Morgan Rice - A Sky of Spells

“You needn’t call so loudly,” a voice said quietly.

Thor approached him, and the two stood side-by-side and turned and looked out at the city together.

“I’ve missed you, Argon,” Thor said. “I have called for you many times. Where have you been?”

“I travel many worlds,” Argon replied cryptically. “But I am always here with you, in your world, in some way.”

“Then you know all that is happening,” Thor said. “You know about my sister. My child. My son.”

Argon nodded solemnly.

“But then why did you never tell me? You never told me any of this.”

Argon smiled.

“It was not for me to tell,” he replied. “I learned my lesson about interfering in human destiny. It is not something I intend to do again.”

“What else are you not telling me?” Thor asked, wondering, desperate to know. He could not help but feel something ominous on the horizon, some great secret, something that had to do with him, and he sensed that Argon knew what it was.

Argon looked at Thor, then turned and looked back out at the city.

“There is much,” he said finally, “that I would rather not know myself.”

Thor felt a deepening sense of foreboding at his words.

“Am I going to die Argon?” he asked flatly, desperate to know.

Argon waited a long time, so long that Thor worried that he might not ever answer him.

“We all die, Thorgrin,” he finally answered. “Only a few of us truly live.”

Thor breathed deep, wondering. He was overflowing with questions.

“My son,” Thor said. “Will he be a great man?”

Argon nodded.

“Indeed,” he replied. “A great warrior. Greater, even, than yourself. His fame will vastly outshine yours.”

Thor burned with pride for his son, and his eyes swelled with tears. He was thrilled that Argon finally gave him a straight answer—yet he also sensed something was too good to be true.

“But for everything there comes a price,” Argon said.

Thor’s heart pounded as he considered this.

“And what is the price for my son?” Thor asked hesitantly.

“Fathers and sons are one. The bond is deeper than can be explained. One must sacrifice for the other, whether he chooses to or not. Sons bear the sins of their fathers—and fathers bear their sins yet to come.”

Thor looked out at the city, worried. He sensed something dark on the horizon.

“I need to know when I will die,” Thor insisted. “Will it be soon?”

Argon slowly shook his head.

“Your time has not yet arrived, young Thorgrin,” Argon said. “Not today, anyway. There is still much left for you to achieve, greater things than even you can ever dream. Your training is not yet complete. You still have not mastered your powers. And you will need them, where you are going.”

“Where am I going?” Thor asked, puzzled. “And what will I need them for? The Ring is at peace.”

Argon turned and looked out, and slowly shook his head.

“Peace is merely an illusion, a blanket behind the always waiting flames of war.”

Thor’s heart beat faster.

“Where does the next danger lurk, Argon? Just tell me that. How can I prepare?”

Argon sighed.

“Danger lurks everywhere, Thorgrin. You can prepare only by learning to master yourself.”

“My mother,” Thor said. “I keep seeing her in my dreams.”

“That is because she is summoning you. It is not a call you can ignore. Your destiny depends on it. The fate of your people depends on it.”

“But how shall I find her?” Thor asked, looking out at the horizon, wondering. “I don’t know how to—”

Thor turned to face Argon, but as he did, he was shocked to see that he was already gone.

“ARGON!” Thor called out, turning in every direction, looking about.

He stood there, looking, waiting, watching for hours, until even the first sun touched the sky—but no matter how long he looked, there came nothing in return but the howling of the wind.

Gwendolyn sat on her throne in the rebuilt Council chamber, the early morning light of the first sun streaking in through the stained-glass windows, painting the room muted colors. She surveyed the vast number of people who filled the room in wonder. She could hardly believe how many people filled the chamber—of advisors, council members, hangers-on, well-wishers, nobles, lords, attendants—and now, on a special day like today, petitioners, lining up outside the room, down the Hall, and outside the castle. It was an ancient tradition for rulers to hear petitions on the day after Summer Solstice, and Gwendolyn, regardless of how exhausted she was, would not let her people down.

Gwen was also taken aback by how resplendent this room now looked, since its reconstruction. Hardly six moons ago she had sat here, the room mostly rubble, freezing cold air gushing in through the open walls. Now it was a beautiful summer day, temperate breezes coming in through the open, arched stained-glass windows, and it was the finest hall in the two kingdoms. She had doubled the size of this famed hall, had doubled the size of the council table, and had built for them comfortable seats, so they could wait in dignity.

This hall was where she spent most of her days now. She wanted to be out there, walking the fields, carefree as she had been when she was a child—or spending her time with Thor, taking a stroll through her courtyards and gardens. But alas, the ruling of her kingdom required so many petty decisions and matters, hearing one person after the other. Many days she came in here, expecting to leave early, but before she knew it, the day grew long, and she left here after dark.

Today, she was determined for it to be different. After all, the Summer Solstice came but once a year, and today, the day that followed, was Departure Day; so many people would be departing on this day, embarking for somewhere in the kingdom. It was thought to bring good luck to depart the day after the Summer Solstice, and her people took it very seriously.

Nearby stood Thor, Reece, Kendrick, Godfrey, Erec, Aberthol, Steffen, Alistair and Selese, along with several close advisors, including all those who had once sat on her father’s council. Gwen was tired from last night’s festivities, and even more tired from the baby. The nurses had told her she was due any day, and she could feel it without being told. Her baby flipped like mad, and with each day, Gwen felt it harder to catch her breath. She sat there, first thing in the morning, already feeling like going to sleep, struggling to keep her eyes open.

She forced herself to focus. It was a big day, after all, one of the most important and auspicious days of the year, and her council chamber, already packed, was growing ever more crowded.

Gwen had been receiving foreign dignitaries and well-wishers since the sun rose, visitors from all corners of the Ring and of the Empire who had come for her wedding. A corner of the room was already piled high with wedding gifts for her, and gifts for her baby. Her wedding was still days away, and yet the gifts poured in: golden candlesticks, precious jewels, ancient rugs, delicacies of every sort.… There was already more than she could count, or ever use in a lifetime. She had been showered with great affection from the masses, and she was quickly becoming known as the people’s Queen. Perhaps it was because she had suffered, and the people—all of whom had also suffered in their own way—related to her.

The masses absolutely loved her—as much as the nobles did—a rare thing in the kingdom. It was something that even her father had not enjoyed. His nobles had respected him, and the masses had feared and appreciated him. All had thought he was a fair king. But none had loved him. Her father had kept the people and the nobles at a distance; Gwendolyn kept her doors open and treated them like part of her family.