Morgan Rice - A Rule of Queens

Thor looked into the flames and realized they would all spend the night here, however long a night lasted in this place. Would they ever wake up? Would they ever find Guwayne?

Thor felt a wave of guilt as he started to wonder if he had led his brothers down to his own personal hell. He had not meant for them to follow, although he was grateful they had all joined him. Thor felt more determined than ever to reach Guwayne and to find a way to get all of his brothers out of here, one way or the other. For their sake, if not for his.

They all sat in the gloomy silence, each lost in their own world, the only sound that of the crackling fire. He wondered if he would ever see Gwendolyn again, if he would ever see daylight again. His thoughts grew increasingly fatalistic, and he knew he needed to distract himself from this place.

“I need a story,” Thorgrin said, surprised by the sound of his own voice breaking the silence.

They all turned and looked at him, surprised.

“Anyone,” Thor said. “Any story. Anything.”

Thor needed to be taken away, taken some place—any place—else.

A howling draft passed through, and as they sat there, Thor wondered if anyone would speak. If anyone had any energy left to speak.

After an interminable silence, after Thor was certain he would be doomed to his own thoughts, a voice finally cut through the air. It was low, and grave, and exhausted. Thor looked over and was surprised to see that that it was Matus, leaning forward, staring into the flames and speaking.

“My father was a hard man,” Matus said slowly. “A competitive man. A jealous man. Not the type of father who took joy in his son’s success. Rather, he was the type of father that felt threatened by it. He had to outdo me—in everything. Which was ironic, because I wanted nothing more than to love him my whole life, to be close to him. Yet anytime I tried, he pushed me away. He found a way to create a conflict, to keep me at a distance. It was a long time until I learned that it wasn’t me he hated, but himself.”

Matus took a deep breath, staring into the flames, focusing, lost in another world. Thor could relate to his words; he had felt the same way about the man who had raised him.

“I felt as if I was born into the wrong family,” Matus continued. “Like I didn’t quite fit in, at least not to the image of who we wanted me to be. The thing is, I was never quite sure who that person who he wanted was.

“I knew I didn’t fit in with the rest of the Upper Isle MacGils. I felt a kinship with the MacGils of the Ring,” he said, glancing at Reece. “I envied you all, and I wanted to escape the Isles, to come to the mainland and join the Legion.

“But I could not. I was doomed to be there. My brothers hated me. My father hated me. The only one that loved me was my sister, Stara…. And my mother.”

On that final word, Thor detected anguish in Matus’s voice. A long silence followed, and Matus finally got the courage to speak again, his voice heavy with exhaustion, as if he were traveling through emotional realms.

“One day,” Matus finally said, clearing his throat, “when I was perhaps thirteen, my father called for a hunt. It was a hunt meant for my older brothers, but he challenged me to come along. Not because he thought I would kill anything, but because he wanted to outdo me, to see my brothers outdo me, and to make me look stupid. He wanted to keep me in my place.”

Matus sighed.

“Late into the hunt, when the day was nearly through, we encountered the largest boar I have ever seen. My father charged, all bravado and aggression, and lacking the fine technique he claimed to have. He threw his spear and missed, enraging it. My two brothers, helpless, missed, too.

“The enraged bore charged my father and was about to kill him. I should have let it.

“Instead, I reacted. My father did not know, but I had spent many nights, long after the others were asleep, practicing with my bow. I fired two perfect shots and landed them in the boar’s head. It dropped down right before it had a chance to reach my father.”

Matus sighed and fell silent for a long time.

“Was he grateful?” Reece asked.

Matus shook his head.

“He gave me a look I can remember to this day. A look of rage, humiliation, jealousy. Here he was, alive because his youngest managed to fell a bore he himself could not. He hated me even more since that day.”

A long silence fell over them, punctuated only by the crackling fire. Thor pondered it, and realized he had similarities with his own father.

Thor was transported by the story, and he thought it was over, when Matus suddenly continued.

“The next day,” Matus continued, “my mother died. The storms of the Upper Isles had never agreed with her. She was a frail, delicate woman, transported to those barren isles by my father and his appetite for ambition. She caught a cold and never recovered—though I think what really killed her was the heartbreak of leaving the mainland.

“I loved my mother enough to justify my existence, and when she died, I felt that there was nothing left for me in that place. I attended her funeral with the others at the top of Mount Eleusis. Do you know it?” he asked, looking to Reece.

Reece nodded.

“The first capital,” he replied.

Matus nodded back.

“You know your history, cousin.”

“I was schooled in it since I was a boy,” Reece said. “Long before King’s Court, the Upper Isles held the seat of power. Five hundred years before, that was where kings ruled. Before the Great Divide.”

Matus nodded, and Thor looked at the two and wondered at the extent of their royal education, wondered how much he didn’t know about the history of the Ring. He had a desire to learn more, to learn about the ancient kings, the ancient warriors. He wanted to learn the stories of how the Ring had been centuries before, of old wars and battles and heroes and warriors, of old capitals and old seats of power….But now was not the time. Someday he would sit down and learn it all. Someday , he promised himself.

“Anyway,” Matus said, “on that day, I sat there by my mother’s grave and wept; it was too much for me. Long after the others left, I sat there all night long, atop that mount, in the presence of death, and that’s when I learned what death felt like. I blamed my father for her death, my father, who would not even attend the funeral. I would never forgive him for that night. He was a selfish man to the last.”

Matus sighed.

“Here, in this place, I feel that feeling again, for the first time. A feeling I thought I would never feel again: the feeling of death. My mother is here somewhere. I both dread seeing her, and look forward to it.”

His story concluded, they all sat there in the silence, and as they did, Thor looked at Matus with a new respect. The story had transported him indeed, had transported all of them, out of this dungeon and into another place. Would Matus find his mother here? Thor wondered.

And most of all, would Thor find Guwayne?

Darius was awakened from fast, troubled dreams at the first light of dawn by the sound of the village horn—a low, wailing sound that hurt his ears—and he knew immediately that there was trouble. That horn was never sounded except in dire emergencies, and he had only heard it sounded once in his lifetime, when he was a young boy. It was when one of the villagers had tried to escape, and was caught by the Empire, tortured and executed in front of them all.

With a deepening sense of foreboding, Darius jumped out of bed, dressed quickly, and burst out the door of his cottage, Dray beside him, at his heels the entire time. Immediately, he thought of Loti, and of the town meeting the day before. The villagers had all argued endlessly with one another, none agreeing on a clear course of action. They were all bracing themselves for the worst, for an impending doom, the inevitable vengeance the Empire must exact, and as usual, none was willing to attack, to take any decisive action. Darius was hardly surprised.