Morgan Rice - A Sky of Spells

Thor leaned back beside Gwen, draped an arm around her, and placed his other hand on her belly. He felt a deep sense of content. His body was warm from the summer wind, from the flames, from the wine in his veins. He and Gwen lay back in the grass, as did the other couples in the quiet night, and they looked up at the night sky, filled with sparkling red stars. Thor felt there was no place he’d rather be. Everything felt so perfect in the world, and hoped it would never change.

Nearby, Reece and Selese leaned back, kissing, sharing wine from a goblet, very much in love. Thor admired his friend’s courage in proposing so soon, and he looked forward to their double wedding. Beside them were Elden and Indra, sitting up beside each other, each of them hardened warriors and neither of them expressive in their love for each other. Thor could tell they were in love, yet they were on the opposite spectrum on Reece and Selese in the way they showed it. The night was so quiet, punctuated only by the soft summer wind, and the sound of the flames. Yet the acoustics were odd up here, and the wind carried voices in the air, making Thor hear the others conversations, whether he wanted to or not.

“Now that the wars are over, I must visit my father,” Elden said to her. “Assuming he still lives. It will be a long journey across the Ring to my home village.” He looked at her cautiously. “If you’d like to journey with me?”

Indra stared, expressionless, staring into the flames. She almost appeared as if she were not interested in him—though Thor knew that she was. She just kept up her walls.

She shrugged.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do,” she said.

“Is that a yes?” he asked.

She shrugged again.

“Why not?” she said.

Elden reddened.

“Can’t you just admit that you care for me?” he asked.

She turned to him, frowning.

“I am here with you because your group took me from the Empire. And I am certainly not going back to the Empire.”

“Are you saying then you don’t care for me?” he asked.

She shrugged and looked away.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” she said.

They fell back into silence. That was the way it had always been between them, Indra determined to maintain her cold, masculine, indifferent front, refusing to show any affection for Elden. But Thor could see it in the way she stole glances at him when he wasn’t looking, and he knew that she truly cared for him, much more so than she would ever admit—and perhaps, tragically, more so than Elden would ever know. Thor wondered what would ever become of the two of them?

“That is your third goblet of wine, is it not?” Illepra asked Godfrey, not far away, on the other side of Thor.

Godfrey smiled as he finished the rest of it in one large gulp.

“I wish it were the fourth,” he said with a chuckle. Godfrey laughed and poured himself another.

Illepra frowned.

“You should not be drinking so much,” she reprimanded. “Your injuries still need to heal.”

“Heal?” he said. “That was six moons ago. I was healed within days.”

“You need to stop drinking,” she said. “It is time for you to leave it behind.”

“What difference does it make to you?” he asked.

She reddened.

“I’ve saved your life twice now,” she said. “What was the point, if you will just throw it away?”

“I never asked you to,” Godfrey said.

She raised her hands to her hips.

“Since we returned to King’s Court you had an opportunity to become someone new, to take part in the rebuilding. Instead, you spend all your time in the taverns, celebrating.”

“Is there not much to celebrate?” he asked.

“Have you no better way to spend your time than to become a common drunkard?”

“Is there any better way to spend one’s time?” he countered. “If there is, let me know. I haven’t seen it.”

She scowled.

“You promised me you would give up drink.”

“And I did,” he said sheepishly. “For a while.”

Godfrey, amused by himself, broke out into fresh laughter.

But Illepra was unamused; she suddenly got up and stormed away, furious. Godfrey watched her go, a confused look on his face.

“I don’t understand her at all,” he said aloud.

“Go to her,” Selese said.

“Why should I?”

“Are you that ignorant? Do you not see how much she loves you?”

Godfrey’s face fell in wonder, then recognition, and then he turned bright red, and not from wine. For the first time, he seemed to really recognize it.

He looked down, and kicked the ground at his feet. But he did not move. Instead, he took another long sip of his wine.

Thor wanted to get away from all the voices, to give them all privacy, and so he took Gwendolyn’s hand, stood, and the two of them began a leisurely stroll, walking along the edge of the fires. Thor sighed, wondering about the mysteries of love, of what brought two people close to each other. It all seemed inscrutable to him.

As they went, they came across Kendrick and Sandara, sitting on the outskirts of the group, in a darker corner of the hill. As they approached, Thor could hear them talking.

“But the Ring is your home now,” Kendrick said to Sandara.

Sandara sat there, tall and proud, bearing the resemblance of the Empire, staring into the flames as she shook her head.

“My home is far from here. In a foreign land.”

“In the occupied Empire. Would you rather be there?”

“Home is home,” she replied.

“And what of us?” Kendrick asked. “Do you not care for us?”

She turned and looked at him, and stroked his cheek.

“I care more for us than I could say. That is the only reason I am still sitting here right now.”

Thor took Gwendolyn’s hands and they continued walking, further and further, until they came across Erec and Alistair, talking quietly amongst themselves.

“There appear to be many weddings in the air,” Alistair said to Erec.

“And ours will come soon, my lady,” Erec replied.

Alistair turned and looked at him, eyes widening.

“Really?” she asked, filled with hope.

He nodded back, earnest.

“I want us to marry in my homeland, in the Southern Isles. I want my father to meet you. And all of my people. I want you to have the reception you deserve. My father is King, and you will be a princess among my people. It shall be a grand wedding. One befitting of you. If you do not mind waiting?”

Alistair leaned in and hugged him tight, and he hugged her back, and they kissed.

“There are too many people here,” Gwendolyn said. “I wish to be just with you. Come with me.”

She reached out and took his hand, and she led him quietly, through the night, heading towards the royal castle.

Thorgrin walked slowly through his old village, bewildered. Here was the place he had grown up, and yet it seemed so foreign to him. The streets were empty, the doors to the houses all left open, as if it had all been abandoned in a rush.

He walked through it slowly, a harsh driving wind whipping his face, stirring up the dirt, and he had never felt so alone.

Thor turned the corner and saw his father’s home, and he walked towards it with dread. It was the only home in the village with the door closed.

He reached it, turned the knob, and slowly pulled open the creaking wood door. His heart stopped.

Standing there, facing him, was not his father—but Andronicus.

Andronicus stepped out, smiling and sneering at the same time, his body half decayed, and reached out a long bony hand for Thor’s throat.

“My son,” he said in his ancient, awful voice. “You may have killed me. But I can still haunt your dreams.”