Morgan Rice - A Land of Fire

Erec’s mother’s nodded in understanding.

“It will not be easy to get you past the guards,” she whispered back. “Lower your hood, lower your eyes, keep your head down. Do as I tell you. If this does not work, they will kill you. Are you willing to take that chance?”

Alistair nodded back.

“For Erec, I would give up my life.”

Erec’s mother looked back at her, touched.

“You could escape if you choose, yet instead you risk your life to heal Erec. You really do love him, don’t you?” she asked.

Alistair’s eyes filled with tears.

“More than I can say.”

Erec’s mother took her hand, suddenly stepped out from behind the wall, and led Alistair right up to the main doors of the building, walking proudly, straight down the middle, right to the guards.

“My Queen,” said one.

They all bowed and began to allow her through, when suddenly one guard stepped forward.

“Who accompanies you, my lady?” he asked.

“Dare you question your Queen?” she snapped back, her voice made of steel. “Dare speak like that again, and you shall be removed from your post.”

“I am sorry, my lady,” he said, “but I follow the chain of command.”

“Whose command?”

“The new King, my lady—Bowyer’s.”

The Queen sighed.

“I shall forgive you this time,” she said. “If my husband, the former king, were alive, he would not be so kind. So you know,” she added, “this is my dear friend. She has fallen ill, and I am leading her to the sickhouse.”

“I am sorry, my lady,” the guard said, his head low, reddening, and stepped aside.

They opened the doors for her and Erec’s mother rushed in, holding Alistair’s hand, and Alistair, heart pounding, keeping her head down, heard the door slam closed behind them.

Erec’s mother reached up and pulled back her hood. Alistair looked around and saw they were inside the house of the sick, a beautiful marble building, with low ceilings, dimly lit by torches.

“We have not much time,” she said. “Follow me.”

Alistair followed her down the halls, twisting and turning, until finally his mother instructed her to raise her hood, and approached Erec’s door. This time, the guard stepped aside without any questions, and his mother strutted in, holding Alistair’s hand.

“All of you, leave us,” Erec’s mother commanded the guards in the room. “I wish to be alone with my son.”

Alistair kept her head down, waiting, her heart pounding, hoping no one detected her. She heard the shuffling of feet as several guards filtered out of the room, and finally, she heard the slamming of the wooden door behind her, and an iron bolt being slid into place.

Alistair pulled back her hood and scanned the room immediately, looking for Erec. It was a dim room, lit by a single torch, and Erec lay in a kingly bed on the opposite side, beneath piles of luxurious furs, his face more pale than she’d ever seen it.

“Oh, Erec,” Alistair said, rushing forward, bursting into tears at the sight of him. She detected his energy before she even got close, and it was a death energy. She sensed his life force on the way out. She had been away from him for too long. Alistair knew she should not be surprised; the first healing she’d given him had only been enough to immediately revive him. He had needed a longer session of healing to prevent him from dying, and so much time had passed.

Alistair rushed to his side, knelt down, and grabbed his hand in hers, leaning it on her forehead as she wept. He was cold to the touch. He did not stir, did not even flutter his eyes. He lay perfectly still, as if already dead.

“Is it too late?” his mother asked as she knelt by the other side of the bed, panic-stricken.

Alistair shook her head.

“There might still be time,” she replied.

Alistair leaned over and placed both her palms on Erec’s chest, slipping them through his shirt, feeling his bare skin. She could feel his heart beating, though faintly, and she leaned over him and closed her eyes.

Alistair summoned every power she’d ever had, willing herself to bring Erec back to life. As she did, she felt a tremendous heat rushing through her arms, through her palms, then felt it leaving her body and entering Erec’s. She watched her hands turn black, and realized how desperately Erec needed this.

Alistair remained there for she did not know how long.

She did not know how many hours had passed when she finally opened her eyes, feeling something subtle shift within her. She looked down and saw Erec open his eyes for the first time. He looked right at her.

“Alistair,” he whispered.

He raised a weakened hand and clasped her wrist.

Alistair wept, and his mother wept, too.

“You’ve come back to us,” his mother said.

Erec turned and looked at her.

“Mother,” he said.

Erec’s eyes closed again, and he was clearly still weak and exhausted; yet Alistair could see his skin turning back to its old color, could see the life force once again flowing within him. Slowly, his cheeks came back to color, too. She was elated, yet drained.

“He will be weak for quite a while,” Alistair said. “It could be weeks before he can stand and walk. But he will live.”

Alistair leaned over, exhausted, nearly collapsing on the bed, all her energy taken from her. She knew that she, too, would need a long time to recover.

Erec’s mother gave Alistair a look of profound love and gratitude.

“You saved my son,” she said. “I can see now how wrong I was. I can see now that you had nothing to do with his attempted murder.”

“I would never lay a hand on him.”

Erec’s mother nodded.

“And now you must prove that to our people.”

“This entire island has me convicted,” Alistair said.

“I will not let them,” his mother insisted. “You are like a daughter to me. After tonight, I would send myself to the dungeons before you.”

“But how can I prove my innocence?” she asked.

His mother thought for a long time, and slowly her eyes lit up.

“There is one way,” she finally said. “One way you can prove it to them.”

Alistair looked at her, her heart pounding.

“Tell me,” she said.

His mother sighed.

“We Southern Islanders have a right to challenge. If you challenge Bowyer to the Drink of Truth, he will have no choice but to agree.”

“What is that?” Alistair asked.

“It is an ancient rite, practiced by my forefathers. On the highest cliff, we have a fountain with magical waters, the waters of truth. Whoever lies and drinks from it will die. You can challenge Bowyer to the drink. He cannot refuse, or else be assumed to be lying. And if he is lying, as you say, then the waters will kill him—and prove your innocence.”

She looked back at Alistair meaningfully.

“Are you prepared to drink?” she asked.

Alistair nodded back, elated at the chance to prove herself, elated that Erec would live, and knowing that her life was about to change forever.

Romulus opened his eyes slowly, awakened finally by the sound of crashing waves, and the feel of something crawling across his face. He looked up to see a large, purple crab, with four eyes, crawling slowly on his face. He recognized it immediately: it was a crab native to the mainland of the Ring. It narrowed its four eyes and opened its jaw to bite him.

Romulus reacted instantly, reaching up, grabbing it in his palm, and crushing it slowly. Its claws pierced his flesh, but he didn’t care. He listened to it scream, and he delighted in the sound of its pain, continuing to squeeze it deliberately and slowly. It bit and pinched him, but he didn’t mind. He wanted to crush the life out of it, to prolong its suffering as much as he could.