Angel grasped
the rail as she stood at the stern of the ship, looking out at the fading Land of Blood as the currents pulled them downriver, away from Thorgrin. She was straining
to see him as he faded from view, trapped in that woman’s arms at the gatehouse
to the castle. As she floated away, she knew, she just knew, that if she didn’t
stop this ship somehow, she would be taken away from him forever.
The currents
carried them toward freedom, away, finally, from this land of gloom. But Angel
did not want freedom—she wanted Thorgrin, alive, with them. She knew he would be
trapped here, forever, along with his son, Guwayne. She could not turn her back
on him. Thorgrin had saved her life, had rescued her from that island, and she
never forgot a kindness. Life without loyalty meant nothing to Angel.
“Thorgrin!” she
cried, again and again, determined to get him back.
She felt arms
restraining her as she yelled, and she turned to see Reece and Selese holding
her compassionately, out of concern for her.
“These currents
are too strong,” Reece said, his voice filled with anguish. “There is nothing
we can do.”
“NO!” Angel
cried, refusing to accept it.
Without
thinking, she tore free from their grip, jumped on the rail, and leapt,
bounding off the edge, right for the waters below.
Angel felt the
air rushing by her as she plunged, face first, into the sea of blood. Immersed
in the thick liquid, she splashed back to the surface, fighting the currents
with everything she had to make her way to Thorgrin.
She felt herself
getting weaker, beginning to drown, and she closed her eyes as she flailed.
“Angel!” Selese
yelled from behind her.
Angel heard a
splash in the water beside her, and she saw that Selese had thrown a rope.
“Grab it!”
Selese yelled. “We’ll drag you back in!”
But Angel
refused. She would not abandon Thorgrin.
Instead, she willed,
with all her might and all her soul, that the currents take her to Thorgrin.
Not for herself, but for him.
And then
something strange happened. As she swam, she suddenly felt the currents
reversing, taking her with them, back toward Thorgrin. It was as if her force
of will had been strong enough to change the sea.
Angel swam and
swam, feeling her love for Thorgrin, her determination to save him, carry her
along the tides. It was so strong, there was nothing that could keep it back.
Angel reached
the stone drawbridge, grabbed hold of the slippery stone, and scrambled her way
up the surface, scraping her hands and knees.
She knelt there,
breathing hard, covered in the sticky red waters of the sea of blood, and she
looked up. Sitting there, perhaps ten feet away, was the enchantress, Thorgrin
on her lap, eyes opened wide, as if in a trance. The woman looked over at Angel
in shock, as if she had never expected her.
The woman slowly
set Thorgrin down and stood, rising to her full height, as Angel gained her feet,
too. The two stood there, facing off with each other.
“You dare
trespass on the gatehouse of the Lord of the Dead,” she seethed. “Thorgrin
shall never leave here. What makes you think that you shall, too?”
But Angel,
determined, stared back, unafraid. She had already faced death many times in
her brief life, with her disease, and it had instilled her with fearlessness.
“I am immune to
your charms,” Angel replied. “I am no man. I am a woman. And your charms cannot
work on me.”
The woman
scowled, as she must have realized that Angel, standing there, defiant, was
right; clearly, her powers were useless against her. She must have been the
first person in this woman’s life, Angel realized, that she could not touch.
The woman let
out a shriek of rage, as she rushed forward, claws out as if to tear Angel to
shreds.
Angel could not
react in time—and there was nowhere to run on the narrow stone drawbridge. She
braced herself as she soon felt the woman tackling her, on top of her, grabbing
her and driving her down to the stone. As the woman clawed for her face, Angel
grabbed the woman’s hair and yanked as hard as she could, until finally she
cried out in pain and Angel was able to roll away.
Angel scrambled
to her feet and kicked the woman hard, forcing her to roll out of her way, then
she ran right for Thorgrin. He lay there, still bound by the invisible spell.
Angel reached
his side and knelt down beside him, frantic, as the woman began to turn back.
“Thorgrin!” she
yelled, shaking him. “It’s me! Angel! Come back to me.”
But, to her
horror, Thorgrin just lay there, helpless, eyes glazed as he stared up at the
sky of gloom.
Angel felt her
heart sinking.
“Thorgrin,
please!” she cried.
Suddenly she
felt claws dig into her ankle, and she turned to see the woman grabbing her.
The next thing she knew she was sliding backwards along the stone as the woman
yanked her.
Angel managed to
turn around, and as she did, she caught a good look at the woman’s face, and
she was horrified. No longer was there a beautiful woman there; instead, her
true colors had come out with her rage. She was now an ugly demon, her face
green, lined with warts. She pounced on Angel, landing on top of her, and put
both hands on her throat. She squeezed, and began choking her for real.
Angel, gasping, reached
up and grabbed her wrists and tried her best to get the grotesque woman off of
her. But it was no use; she wasn’t strong enough. This woman was a demon, and
Angel knew she would die by her grasp.
“Thorgrin!”
Angel called out weakly, gasping. “Help me! Please!”
Angel was losing
air. She felt herself growing faint, knew that in moments she would be dead.
But she did not regret it; at least she had died fighting for Thorgrin.
Suddenly, Angel
could breathe again, as she saw the woman go flying backwards off of her. She
blinked, confused, gasping, and her heart lifted to see Thorgrin rushing
forward and throwing the woman off of her.
Angel jumped to
her feet and Thor came running to her and embraced her.
“Angel,” he
said, clearly overcome. “You have brought me back. Your love brought me back.”
They both turned
and faced the woman who, as she stood, began to morph into something else. Her
body stretched as she rose higher and higher, to a great height, thirty feet
tall, her body green, slimy, with the face of a demon.
She raised one
huge foot and brought it down, as if to crush them both.
Thor grabbed
Angel and dove out of the way with her at the last moment. The demon’s foot
came down right beside them. Angel felt the wind rush by her air, and as it hit
the stone, the world shook. Its foot hit with enough impact to crush the stone
drawbridge, shattering it into pieces.
Angel felt
herself falling, as she and Thor fell through the bridge, which collapsed
around them in a great avalanche and rumbling of stone. She fell through the
air, and a moment later, she found herself submerged again, back into the sea
of blood, Thorgrin beside her.
They splashed
and flailed, as this time, the currents, far stronger, took them in a rush
downriver, away from the castle, back toward the ship. It was like being caught
in rapids, and the two of them flailed end over end in the frothing waters, the
sea clearly upset, wanting to eject them from this Land of Blood. In the distance, Angel could see the demon still standing on the bridge, roaring,
infuriated, wanting its due.
They went
gushing downriver and as she held onto Thorgrin, the two of them tried their
best to stay afloat.
“Thorgrin, the
rope!” called out a voice.
Angel turned to
see a rope rushing by, and as she looked up, she saw their ship, Reece and the
others standing at the rail and looking down in desperation.
Thorgrin reached
out for it and just missed it—but Angel, closer to it, managed to grab it. She
hung on for dear life, and Thor hung onto her, and the two of them were finally
stopped, hanging on by the rope, bound to the ship.
She held on
tight as she felt the others pulling them in, one hand at a time, and soon they
got close enough for Reece and the others to reach down, grab them, and pull
them back on deck.
Angel and
Thorgrin knelt there, spitting out the waters of blood, breathing hard, as they
were brought to their feet and embraced by the others.
Thor turned to
Angel, a look of profound gratitude in his eyes—which, Angel was thrilled to
see, were no longer glazed.
“I shall never
be able to thank you,” he said.
They embraced as
the others joined them, and the roaring currents carried their ship away,
toward a horizon of light, toward freedom, and away from Guwayne, from the Land of Blood.
Gwendolyn flew
on Lycoples’s back, Argon behind her, the two of them soaring over the Great
Waste as they had been for hours, and she could hardly believe where she was.
It seemed like just a moment ago she was trapped in the Ridge, that all had
seemed hopeless; but now, flying on the back of a dragon again on the way to
see Argon’s master, to learn about Thorgrin, to discover the secret, she felt
liberated again—and filled with hope. She felt as if the world were hers.
As Gwendolyn
flew she looked down at the endless Waste spread out below, the ever-changing
contours of the Empire lands, so deadly and yet so beautiful. From up here, the
land seemed like a giant work of art, the sprawl of the red sands of the desert
stretching in every direction, rising and falling, nothing but emptiness
encasing the Ridge as far as the eye could see. Lit up by the two suns, it was
breathtakingly beautiful, if desolate, the red sands reflecting and absorbing
light, the terrain changing every so often to barren rock, cliffs, and
reverting back to rock and sand. Every now and again, far below, she noticed
small nomadic groups of slaves or creatures trekking through the desert,
stopping and squinting up at them, probably, she figured, wondering what could
be flying overhead.
Gwen had no idea
where they were going, so she followed Argon’s lead as he directed Lycoples
north to the Northern Spike, to the land where he said his master resided.
After so many hours of flying, covering so many thousands of miles, flying at
such speed that she could barely catch her breath, Gwen could not help but
wonder how far away the Northern Spike was, and whether Argon’s master would
truly be there. While she was excited to meet him, she also felt a sense of
dread. After all, Argon had warned that meeting him would risk their lives.
Gwendolyn
grabbed the dragon’s scales tightly, holding on as the dragon flew in and out
of the clouds, and as she did, she became lost in thought. A part of her wanted
to take the reins and turn the dragon around and fly directly to Thorgrin, to
Guwayne, wherever they were. She wanted to fly away from all this, away from
the Ridge’s troubles, away from the Empire and its troubles, back over the open
sea; she wanted to find her husband and her son, to live somewhere happily with
them, in peace.
But she knew she
could not. She had a responsibility. She had vowed to help the King, the people
of the Ridge, and her exiles of the Ring were still back there, too. She still
had the responsibilities of a Queen, and even if she were a Queen in exile, and
she could not turn her back on her people.
As they flew,
Gwen wondered with anticipation what Argon’s master might be like. She could
not even imagine how powerful he could be, someone powerful enough to train
Argon. What would he have to say? Would he be able to help reunite her with
Thorgrin? And what was the secret he was hiding? Gwen sensed that it was
momentous, that it was the secret Argon had been withholding from her ever
since she had met him. That it had to do with the very destiny of the Ring
itself.
They slipped
down beneath the clouds, and as they did, Gwen was afforded a view of something
far below which made her heart beat faster. There, on the horizon, the
desolation of the Great Waste gave way to a new landscape. It was a terrain
unlike any she ever seen, water shimmering beneath the sun; it looked like the
land had broken into pieces, looked like a thousand small isles floating in
shallow waters, close to each other. It was as if the waste had shattered into
a thousand tiny lakes, small islands of land between them connected by
footbridges of sand and rock.
Lycoples dipped
down low, circling, and as she did, Gwen’s eyes were nearly blinded by the
glare of the water. She saw this new terrain stretch forever, and she wondered:
Could this be the place?
Lycoples
suddenly shrieked and reared without warning, and swooped down low, Gwen’s
stomach dropping in surprise. She stopped right at the entrance to the islands,
and set down on a large, flat rock.
“What is it,
Lycoples?” she asked, as the dragon sat there and shrieked, but refused to lift
off again.
Argon slowly
dismounted, then turned and reached out and gestured for Gwendolyn’s hand.
“This land is
the domain of my master,” he explained. “Dragons are not allowed here. This is
as far she can go. I’m afraid we must cross the rest of it on foot.”
Gwendolyn took
his hand as she dismounted, and as she stood there, she turned and looked out
at the vast landscape of interconnecting lakes and islands, seeming to stretch
forever, as far as she could see, as if the world had been broken into a
million little pieces. She looked down and saw that the water was shallow,
hardly a foot deep, and she wondered at the nature of it. Here, she realized,
one could truly walk on water.
“My master
demands visitors be on foot,” Argon said, as he turned and faced Gwendolyn, his
face filled with concern, an expression she had never seen him wear before.
“This is a place
of power, Gwendolyn,” he added. “A place unlike any you’ve been. If my master
still resides here, you may not survive the encounter. Are you sure this is a
chance you are willing to take?”
Gwen felt a
sense of apprehension as she looked back at him, realizing the finality of her
decision—but having no doubts as she thought of Thorgrin, of Guwayne.
She nodded
slowly, resolute.
Argon looked
back at her earnestly, then finally nodded.
“Very well,” he
said. “Walk closely beside me. You are entering a land that is more magic than
substance. Do not stray from the path. And you,” he said, turning to Lycoples,
“wait for us here. That is, if we return.”
*
Gwendolyn hiked
with Argon across the thousand isles, following him as he crossed the
footbridges made of rock and sand, connecting the tiny islands like
steppingstones in a vast lake, feeling as if she were walking into a dream. As
she went, the small lakes each turned a different color, shifting from blue to
yellow, to scarlet to pink, to white, making this entire place feel as if it
were breathing, making it feel alive.
At one point,
Gwen was going to step in the water, seeing that it was only a few inches deep,
but Argon stopped her.
“That water
seems shallow,” he said, “but it is not. It is an illusion. Step into it, and
you will plunge into the depths of eternity, and never be seen or heard from
again.”
Gwendolyn looked
down at the clear water, the ground just inches below it, and was shocked. She
was beginning to appreciate just how treacherous this place was.
They had been
hiking for hours, all eerily silent except for the far-off cry of exotic birds
and the sound of strange animals splashing in the water, which Gwendolyn could
never see. The second sun was already beginning to set and a light mist began
to fall, to spread over the entire place like a blanket. Strangely enough, it
did not obscure the view, but rather made it more brilliant, making the very
air seem as if it were sparkling, alive. The sky splintered into a million
small rainbows, and as she walked, moisture heavy in the air, she could feel
the intense energy here. It was as if she were entering a different realm, a
different dimension of life, and she sensed it was the most powerful place she
would ever be.
Gwendolyn, her
legs aching, her heart thumping in anticipation of finding Argon’s master,
began to wonder what would happen if they did not. She was dying to ask Argon
questions, but she held her tongue, knowing he would speak when he was ready.
“My master has
lived here for a thousand centuries,” Argon finally said, shattering the
silence, his voice deep and somber. “It is a place of birth—and also of death.
It is the place where the very world was formed.”
Gwen wondered
how much to ask.
“And who is your
master?” she finally asked, dying to know.
Argon paused.
“He is of the
very stuff the earth was formed of,” he finally responded. “He is more creature
than human. Less human even than me. He is something else, something far more
powerful: he is a Paragon.”
A Paragon. Gwen
was shocked at the term, one which she had only heard of when reading the
ancient books. She had never thought one really existed.
“I had only
thought they were a rumor,” she said. “The stuff of legend.”
Argon shook his
head.
“Most are dead,”
he acknowledged. “But one survives still.”
Gwen reeled at
the news. She remembered reading about the mythical Paragon, a race even more
powerful than the Druids, said to be one of the pillars that formed and held up
the world. They were supposed to have the power to see not only the past and
the future, but also to control and shape time. They were rumored to be a step
below God. She struggled to recall what the books had said.
“Cast out of the
ranks of heaven by God himself, after they overreached their power,” Argon
said, reading her mind.
Gwen was
startled as he dipped so easily into her mind.
“Is it true?”
she asked.
He continued to
walk, remaining silent, and she suspected he would never answer. Her sense of
apprehension deepened. From all that she had read, an encounter with a Paragon
meant a certain death.
Still, she hiked
on, determined for Thor’s sake, for Guwayne’s sake, yet all the while wondering
if this were a terrible idea. She hiked and hiked, crossing one island after
the next, feeling as if she had been walking for years.
Gwen turned and
glanced back as she went, and she could no longer see Lycoples, no longer see
the place they had entered. It had all disappeared from the horizon what seemed
like ages ago. She and Argon were alone, deep in this magical land, too far in
to return. And as the sun set lower, she could not help but wonder as if she
would
ever
return.
As they hiked,
Gwen began to feel as if she were losing track of reality, and she was dying to
break the monotony.
“Do you remember
my father?” she finally asked Argon, getting lost in thoughts, in memories, and
desperate for conversation. “Sometimes, I am ashamed to say, I don’t. I try so
hard to see his face, but I cannot. My past sometimes….feels like a distant
world.”
Argon remained
silent for a long time, and Gwen did not know if he would even respond. After
enough time passed, she began to wonder if she’d even asked the question.
“I remember him
very well,” Argon said. “He was a fine King, but a better man. He had a heart
big enough for the Kingdom.”
At his words,
Gwendolyn missed her father more than she could say.
“Of all his
children,” Argon continued, some time later, “he was most fond of you.”
Gwendolyn was
surprised at his words.
“Me?” she
echoed. “But I am a girl. Kendrick is the oldest and the leader of the Silver.
Reece is a warrior with the Legion. Luanda was a Queen and the eldest daughter.
Why would you say me?”
Argon shook his
head.
“You speak of
what your siblings did—not of who they
were
. The essence of a person is
something else entirely. Yes, they were each fine in their own way, but you had
all of their traits combined. You were more than a warrior—you were also a
leader.”
He walked in
silence for a long time, as she contemplated his words.
“Your father was
as close to a brother as I’d ever had,” Argon said. “But there is a reason I do
not miss him: because he lives on in you.”
Gwendolyn felt
touched by his words, and she had a sudden longing to be back in the Ring.
“Argon,” she
said, “do you ever wonder if—”
She suddenly
stopped as Argon held his staff to her chest and stopped in his tracks. He
looked out with caution, and Gwen looked out into the lakes and islands before
them, wondering what was happening. Nothing appeared different to her.
Argon slowly
lowered his staff, and as they stood there, listening, waiting, Gwen could see
the genuine fear on his face. She peered into the sparkling mist, breathless,
until finally, slowly, the waters began to ripple.
The waters
rippled madly until soon there came a great splashing, and there emerged from
the depths, like a volcano erupting, a creature that could only be a Paragon.
Her heart stopped at the sight.
It looked like a
man, but was twice as wide and tall, and it emerged looking like a pile of mud.
Slowly, the mud fell away, sliding down its sides, and he grew taller as she
watched, twice as tall again. Finally, he was all clear, looking like a
skeleton with translucent flesh and huge, glowing white eyes that terrified
her. He made an awful clicking noise from deep within, each time he breathed.
He craned his
neck down to their eye level and stared at them, scowling, but inches from Gwendolyn’s
face—and her heart filled with fear.
He finally
leaned back, standing upright and swaying in place, his arms and neck squirming
like snakes, never static.