Authors: Morgan Rice
Thor turned and looked at Gwen, overwhelmed. Her eyes were shining back at his.
When Aberthol was out of earshot, she said softly, “Sorry about him—he can be intense. He doesn’t waste time on trivialities. He never has.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Thor said. “He said enough in a few minutes to make me think for a lifetime.”
Gwen laughed, reached down and took his hand, and led him down the hall. She led him around the broad circle, past stacks of books, then to a narrow, circular stone stairwell, which led down, underground, into the bowels of the place.
Thor followed her, amazed that there was another story underground. As they walked, the staircase kept going, and they passed floor after floor of books, descending deeper and deeper underground, probably a good ten stories. Thor was shocked. This place was vast. Labyrinthine.
“All of these books,” Thor said, catching his breath to keep up as Gwen skipped down the steps as if she were home. “I was overwhelmed by the number of books simply on the first floor. But the number of floors here never seems to end.”
Gwen laughed.
“Yes, the library is deep. But remember, we are dealing with seven hundred years of MacGil Kings. The knowledge is as vast and deep as the family history—as the Ring itself. This building also houses ancient texts from all corners of the Empire, going back thousands of years, of which we are the guardians. We are the holders of the ancient truth. This is one of the reasons why the Empire is so intent on crushing us. They want to wipe out the history. To rewrite it. As long as we preserve it here, they never can.”
They reached the final floor, and Thor followed Gwen as they proceeded down a stone corridor, lit every few feet by torches. Gwen took one off the wall and turned several times down various corridors, until they reached a small back room.
As they entered she lit several torches along the walls, until the small, cozy room was brightly lit. She affixed her torch to the wall and led Thor to a comfortable seat, big enough for two, at an ancient oak table in the center of the room, covered haphazardly in stacks of books. Thor could hardly get over this place. There were enough books on this table alone to last him a lifetime, and from the way Gwen began to organize them, it seemed as if she were familiar with them all.
Gwen reached over and opened an oversized book, displaying ancient maps. Thor leaned over beside her and ran his hand along the fine, crinkled pages, along the raised ink, tracing the trails of rivers, of mountains. This map was like a work of art.
“Do you know the ancient language?” Gwen asked. “The lost language of the Ring?”
Thor shook his head, embarrassed.
“Don’t feel bad,” she said. “There’s no reason why you should. Most don’t. It is taught to the royal family as a matter of course. Other than that, it is often the domain of scholars and kings. I would like to teach it to you, if you’d like to learn.”
“I would love to,” Thor said, excited at the idea. Thor loved knowledge, he always had, but he had never been granted access to it in his humble village; he had especially never had access to learning anything like the ancient language, which he knew to be the language of Kings for hundreds of years. The idea of learning it thrilled him.
“That is good,” she said, “because most of these books are written in it. Without that, it’s hard to go back past a few hundred years. The treasures it unlocks are endless.”
Gwen turned the heavy pages until they came to another map. This one was even more intricate, drawn in all different colors, with markings that popped off the page. The land it outline looked very beautiful. He had never seen a book like this in his life.
“What is this place?” he asked.
“The other night, when you were telling me about your mother,” Gwen said, “you got me curious. I can’t bear riddles; I always need to get to the bottom of things. When you told me that you never met her, and that you didn’t know who or where she was, it peaked my curiosity. I’ve been doing research for you into the Land of the Druids.”
Thor’s heart skipped a beat as he leaned closer.
“I found these ancient maps,” Gwen said. “I think this is the land where your mother lives.”
Thor leaned over, fascinated, looking at the maps with a whole new sense of meaning. He saw the ancient letters, and although he could not understand the ancient language, he assumed that it described the Land of the Druids. He ran his finger over every line, the blue of the ocean, the red of the cliffs. He spotted on the map a blue castle, glowing blue, perched at the top of a cliff, surrounded by a vast and empty sea. There was a long stone walkway leading to it, which curved into nothingness. Thor could feel the magic coming off of this place.
“The Castle of Lira,” Gwen said. “Rumored to be an ancient and holy place. It lies in the center of the Land of the Druids. I think this is where your mother lives.”
Thor ran his finger over it, and he could feel an intense energy rushing through his arm, and suddenly he knew she was right. He felt with every ounce of his being that this was indeed where she was. He felt a burning desire, stronger than he ever had, to meet her. He
had
to meet her.
“What does it say of the Druids?” Thor asked, excited.
Gwen slid over another book. This one was short and thick, and had no pictures. She flipped through the pages, heavy and crinkling, reading a text which Thor did not understand, and stopped halfway through, turning pages faster than he knew was possible, combing her finger along the edges until she stopped.
“The Druids are a kind and gentle people,” she began to read aloud. “But they can also be fierce. Their powers come not from arms, or armor, but sorcery. Druids are different from other sorcerers, however. Their powers are more mysterious, aloof. They are one with nature. It is quite common for a Druid to attract all sorts of animals, who will be more than a close companion. Animals are like an extension of the Druid. Because the Druid is at one with harmony and nature, more advanced Druids can control nature, can command animals, insects, all forces of nature around them.”
As Gwen read, Thor felt an electric jolt, thinking back to the battle against the McClouds, his ability to summon those bees, without even meaning to. He felt the truth in what she was reading.
“The power of a master Druid is nearly infinite. At the height of his power a Druid can be stopped by no one and nothing, in nature or on earth. But few Druids ever reach this level of power.”
Thor thought about that, and realized that his power was imperfect. It did not always come when he summoned it, and it did not always work. He also seemed to get tired quickly after using it. He wondered if that was because he was human, too. Did that riddle him with imperfections? He felt that it did.
As Gwen closed the book, Thor could not feel certain anymore of who or what he was, or what his place in the world was. Was he a Druid? Was he a human? He felt as if he were caught between two worlds, a half-breed perhaps, not a true Druid, yet not a true human. He wondered if Gwen thought any less of him for that.
“I hope you don’t think of me as different,” he said to her.
She shook her head.
“No, of course not,” she said softly.
“Because all I want is to be like you,” Thor said. “To be human. To be normal. I’m grateful for whatever powers I have, but I never asked for them. I just want to fight fair and square, like any other warrior. I just want to train and become great, based on my own efforts. I feel as if I am cheating when I summon a power.”
Gwen shook her head.
“You are doing nothing wrong,” she said. “This is who you are. You are meant to be who you are for a reason. All destiny has a purpose. To not fully embrace who you are—that would be wrong. That would be rejecting the fates. We are born with our special powers for a reason. And we are born with our limitations for a reason, too. They make us stronger.”
Gwen reached over and grabbed another book, a beautiful thick book, covered with a gold and silver plate, and slid it over to Thor. Thor reached out and held it with both of his hands, looked down at the incredible craftsmanship, the emblem of the falcon, of the MacGil family, and he felt a tremendous energy coming off of it.
“What is it?” he asked.
“The
Chronicle of the Ring
,” she answered. “It was written nearly a thousand years ago. It not only charts all the history of MacGils, it also tells the story of the Great Divide. Back when the Ring was one kingdom. Before the Highlands. Before the McClouds. It goes back even to before the Canyon. When the Empire was one. When there was no divide.”
Thor stared at the book in wonder.
“But it also goes forward, into the future. They say it was written by a council of scholars and mystics and sorcerers. This council knew everything, saw everything. And they set it all down in this book. They talk about things that happen even today. They talk of seven generations of MacGil Kings. They predict that the seventh would bring a great evil upon the Ring. They do not mention Gareth by name, but they describe him in action.”
Thor looked at the book with a new respect. He pulled back its heavy lid, and flipped through its pages, crinkling as he went, running his hand along the ancient, handwritten script which he could not understand.
“What else does it say?” he asked.
“It talks of the eighth MacGil ruler,” she said. “It says that he will bring destruction to the Ring unlike any we have ever known. Yet he will also bring great change and the Great Peace. It is a mysterious prophecy. All the others are clear, but this one is vague. I do not understand it. Neither does Aberthol. If Argon does, he is not telling us. I have checked all the sources, and I can get no clarity. Our best guess is that this book is unfinished.”
Gwen reached over, closed the book, and looked deeply into Thor’s eyes, with an intensity unlike any he’d ever seen. Her eyes shone with scholarship.
“Do you understand what this means?” she asked. “If I am to rule, I will be the eighth MacGil ruler. That is me. I do not wish to be the harbinger of destruction. This prophecy, it scares me. I can’t help but feel as if I’m a cog in the wheel of destiny, as if I’m destined to bring some great doom on my people, no matter how hard I try. Unless of course, I am killed, and the eighth MacGil ruler is someone else.”
Thor sat there, trying to follow her quick wit, her bouncing between books with a dexterity unlike any he’d ever seen, her depth of knowledge. He tried to process it all. He was about to ask her more questions, when suddenly a horn sounded from high up above, from the top floor of the building, echoing down the spiral staircase, all the way down to this chamber.
Suddenly Gwen stood, looking alarmed.
“Aberthol,” she said. “He never sounds the horn unless it is pressing, unless someone has arrived here for me.”
She hurried from the room, and the two of them climbed up the flights of stairs, circling all the way to the top, then continued down the corridor and out the front door, Krohn following.
Thor raised his hands to the harsh sunlight, squinting, as he made out the figures before him. He was surprised to see his friends—Reece, O’Connor, Elden, the twins—along with several Legion members, on horseback, waiting for him.
“Sorry to break this up,” Reece said, “but Kolk’s orders. We need to go. The Legion has been dispatched for rebuilding. Squadrons are already beginning to line up, and you are captain now. They won’t leave without you.”
Thor felt his stomach drop at the thought of leaving Gwen, but he nodded back to the others.
“I’ll be there momentarily,” Thor said. “Go ahead without me.”
Reece nodded in understanding, and corralled the others, and they turned and galloped away, back down the hill.
Thor turned to Gwen and saw the distress in her eyes. It was their final moment, before he left. He needed to ask her the question. Now, more than ever. But he saw the sadness in her eyes, and he did not feel that the time was right.
“Will you be safe here, alone?” Thor asked.