A Rite of Swords

CHAPTER THIRTY

Thor lay deep in the blackness of the pit, the smell of earth in his nose, his entire body aching. Somewhere up above he heard the muffled shouts of soldiers. He managed to open his one good eye, the other swollen shut, as he strayed in and out of consciousness. It was dark and cold down here, at least a dozen feet below ground, and the light that filtered down, although not bright, made him squint. He tried to move, but every part of his body felt too bruised and broken. He had never known what aching was until this moment. He felt as if he had battled a million men.

He tried to move his wrists but felt them still shackled by the Akdon cuffs; all the strength he’d once had sapped from his body. He could feel all of his energy leaving him, right at the spot where the shackles held his wrists together tight. There was something about this metal—he’d never felt so weak, so vulnerable, in his life.

As Thor squinted, looking up into the sky, he dimly saw soldiers up above, jeering down, throwing clumps of dirt. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, unable to expend the effort.

Thor shut his eyes and saw himself standing in a land far away. He was in the Land of the Dragons, back in the Empire, and he stood atop the highest peak. Sitting on a mountain across from him was Mycoples. She looked at him and flapped her massive wings, then leapt from the peak and flew towards him. He could read her thoughts, and could feel that she was coming to rescue him.

She flew closer, and as she flew beside him, he reached out for her.

But as he did, he looked up to see his hands were clasped in the Akdon shackles; he could not summon the strength to reach her.

A huge net suddenly fell, entangling Mycoples, and she tumbled down through the sky, falling end over end, screeching. She called out for him, needing his help as much as he needed hers.

Thor blinked and found himself in a vast desert, baking under the sun. He looked down and saw the desert floor, blanketed in thousands of snakes. Stretched before him was an endless trail that weaved through the snakes; he knew instinctively that he had to stay on that trail if he wanted to live. It was a trail made up of ossified dragon bones.

Thor walked down the trail, deeper and deeper into the desert, feeling as if he were walking to the end of the world. On the horizon a stone cottage came into view, and as he came closer, he looked up, and was surprised to see Argon’s face.

“Argon, help me,” Thor whispered, gasping for air, reaching out for him with his shackled hands.

But Argon stood behind a protective wall, an invisible shield, and Thor could not get closer. Argon stared back from the other side, staff in hand, concern etched across his face.

“I wish I could,” Argon replied. “But I am of help to no one now.”

“Teach me,” Thor said. “Teach me to be free.”

Argon shook his head.

“I have already trained you,” he said. “All the powers you have left, they lie deep within you. Now, you must train yourself.”

Argon’s eyes lit up, a fiery glow so intense that Thor nearly had to look away.

“Search within yourself, Thorgrin. Therein lies the last frontier. You must come to know who you are. Not who your father is, not who your mother is. But who you are.”

Thor reached out for him, trying to get through, but found himself falling backwards.

Thor was lying face down on a long, narrow footbridge, spanning a massive Canyon. The footbridge crossed the sky, stretching for miles, and he lay there in the middle. It rose in an arc and led to a cliff, on top of which sat a castle, shining blue. He rolled over, looked to one side, and saw the Destiny Sword. He reached for it, grasping its hilt. He held it up high, and as he did, he was horrified to see the Sword had been snapped in half. He examined it, hardly comprehending.

It was now just a useless piece of metal.

Thor turned and hurled the Sword, and it went flying over the edge. He watched it tumble through the sky, drop down to nothingness.

“Thorgrin,” came a woman’s voice.

Thor looked up. In the distance, atop the castle, stood his mother, arms wide at her sides, smiling down compassionately at him.

“Mother!” Thor called out.

“I am here, my son,” she said back, her voice filled with love.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Thor said. “Why didn’t you tell me who my father was?”

She shook her head.

“None of that matters now, Thorgrin,” she said. “Come home. Come home to me. Come and gain powers greater than you ever knew. Learn the secret of who you are. Only then will you be free. Only then can you overcome your father.”

With a supreme effort, Thor got to his hands and knees and began to crawl his way down the bridge, towards her. But the bridge was so long, and she seemed to stand in another realm, getting farther away from him the more he crawled.

“Mother!” he screamed.

The footbridge suddenly snapped, and Thor went tumbling, end over end, screaming as he plunged downward, towards the depths of the world.

Thor woke screaming.

He was still in the darkness of the pit, his face still swollen, one eye swollen shut, and his arm still throbbed where he had been branded. He wondered how long he’d slept; from the pain throbbing all over his face and body, he figured it wasn’t long enough.

He looked up to see Empire men still jeering down at him. Nothing had changed.

He was disappointed. He thought he had died, and a part of him wished that he had, and as he looked up at all these men, he had a sinking feeling that the worst of his suffering was yet to come.