Morgan Rice - A Sky of Spells

Thor looked down at her huge belly, and he understood.

“You should not be on your feet too long anyway,” he said.

He led her gently to her seat, and this time she sat. She needed to. She felt short of breath, especially on this hot day, and she took a long drink on her sack of water.

Thor sat beside her, and she soon felt better. They looked out, at the incredible bounty all around them, thousands of people eating in harmony, from all corners of the Ring, all corners of the Empire, here in the new King’s Court. It was like a dream.

“Did you ever imagine it would be as glorious as this?” Thor asked.

She shook her head.

“I dreamed. And I hoped. But no—not like this. Seeing it…it’s hard to believe.”

“You have built a greater city than even your father had, even at his peak. It is now invincible. Finally, these people have found peace, thanks to you. You should be very proud.”

Gwendolyn wanted to say: Yes. You are right. Peace has come, and it will last forever.

But she could not bring herself to utter the words. Deep down, something was gnawing at her, she was not sure what. She thought of the blackened fruit. She thought of Argon’s prophecies. She knew she should feel safe, and yet somehow she did not feel entirely settled. Some part of her could not forget Argon’s ominous words, that fateful choice she had made, back in the Netherworld, the sacrifice. His prophecy. Argon’s words rang in her head, like a stranger knocking at her door who would just not go away:

“It is when you feel most secure that you always have the most to fear.”

Thor held his torch high and walked beside Gwendolyn in the dark, a procession of thousands of torches winding its way through the summer night. The day’s long festivities had finally morphed into night, and Gwendolyn led the huge procession out through the rear gate of King’s Court, and onto the wide path leading up King’s Hill.

Thor was excited as he realized it was time for the annual Lighting of the Night, the mystical ceremony that occurred on every Summer Solstice. It was a time where the revelries could continue in a more subdued form, lasting throughout the warm summer night. It was a demarcation, a time that changed the nature of the holiday from revelry to a sacred time.

Gwendolyn marched slowly, somberly, as MacGil rulers had done for centuries on this night, lute players following far behind, playing a slow, mournful tune. It was their job to both entice and scare away the spirits that were rumored to dance on this night.

“I am hoping Argon will be there,” Gwen said to Thor.

“I haven’t seen him in moons,” Thor said.

“Nor have I,” Gwen said. “He has the strangest way of disappearing. You don’t think he’s left us forever, do you?”

Thor shrugged. With Argon, one never knew.

Thor took Gwen’s hand as they walked, and he felt the energy coursing through her—not just hers, but also the baby’s. Thor was so on-edge these days, waiting for the baby to come any day, preparing and getting nervous for the huge wedding, finally just days away. He was anxious for everything to go smoothly—the wedding, the birth. He wanted all of the endless waiting to be over already.

Gwen squeezed his hand, and he looked over at her.

“Tonight,” she whispered, smiling. “When the last of this is done, we shall have more time together.”

Thor smiled back. “There is nothing I wish for more.”

High up, in the distance, there came two screeches—Mycoples and Ralibar—circling, letting their presence be known before they soared up and into the night. Thor took solace from their presence. They often flew off in the night, yet they always returned in the morning.

“When I see them,” Gwen remarked, “I feel as if nothing bad can ever come to the Ring.”

“As do I,” Thor said. “With two dragons, the Shield restored, the Ring is finally impregnable.”

They marched, thousands of people filing in behind them, all of them chanting a slow, somber tune designed to bring in the night. As they slowly ascended, the path taking them in broad circles, looping again and again, Thor looked up and saw the hill, rising gradually, hundreds of feet high. This hill was different than all the others, covered entirely with smooth grass, and paved with perfectly round circles etched into its sides. In between each circle was a small moat, filled with perfectly still, reflecting water. As they all slowly ascended the path, circling again and again, Thor watched all the torches reflecting in the water, a thousand points of reflected light lighting up the hill.

King’s Hill was a magical and mystical place, Thor knew, a place only frequented once a year, despite its prominent position on the outskirts of King’s Court. It was also, mysteriously, one of the few places unharmed in the war. As Thor walked, he could feel the power of this sacred placed, the earth feeling alive, humming through his feet.

Thousands of revelers followed Gwendolyn as she took one step at a time, leading the way with her torch, towards the top.

“He’s here,” she said, looking up.

Thor looked up, and saw, with relief, that Argon was there, standing at the top, in white robes and hood, looking down, like a shepherd patiently awaiting his flock.

They were close to the very top, and Thor remained a few steps behind as Gwen continued on, taking her place a few steps below Argon on the highest plateau. She glanced back and saw her people all stood below, spread in circles on the paths all throughout King’s Hill, and she waited patiently for Argon.

Argon finally closed his eyes and raised his palms out before him.

“The Night of Lights falls on the longest day of the year. Yet it also marks the beginning of days of darkness. Intermixed with light, there is always darkness—with joy, tragedy. Days are alive, contracting and expanding; people are not stagnant, either. Our universe is always in flux, and us along with it.”

He took a deep breath.

“This a holy day, not just one for reveling. It is a day and night for reflection. Look at the waters before you. Look at your torch light burning in them. Remember that light will fade. Remember from where you came. Your time here is but short, but a fleeting breath. We are all like a passing cloud, a summer breath, that is no more.”

Argon lowered his head and stepped back, and Gwendolyn climbed the final few steps to the highest point on King’s Hill. She stood there, beside Argon, and turned and faced the masses. As she did, everyone immediately took a knee and bowed their heads low.

Gwen reached out and raised her amber torch and slowly lowered it, touching it to the narrow strip of water at the top of the mount. As she did, the water mysteriously lit up in flames. Thor watched in wonder as the flames in the water spread, lighting the narrow moats of water all up and down King’s Hill, rings of fire between the paths spaced out every twenty feet, lighting up the mount, and lighting up the night.

All the people settled in now that the waters were lit, taking spots beside the flames and getting comfortable for the night.

Gwendolyn came down, took Thor’s hand, and together they found a spot in the grass, leaning against the hill, beside her brothers and close friends. Sitting nearby, beside the flames, were Kendrick and Sandara, Reece and Selese, Godfrey and Illepra, Erec and Alistair, Elden and Indra and Steffen and O’Connor. Krohn came up beside Thor and sat beside him, resting his head in his lap. Thor looked everywhere for Argon, but he was already gone.

The group sat staring out at the fires all around them, each holding a silver goblet of summer wine, as was the custom. They all waited as Gwendolyn raised her goblet first, as was the custom, took a sip, then reached out and splashed the rest on the fire. The flames mysteriously hissed and rose higher. The others all then raised their goblets, and drank. Thor took a long drink on his, and the strong, yellow summer wine went right to his head.