A Sky of Spells

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Thor charged on his horse, galloping down the main road that led from King’s Court, heading south, oddly enough, in the direction of his home town. Krohn ran at his horse’s heels, as he had been for hours, the two of them embarking together on this quest.

It was time to rebuild the Legion, time for a new Selection, and as he rode, Thor felt a surreal quality to his mission: instead of being on the receiving end, instead of being the one to stand in his village and wait hopefully for the Silver to appear, now it was he, Thor, who was doing the choosing. The roles had reversed. It was such an honor, he could scarcely believe it.

Thor also felt a tremendous responsibility on his shoulders: rebuilding the Legion was a sacred task in his eyes. He had to fill the shoes of the dead boys who had given their lives defending the Ring; he had to choose the next generation of the very best warriors. It was not something he took lightly, and he knew that he must make his choices very carefully.

Throughout his entire childhood, Thor had spent days peering over the horizon, dreaming of the great warriors that might one day pass through this town, his humble little village, of being picked and chosen. And now here he was, the one who was traveling the countryside, riding through all the towns. It was an honor beyond what he could ever imagine. It did not even feel real to him.

Thor rode and rode, until he and his horse—and Krohn—were all breathing hard, and finally he rounded a bend and in the distance, a small village came into view. He decided to make for it; he knew they could all use a break, and this village would be as good a place as any to begin the Selection.

As he approached, Thor dimly recognized the place from the large, crooked tree at its entrance, a farming village a half day’s ride north of his home town. It was a place he had traveled a few times growing up, joining his brothers as they traded for wool and weapons. He hadn’t set foot here in years, but he remembered it to be a provincial town, much like the place he had grown up in, and he did not remember the people as being especially friendly. If he recalled correctly, it had seemed to be populated back then with vulgar types, striking hard bargains, and seeming just as happy to not have visitors as to have them.

It had been many years, though, and Thor knew his memory might be distorted, and he wanted to give this village another chance. After all, it was a farming village, and there might be some good recruits here.

As Thor charged for the town, raising dust as he approached and could already see all the boys lining up, at attention, waiting nervously. He could see the parents behind them, even more nervous. Thor pondered how much had changed since he himself had waited for the Selection. Back then, the Silver had arrived in chariots, in a huge entourage of soldiers; now, it was just he, Thor, alone. These were lean times, and until the Legion and the Silver were rebuilt, it would take time to rebuild everything. Thor had been offered an entourage of soldiers to accompany him—but he had denied it. He felt he did not need anyone to accompany him; he felt that if he could not defend himself, alone, on these highways, then he was not worthy of the task.

Thor pulled into the dusty town, clouds of dust settling around him on the hot summer day, and he pulled his horse to a stop in the center of town. He sat there, looking down at the potential recruits, dozens of boys, lined up, most dressed in rags, looking nervous. He marveled that he must have looked much like these boys had, when he was on the other side of it.

Thor dismounted and slowly walked down the center of the village, Krohn at his side, going from boy to boy, looking each one over carefully. Some seemed scared; some proud; others lethargic, indifferent; and others still over-eager. He could see the same look in their eyes that he once wore: most wanted out of this place desperately. They wanted a better life, to travel to King’s Court, to train with the Legion, to achieve fame and renown, to see the Ring and the lands beyond. Thor could easily tell which of these boys had been placed here by their parents, which were not fighters. He could tell by the way they held their bodies, by a certain hardness or gleam in their eye.

As Thor reached the end of the line, he saw several older boys who were a head taller than the others, with broad shoulders. One of them glared at Thor, looking him up and down reproachfully. Thor could hardly believe his insolence: he would have never done that to a member of the Silver.

“They sent you to choose us?” the boy asked Thor derisively. He was a large, farming boy, twice the size of Thor, and a few years older.

“How old are you?” the boy added, stepping out of the line and staring at Thor, hands on his hips.

“He looks younger than us all,” said the boy beside him, equally derisive. “Who are you to pick us? Maybe we should pick you.”

The other boys chimed in with laughter, and Thor reddened.

“To insult a member of the Legion is to insult the queen herself,” Thor said firmly, calmly, walking towards the boy. Thor knew he had to face this conflict head-on; he could not tolerate such a public insult.

“Then I insult the queen,” the boy sneered back. “If she is sending you out for the Selection, then the Selection must really be hurting.”

“Are you a fool?” one of the boys hissed to the insolent boy. “Do you not know to whom you speak? That is Thorgrinson. The most famed warrior of the Ring.”

The large boy squinted his eyes at Thor skeptically.

“Thorgrinson?” he repeated. “I should think not. Thorgrinson is a great warrior, twice the size of any man. The wielder of the Destiny Sword. This boy here is but a boy, another common boy sent on a Queen’s errand.”

The boy stepped forward towards Thor threateningly.

“You tell the Queen to send us a real man to choose us, or else to come here for us herself,” he said. He then stepped forward and raised his hands towards Thor’s chest, as if preparing to shove him backwards.

But this boy did not realize who he was provoking. Thor was now a hardened warrior, having been through life and death, in the Ring and in the Empire, and as a warrior, he was highly attuned to any and all potential enemy movements. As the boy came close and raised his hands, Thor was already in motion.

Thor stepped aside, grabbed the boy’s wrist, twisted it behind his back until the boy screamed out in pain, then he shoved the boy hard, and sent him stumbling to the ground, landing face-first.

The other boys watched in shock; they weren’t laughing now. They stood there, silent.

Thor turned his back and walked down to the opposite end of the line, looking over the other boys. He heard a sudden snarl, and he turned and saw Krohn, snarling at Thor’s attacker, who was rising from the ground and preparing to charge Thor from behind.

But the boy looked down, saw Krohn, and thought better of it.

Thor turned and faced them.

“You are not joining the Legion,” Thor said to the boy and to his friends. “None of you.”

The other boys looked at each other, suddenly upset.

“But you have to pick us!” one said. “Our parents will give us a beating!”

“We are twice the size of any boy here!” cried another. “You can’t turn us down. You need us!”

Thor turned, sneered, and walked right up to them.

“I don’t need any of you,” he said. “And size does not matter. Honor does. And respect. That is what builds a warrior. Both of which you lack.”

Thor turned his back on them and began to walk away and as he did, he heard a scream. The largest one broke free from them the line and charged Thor’s back, swinging his fist for the back of Thor’s head.

Thor, though, sensed it coming with his lightning-fast reflexes; he swung around, backhanded him with his gauntlet, connecting with the boy’s jaw and sending him spinning down to the ground.

Another boy rushed for Thor, but before he could come close, Krohn charged, leapt onto him and sank his fangs into the boy’s face. The boy shrieked, trying to get Krohn off, as Krohn thrashed left and right.

“I YIELD!” the boy screamed, frantic.

“Krohn!” Thor commanded.

Krohn let go, and the boy lay there, bloody, moaning.

Thor glanced at the other boys one last time, and they looked like a sorry lot. This village was, after all, exactly as he remembered, and he felt he had wasted his time to come here.

Thor turned to leave, when one boy stepped out from the line at the far end.

“SIR!” the boy called, standing proudly at attention. “Thorgrinson, please forgive me for speaking. But we have heard far and wide of your reputation. You are a great warrior. I wish to be a warrior, too. I yearn to be one. Please, allow me to join the Legion. It is all I have ever dreamed of. I promise I shall be loyal and serve the Legion with everything I have.”

Thor looked the boy over doubtfully. He was young, and skinny, and he looked somewhat frail. Yet he also had something in his eyes, a hollowed-out look, a look of desperation. Thor could see that he really wanted it, more so than any of the others. There was a hunger in his eyes that made Thor overlook his size, that made him think twice.

“You don’t seem the fighter,” Thor said. “What can you do?”

“I can throw a spear as good as any man,” the boy said.

Thor went to his horse, drew a short spear from the saddle, and handed it to the boy.

“Show me,” Thor said.

The boy looked down in awe at the weapon’s fine quality, its gold and silver shaft, feeling its weight. Thor could see that he was impressed. This was no easy spear to wield; if the boy could throw this, he was indeed as good as he claimed.

“That tree there,” Thor said, pointing to a large, crooked tree about thirty yards off. “Let’s see if you can hit it.”

“How about the one beyond it?” the boy asked.

Thor looked out and saw, a good thirty yards past that tree, a small, narrow tree. Thor looked back at the boy in surprise.

“I know of no Legion or even Silver who could hit that tree from here,” Thor said. “You are a dreamer. And I have no time to waste for dreamers.”

Thor turned to head back for his horse, but he heard a cry, and turned to see the boy take several steps forward, raise the spear, and hurl it.

The spear soared through the air, past the first tree, and on to the second. Thor watched in awe as the spear lodged into the center of the skinny tree, shaking it so that its small apples fell to the ground.

Thor looked back at the boy, in shock. It was the most masterful throw he had ever seen.

“What is your name, boy?” he demanded.

“Archibald,” the boy said proudly, earnest.

“Where did you learn to throw like that?”

“Many long days in the open plains, tending cattle, with nothing else to do. I swear to you, sir, joining the Legion is all I’ve ever wanted from life. Please. Allow me to join your ranks.”

Thor nodded, satisfied.

“Okay, Archibald,” he said. “Make your way to King’s Court. Seek out the training ground for the Legion. I will meet you back there in a few days’ time. You will be given a chance to try out.”

Archibald beamed, and clasped Thor’s hand.

“Thank you. Thank you so much!” he said, clasping both Thor’s hands.

Thor mounted his horse, Krohn following, and kicked, preparing for the next town. Despite the rocky start, he felt encouraged. Perhaps this Selection would not be a waste of time after all.

Thor rode and rode, until the second sun began to set, making his way ever south, on the lookout for the next village. Finally, as the second sun hung sat as a red ball on the horizon, Thor reached a crossroads atop a small hill, and he stopped. His horse, and Krohn, needed a break.

Thor sat there, all of them breathing hard, and looked down at the vista of rolling hills before him. The road forked, and if he took it to the right, he knew, it would ironically lead him to his home village, just a few miles around the bend. To the left, the road forked east and south, towards other villages.

Thor sat there and thought for a moment. How ironic it would be to return to his old village, to see his former peers, to be the one to decide if they would join the Legion. He knew there were good boys back there, and he knew that’s where he should go. That’s where his duties demanded he be.

Yet somehow, deep down, he just couldn’t bring himself to return there. He had vowed never to lay eyes on his hometown again. Surely, his father was still there, his disparaging, sour father, and he didn’t want to see him. Surely most of those boys were still there, too, the ones who had been so scornful of him growing up, who had viewed him, and treated him, as a cattle herder’s son. He had never been taken seriously by any of them.

Thor did not want to see them. He did not want to go back and have his petty revenge. He did not want to go back at all. He just wanted to wipe that village from his memory, even if it meant shirking his duty.

Thor finally kicked his horse and turned away from the road that led to his village, forking instead, to parts unknown.

Hours passed as Thor rode through wooded, unfamiliar territory, searching for a new village, venturing deeper into a part of the Ring he had never been. Night began to fall, the second sun disappearing below the horizon, and it was getting darker. Thick clouds gathered around him, soon the sky turned black, and thundered clapped overhead, as it began to pour.

Thor was getting soaked, as was Krohn and his horse, and he knew they couldn’t continue on like this; they’d have to find shelter for the night. He peered into the thick woods on either side of the narrow road, and he decided to turn off and seek shelter beneath a canopy of trees.

The forest was wet and dank, thick with trees, and Thor dismounted, not wanting his horse to get hurt in the darkness. He walked alongside it, tripping on gnarled roots, Krohn beside him, as they all ventured deeper and deeper into the dark forest.

Thor wiped rainwater from his eyes, wiped the hair from his face, trying to see where he was going. There was no sign of shelter anywhere, and the rain poured through the trees.

Finally, up ahead, Thor spotted a cave, a huge rock emerging from the earth, black inside. As the rain poured down harder, he lead the others to it.

They entered, Thor relieved to finally be dry, quieter in here, the only sound that of the rain pouring outside. Krohn shook his hair and the horse neighed, all of them clearly happy to be out from the wet.

Thor walked to the end of the cave, on guard, making sure they were not sharing it with anyone, then finally stopped about twenty feet in, satisfied. It was a shallow cave, but dry, and large enough for them to take shelter from the storm.

Thor set to work making a fire, salvaging the dry branches he found on the floor of the cave, and soon it was roaring, the twigs crackling. Thor remembered the pieces of dried meat in his saddle, and he fed the horse, then Krohn, then himself.

Thor sat before the flames, rubbing his hands, trying to dry off, and Krohn came up beside him and lay his head in his lap, while the horse stood by the cave’s entrance, lowering his head and chewing the grass. Thor chewed his dried meat, warming himself on the surprisingly cool summer night. He felt sleepy from the long day, and soon, his eyes were closing on him.

“Thorgrin,” came a voice.

Thor opened his eyes to see Argon standing over him, looking down at him in the cave. Argon stood there, eyes opened wide, shining, holding his staff, dressed in his robe and cloak. Thor was shocked to see him here. He looked over and saw Krohn sleeping, beside the embers of the dying fire, and he wondered if it were all real.

“Thorgrin,” Argon repeated.

“What are you doing here?” Thor asked.

“You have come to me,” Argon said. “You sought me out. In this cave.”

Thor furrowed his brows, confused.

“I thought I was lost,” he said. “I thought I made a wrong turn. I did not mean to come here.”

Argon shook his head.

“There are no wrong turns,” he said. “You are exactly where you are supposed to be.”

“But where am I?” Thor asked.

“Follow me and see.”

Argon turned, and Thor rose to his feet and followed him as he marched outside the cave. Thor still did not know if he was awake or asleep.

Outside, the rain had stopped. All was silent. The forest was eerie, dim, not dark and not light, as if it were twilight, or the time before dawn. It felt as if the entire world were still asleep.

Argon continued walking, and Thor struggled to keep up with him through the forest trail. He was beginning to get concerned about finding his way back to the cave.

“Where are we going, Argon?” Thor asked.

“To complete your training,” Argon replied.

“I thought my training was complete,” Thor said.

“Only one stage of it,” Argon said. “It is no longer about what you need to learn. Now it is about what you need to do.”

“To do?” Thor asked, puzzled.

“This journey, this road, your town, the storm—it’s all come for a reason. You’ve come here for a reason. The time has come for you to tap into a part of yourself you have not yet reached.”

They finally broke free from the woods, and before them lay a vista of rolling hills.

Thor followed Argon to the top of a small hill. He stopped, and Thor stopped beside him.

“Your problem, Thorgrin,” Argon said, standing beside him, looking out, eyes aglow, “is that you do not realize how powerful you are. You never have. You still don’t trust it. You still don’t trust who you are. You are so reliant upon human weapons and training, upon swords and spears and shields…. But you have all the power you need, right inside you. And yet you are afraid of it.”

Thor looked down, reddening, realizing Argon was right.

“I am,” Thor admitted.

“Why?”

“I feel that to use my powers would not be fighting fairly,” Thor said. “I feel that I need to prove myself, on the same terms as everyone else. I guess I still feel that my powers are…something to be ashamed of.”

Argon shook his head.

“That is where you are wrong. What is different about you is precisely what you should be most proud of.”

Argon closed his eyes, breathed deeply, raised both arms, and waited. Thor heard a trickling noise, then felt a raindrop, and looked up to the sky and watched it begin to pour.

He looked back at Argon, amazed.

“Can you feel it, Thorgrin? Can you feel the water pouring down on us? Permeating everything? Feel it in your skin and hair and eyes. Breathe it in.”

Thor closed his eyes and held out his palms, and felt the drops hitting them. He tried to focus, tried to become one with the rain.

“Now stop it,” Argon commanded. “Stop all of it. Stop this rain.”

Thor gasped, unsure of himself.

“I can’t do that,” Thor said.

“You can,” Argon said. “Rain is just water, and water is simply the universe. It is us. Now do it. Raise your hands and stop it.”

Thor closed his eyes tighter, concentrating, and raised his arms. As he did, he felt his palms tingling, and he began to feel the energy of the rain in the air. It was intense. Heavy. Limitless.

Thor slowly pushed his palms higher and higher, taking on the energy, and as he did, the rain began to slow. Then it stopped, the water hovering in the air. Then, Thor reversed it, shooting it back up to the sky.

The sound of the rain stopped, and Thor opened his eyes, amazed, to see the land dry all around him.

“I did that?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Argon replied. “You and you alone.”

Argon turned his back, and held his arms up to the sky.

“There is more you can do, Thorgrin,” he said. “Do you see the night? Do you see the darkness? It is but a veil. Lift that veil. Allow it to be day.”

Thor stood there, flabbergasted.

“Me?” he asked. “Turn night into day?”

“Night is but the absence of light. Let there be light. You are advanced enough now.”

Thor gulped and closed his eyes. It was hard for him to imagine himself with that sort of power, but nonetheless, he held out his arms and raised his palms to the sky.

“Feel the fibers of night,” Argon said. “Feel the threads of blackness. They are but illusion. The whole world is but illusion. This, the sky we live under, the sky we breathe every day, it is not a sky of man—it is a sky of magic, a sky of wonder. It is a sky of spells.”

Thor tried to follow the instruction, tried to feel the blackness. He felt a tremendous heaviness weighing on the tips of his fingers.

“Now, Thorgrin,” Argon added, “transcend the illusion.”

Thor felt his fingertips burning, nearly on fire, and he closed his hands and bunched his fists. He squeezed his fists as hard as he could, and felt a heat searing his entire body. He leaned back his head and screamed.

When he opened his eyes, Thor was awestruck. There, before him, it was daylight. Night was gone.

“All of nature is under your control,” Argon said, turning to him, as Thor stared out in wonder. “The fox and the mouse, the eagle and the owl. There, up high, on that branch. Do you see that owl? It, too, is under your control. Command it. Leave your limited world behind, and see the world through its eyes.”

Thor looked up at the huge, black owl, a magnificent creature, and he closed his eyes and focused, concentrating. Thor opened the owl’s eyes, and its eyes were his own. He saw the world through its eyes. It was incredible.

Thor turned the owl’s neck, and it looked out in every direction, at the limitless landscape. He saw beyond the forest, above the tips of the trees. In the distance, he saw a road.

“Excellent,” Argon said, beside him. “Now see where that road takes you.”

Thor kept his eyes closed, seeing the world through the eyes of the owl, and silently commanded the owl to lift off. He could feel the great owl flapping its wings above him, and soon it soared through the air, flying along the tops of the trees. Thor watched the landscape through its eyes, looking down through the trees, following the road that led through the forest.

The road twisted and turned, and soon it led him to a familiar place. Thor was surprised to see his hometown below.

Standing there, alone in its center, was a woman he was shocked to recognize.

His mother.

She stood there and looked up the sky, as if looking for him, and held up her arms.

“Thorgrin!” she called.

“Mother!” he called back.

Thor opened his eyes with a start, jolted out of the vision, and looked over to Argon.

“My mother,” he said, breathing hard. “Is she there? In my village? How can it be?”

“She waits for you,” Argon said. “It is time to meet her. Your very life depends on it. The final clue you need lies there. In your home town.”

Thor turned and looked out at the road before him, wondering.

“But how can it—” he began to ask Argon.

But as Thor turned, he saw no one. Argon was gone.

“ARGON!” he screamed out.

There came no reply save for the sound of a lone owl, screeching high up in the air.