right there with him. He could feel an intense energy radiating off of it, and it filled his whole being. She really cared for him. He could sense that. And she wanted to see him. That meant more to him than anything. He was more determined than ever to find he
r.
But then he couldn’t help wonder: if she cared so much for him, why had she given him away to begin with? And why to that man who raised him, and why in that village?
Another question perplexed him even more: who, then, was his real father? The mystery baffled him. Now, not only did he not know who his mother was, but he did not know who his real father was, either. It could be anyone. Was he a Druid, too? Did he live in the Ring? And why had his father abandoned him, too?
Thor felt the ring his mother had given him sitting snug in his inner shirt pocket, and his mind turned to thoughts of Gwendolyn. More than ever, he knew she was the one. He sensed that this ring had come into his life now for a reason, that he was meant to give it to her. He couldn’t wait to return and ask her to be his-and if she said yes, to place it on her finger. It was the most beautiful ring he had ever seen, and the idea of her accepting it thrilled him.
Thor kicked his horse, eager to return to his Legion brothers as the second sun fell in the sky. He wanted to finish the rebuilding and get back to King’s Court and see Gwen, see Krohn again. He wanted to return to the House of Scholars, to study the map more deeply, and to figure out how he might journey to the Land of the Druids. He had to see his mother. And he had to know who his father was.
Thor felt a sense of sadness as he thought of the man who had raised him. Growing up he had thought the world of him-but the man was nothing to him now. It took so many years for Thor to reach this day, to finally get clarity. He was also, at the same time, beginning to feel a new sense of self-worth. Since this man was not his father, what he thought or how he felt about Thor didn’t really matter. He was just a stranger. Thor now felt free to come to his own conclusions about how he felt about himself. At the same time, he could seek out his true father-and that man, Thor hoped, might be a great man, which would make Thor feel an even greater sense of pride in himself. And that man might actually love him for who he is, might be proud of all he had accomplished.
As Thor raced across the wasteland, nearing the village, his horse suddenly pulled hard to the left, surprising him. Thor tried to pull him back on course, but he refused to listen. He brought Thor off course, and as they rounded a small hill, Thor discovered a gurgling stream, cutting through the wasteland, its glowing blue waters contrasting with the yellow desert floor. The horse ran right up to the stream and Thor had no choice but to dismount as it lowered its head to drink.
He must have been thirsty, Thor realized. Yet still, it was strange behavior-his horse was usually obedient. Thor was beginning to wonder if the horse led him to this spot for a reason, when suddenly he heard a voice:
“Sometimes the truth is a heavy thing to bear.”
Thor knew the voice, and he turned slowly, overcome with relief to see Argon standing there, in his robes, holding his staff, his eyes shining right at him. He almost looked like an apparition against the desolate wasteland.
“That man was not my father,” Thor said. “You knew all this time. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Argon shook his head.
“It was not for me to tell.”
“And who then is my father?”
Argon shook his head again. He remained silent.
“Can you tell me, at least, anything about him?” Thor pressed.
“He is a very great and very powerful man,” Argon said. “One worthy of you. When the time is right, you will know him.”
Thor welled with excitement to hear this. His father was a great man. That meant the world to him.
“I feel different now,” Thor said, “since discovering the news, since receiving my mother’s message. I don’t feel like the same boy I was.”
“Because you are not,” Argon said. “That boy is far behind. You are a man now. There is no turning back. Training can transform you-but so can knowledge. You’re not the Thor you used to be. Now you’re ready.”
Thor looked at him, puzzled.
“Ready for what?”
“Ready to begin your real training,” Argon said. “Not your play with swords and sticks and shields-but the training that matters most. Your inner training.
“Close your eyes,” Argon said, raising a palm and his staff, “and tell me what you see.”
Thor realized now why his horse had led him here. It was not to drink. It was to bring him to Argon, to this unlikely training ground, in the middle of nowhere. Thor would never understand Argon’s ways. He seemed to appear at the most unlikely times, and in the most unlikely places.
Thor closed his eyes and breathed deep, trying to center himself, to prepare himself for whatever Argon would throw at him.
“Look into the core of the Ring,” Argon commanded. “See all times-past, present and future. What do you see?”
Thor closed his eyes, struggling. Slowly, something was coming to him.
“I see that they are one,” Thor said. “I see no division between the past or the future. Time-it is like a flowing river.”
“Good,” Argon said. “Very good. You are correct. There is no division in time, except for within ourselves. Like a river, it never ends. Follow this river. What do you see?”
Thor struggled to see, feeling a new sense of peace overcome him. This place he stood in felt charged, sacred, and wearing his mother’s necklace, he began to feel a stronger energy within him than ever before. Images flashed within him. He began to see visions of the Ring, with more clarity than he’d ever had. It was like it was real. It was no longer fuzzy, as it used to be.
Thor focused and saw a great tide of humanity, an endless number of cities; he looked down on them, as if flying overhead. He watched seasons change beneath him, saw time pass, from decade to decade, century to century. He saw all the people divided. Then he saw all the people as one.
“Good,” Argon said. “I sense that you can feel it. The force stream. Now, control the river. Look to the future. Tell me what you see.”
Thor closed his eyes, struggling-but nothing came to him. Then he recalled Argon’s past lessons, and forced himself to stop struggling. He breathed deep, and tried to allow it to come to him instead.
Thor began to see crystal-clear visions of the future. He flinched inside, was horrified as he watched King’s Court overrun. He watched invaders destroy it, raze it, burn it down to the ground. In place of the great city, there was just a mound of ashes.
Thor heard the screams, watched thousands of people fleeing; he saw thousands butchered, thousands more imprisoned, taken as slaves. He watched as a wasteland spread and engulfed the once-bucolic hills of the Ring. He watched fruit fall from trees, saw women taken away. He saw great armies invading, covering every corner of the Ring. And he watched the sky blacken.
“I see a time of great darkness,” Thor said.
“Yes,” Argon said.
As Thor closed his eyes, he watched a blood-red moon rise over a desolate wasteland. It was night, and he saw a single fire burning in the blackness of the Ring.
“I see a fire,” Thor said. “Burning in the wasteland.”
“That fire is the source of hope,” Argon said. “It is what will rise from the ashes.”
Thor squinted and saw more.
“I see a sword,” Thor said. “A gleaming sword. It shines in the sun. I see a hundred men being killed one swipe.”
“The Destiny Sword,” Argon said.
Thor flinched as he watched dragons fly down from the sky, breathing flames onto what was left of the Ring.
“I see a host of dragons,” Thor said, voice shaking. “They attack as one.”
Thor had to open his eyes-he could stand it no more. The visions were too horrific.
He saw Argon staring back.
“You are powerful,” Argon said. “You have seen much. The power within you is strong. Stronger than I thought.”
“But tell me what it all means,” Thor pleaded, upset. “Is it all true? Will the Ring be destroyed? What will become of King’s Court? Of the Legion? Of Gwendolyn?”
Arg
on shook his head sadly.
“You can’t control the future,” Argon said. “But you can prepare. You must prepare.”
“How?”
“You must become stronger. The Ring needs you. You must develop the powers within yourself. You must claim for yourself the power source of your mother, a great Druid, of your father, a great warrior. It all lies within you. Only you are stopping it from shining through. You must accept it. Unleash it. Claim it as your own.”
“But how?” Thor pleaded.
“Stop resisting it. Stop fearing who you are.”
Argon turned.
“That stream,” he said. “Close your eyes. Hear its gurgling. Really hear it.”
Thor closed his eyes and tried to focus. He heard the delicate sound of water running over rocks.
“Can you feel it?” Argon asked. “Can you feel its current?”
Thor listened to the tranquil sound of the stream, and he felt it moving, felt its current.
“Good,” Argon said. “You and the water are one. Now stop the water. Change its course. Turn it upstream.”
Thor focused on the current of the water, which he felt flowing as if it were flowing through his own body.
Then, slowly, Thor reached out a palm and directed it towards the water. He could feel the stream’s energy source, tickling the center of his palm. Slowly, he willed the current to change directions.
Thor felt a great strength within him, felt the resistance of the water, weighing on his palm, felt himself struggling, as if lifting a physical object. He opened his eyes and was amazed to see that he was stopping the flow of the stream. He was creating a small wall of water, like a dam, freestanding in the midst of the stream, revealing the dry bed underneath it.
“Good,” Argon said. “Very good. Now let it go.”
Thor pulled back his palm, and the water crashed back down and continued its flow.
“You have mastered a small slice of nature,” Argon said. “But nature is not confined to the ground. Nature is all around us. Water flows in a stream-but it also flows in the sky. Feel the clouds above you. Feel how thick they are, how wet with moisture. Can you feel it?”