But there was more to it than that. Thor also felt deeply at home with Ragon, felt comforted in his presence, the same way he had always felt around Argon. In some ways he felt that having Ragon here was like having Argon back.
Thor also felt incredibly comforted by the sight of Lycoples, circling high above, screeching every so often to make her presence known. He looked up and spotted her and was thrilled to see her. It made him feel as if Mycoples were back with him again, as if a piece of himself had been restored.
And yet, even with all of this, there was still something more to this place, something else that Thor could not quite detect, lingering just beneath the surface. He sensed something here, a presence, something he could not quite put his finger on. He felt as if there were something here waiting for him, something that would make him whole again. He did not understand what it could be, here in this empty place the middle of nowhere, but it kept gnawing at him, his senses screaming at him that there was something crucial here, somewhere on this island.
They marched for hours, and yet strangely enough, Thor found that his legs were not tired in this place. It was the most idyllic place he’d ever seen, and they strolled through rolling hills, through lush fields of green, and Thor felt as if he were being cradled in the very arms of paradise.
They crested a hill, and as they did, Ragon came to a stop, and Thor stopped beside him. He looked out, and was shocked by the vista: there, in the distance, sat a castle made of light. It shone in the sun, sparkling, looking like a golden cloud, yet in the shape of a castle. It had a translucent feel to it, and Thor realized the castle was entirely composed of light.
He turned to Ragon in wonder.
“The Castle of Light,” Ragon explained.
They all stared, silent, Thor not knowing what to say.
“Is it real?” Thor asked, finally breaking the silence.
“As real as you and I,” Ragon replied.
“But it looks to be made of light,” Reece said, stepping forward. “Can one enter?”
“As surely as you might enter any castle,” Ragon replied. “It is the strongest castle known to man. Yet its walls are made of light.”
“I don’t understand how that can be,” Thor said. “How can a castle at once be so light, yet so strong?”
Ragon smiled.
“You will find that many things here, on the Isle of Light, are not what they seem to be. As I said, this a place where only those who deserve it are allowed to enter.”
“And what is that?” Matus asked.
Matus gestured to another building, and Thor turned with the others and saw another building of light, opposite the castle, built in a low arch.
“Ah,” Ragon said. “I’m glad you pointed it out. It’s where I plan to take you next: the armory.”
“Armory?” Elden asked, hopeful.
Ragon nodded.
“It holds all manner of weaponry, weaponry which cannot be found anywhere else on earth,” Ragon said. “Weaponry meant only for the deserved.”
Ragon turned and looked at them all meaningfully.
“God smiles down on your valor,” he said, “and it is time for your reward. Some rewards are reserved for the next life—and some for this one. It’s not only the dead who get to enjoy themselves,” he said with a wink.
The others looked at him in surprise.
“Do you mean there are weapons in there meant for us—” O’Connor began.
But Ragon was already off, hiking down the hill with his staff, mysteriously fast, a good fifty yards away already, although he seemed to walk at a leisurely pace.
Thor and the others looked at each other in wonder, then they all turned and hiked down the hill, hurrying to catch up.
They followed him right up to the soaring, golden double doors to the armory, and they watched as Ragon reached out with his staff and tapped on the doors.
As he did, there came a tremendous bang, echoing as if he were tapping on iron with a battering ram. Thor couldn’t understand how it could be so; his staff had barely touched the doors of light.
Slowly, the doors opened wide, a light shining forth from the inside, temporarily blinding Thor, making him raise his hands. The light calmed and Ragon walked in, and one by one, they all followed.
Thor looked at the high-arched ceiling as he went, at the soaring room, a hundred feet deep, taking it all in in awe. An endless array of weaponry was lined up along the walls, rows and rows of it, weapons forged in gold and silver and steel and bronze and copper and metals Thor did not recognize. Beside this were all manner of armor, all brand-new, shining, shaped in the most unusual and intricate designs that Thor had ever seen.
“You have all been to the land of the dead and back,” Ragon said. “You have all proved yourselves. You left your friends behind; you left your families behind; you left your comforts behind. You ventured forth only for each other, your brothers. You upheld your solemn oath. An oath of brothers is stronger than any weapon in the world. And that is something you have come to learn.”
Ragon turned and gestured to the walls, to the rows and rows of weapons.
“You are men now. As much—even more so—than any other men, regardless of your age. It is time for you to have the weapons of men, the armor of men. This armory is yours, a gift from God. A gift from the One who watches over you.
“Choose,” he said, turning and smiling, waving his staff. “Choose your weapons and your armor. It will be the weapon you are meant to wield for a lifetime. Each weapon here has a special destiny, and the weapon you choose is meant only for you. It can be wielded by no other. You can choose no other. Close your eyes and let your weapon summon you.”
Thorgrin looked about the armory, and as he did, he felt his sword, the Sword of the Dead, vibrating in his hand. He drew it from its sheath and held it up, examining it in wonder, and as he did, he was shocked to see the skulls and crossbones around the hilt beginning to move, the mouth of ivory opening up as if it were crying. As he watched, he heard a noise emanate from it, and the mouth began to emit a moaning sound.
Thor looked down at his hand as if he held a creature squirming in it, and he did not know whether to throw it away or clutch it more firmly. He had never encountered a weapon like it; it was truly alive. It both intimidated and empowered him.
Ragon came up beside him.
“You hold one of the greatest weapons known to man,” Ragon said. “A sword even demons are afraid to wield. You are not mistaken: it is very much alive.”
“It looks as if it is weeping,” Thor said, staring at it.
“It is as alive as you are,” Ragon said. “That moaning you hear is the moaning of the souls it has taken; those tears are the tears of the dead. It is a hard weapon to wield, a weapon with a mind of its own, a history of its own. A weapon that must be tamed. Yet it is also a weapon that chooses, and it chose you. You would not be wielding it if it didn’t want you to.
“There is no weapon out there to rival it. Learn to wield it, and to wield it well. The weapons here are for the others, not for you.”
Thor nodded in understanding.
“I would wish for no other weapon,” he replied, sheathing his sword, determined to learn how to master it.
Ragon nodded.
“Good,” he said. “There is, though, armor here for you. Let it summon you, and you shall find it.”
Thor closed his eyes and as he did, he felt an invisible force take hold of him. He opened his eyes and allowed the force to lead him to the far wall, each of his friends spreading out throughout the vast room, as each was led in a different direction.
Thor stopped before a set of golden armor. He looked up and saw two long, thin plates of circular armor, and he wondered what they were for.
Ragon came up beside him.
“Go ahead,” he prodded. “They won’t bite. Take them down.”
Thor took them down off the wall gingerly and examined them.
“What are they?” he asked.
“Wrist guards,” Ragon replied. “Made of a metal you shall never know.”
“They are so light,” Thor observed, skeptical.
“Do not be deceived, young Thorgrin,” Ragon said. “These will stop a greater blow than the thickest of armor.”
Thor examined them in awe.
Ragon stepped forward and took them from Thor, and as Thor held out his arms, he clasped one over each wrist. They were so long, they went up Thor’s wrists and covered his forearms. Thor raised his arms, testing them, and he could not believe how light they were. They fitted perfectly, as if they had been made just for him.
“Use them to block an enemy’s blow,” Ragon said. “Just as you would a shield or a sword. Yet these are even stronger than the finest steel—and when you are in the thick of battle, they will anticipate your enemy, and will surprise you with unique qualities of their own.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Thor replied, feeling ready to battle an army by himself.
O’Connor stepped forward, his eyes alight with excitement as he pulled a golden bow and quiver down from the wall. The quiver held the longest, sleekest arrows Thor had ever seen, and on it there draped a golden archer’s glove. O’Connor held it up in awe and put it on. It was made of a super-light golden chain mail, its mesh designed to wrap around his middle finger and then to wrap around up his wrist and forearm. He closed and opened his fist, examining it in wonder.
He then raised the bow and held it to his chin.
“That bow is unlike any other,” Ragon explained. “Arrows shot from it will fly twice as far, and pierce any armor known to man. You can fire them more quickly, and the weight of the bow is the lightest known to man.”
O’Connor tested it, pulling the string, raising it up, and examining it in awe.
“It is magnificent,” he said.
Ragon smiled.
“It is your reward, not mine,” he said. “The best gratitude is to use it well in battle. Protect those who are too weak to protect themselves. And protect your brothers.”
O’Connor slid it over his back and it fit perfectly, as if it were meant to be.
Matus, beside him, stepped forward and reached up and placed both hands on a long golden studded shaft, at the end of which dangled a long golden chain and three spiked golden balls. It was the most beautiful flail Thor had ever seen, and Matus held it up, chains rattling, and slowly swung it over his head. He marveled at the weight of it, and looked in wonder to Ragon.
“A hero’s weapon,” Ragon said. “That is no ordinary flail. Its chains expand and contract as needed, sensing your enemy’s distance, keeping you out of their reach, and its balls detect their master, and will not strike you, or any of your group.”
Matus swung them and they were dazzling in the light, making a soft whooshing noise as he spun them, so silent it was as if they were not even there.
Elden reached up and gingerly removed from the wall a long shaft—as long as he—with a small, gleaming golden axe-head at the end of it, its blade shaped in a razor-sharp crescent. He held it up and turned it, reflected in the light, not quite sure what to make of it.
“It’s so light,” Elden said. “And so sharp.”
Ragon nodded.
“Long enough to kill a man from ten feet away,” he said. “Your enemies shall not be able to approach you, and you can strike a man down from his horse before his lance can touch you. As a battle axe, it is unparalleled, longer, sleeker, and stronger than all others. You can cut through men or you can cut through a tree—always, in one chop. This axe never fails—and its blade never dulls.”
Elden swung it overhead, and Thor felt its wind even from here as Elden seemed to swing it effortlessly, the longest axe he’d ever seen.
Indra reached out and grabbed hold of a long spear, resting horizontally on the wall, and carefully took it down. She held it up in the light, its shaft comprised of a translucent gold material, studded with diamonds, and ending in a long, sharp diamond tip. She turned it over in her hands, examining it in awe.
“There exists no sharper spear,” Ragon said. “It is a spear that can fly farther than any other, that can pierce any man, any armor. It is befitting of you, a woman with skills to rival any man of the Legion.”
“It is magical,” she said in hushed tones.
“And loyal,” he replied. “You can never lose it. With each throw, it shall return to you.”
Indra examined it, even more impressed, clearly speechless.
Reece stepped forward and grabbed the most beautiful halberd Thor had ever seen, its three golden prongs glistening in the light, lodged into the end of a shaft of gold.
“A halberd to rival no other,” Ragon explained. “Some call it the devil’s pitchfork—yet in a true knight’s hands it is a weapon of honor. It is also incomparable in hand-to-hand combat. It is also deadly in the air: throw it, and its diamond shaft will dazzle and blind your enemy, stunning them. Take aim, and it will pierce anything in your way. And it will always return to you.”
With only Selese left amongst the group, Ragon turned to her.
“For you, my dear,” he said to her, holding out a small sack.
Selese held out her palm and he placed it inside it, and she looked down, and held it up. She opened it and poured it on her other palm, and Thor could see that it was fine golden sand. It fell through her fingers, back into the sack.
“You are not a fighter,” Ragon explained, “but a healer. This sand will heal any man from any wound. Use it wisely: there is less in this sack than you think.”
Selese bowed her head, eyes tearing up.
“A great gift, my lord,” she said. “The only gift greater than the gift of death is the gift of life.”
Thor looked over all his brothers and Indra and Selese, all of them decked with new weaponry, and he almost did not recognize them. They each looked, with their glistening, magical weapons, looked like formidable warriors. They looked like seven titans, like a group of warriors that any foe would be wise to stay far away from. Especially after emerging from the darkest hells, Thor felt as if they had all been reborn, ready to face the world.
And they had not yet even approached the wall of new armor.
Ragon looked them over approvingly.