A Rule of Queens (Book #13 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (4 page)

The noise of chains cut through the air, and
suddenly the taskmaster’s eyes bulged wide open, and his grip loosened on
Darius. Darius, gasping, confused, looked up, wondering why he’d let go. Then
he saw Loti, standing behind the taskmaster, wrapping her dangling shackles
around his neck, again and again, and squeezing with all her might.

Darius stumbled back, trying to catch his
breath again, and he watched as the taskmaster stumbled back several feet, then
reached back over his shoulder, grabbed Loti from behind, leaned over, and flipped
her over his head. Loti landed on her back, on the hard ground, in the dirt, with
a cry.

The taskmaster stepped forward, lifted his leg,
aimed his boot over her face, and Darius saw he was about to bring it down and
crush her face. The taskmaster was a good ten feet away by now, too far for
Darius to reach him in time.

“NO!” Darius yelled.

Darius thought quickly: he reached down,
grabbed his sword, stepped forward, and in one swift motion, he threw it.

The sword went flying through the air, end over
end, and Darius watched, transfixed, as the point pierced the taskmaster’s
armor, impaling him right through his heart.

His eyes bulged wide open again and Darius watched
as he stumbled and fell, sinking to his knees, then to his face.

Loti quickly gained her feet, and Darius rushed
to her side. He draped a reassuring hand over her shoulder, so grateful to her,
so relieved she was okay.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle cut through the air;
Darius turned and saw the taskmaster, lying on the ground, raise a hand to his
mouth and whistle again, one last time, before he died.

A horrific roar shattered the silence, as the
ground shook.

Darius looked over, and was terror-stricken to
see the zerta suddenly charging right for them. It sprinted for them in a rage,
lowering its sharp horns. Darius and Loti exchanged a look, knowing they had
nowhere to run. Within moments, Darius knew, they would both be dead.

Darius looked all around, thinking quick, and
he saw beside them the steep slope of the mountainside, littered with rocks and
boulders. Darius raised his arm, his palm out, and draped his other arm around Loti,
holding her close. Darius did not want to summon his power, but he knew that
now, he had no choice, if he wanted to live.

Darius felt a tremendous heat rush through him,
a power he could barely control, and he watched as a light shot forth through
his open palm, onto the steep slope. There came a rumbling, gradual at first,
then greater and greater, and Darius watched as boulders began tumbling down
the steep mountainside, gaining steam.

An avalanche of boulders all rushed down on the
zerta, crushing it just before it reached them. There was a huge cloud of dust,
a tremendous noise, and finally, all was still.

Darius stood there, nothing but silence and dust
swirling in the sun, hardly understanding what he had just done. He turned and
saw Loti looking at him, saw the look of horror in her face, and he knew everything
had changed. He had unleashed his secret. And now, there was no turning back.

Thor sat erect at the edge of their small boat,
legs crossed, palms resting on his thighs, his back to the others as he stared
out at the cold, cruel sea. His eyes were red from crying, and he did not want
the others to see him like this. His tears had dried up long ago, but his eyes
were still raw as he stared out, baffled, at the sea, wondering at the
mysteries of life.

How could a son have been given to him, only to
have been taken away? How could someone he loved so much disappear from him, be
snatched away with no warning and no chance of return?

Life, Thor felt, was too relentlessly cruel.
Where was the justice in it all? Why couldn’t his son return to him?

Thor would give anything—
anything
—walk
through fire himself, die a million deaths—to have Guwayne given back to him.

Thor closed his eyes and shook his head as he
tried to blot out the image of that burning volcano, the empty bassinet, the
flames. He tried to block out the idea of his son dying such a painful death.
His heart burned with fury, but most of all, sorrow. And shame, for not
reaching his little boy sooner.

Thor also felt a deep pit in his stomach as he tried
to imagine his encounter with Gwendolyn, his telling her the news. She would
surely never look him in the eyes again. And she would never be the same person
again. It was as if Thorgrin’s entire life had been snatched away from him. He
did not know how to rebuild, how to pick up the pieces. How does one, he
wondered, find another purpose for living?

Thor heard footsteps and felt the weight of a
body beside him as the boat shifted, creaking. He looked over and was surprised
to see Conven take a seat at his side, staring out. Thor felt as if he hadn’t
talked to Conven in ages, not since his twin’s death. He welcomed seeing him
here. As Thor looked at him, studied the sorrow in his face, for the first
time, he understood. He really understood.

Conven didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.
His presence was enough. He sat beside him in sympathy, brothers in grief.

They sat there in silence for a long time, no
noise but the sound of the wind ripping through, the sound of the waves lapping
gently against the boat, this small boat of theirs adrift in an endless sea,
their quest to find and rescue Guwayne taken away from all of them
.

Finally Conven spoke:

“Not a day goes by when I don’t think of
Conval,” he said, his voice somber.

They sat again silence for a long time. Thor wanted
to reply, but he could not, too choked up to speak.

Finally, Conven added: “I grieve for you for
Guwayne. I would have liked to see him become a great warrior, like his father.
I know he would have been. Life can be tragic and cruel. It can give only to
take away. I wish I could tell you I have recovered from my sorrow—but I have
not.”

Thor looked at him, Conven’s brutal honesty
somehow giving him a sense of peace.

“What keeps you living?” Thor asked.

Conven looked out at the water for a long time,
then finally sighed.

“I think it was what Conval would have wanted,”
he said. “He would have wanted me to go on. And so I go on. I do it for him.
Not for myself. Sometimes we live a life for others. Sometimes we don’t care
enough to live it for ourselves, so we live it for them. But, I am coming to
realize, sometimes that must be enough.”

Thor thought of Guwayne, now dead, and he
wondered what his son would have wanted. Of course, he would have wanted Thorgrin
to live, to take care of his mother, Gwendolyn. Thor knew that logically. But
in his heart, it was a hard concept to grasp.

Conven cleared his throat.

“We live for our parents,” he said. “For our
siblings. For our wives and sons and daughters. We live for everybody else. And
sometimes, when life has beaten you down so much that you don’t want to go on
for yourself, that has to be enough.”

“I disagree,” came a voice.

Thor looked over to see Matus coming up on his
other side, sitting and joining them. Matus looked out at the sea, stern and
proud.

“I believe there is another thing we live for,”
he added.

“And what is that?” Conven asked.

“Faith.” Matus sighed. “My people, the Upper Isle
men, they pray to the four gods of the rocky shores. They pray to the gods of
the water and wind and sky and rocks. Those gods have never answered my
prayers. I pray to the ancient god of the Ring.”

Thor looked at him, surprised.

“I have never known an Upper Isle men to share
the faith of the Ring,” Conven said.

Matus nodded.

“I am unlike my people,” he said. “I always
have been. I wanted to enter the monastic order when I was young, but my father
would never hear of it. He insisted I take up arms, like my brothers.”

He sighed.

“I believe we live for our faith, not for
others,” he added. “That is what carries us through. If our faith is strong
enough,
really
strong enough, then anything can happen. Even a miracle.”

“And can it return my son to me?” Thor asked.

Matus nodded back at him, unflinching, and Thor
could see the certainty in his eyes.

“Yes,” Matus answered flatly. “Anything.”

“You lie,” Conven said, indignant. “You give
him false hope.”

“I do not,” Matus retorted.

“Are you saying faith will return my dead
brother to me?” Conven urged, angry.

Matus sighed.

“I am saying that all tragedy is a gift,” he
said.

“A gift?” Thor asked, horrified. “Are you
saying the loss of my son is a gift?”

Matus nodded back confidently.

“You are being given a gift, as tragic as that
sounds. You can’t know what it is. You might not for a long time. But one day,
you will see.”

Thor turned and looked out at the sea, confused,
unsure. Was this all a test? he wondered. Was it one of the tests his mother
had spoken of? Could faith alone bring his son back? He wanted to believe it.
He really did. But he did not know if his faith was strong enough. When his
mother had spoken of tests, Thor had been so sure he could pass anything that
was thrown his way; yet now, feeling as he did, he did not know if he was
strong enough to go on.

The boat rocked on the waves, and suddenly the
tides turned, and Thor felt their small boat turning around and heading the
opposite direction. He snapped out of it and checked back over his shoulder, wondering
what was happening. Reece, Elden, Indra, and O’Connor were all still rowing and
manning the sail, a confused look across their face, as their small sail
flapped wildly in the wind.

“The Northern Tides,” Matus said, standing, hands
on his hips and looking out, studying the waters. He shook his head. “This is
not good.”

“What is it?” Indra asked. “We can’t control
the boat.”

“They sometimes pass through the Upper Isles,”
Matus explained. “I have never seen them myself, but I have heard about them, especially
this far north. They are a riptide. Once you’re caught in them, they take you where
they please. No matter how much rowing or sailing you try to do.”

Thor looked down, and saw the water below them
rushing by at twice the speed. He looked out and saw they were heading toward a
new, empty horizon, purple and white clouds spotting the sky, both beautiful
and foreboding.

“But we’re heading east now,” Reece said, “and
we need to head west. All of our people are west. The Empire is west.”

Matus shrugged.

“We head where the tides take us.”

Thor looked out in wonder and frustration,
realizing that each passing moment was taking them further from Gwendolyn,
further from their people.

“And where does it end?” O’Connor asked.

Matus shrugged.

“I know only the Upper Isles,” he said. “I have
never been this far north. I know nothing of what lies beyond.”

“It does end,” Reece spoke up, darkly, and all eyes
turned to him.

Reece looked back, grave.

“I was tutored on the tides years ago, at a young
age. In the ancient book of Kings, we had an array of maps, covering every
portion of the world. The Northern Tides lead to the eastern edge of the world.”

 “The eastern edge?” Elden said, concern in his
voice. “We’d be on the other end of the world from our people.”

Reece shrugged.

“The books were ancient, and I was young. All I
really remember was that the tides were a portal to the Land of Spirits.”

Thor looked at Reece, wondering.

“Old wives’ tales and fairytales,” O’Connor
said. “There is no portal to the Land of Spirits. It was sealed off centuries
ago, before our fathers walked the earth.”

Reece shrugged, and they all fell silent as they
turned and stared out at the seas. Thor examined the fast-moving waters, and he
wondered: Where on earth were they being lead?

*

Thor sat alone, at the edge of the boat,
staring into the waters as he had been for hours, the cold spray hitting him in
the face. Numb to the world, he barely felt it. Thor wanted to be in action, to
be hoisting sails, rowing—anything—but there was nothing for any them to do now.
The Northern tides were taking them where they would, and all they could do was
sit idly by and watch the currents, their boat rolling in the long waves, and
wonder where they would end up. They were in the hands of the fates now.

As Thor sat there, studying the horizon,
wondering where the sea would end, he felt himself drifting into nothingness,
numb from the cold and the wind, lost in the monotony of the deep silence that hung
over all of them. The seabirds that had at first circled them had disappeared
long ago, and as the silence deepened, as the sky fell darker and darker, Thor
felt as if they were sailing into nothingness, into the very ends of the earth.

It was hours later, as the last light of day
was falling, that Thor sat upright, spotting something on the horizon. At first
he was certain it was an illusion; but as the currents became stronger, the
shape became more distinct. It was real.

Thor sat up straight, for the first time in
hours, then rose to his feet. He stood there, boat swaying, hands on his hips,
looking out.

“Is it real?” came a voice.

Thor looked over to see Reece stepping forward
beside him. Elden, Indra, and the rest soon joined them, all staring out in
wonder.

“An island?” O’Connor wondered aloud.

“Looks like a cave,” Matus said.

As they approached, Thor began to see the
outline of it, and he saw that it was indeed a cave. It was a massive cave, an
outcropping of rock that rose up from the sea, emerging here, in the midst of a
cruel and endless ocean, rising hundreds of feet high, the opening shaped in a
big arch. It looked like a giant mouth, ready to swallow all the world.

And the currents were taking their boat right
toward it.

Thor stared at in wonder, and he knew it could
only be one thing: the entrance to the Land of the Spirits.