by Morgan Rice
Erec gently loosened Alistair from his chest, eager to see where they were. He rose to his knees, the boat rocking, then to his feet, balancing himself so as not to fall. He stood in the center of the boat and peered into the horizon. As he did, his heart swelled with excitement.
The Southern Isles lay just ahead, as beautiful and resplendent as Erec remembered them to be as a boy, the jagged cliffs encircling the islands rising up from the ocean like a work of art, covered in a slight mist, yellowish in color. The sun shone down directly on the isles, so strong that the islands were known as the sunny islands. They seemed as if they were glowing in the midst of the dark ocean, like giant orbs of light in the midst of darkness.
Erec sensed motion beside him, felt the boat sway slightly, and he turned to see Alistair standing beside him, smiling. She reached out and took his hand, and the two of them looked out at the islands together.
“One day you will be queen there,” he said. “We shall rule the islands together.”
“As long as we’re together,” Alistair replied, “I would go with you to the ends of the earth.”
Erec’s heart leapt with anticipation as each wave brought them closer and closer to the islands. Would his family be there to greet him? What would they think of Alistair? What would it be like to return to this place he had not seen since childhood?
As they came closer and closer, he wondered: would it be the same place that he had once known and loved?
*
Erec scanned the shoreline with joy as their boat touched the sand, hundreds of Southern Islanders awaiting them, cheering their arrival. His people had showed up with great fanfare, stretched out as far as the eye could see, greeting them like a king and queen. Dozens of them rushed forward and grabbed the edge of their boat and dragged it up onto the sand, as Erec jumped down and held out a hand for Alistair. She took it and stepped onto the sand.
There came a great cheer as she did, and Erec looked out, overwhelmed with pride to be so happily embraced by his people, and to be by Alistair’s side. One person after the next pressed forward to embrace him, and to kiss Alistair’s hand, as Erec scanned the faces, trying to recognize anyone from his childhood. It was all a blur.
Erec had forgotten how warm and friendly the Southern Islanders were, these people who were legendary for their warmth and hospitality, who, legend had it, were lit alive by the sun. They were quick to laugh and smile and give you a hug or a pat on the back; yet their kindness was never mistaken for weakness, as they were also known to be legendary warriors, an island of strong and proud and noble warriors, among the most skilled of all the countries. They were Erec’s people.
As Erec embraced them back, tears flowed from his face, and he realized how much he had been missing his homeland, his people, this place where he had spent his formative years, this place he still dreamt of often. It felt so good to be home again, his feet to be back on his soil, and it felt so good to be so loved. He had not been sure if his people would even remember him, and here he was, welcomed like a returning hero.
It also warmed Erec’s heart with joy to see them welcome Alistair so fondly, to treat her as if she were already one of their own, already their queen. They showered on her the same love and affection they reserved for Erec, and Erec felt eternally grateful to them for it.
During all those years Erec had spent in the Ring, ever since that day his father had shipped him off as a boy to study under the tutelage of King MacGil and his Silver, the Ring had felt like home to Erec. King MacGil had become like a father to him, and the Silver had all become his brothers. Erec had never consciously thought much of the Southern Isles, because in his mind, he had not imagined himself ever returning. In his mind, the Ring had become his home.
And yet now that he had returned, Erec felt a rush of sensations coming back to him, memories, feelings, and he realized that this place was his home, too. His first home. A place to which he owed as much loyalty as to the Ring. After all, these were his people, his blood. He had been born here, grown up here, before being shipped off to the Ring to become a great warrior.
He had achieved what his father had set out for him to achieve—had become the greatest warrior of them all—and he had done his people proud. Now, he realized, he owed his father—and his people—a debt. It was time to serve them. Duty had called, and it was time not just to see his dying father, but also to embrace the role he had been destined for since his birth: to assume the Kingship of the Southern Isles. He knew that’s what his people would demand, what his father would demand, whether he liked it or not, and he was prepared to serve. With Alistair by his side as Queen, he could think of no more fitting return.
“My brother,” came a voice.
Erec turned, thrilled to hear the familiar voice, and was happily surprised to see standing before him his younger brother, Strom, grinning wide.
“I would have expected your return in a more glorious ship than this!” Strom added with a laugh, as he stepped forward and embraced him.
Erec hugged him, then pulled him back and looked him up and down: he was shocked to see his younger brother, now, so many years later, a full-grown man, nearly as big as he, rippling with muscles. He had the countenance of a hardened warrior, one who had been tested by battle. He was now a man.
“Strom,” Erec said, eyes glistening with approval. It felt so good to see him again.
Strom, too, looked Erec up and down, sizing him up. He shook his head.
“I was sure I’d grown enough to be taller than you! Son of a bitch! I only needed one more inch!” Strom laughed, squeezing Erec’s shoulder. “But it seems I’m bigger than you at least.”
Erec shook his head. That was his brother.
“You haven’t changed one bit,” he said. “Still trying to outdo me.”
“What do you mean trying?” Strom said. “Succeeding. I shall show you later when we spar!”
Strom laughed heartily, and Erec knew that his little brother meant it. Erec laughed too, amazed at how quickly they picked up where they’d left off.
Erec loved his younger brother, and he’d never felt any competition or jealousy with him whatsoever. Yet Strom did not share the same point of view. For his little brother, Erec was always the man to beat, the target to outdo; Erec could swear that Strom had devoted his life to one-upping him any way he could.
Erec laughed it off, but for Strom it was a deadly serious business. Erec had met many people in his life, and yet he had never encountered a more intense sibling rivalry, even if it was one-way. His relationship with Strom had always been a mixed bag. Erec sensed that Strom loved him—and yet at the same time, could not control his desire to defeat him. Erec blamed it on the competitive way his father had raised them, always pitting them against each other. His father had thought that would make them better men—but it had only created divisiveness. Erec himself did not believe in fostering competition, and if he had sons he resolved to never raise them that way; instead, Erec believed it was better to raise them to look out for each other, to watch each other’s backs, and to foster loyalty and selflessness. Those, Erec believed were the true traits of a warrior. Competition was important, but not among family—competition could be learned on the field of battle, and skills could be sharpened other ways. Sometimes competition brought out the best in people, it was true—and yet other times, competition only fostered the worst.
“And bringing a bride with you?” Strom remarked, looking over Alistair, shaking his head. “Did you have to outdo me in this, too? I haven’t found my bride yet, and now I doubt I shall find one as beautiful as she,” Strom said, as he stepped up and took Alistair’s hand and kissed it.
Alistair smiled back.
“A pleasure to meet you,” she replied. “A brother to Erec is a brother to me.”
“Well, you should know, before you marry him,” Strom said, “that I am Erec’s better brother. Spend some time here, and you might decide to choose me. After all, why would you want the weaker
stock?”
Strom laughed, and Erec shook his head. Strom was as opinionated and tactless as ever.
“I know I shall find myself quite content with my current choice, thank you,” Alistair replied with a smile, diplomatic as always.
Strom stepped aside as the crowd parted ways and someone stepped forward, and Erec was amazed to see who it was:
Dauphine. His younger sister.
The last time he had seen her, she had been up to his waist, and now, Erec could hardly believe how tall she had grown; she was nearly as tall as he, with broad shoulders, a perfect posture, and a dazzling smile. He could not believe how beautiful she had become, either, with her long strawberry hair and bright green eyes.
She stood there and stared back at Erec with the same intensity he remembered from when they were children. Just a few years younger, she’d always looked up to Erec as a hero, had always been intent on demanding his attention, and had always been incredibly jealous and territorial of anyone who took his attention away from her. Possibly because their father had always been absent, ruling his kingdom, Dauphine had looked to Erec as a father figure in their lonely upbringing.
Erec realized now, from her stare, and from the way she was ignoring Alistair, that after all these years she had not changed one bit.
“My brother,” Dauphine said, stepping forward, embracing him, hugging him tight, refusing to let go.
Erec held her and felt her tears run down her face and onto his neck. Erec realized he’d missed his family dearly, despite all their quirks, and it was overwhelming to see them all back here in one place. In some ways, it felt as if he’d never left. It was an eerie feeling.
“My sister,” he said. “I’ve missed you dearly.”
She pulled back and looked at him.
“Not as much as I’ve missed you. Did you receive all my letters?”
“Every one,” Erec said.
Dauphine had written to him constantly throughout the years, falcon after falcon delivering him her scrolls. Erec had replied when he could, but he was not able to write as often or as much as she. Clearly he had never been far from her thoughts, and a part of him had always felt guilty at being so far away from her, almost as if he were abandoning a daughter.
“These islands have not been the same without you,” she said. “I’m sad that it took our father’s impending death to bring you back. Was not I being here enough?”
Erec felt a twinge of guilt at her words, and did not know how to reply.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “My duties compelled me elsewhere.”
Erec turned to Alistair, not wanting her to feel left out, hoping that Dauphine would be gracious to her, but fearing otherwise. His stomach clenched as he introduced them.
“Dauphine, may I introduce you to my bride-to-be, Alistair.”
Alistair smiled graciously, not territorial in the least, and held out a hand.
Dauphine looked at it as if a snake were being handed to her. She grimaced and turned to Erec, ignoring Alistair.
“And why do you not choose a bride from your amongst own people?” Dauphine asked. “Do you mean to have a stranger rule over us?”
Erec’s face darkened, and he felt mortified with embarrassment for Alistair.
“Dauphine,” he said firmly, “Alistair is my bride. I love her with all my heart. Please show her the respect that she is due. If you love me, you will love her.”
Dauphine turned and stared at Alistair coldly, as if looking at an awful creature that washed up on shore. Then she suddenly turned her back and walked away, strutting off into the cheering crowd.
Erec reddened, embarrassed. That was his sister, always caught up in a storm of emotion, mostly of her own making, and always unpredictable. It was amazing; despite all the years that had passed, nothing had changed.
Erec turned to Alistair, who seemed crestfallen.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Please forgive her. She knows not what she does. It is not personal to you.”
Alistair nodded, lowering her eyes, but Erec could see that she was shaken by the reception. He felt terrible.
As he was about to console her further, the crowd parted and up stepped Erec’s mother. Erec was overcome to see her. It was like having a part of himself returned.
His mother held out both hands as she stepped forward, not going to embrace Erec first, but rather Alistair. That was his mother—always unpredictable, and always having impeccable timing. She always knew exactly what to do, and when. Erec was so relieved to see her, and delighted that she had given Alistair the honor of greeting her first.
“My daughter to be,” she said, holding out both hands and clasping Alistair’s warmly.
Alistair looked up at her with a surprised smile, as Erec’s mother hugged her, holding her tight, like a long-lost daughter. She pulled back and looked her up and down.
“Your beauty has been sung of, yet it does you no justice. For it is the most glorious thing I have ever seen. I am thrilled and delighted that Erec has chosen you for a wife. He has made many good choices in his life, but none better than this.”
Alistair beamed, her eyes glistening, and Erec could see how overwhelmed she was. His heart softened. His mother had managed, once again, to undo the perpetual damage that Dauphine had done.
“Thank you, my Queen,” Alistair said. “It is an honor to meet you. Any mother to Erec I shall love with all my heart.”
His mother smiled back.
“Soon, you shall be his wife, and you shall be Queen. You shall hold my title. And nothing shall make me happier.”
Erec’s mother turned to him, and she embraced him, hugging him tight.
“Mother,” he said, as she pulled back and wiped a tear from her eye. She looked so much older than when he’d left, the sight saddened him. He had been away so long, had missed so many great years of her life, and seeing her brought it all home. He saw all the new lines in her face, and he thought of his father.
“Your father awaits you,” she said, as if reading his mind. “He still lives. Yet not for much longer. He does not have much time. Come now.”
She took his hand, and she also took Alistair’s, and together, they walked through the cheering crowd, hurrying their way, as Erec braced himself, anxious to see his father in his dying moments. No matter what happened, he was home.
He was home.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Gwendolyn rode in the wagon at the rear of her people, trekking west and south alongside the Canyon, as they had been all day, heading for the crossing. Gwen took comfort in knowing that, despite her people’s protest, soon they would be across the Canyon and that much closer to boarding the fleet of ships waiting to take them to the Upper Isles. Her heart tugged with a combination of remorse and urgency, knowing it was the right thing to do, yet still hating to do it.
Most of all, though, Gwen stirred with uneasiness as she looked out at her people, the thousands and thousands who had marched from King’s Court reluctantly, resentfully, all under the eyes of her watchful soldiers who bordered the people on every side and kept them marching along. It was like a controlled riot. Her people clearly did not want to go, and Gwen heard them grumbling louder at every turn. She didn’t know how much longer she could control them; it was like a storm waiting to break.
“Ruling is not always painless,” said a voice beside her.
Gwen looked over to see Kendrick riding up alongside her on his horse, proudly, nobly, Sandara, his new love, mounted on his horse behind him.
Gwen took comfort at seeing him. She smiled, tense.
“Father would always say that,” Gwen replied.
Kendrick smiled back.
“You are doing what you think is best for your people.”
“But you don’t agree,” Gwen said.
Kendrick shrugged.
“That is not important. I admire that you are doing it.”
“But still you don’t agree with my actions,” she pressed.
&
nbsp; Kendrick sighed.
“Sometimes you and Argon see things that I don’t. It is not something I understand well. I never have. I am a knight; I aspire for little else. I do not have your skill or talent for seeing into things; I am not comfortable with other realms. But I trust you. I always have. Father trusted you, too, and that is enough for me. In fact, our beloved father chose you for precisely times like this.”
Gwendolyn looked at him, touched.
“You’re the greatest brother I could want,” she said. “You have always been there for me. Even when you don’t agree.”
Kendrick smiled back at her.
“You’re my sister. And my Queen. I would go to the ends of the earth for you—whether I agree with you or not.”
There came a shout, and Gwendolyn turned to see a group of people angrily shoving the soldiers who were keeping them moving along the evacuation route. She sensed what little order they had was starting to break down, and she was starting to wonder how she would ever get her people across the Canyon. Indeed, as their shouting escalated, she wondered if there might even be an outright rebellion against her.
They rounded a bend, and Gwendolyn’s breath stopped as she looked out and saw the vastness of the Canyon spread out before her. She saw all the layers of mist, all different colors, lingering in the air, saw the endless expanse, which seemed to reach into the very heavens themselves. And she saw the magnificent bridge spanning it, waiting for them.
As her people reached the base of the crossing, suddenly, they came to a stop. The shouting escalated, and she could see that her men were no longer able to control the masses, who swayed about, to and fro, like caged animals. The people absolutely refused to take one more step forward, onto the bridge. She could see that they were afraid to cross it.
“We will not leave the Ring!” a man shouted.