Morgan Rice - A Grant of Arms

But it was too heavy. It wouldn’t budge.

All around them, more and more Faws were closing in.

“Those poles!” O’Connor said. “I saw them hoist it earlier. The weight of the Sword is heavy—but only if touched directly. If we use a barrier, like the poles, it lightens its weight.”

Reece joined with Conven and Indra and Serna and Krog as they jammed the poles beneath the boulder. As one, they all began to move it.

Reece was shocked; O’Connor was right. The Sword was not meant to be touched by the human hand. But with an intermediary, like wooden poles, they could hoist the boulder like any other rock.

They hoisted the boulder onto their shoulders with the poles, and began to march away with it.

Reece saw they were in trouble. They had, despite all odds, achieved the impossible; but now, there was no possible way out. There were thousands of Faws before them, more and more pouring in, and it was a long hike to the other side of the Canyon, and an even harder hike to get up. If they could even get the Sword up. They couldn’t do it under combat. In fact, they’d be lucky to even fight their way out of here alive.

There was just no way to bring the Sword. And yet, at the same time, Reece knew they could not just leave it here, could not return empty-handed. And they could not leave it in the hands of the Faws, who would let it rise in the other side of the Canyon, and lower the Shield.

Reece frantically surveyed his surroundings, desperate for a solution.

And then, suddenly, he had one.

Reece saw the glowing lava pit, in the center of the battlefield, and as much as it pained him, he knew he had no choice. If he could not bring the Sword back, he would have to destroy it.

But would destroying the Sword for all time destroy the Ring, too? Would it destroy the Shield? He did not know. But he had no other choice. It was a desperate situation, and all he knew was that if he did nothing, then the Sword would definitely get in the wrong hands, and the Shield would definitely lower, and the Ring would definitely be destroyed.

He had to risk the uncertainty.

“TO THE LAVA!” Reece commanded.

With one last desperate push, Reece and the others bore the boulder on their shoulders and marched their way towards the pit, Elden and O’Connor fighting off the Faws all around them. Every step was a struggle on the muddy Canyon floor. Foot by foot they slogged their way through, and soon, Reece’s face was hot with the glow of the lava.

They stood there, at the precipice, arms shaking, and Reece looked down at the molten fire.

The others realized, with horror, what he was about to do.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” O’Connor screamed.

Reece was not sure. But there was no other way out.

“INTO THE LAVA!” Reece commanded.

They all followed orders, and as one, they all began to hurl it over. Reece felt the tremendous weight on his shoulders and arms as they hoisted the boulder and hurled it, the Sword in it, over the edge, into the molten pit of fire.

As it sank, the entire earth quaked beneath them, the greatest earthquake Reece had ever felt, strong enough to knock them all off of their feet.

And as Reece watched it melt, he stared into the flames, and all he could think was: what have I done?

Thor stood there, sword in hand, facing Gwendolyn, who knelt before him, eyes swollen with tears. He tried to remember. He saw her face, and in some dim part of himself, it meant something to him. But he could not remember what. Did he know her?

All about them, in the broad clearing, soldiers on both sides stopped their fighting, all staring, the war at a standstill as Thor faced Gwen, the Queen of the MacGils. Thor looked into her eyes, beautiful eyes, examined her face, and he tried to summon it.

Something came back to him…..flashes…he was not sure what. He could not piece it together.

“Thorgrin, it’s me,” Gwen said, crying. “Come back to me. It’s Gwendolyn. I love you. I’m so sorry for everything I said. You are nothing like your father. I love you. I love you.”

Thor stood there, sweat rolling into his eyes, and his hands shook as he held the sword over her. A part of him understood her; but another part of him had no recognition.

“THORNICUS, MY SON!” Andronicus boomed. “Do not believe her! She is the enemy. The enemy of your father. She is filled with lies. She has come to betray you. If you are my one and only son, you must answer me now. Kill this woman. Kill her for me. Kill her, and prove your loyalty to me once and for all time.”

Thor heard his father’s words, and they resonated through him, like a command that controlled his limbs, that he could not shake. It was as if he had spoken the words himself. They were more than a command. They were like his own will, spoken aloud.

Thor stood there, arms shaking, and finally, he knew what he had to do. His father had spoken. And that was all that mattered now.

Suddenly, Krohn snarled and leapt for Thor.

Thor spun and reacted with his battle skills; he backhanded Krohn with his gauntlet. Krohn yelped and went flying sideways through the air. Gwendolyn cried out as Krohn landed on his side, several feet away, whining.

Thor raised his sword again, this time to strike the final blow. For his father. It was time to be his one and only true son forever. Whatever it took. Gwen wept, but it no longer mattered. Thor had to do what he had to do.

“THORGRIN!”

A voice cut through the air, forcing Thor to stop. It was a female voice, one he did not recognize. One he had never heard, yet which seemed so deeply familiar.

Thor turned and saw a woman emerge from the crowd. She approached him slowly, her wide blue eyes locked on his, as she walked all the way through the clearing without flinching, staring at him.

She stood beside Gwendolyn. She lay a soft palm on Gwendolyn’s shoulder, and continued staring at Thor with intensity, her eyes shining right through him.

“You cannot harm her,” the woman said, calm, confident, authoritative. “You cannot harm her because I command you. I, Alistair, command you.”

Thor looked into her eyes, and the sound of her voice resonated through Thor’s body, fighting inside him, counteracting Andronicus’s voice. It was the most intense sound he’d ever heard in his life, and the vibration did something to him he could not understand. Somehow, it was breaking the hold on him, breaking his father’s spell. For the first time, he was beginning to gain clarity. He felt as if a fog was lifting, as if many layers were slowly being peeled back.

Thor wanted her to speak more—he craved for her to speak more.

“Alistair,” he repeated.

Somehow, the name rang through his head. He did not know why.

“Thorgrin,” Alistair said, “you will not harm her, because that is not who you are. That is who Andronicus wants you to be. But you are not your father. You are Thorgrin, of the Western Kingdom. You are not your father and you are not your mother. You are your own man. I know this, because I know you.”

Thor blinked, sweat stinging his eyes, as a battle raged within him. The more she spoke, the more he felt Andronicus’ influence waning. Thor stood there, wavering with the sword, his hands shaking violently.

“Thorgrin,” she said, stepping forward, laying a gentle palm on his wrist. As she did, Thor could not resist. Slowly, he felt himself lowering his sword, relaxing in her grasp.

Somehow, she was the only one. The only one who could get through to him. She held some energy, something he could not understand. With every word she spoke, it made him come back more to himself, to see the real situation before him.