Morgan Rice - The Gift of Battle

Thorgrin, standing on the violently rocking ship, looked out before him and slowly, in horror, began to realize what he had just done. He looked down in shock at his own hand, still gripping the Sword of the Dead, then looked up to see, but inches away, the face of his best friend, Reece, staring back at him, eyes wide open in pain and betrayal. Thor’s hands shook violently as he realized he had just stabbed his best friend in the chest and was watching him die before his eyes.

Thor could not understand what had happened. As the ship tossed and turned, the currents continued to pull them through the Straits of Madness, until finally, they emerged out the other side. The currents calmed, the ship leveled out, and the thick clouds began to lift as with one final burst, they exited into calm, still waters.

As they did, the fog that had enveloped Thor’s mind lifted, and he began to feel his old self, to see the world with clarity once again. He looked at Reece in front of him, and his heart broke as he realized it was not the face of an enemy, but of his best friend. He slowly realized what he had done, realized that he had been in the grips of something greater than himself, a spirit of madness he could not control, which had forced him to perform this horrible act.

“NO!” Thorgrin shouted, his voice broken with anguish.

Thor extracted the Sword of the Dead from his best friend’s chest, and as he did, Reece gasped and began to collapse. Thor chucked the sword away, not wanting to lay eyes upon it, and it landed with a hollow thud on the deck, as Thor sank to his knees and caught Reece, holding him in his arms, determined to save him.

“Reece!” he called out, crushed by guilt.

Thor reached out and pressed his palm against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. But he could feel the hot blood running through his fingers, could feel Reece’s life force ebbing out of him as he held him in his arms.

Elden, Matus, Indra, and Angel rushed forward, they, too, finally free from the grips of their madness, and they crowded around. Thor closed his eyes and prayed with all he had that his friend come back to him, that he, Thor, be given one chance to rectify his error.

Thor heard footsteps, and he looked up to see Selese rush forward, her skin more pale than he’d ever seen, her eyes aglow with a light that was other-worldly. She dropped to her knees before Reece, took him in her arms, and as she did, Thor let him go, seeing the glow surrounding her and remembering her powers as a healer.

Selese looked up at Thor, her eyes burning with intensity.

“Only you can save him,” she said urgently. “Place your hand on his wound now!” she commanded.

Thor reached out and placed a palm on Reece’s chest, and as he did, Selese laid her hand over his. He could feel the heat and power coursing through her palm, over his hand, and into Reece’s wound.

She closed her eyes and began to hum, and Thor felt a wave of heat rise up in his friend’s body. Thor prayed with all he had that his friend come back to him, that he be forgiven for whatever madness had driven him to do this.

To Thor’s great relief, Reece slowly opened his eyes. He blinked and looked up at the sky, and then slowly sat up.

Thor watched, amazed, as Reece blinked several times and looked down at his wound: it was entirely healed. Thor was speechless, overcome, in awe of Selese’s powers.

“My brother!” Thorgrin cried out.

He reached out and hugged him, and Reece, disoriented, slowly hugged him back as Thor helped him to his feet.

“You are alive!” Thor exclaimed, hardly daring to believe it, clasping his shoulder. Thor thought of all the battles they had been in together, all the adventures, and he could not have tolerated the idea of losing him.

“And why would I not be?” Reece blinked, confused. He looked all around at the wondering faces of the Legion, and he seemed puzzled. The others each stepped forward and embraced him, one by one.

As the others stepped forward, Thor looked around and took stock, and he suddenly realized, with horror, that someone was missing: O’Connor.

Thor rushed to the side rail and frantically searched the waters, remembering O’Connor, at the height of his madness, had leapt off the ship into the raging currents.

“O’Connor!” he yelled.

The others rushed up beside him and searched the waters, too. Thor stared down and craned his neck to look back at the Straits, at the raging red waters, thick with blood—and as he did, he saw O’Connor, flailing, being sucked in right at the border of the Straits.

Thor wasted no time; he reacted instinctively and leapt up onto the rail and then dove headfirst over the edge, into sea.

Submerged, startled by the heat of it, Thor felt how thick this water was, as if he were swimming through blood. The water, so hot, was like swimming in mud.

It took all of Thor’s strength to swim through the viscous waters, back up to the surface. He set his sights on O’Connor, who was beginning to sink, and he could see the panic in his eyes. He could also see, as O’Connor crossed the border into the open sea, the madness beginning to leave him.

Still, as he flailed, he was beginning to sink, and Thor knew that if he didn’t reach him soon, he would soon sink to the bottom of the Straits and never be found again.

Thor redoubled his efforts, swimming with all he had, swimming through the intense pain and exhaustion he felt in his shoulders. And yet, just as he neared, O’Connor began to sink down into the water.

Thor felt an injection of adrenaline as he watched his friend sink beneath the surface, knowing it was now or never. He burst forward, dove down underwater, and gave a great kick. He swam underwater, straining to open his eyes and see through the thick liquid; he could not. They stung too much.

Thor closed his eyes and drew upon his instincts. He summoned some deep part of himself that could see without seeing.

With another desperate kick, Thor reached out, groping the waters before him, and felt something: a sleeve.

Elated, he grabbed O’Connor and held on tight, amazed at the weight of him as he sank.

Thor yanked, as he turned and with all his might aimed back up for the surface. He was in agony, every muscle in his body protesting, as he kicked and swam for freedom. The waters were so thick, held so much pressure, his lungs felt as if they might burst. With each stroke of his hand, he felt as if he were pulling the world.

Just when he thought he would never make it, would sink back down to the depths with O’Connor and die here in this awful place, Thor suddenly broke the surface of the water. Gasping for air, he turned and looked all around and saw, with relief, that they had emerged on the other side of the Straits of Madness, in the open waters. He watched O’Connor’s head pop up beside him, saw him, too, gasping for air, and his sense of relief was complete.

Thor watched as the madness left his friend and the lucidity slowly returned to his eyes.

O’Connor blinked several times, coughing and gasping out the water, then looked to Thor, questioningly.

“What are we doing here?” he asked, confused. “Where are we?”

“Thorgrin!” called a voice.

Thor heard a splash in the water and he turned and saw a heavy rope land in the water beside him. He looked up and saw Angel standing up there, joined by the others at the rail of the ship, which had sailed back to meet them.