Morgan Rice - A Sky of Spells

“My name is Thorgrin,” he said. “I mean you no harm. I used to live here. I was raised here.”

She squinted up at him.

“I know you,” she said. “You are the youngest of the brothers,” she added derisively. “The shepherd’s boy.”

Thor reddened. He hated that people still thought of him this way, that no matter how much honor he achieved, it would never be any different.

“Well, don’t expect to find anyone here,” she added, scowling, setting to her fire. “I’m just about the only one left.”

Thor suddenly had a thought.

“In my father still here?”

Thor felt a lump in his throat at the idea of seeing him again. He hoped he would not have to. And yet at the same time, he hoped he was not dead. As much as he hated the man, for some reason, the thought bothered him.

The woman shrugged.

“Check for yourself,” she said, then ignored him, turning back to her stew.

Thor turned and continued to walk through the village, now a ghost town, Krohn at his heels. He meandered through the streets, until finally he reached his former home.

He turned the corner and expected to see it standing there, as it always had, and he was shocked to see it was a pile of rubble. There was nothing left. No house. He had expected to see his father, standing there, scowling back, waiting for him. But he was not there, either.

Thor walked slowly over to the pile of rubble, Krohn at his heels, whining, as if he could sense Thor’s sadness. Thor did not know why he was sad. He had hated this place; and yet still, for some reason, it bothered him.

Thor walked over to the pile of rocks and kicked them with his toe, rummaging, searching for something, he did not know what. Some clue, maybe. Some idea. Whatever it was that had led him back to this place. Maybe this had all been a mistake? Maybe he had been a fool to follow his intuition? Maybe this had all been wishful thinking? Perhaps there was no clue after all that could lead him to his mother?

After several minutes, Thor finished kicking over the rocks. He sighed, preparing to turn around and leave. This had all been a mistake. There was nothing left for him here. Just ghosts of what had once been.

As Thor turned and began to walk back, suddenly Krohn whined. Thor turned and spotted Krohn in the distance, on the far side of the yard, near the small structure where Thor had lived, away from the rest of the family. Krohn was whining, looking back and rummaging through rocks, as if urging Thor to come look.

Thor hurried over, knelt beside Krohn, and looked, wondering.

“What is it, boy?” Thor asked, stroking his head. “What do you see?”

Krohn whined as he pawed at a large rock, and Thor reached down and pulled back the heavy stone. He found more stones, and he kept extracting them until finally he saw something. Something was flashing, catching the sun.

Thor reached down, into the crevice in the rocks, and pulled it out. He held up something small, brushed off the dirt, and glanced at it in wonder. As he brushed off all the dirt he saw that it was shiny, yellow, round. He looked closer and finally realized it was a gold locket.

There was fine lettering on it, and Thor saw it was carved in inscriptions, in a language he could not understand. Thor ran his fingers along the edge of it, and he came across something, like a clasp. He pushed it, and the locket popped open.

To Thor’s surprise, he saw an inscription in gold on one side, and a golden arrow, swirling, on the other. It moved every time he turned it. It came to a rest, and kept pointing in one direction. Every time he moved, the arrow adjusted.

Thor rubbed off the dirt and read the inscription, this in a language he knew. As he read the words, his heart stopped.

For my son. Thorgrin. Follow the arrow. And it will lead you to me.

Heart racing, Thor stood and turned and held up the locket, and he found the arrow pointing in a particular direction. He looked out at the sky, the horizon, and he knew this arrow would lead him to the Land of the Druids.

As Thor grasped it, he felt a tremendous coursing through his palm, through his entire body. He knew that it was real, that all of this was real, and he felt certain that the time had come to find his mother. The time had come to find out the truth about who he really was, who he was meant to be.

Thor looked out at the sky, and resolved that as soon as his child was born, as soon as the wedding was over, he would leave.

Thor looked out at the horizon, and felt his mother closer than she ever was.

“Be patient, mother,” he said. “I am coming for you.”

Gwendolyn stood on the upper parapets of her castle, looking down at King’s Court, admiring all the wedding preparations, admiring how magnificent the rebuilt city looked. Now that everyone had left for Departure Day, Gwen had needed to take a break herself, had needed some time alone up here. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, a warm summer breeze swayed the branches of the fruit trees, and Gwen leaned back and breathed in the fresh air.

There came a screech, and Gwen looked up and saw Ralibar, soaring high above, intertwining with Mycoples, the two of them making broad circles around King’s Court. Gwen smiled, thinking of her morning ride on Ralibar, recalling how gentle he had been today. The two were becoming closer, as if he sensed how pregnant she was, and was flying with extra care. She felt reassured to see him circling, as if being watched over, protected.

Gwen looked out at the horizon and knew that Thor was out there somewhere and would be returning soon, and that, finally, they had nothing left to fear. Everything was perfect now, and yet for some reason, she did not feel at ease. She did not know why, but she could not help but feel as if something dark was on the horizon, was coming for them all. Was it real? Or was it just her own mind playing tricks on her? Her mind spun with so many small matters related to ruling her kingdom, it was hard for her to think clearly.

“The affairs of state,” came a voice, “can weigh on you like a rock.”

Gwendolyn turned around, thrilled to recognize that voice, and saw Argon, standing there, holding his staff, wearing his cloak and hood, his eyes shining right through her. He walked up beside her, his staff clicking on the stone as he went, and stood beside her, looking out with her over her kingdom.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, turning and looking out beside him. “I have been ill at ease as of late. And I don’t know why.”

“But don’t you?” he asked cryptically.

She turned and looked at him, wondering.

“Am I wrong?” she asked. “Tell me honestly: is something terrible about to happen? Is our peace about to be shattered?”

Argon turned and stared at her for so long, the intensity of his eyes nearly made her turn away. Finally, he uttered one word which sent a chill through her:

“Yes.”

Gwendolyn’s heart pounded at his words, and she felt her blood run cold. She stared back, feeling a slow panic creep over her.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice trembling. “What will happen?”

Slowly, Argon shook his head.

“I have learned my lesson of interfering in human matters.”

He turned back out, surveying her kingdom.

“Please,” she pleaded. “Just tell me enough, enough to prepare. To do whatever I have to to protect my people.”

Argon sighed.

“You are much like your father,” he said. “You don’t even know how much. He always wanted to be the greatest ruler he could be; but sometimes, fate gets in the way.”

He turned and stared at her, and for the first time, she saw compassion in his eyes.