by Morgan Rice
The two guards began to walk towards Thor, when Kendrick stepped forward and extracted his sword from his scabbard. The sound of the metal resonated in the armory, and as Kendrick stood there, fierce, holding his sword drawn before him, the two guards stopped in their tracks.
“Come any closer and you will pay the price,” Kendrick threatened.
Thor could hear in his voice something deep and dark, a tone he had never heard before; the guards must have sensed it, too, because they dared not move.
“I am a member of the royal family,” Kendrick corrected. “An immediate member. You, Alton, are not. You are son to a third cousin to the king. You guards will answer to me before you do to this pretender. And Thor is my squire. He is not to be touched. Not now or ever.”
“But he broke the law!” Alton whined, bunching his fists like a baby. “A commoner cannot strike royalty!”
Kendrick smiled.
“In this case, I am very glad he did. In fact if I were there, I would have struck you myself. Whatever it is that you did, I’m sure you deserved it—and a lot more.”
Alton scowled, turning red.
“I suggest you guards leave now. Or if you prefer, come closer, and pay the price. I’m itching to use my sword, actually.”
The two guards gave each other a wary look, them both turned, re-sheathed their swords, and strutted out the armory. Only Alton was left there, standing alone, watching in frustration as the guards left.
“I would suggest you follow them quickly, before I find a good use for this blade in my hands.”
Kendrick took a step forward, and Alton suddenly turned and ran out the door.
Kendrick, smiling, re-sheathed his sword and turned to Thor.
Thor was overwhelmed with gratitude, and he felt indebted to Kendrick, once again.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Thor said.
Kendrick took a step forward and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“You already have. Just seeing the look on that pip’s face actually made my day.”
Kendrick laughed and Thor laughed, too. Then Kendrick looked at him with all seriousness.
“My father did not take people under his wing lightly. He saw something great in you. I see it, too. You will make us proud. Go to The Hundred and excel. Go and become the warrior that I know you will be.”
*
Thor walked in the summer fields outside the Legion’s compound, Krohn beside him, late in the day, the second sun dropping, filling the sky with spectacular pinks and oranges and purples. Krohn whined in delight as Thor led him deeper and deeper into the fields, giving him a chance to run, to play, to chase animals and to catch his dinner. Krohn carried an Ursutuay in his mouth now, a strange creature about the size of a rabbit, with purple fur and three heads, which he had proudly caught but minutes before.
Krohn was getting bigger and bigger before his eyes, now nearly twice the size from when he’d found him, and he was getting more of a desire to run and move about. Krohn was also becoming more playful, and he demanded that Thor take him farther and farther, and run with him. If Thor didn’t run with him as much as he wanted, Krohn would nip playfully at Thor’s ankles, and not let him alone until Thor chased him. Then, Krohn would take off with a delighted squeal, until Thor got tired of chasing him.
As the day had grown long, Thor had wanted a break from the barracks, from all the frantic preparations. He was all packed now, as was everybody else, and it felt as if they were counting down the hours until they left the Ring. Thor didn’t know exactly when they were leaving, but he was told it would be within the next day or two. The mood in the barracks was tense and edgy, filled with anxiety for the trip to come and mourning for the king. It was like a time of great change had swept through them suddenly.
Thor wanted one last chance to be alone before the trip, to clear his head, still swimming with the death of the king, and with his encounter with Gwendolyn. His mind drifted to thoughts of Erec, of where he must be now. Would he ever return? He thought of how temporary life could be: everything seemed so permanent, but it rarely was. It made him feel more alive, and less alive, at the same time.
“Nothing is as it seems,” came a voice.
Thor wheeled, and was shocked to see Argon, standing there, dressed in his scarlet robe, holding a staff and looking out to the distant horizon, into the vast expanse of the open sky. Thor, as always, wondered how Argon had appeared here so suddenly. Thor looked at him, and felt both a sense of dread and excitement.
“I was searching for you, after the funeral,” Thor said. “There are so many questions I have for you. Even before the death. But I could not find you.”
“I do not always wish to be found,” Argon said. His eyes were shining, a light blue.
Thor stared at him, wondering how much Argon was seeing right now. Did he see the future? Would he tell him if he did?
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Thor said, “for The Hundred.”
“I know,” Argon answered.
“Will I return?” Thor asked, dying to know.
Argon looked away.
“Will I still be in the Legion? Will I pass the test? Become a great warrior?”
Argon stared back, expressionless.
“Many questions,” he said, and turned and looked away. Thor realized he was not going to respond to any of them.
“If I told you your future, it might affect it,” Argon added. “Every choice you make, that is what creates it.”
“But I saw MacGil’s future,” Thor said. “In that dream. I saw that he was going to die. And yet I tried to help and it did no good. What was the point of my seeing it? What was the point of all that? I wish I’d never known.”
“Don’t you?” Argon asked. “But your knowing affected destiny. He was meant to be poisoned. You prevented that.”
Thor stared back, puzzled. He had never thought of that.
“But he was killed anyway,” Thor said.
“But not by poison. By dagger. And you don’t know what effect that small change will have on the destiny of this kingdom.”
Thor thought about that, his head hurting. It was too much for him to comprehend. He didn’t fully understand what Argon was hinting at.
“The King wanted to see me before he died,” Thor continued quickly, eager for answers. “Why me? Of all people? And what did he mean, when he spoke of my mother? Of my destiny being greater than his? Were these just the words of a dying man?”
“I think you know they were far more than that,” Argon replied.
“So then it’s true?” Thor asked. “My destiny is greater even than his? How is that possible? He was a king. I am nothing.”
“Are you, then?” Argon asked back.
Argon took several steps forward, standing feet away from Krohn, and stared down at him. Krohn whined, and turned and ran away. Thor felt a chill, as Argon stared right through him.
“God does not choose the arrogant for his will. He chooses the humble. The least likely. Those overlooked by everyone else. Have you not considered this? All of your days farming, tending your father’s sheep in your village. This is a warrior’s—a true warrior’s—foundation. Humility. Reflection. This is what forges a warrior. Did you never sense it? That you were greater than what you were? That you were meant for something else?”
Thor thought, and realized that he had sensed it.
“Yes,” Thor responded. “I felt that…maybe I was meant for greater things.”
“And now that they arrive, you still don’t believe it?” Argon asked.
“But why me?” Thor asked. “What are my powers? What is my destiny? Where did I come from? Who was my mother? Why must everything in life be such a riddle?”
Argon slowly shook his head.
“One day, you will discover these things. But you have much to learn first. You must first become who you are. Your powers are deep, but you know not how to wield them. A mighty river flows within you, but it still lingers beneath the surfac
e. You must bring it forward. You will learn much in your hundred days. But remember, that will be just the beginning.”
Thor looked up at Argon, wondering how much he saw.
“I feel guilty to live,” Thor said. He wanted desperately to tell Argon what was on his mind, the one person who could understand. “The king is dead, and yet I am alive. I feel that his death is on my head. And it hurts to go on.”
Argon turned and looked at him.
“One king dies and another follows. That is the way of the world. A throne is not meant to sit empty. Kings will flow, like a river, through our Ring. All will seem permanent, and all will be fleeting. Nothing in this world—not you, not I—can stop the current. It is a parade of puppets, in the service of fate. It is a march of kings.”
Thor sighed, looking out at the horizon for a very long time.
“The ways of the universe are inscrutable,” he finally continued. “You will not understand them. Yes, it hurts to go on. But we must. We have no choice. And remember,” he said, smiling at Thor with a smile that terrified him, “one day, you will join MacGil, too. Your time here is but a flash. Don’t let life weigh you down with fear and guilt and regret. Embrace every moment of it. Do you understand me? The best thing you can do for MacGil now is to live. To really live. Do you understand me?”
Argon reached out and grabbed Thor by the shoulders, and it felt like two fires burning through his arms. He stared down with such intensity, Thor finally had to turn his head, and blink his eyes shut.
He raised up his hands to protect his eyes, and then suddenly, he felt nothing. He looked up. Argon was gone. Vanished.
Thor stood there alone in the field, turning in every direction. He saw nothing but the open sky, the open plains, and the howling of the wind.
*
Thor sat around the fire on the cool summer night, staring into the flames silently with the other Legion members as the wood cracked and popped. He leaned back on his elbows and looked up at the night sky, and in the distance, countless stars twinkled red and orange. Thor wondered, as he often did it, about distant worlds out there. He wondered if there were planets that weren’t divided by canyons, seas that weren’t protected by dragons, kingdoms that were not divided by armies. He wondered about the nature of fate and destiny.
The fire crackled, and he looked over at the roaring flames, around which sat his brothers-in-arms, hunched over, arms resting on their knees, looking somber and on-edge. Some of them roasted pieces of meat on sticks.
“Want one?” came a voice.
Thor turned and saw Reese, sitting beside him, holding out a stick wrapped in a white, gooey substance. He looked around and saw that they were being passed around to other boys around the fire.
“What is it?” Thor asked, as he took it and touched the white mass. It was sticky.
“Sap from the Sigil Tree. You roast it. Wait until it turns purple. It’s delicious. And it will be the last tasty thing you have in a while.”
Thor watched the other boys holding their sticks into the fire, watched as the white substance hissed. He held his out, too, into the flames, and was amazed as the substance bubbled over, then turned colors. It turned all the colors of the rainbow before it turned purple.
He pulled it out and tasted it, and was amazed at how good it was. It was sweet and chewy, and he took bite after bite.
Seated on his other side, chewing happily, were Elden, O’Connor, and the twins. As Thor looked around, he realized that the Legion fell into natural cliques. With the ages ranging from 14 to 19, and with nearly a hundred boys in the Legion, there were a dozen boys in each age range. The 19 year olds barely acknowledged the 14-year-olds, and each year seemed to stick to itself. Looking at the faces of the 19 year olds, Thor could hardly conceive how much older they looked, like full-grown men, compared to the boys his age. They looked almost too old to even still be in the Legion.
“Are they coming, too?” Thor asked Reese. He did not need to ask where. The Hundred was on everyone’s mind this night, and no one seemed to think or talk of anything else.
“Of course,” Reese answered. “Everyone goes. No exceptions. Every age range.”
“The only difference,” Elden interceded, “is that when they return, they are done with the Legion. It only goes to 19. And then they graduate.”
“And then what?” Thor asked.
“If they make it through their final Hundred,” Reese answered, “then they go before the King, and the King chooses which become Knights. Then, if they are chosen, the kingdom places them in posts for patrol duty throughout the kingdom. They have to do two years of rotation. Then they return to King’s Court, and are eligible to join The Silver.”
“Is it possible that they wouldn’t pass the Hundred? After all these years?” Thor asked.
Reese furrowed his brow.
“It is different for every age and every year. I know stories of many who have not made it, at any age.”
The group of boys fell silent, as Thor stared into the flames, wondering what lay ahead of them. After a long while, there was a commotion, and the boys turned to see Kolk marching into the center of the circle, his back to the flames, flanked by two warriors. Kolk scowled down at the boys, slowly pacing, looking each one in the eye as he went.
“Rest up, and eat up,” he said. “This will be the last time you do. From here on, you’re no longer boys, but men. You’re about to embark on the hardest hundred days of your life. When you return—if you return—those of you who return will finally be worth something. Now, you’re nothing.”
Kolk continued pacing, walking slowly, looking as if he wanted to strike fear into each and every one of them.
“The Hundred is not a test,” he continued. “It is not practice. It is real. What you do here, the sparring, the training—that is practice. But in the next hundred days, that is all gone. You will be entering a war zone. We are crossing the Canyon, will be beyond the shield, trekking for miles through the Wilds, into unguarded territory. We will be boarding ships, and crossing the Tartuvian Sea. We will be in enemy waters, far from the coast. We will be going to an island that is unmanned and unprotected from attack, in the heart of the Empire. We could be ambushed any time. There will be enemy forces all around us. And dragons lurk not far from there.
“Without fail, there will be battle. A few of us warriors will accompany you, but mostly you will be on your own. You will be men, forced to fight real men’s battles. Sometimes to the death. This is how you learn battle. Each year, some of you will die. Some will be injured permanently. Some will drop out from fear. And the select few who return—those are the ones who merit joining the Legion. If you are too scared to go, don’t show up tomorrow. Every year at this night, a few of you will pack up and leave. If that is you, I hope you do. We don’t want cowards joining us.”
With that, Kolk turned and stormed away, his men following.
A low whisper spread among the boys, as they looked solemnly at each other. Thor could see fear on many of their faces.
“Is it really that bad?” O’Connor asked a boy sitting beside him. The boy was older, maybe 18, and he stared into the flames, his wide jaw locked in a grimace.
He nodded.
“It is different every time,” he said. “I’ve had many of my brothers not come back with me. Like he said, it’s real. The best advice I can give you is to prepare for life-and-death. But I’ll tell you one thing: if you make it back, you’ll be a better warrior than you ever thought you could be.”
Thor wondered if he could make it. Was he tough enough? How would he react when faced with real life and death combat? How could they sustain a hundred days of it? And what he would be like when he came back? He sensed that he would not return the same person. None of them would. And they would all be in it together.
He looked at Reese’s face, and saw how distracted he was, and realized he was weighed down by something else. His father.
“I’m sorry,” Thor said to him.
Reese did not look at him, but slowly nodded, his eyes welling, looking down at the ground.
“I just want to know who did it,” Reese said “I just want to know who killed him.”
“As would I,” Elden echoed.
“And we,” the twins echoed.
“Did he tell you anything?” Reese asked Thor. “In those last minutes with him? Did he tell you who did it?”
Thor could sense the others all looking at him. He tried to remember exactly what the king said.
“He told me he saw who did it. But he could not remember his face.”
“But was it someone he knew?” Reese pressed.
“He said it was,” Thor said.
“But that hardly narrows it down,” O’Connor said. “A king knows more people than we ever will.”
“I’m sorry,” Thor added. “He didn’t tell me anymore.”
“But you were in there with him for minutes before he died,” Reese pressed. “What else did he say to you?”
Thor hesitated, wondering how much to tell Reese. He didn’t want to make him envious or jealous, or cause jealousy among the other boys. What could he possibly say? That the king said his destiny was greater than his? That would only stir the envy and hatred of everyone else.
“He did not say much,” Thor said. “He was mostly silent.”
“But then why did he want to see you? You specifically? Right before he died? Why did he not want to see me?” Reese pressed.
Thor sat there, not knowing how to respond. He realized how bad Reese must have felt, being his son, and having his father choose to see someone else in his final moments. He did not know what to say to comfort him, and had to think of something fast.
“He wanted me to tell you how much he cared for you,” Thor lied. “I think it was easier for him to tell a stranger.”
Thor felt Reese examining him to see if he was lying.
Finally, Reese turned and looked away, seeming satisfied. Thor felt bad not telling the complete truth. He hated to lie, and he never did. But he did not know what else to say. And he did not want to hurt his friend’s feelings.