A Land Of Fire (Book 12) (20 page)

They continued floating down the river
in silence, the air thick with the rustling of the marsh, with the sound of the
breezes, with the night insects beginning to sing. Darius’s muscles slowly
relaxed, tired from a long day of labor. It was unusual for him to relax, to
not be thinking of his work the next day, of his miserable existence, of
craving a way out of here. For the first time in a long time, he was happy
right where he was.

“Does it not bother you,” he asked,
“knowing that tomorrow when we arise, we’ll be answering to someone else?”

Loti did not meet his eyes, but stared
out in the distance and shrugged.

“Of course it bothers me,” she finally
replied. “But there are some things you must learn to live with it. I have
learned to.”

“I have not,” he said.

She studied him.

“Your problem,” she said, “is that you
are narrow-minded. You only see one way to resist.”

He looked back at her, puzzled.

“What other way is there to resist than
to throw off the chains of our oppressors?” he asked.

She smiled back.

“The highest form of resistance is to
enjoy life, even in the face of oppression. If you can find a way to live a
life of joy in the face of danger, if you have not let them crush your spirit,
then you have defeated them. They can affect our bodies, but not our spirit. If
they can’t take away your joy, then you are never oppressed. Oppression is a
state of mind.”

Darius pondered her words, never
considering it that way before. He had never met anyone who thought like her,
who saw the world the way she did. He not know if he agreed with her, but he
could understand her way of thinking.

“I think we are very different people,”
he finally said.

“Maybe that is why we like each other,”
she replied.

His heart beat faster at her words, and
he smiled back. For the first time, he felt relaxed, more confident.

Their boat rounded a bend, and as it
did, she opened her eyes wide, and he turned to look. The current had taken
them under the Tree of Fire, and as Darius turned and laid eyes on it, he was
awestruck, as always. The tree, hundreds of feet high and wide, was as ancient
as this land. Its branches leaned over the river, all the way down until they
touched it, its leaves a flaming red, bright red flowers blooming at the end of
them, and all aglow in the sunset. It looked magical. Darius could smell its
strong fragrance from here, like cinnamon crossed with honeysuckle.

Darius stopped their boat beneath the
branches, the flowers nearly touching their heads, emitting a soft glow as
evening fell, lighting up the twilight. Loti leaned forward, so close that her
knees were touching Darius’s, and she reached up and placed a hand in his. He
could feel her trembling, and as he looked into her eyes, his heart pounded.

“You are not like the others,” she said.
“I can see it in your eyes. I want to be with you.”

Darius stared back at her, and could see
the earnestness in her eyes.

“And I with you,” he said.

“I do not give out my heart lightly,”
she said. “I do not want it broken.”

“I promise it shall never be,” he said.

Darius then leaned forward, and as his
lips met hers, as he reached up and touched her face, as the two of them
floated there, under the Tree of Fire, he felt, for the first time, that he had
something to live for.

Gwen stood at the rail, looking down
into the waters, and she raised her hands to her eyes to shield them as a
sudden light filled the sky. The haze hanging over the sea was infused with
gold, and as she squinted into the light, she suddenly spotted something
sailing toward her. She narrowed her eyes and wondered if she were seeing
things: there, before her, bobbing in the waters, floated a small, shining
golden boat, reflecting the sun. Gwen looked closely as it came closer, and her
heart soared to see who was inside. She could not believe it.

There, inside, was Thor, standing,
smiling triumphantly. And in his arms he held their baby.

Gwen’s heart soared, as she burst into
tears at the sight. There they were, just feet away, returned to her, both
alive and safe and well.

Gwen turned for a moment to summon the
others on her ship, to share the good news—yet as she did, she was confused to
find her ship empty. She could not understand where everyone had gone.

Gwen stepped into the small lifeboat on
deck and quickly lowered the ropes until she reached the water. As she touched
down, her boat bobbed wildly in the waves, and the thick rope connecting her to
the ship snapped.

Gwen craned her neck and looked up, and
was horrified to see her ship floating away on the strong ocean tide.

Gwen turned back to Thor and Guwayne,
and she was horrified to see that her boat was suddenly getting sucked away,
faster and faster on the tides, bringing her farther from them.

“NO!” she called out.

Gwen reached out a hand for Thorgrin,
who still stood there, smiling, holding Guwayne. But the ocean tide carried her
faster and farther away from him, away from her ship, away from everything she
knew, deep into the limitless ocean.

Gwen awoke with a start. She looked all
around, breathing hard, sweating, wondering what had happened. She saw that she
was still in her ship; that she lay on deck; that it was filled with people. It
had all been a nightmare. Just an awful, cruel nightmare.

Gwen’s relief quickly morphed to
disappointment as she saw the state of her people. A thick fog settled in over
everything, carried on the wind, and Gwen could only see her people piecemeal.
But she saw them slumped over their oars, lying curled up on the deck, leaning
against the side rail, all of them languid, no one moving. She could tell right
away that they had all been devastated by hunger. They all lay there,
motionless, looking more dead than alive.

Gwen did not know how many days they had
been floating here; she could no longer remember. She knew it was long enough,
though. Too long. Land had never come, and here her people lay, all on the
steps of death.

Gwendolyn felt hunger pains tear through
her body, and it took all her might just to pull herself up to a sitting
position. She sat there, holding the baby, who cried as Gwen gave her a bottle
empty of milk. Gwen felt like weeping, but she was too exhausted for that.
After all they been through, after having come so far, it killed her to think
that now her people were all going to die here, in the middle of nowhere, from
hunger. It was too much to take. For herself, she could suffer; but she hated
to see her people suffer like this.

Gwen could sense the stale odor of death
in the air, feel that this ship had become a floating tomb, and that, soon,
they would all be dead. She could not help but feel as if it were all her
fault.

“Do not blame yourself, my lady,” came
the voice.

Gwen turned to see her brother,
Kendrick, sitting not far away, smiling weakly back. He must have read her
thoughts, as he often did growing up, as he sat there, so noble, with such a
strength of spirit, even at a time of such hardship.

“You have been a remarkable Queen,” he
said. “Our father would be proud. You’ve taken us further than anyone else
could have dared hope. It is a miracle we lived this long.”

Gwen appreciated his kind words, yet
still, she could not help but feel responsible.

“If we all die, what have I done?” she
asked.

“We will all die one day,” he replied.
“You have achieved honor. That is far more than we could have asked of
ourselves.”

Kendrick reached out a reassuring hand,
and Gwen took it, grateful for his always being there.

“I should think you would have been a
better King than I a Queen,” she said. “Father should have chosen you.”

Kendrick shook his head.

“Father knew what he was doing,” he
said. “He chose perfectly. It was the one great choice of his life. He chose
you not for the good times—but for a time like this. He knew you would lead us
out.”

Before she could ponder his words, Gwen
heard a shuffling of feet, and she turned and looked over to see Steffen
looking down at her, dark circles under his eyes, looking weak, Arliss at his
side, holding his hand.

Steffen cleared his throat.

“My lady, I have never made a request of
you,” he said, his voice weak, “but I have one now.”

She looked at him, surprised, wondering
what it could be.

“Whatever it is that I can grant, you
shall have it,” she replied.

“Would you stand as witness between us?”
he asked. “We wish to marry.”

Gwen stared back at them both, eyes wide
in surprise.

“Marry?” she repeated, stunned. “Here,
now?”

Steffen and Arliss nodded back, and Gwen
could see the seriousness in their eyes.

“If not now, when?” Arliss asked. “None
of us expect to make land. And before we die, we wish to be together, forever.”

Gwen looked back at them both,
overwhelmed by their devotion to each other. It made her think of Thorgrin, of
her unfulfilled desire to wed him.

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Of course I shall,” she replied.

Kendrick, Godfrey and the others close
by who had overheard, all managed to muster to their feet and to join Gwen as
she accompanied Steffen and Arliss to the bow of the ship.

Steffen and Arliss stood beside the rail,
held hands, and turned and smiled to each other. Gwen stood before them,
looking out at the fog, which rolled in and out on the silent ship, and she
admired their courage, their affirmation of life in the midst of these dying
moments.

“Do you have vows you wish to exchange?”
Gwen asked.

Steffen nodded. He cleared his throat as
he looked into Arliss’s eyes.

“I, Steffen, vow to love you always,” he
said, “to be a faithful husband, and to remain at your side, whether in this
life or the next, whatever the fates may bring.”

Arliss smiled back at him.

“And I, Arliss, vow to love you always,
to be a devoted wife, and to remain at your side, whether in this life or the
next, whatever the fates may bring.”

They leaned in and kissed, and as they
did, Gwen noticed tears running down Arliss’s cheek. It was a sacred moment,
and a somber one; it was a moment when they all looked death in the face, and
tried to beat it with their love.

It was an eerie affair, at once both the
gloomiest wedding Gwendolyn had ever attended, and the most beautiful, all of
them, Gwen realized, floating into nowhere, and as fleeting as the fog that
rolled in and out with each passing wave. More than ever, Gwen felt death
coming—and she felt lucky she had been alive long enough to witness, at least,
one wedding of those she loved.

Alistair sat inside Erec’s chamber in
the royal house of the sick, beside Dauphine and Erec’s mother, along with a
half dozen guards, standing before the door, two feet thick, bolted with sliding
iron bars. Alistair sat beside Erec, who still lay sleeping, and held his hand,
closing her eyes. She tried to drown out the cheering of the crowd outside,
muted behind the stone walls two feet thick, a crowd whipped into a frenzy. It
was obvious from the noise that they had been routed, that Bowyer had succeeded
in his coup, and that they were cut off, encircled. Bowyer, she knew, would
never let them go until Erec was dead and he was King.

Alistair, luckily, had reached Erec’s
chamber before the soldiers, barring the doors, insisting on being here by
Erec’s side. She looked down at Erec now, and she felt fresh tears roll down
her face as she kissed the back of his hand. He was sleeping sweetly, as she
knew he would be—with the healing spell she had cast on him, he would not rise
for quite some time. When he did, he would still be in a weakened state, in no
state to fight these men. She was on her own now.

Given her own weakened state, having
used all of her precious energy to heal him, Alistair, try as she did, could
not summon any magical powers to help her. She wished now that she had Thor by
her side, or any warriors of the Ring, any of the Silver, who she knew would
lay down their lives to save Erec. She found it ironic that, now that Erec was
here, home with his own people, he was most in danger.

Alistair closed her eyes and focused.

Mother, please help me
.

She kept her eyes closed tight,
recalling all the dreams she’d had of her mother, of her high up on the cliff,
in that castle, feeling her with her. She prayed and prayed.

But nothing came but silence.

Outside, there came a sudden pounding on
the door, insistent. It felt like a pounding on her heart.

Alistair rose, crossed the room, and
stood by the door. She glanced at Erec’s mother, and Dauphine, who looked back
at her in alarm.

“It’s over,” Dauphine said. “Now not
only will my brother die, but we shall die with him. We should have taken
flight when we had the chance.”

“Then Erec would be dead,” Alistair
replied.

Dauphine shook her head.

“Erec will die anyway. Three women
cannot stop an army. But if we had fled, we could have survived to assemble our
own men for vengeance.”

Alistair shook her head.

“If Erec dies, vengeance does not mean a
thing. If he dies, I die with him.”

“You might just get your wish,” his
mother said.

The pounding on the door came again and
again, until it finally stopped and one distinct voice rang out above all
others.

“Alistair, we know you are in there,”
boomed the voice.

Alistair recognized it immediately as
Bowyer’s. He sounded so close, yet so far away, the door so thick, there was no
way he could knock it down.

“Bring him out to us,” Bowyer continued,
“and you shall all live. Keep him in there, and you will die with him. We
cannot break down these doors, but we will trap you in. You will sit there, for
days, and you will starve a painful death. There is no way out. Hand Erec to us
and we shall grant you pardon and send you on the sea back to your homeland. I
will not make this gracious offer twice.”

Alistair stared at the door, seething,
burning with the indignity of it all. They had caught her at a vulnerable
moment, and now, as they knew, she was helpless.

But she would not give up on Erec. Not
now. Never.

“If it is a murder you want,” she boomed
back, “if a life needs to be taken, then take mine!”

There came a murmur from the other side.

“Alistair, what are you saying?” his
mother asked. But Alistair ignored her.

“By your own laws,” she continued,
“without a Queen, a King cannot be King—so if you take my life, you shall render
Erec powerless. Kill me, and become King yourself. My life for his. That is the
only deal I shall offer.”

There came a long silence, and a murmur
on the other side of the door, until finally, Bowyer’s voice boomed again:
“Agreed!” he called out. “Your life for Erec’s!”

Alistair nodded, satisfied.

“Agreed!” she called out.

Alistair took a deep breath, braced
herself, and stepped forward, reaching for the iron bolt—and as she did, she
felt a hand on her wrist.

She turned to see Erec’s mother standing
there, her eyes welling with tears.

“You don’t need to do this,” she said
softly.

Alistair’s teared up, too.

“My life to me is not half as important
as Erec’s,” she said. “I can think of no better way to die than to die for
him.”

Erec’s mother wept as Alistair stepped
forward and the guards gently pulled his mother back. She pulled back the heavy
iron bolt, the sound reverberating in the stone room, and swung open the thick
door.

Alistair found herself facing Bowyer,
glaring back, standing but a few feet away. Behind him stood hundreds of
soldiers holding weapons, a sea of hostile faces. They all grew quiet, shocked
at Alistair’s presence.

Alistair stepped boldly through the open
door, right for them, and they all parted ways and took a step back, as she
walked right up to Bowyer. She stood there, a foot away from him, their eyes
locked, each defiant.

There came the sound of the heavy doors
slamming shut behind her, the bolt sliding back into place. She was now all
alone out here, but she took comfort in the fact that Erec was safe inside.

“You are braver than I thought,” Bowyer
finally said in the long, thick silence. “Your courage will lead to your
death.”

Alistair stared back, calm and
expressionless, unable to be shaken.

“Death is fleeting,” she replied. “Courage
is eternal.”

They locked eyes and Alistair could see
in Bowyer’s expression, hidden beneath the anger, a look of awe.

Alistair held her hands out before her,
and several soldiers rushed forward and bound them with ropes. There came a
cheer from the crowd, as she felt herself pushed from behind, led past the
cheering crowd, following the torchlit street into the cold black night, on her
way to her execution.