The Gift of Battle

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Thorgrin sat on the deck of the ship, head in his hands, elbows on his knees, utterly despondent. After the currents had taken them out from the Land of Blood, out from under the gloom, through the waterfall of blood and back into the open sea, they now drifted aimlessly in the vast open ocean, Thor feeling as if his whole life were drifting away from him. The sun shone down, illuminating everything, and Thor knew that he should be happy to be back out under an open sky, away from the darkness of the Land of Blood.

But Thorgrin felt nothing like joy; instead he felt as if, for the first time in his life, he had failed a quest. He had endeavored to rescue his son, and he had failed his mission. He had failed to reach his most prized possession in the world, had failed to overcome a foe, a land, more powerful than he. He had, in fact, been meant to die there, he knew, and if it were not for Angel, he would still be there now, trapped forever.

Now here he was, drifting at sea with the rest of the Legion, too despondent to move even though all of them were looking to him for leadership. For the first time in his life he felt paralyzed, felt purposeless, felt like he could provide none. He had failed his son, and didn’t see the point of going on. He knew there was no way back into the Land of Blood, knew that it was an insurmountable place for him. He was not strong enough yet—just as Ragon had warned.

It was humbling for Thor to realize there were foes out there stronger than he, that there were limits to his power—even when his own son was at stake. And, most of all, it tormented Thorgrin to think of Guwayne stuck there, in the clutches of the Blood Lord and his dark beings, to be molded to whatever evil purpose they had for him. His own boy, snatched away from him; a father unable to save his son.

Thorgrin sat there holding his head, hating himself.

As he sat there, Thor went over and over in his head what went wrong, how he could’ve done it all differently. As their ship rocked on the rolling waves, he felt aimless, as if there were no reason to go on without Guwayne. He could not return to Gwendolyn without him, a failure—he could not even live with himself as a failure. And yet he saw no other way.

He felt hopeless for the first time in his life.

“Thorgrin,” came a soft voice.

Thor felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder and he glanced up to see Reece standing over him. Reece sat beside him, good-naturedly, clearly trying to console him.

“You did all you could,” he said.

“You got further than anyone else,” came another voice.

Thor turned to see Elden come over and sit on his other side. He heard the wood creaking on the deck, and he looked up to also see O’Connor, Matus, Selese, Indra, and Angel, all of them gathering around him, and he could see in their eyes their concern, how much they cared for him. He felt ashamed; they had always seen him as being so strong, as being so sure of himself, being a leader. They had never seen him like this. He no longer knew how to act; he no longer knew how to be with himself.

Thor shook his head.

“My son still lies beyond my grasp,” he said, his voice that of a broken man.

“True,” Matus replied. “But look around you. We are all alive. You have survived. Not all is lost. We shall all live to fight another day. We shall achieve some other mission.”

Thorgrin shook his head.

“There is no mission without my son. All is meaningless.”

“And what of Gwendolyn?” Reece asked. “What of the exiles of the Ring? They need us, too. We must find them and save them, wherever they may be.”

But Thor could not bear the thought of facing Gwendolyn, of returning to them all as a failure.

Slowly, he shook his head.

“Leave me,” he said to them all, being harsher than he’d wanted.

He could sense them all staring back at him, all clearly surprised that he would talk to them that way. He had never spoken to them that way before, and he could see the hurt in their faces. He immediately felt guilty, but he was too numb within himself, and too ashamed, to face any of them.

Thor looked down, unable to look at them, and he heard the groaning and creaking of the deck. Out of the corner of his eye he watched them all leave him, crossing to the far side of the ship, leaving him be.

Thor felt a pit in his stomach; he wished he could have acted otherwise. He wished he could have rebounded, regained his leadership, gotten over this. But this failed quest hurt him too deeply.

Thor heard a distant screech, and he searched the skies, wondering if he were imagining it. It sounded like the cry of a dragon. Could it be? Was it Lycoples?

As he looked up, searching, Thor’s heart suddenly skipped a beat to see Lycoples swoop down, break through the clouds, and circle the ship, screeching, flapping her wings. He could see something dangling from her claws, and as he looked up into the sun, shielding his eyes, he struggled to figure out what it was. It appeared to be a scroll.

Moments later Lycoples dove down and landed on the deck before him, opening her wings slowly. She stared right at him and he could see the fierceness, the power in them, staring back defiantly, with a sense of purpose. He wanted to go and embrace her, to check the scroll, but he felt too listless to do so.

The others, though, all crowded around the dragon on deck, keeping their distance.

“What is on the scroll?” Angel asked.

Thorgrin shook his head.

Angel, impatient, jumped up and ran over to Lycoples, reached out tentatively, and took the scroll from her claws. Lycoples screeched softly, but did not resist.

Angel unrolled it and looked inside.

“It is from Gwendolyn,” she said, turning to Thorgrin and thrusting it into his hands.

Thor felt it in his fingers, the tough parchment, and it felt so brittle; he could hardly believe it had crossed the world. Holding it somehow broke him out of his reverie, and despite himself, he began to read:

My Dearest Thorgrin:

If the scroll finds you, know that I still live, and that I think of you with every breathing moment. I have met Argon’s master, and he has told me of a Ring. The Sorcerer’s Ring. It is this Ring that we need to be reunited again, to save Guwayne, to restore our homeland and return all of us to the Ring. It is only you who can find this Ring. Thorgrin, we need you now. I need you now. Lycoples will lead you to the Ring. Join her. Do it for me. For our son.

Thorgrin lowered the scroll, his eyes bleary, overcome with emotion at having received an object from Gwendolyn, at hearing her voice, her message, in his head.

Thor looked up at Lycoples, who stood there, waiting, and a part of him felt energized, renewed with a new sense of purpose, ready to depart.

But another part of him still felt too crushed, too exhausted to go on. What was the point, when the Blood Lord still existed, someone out there whom he could never vanquish?

“Well?” Angel pressed, staring at him, waiting for a response.

Angel took the scroll and read it herself impatiently, then she stared back at Thor.

“What are you waiting for?” she demanded.

Thorgrin sat there, listless, depressed. A long silence fell over them, and finally, he just shook his head.

“I cannot go on,” he said, his voice broken.

All the others looked at him in shock.

“But they need you,” Angel insisted.

“I am sorry,” Thorgrin said. “I have let everyone down. I’m sorry.”

He felt terrible even as he said the words, and he couldn’t bear to see the look of disappointment in Angel’s eyes.

The others crossed the deck, again giving him space, but Angel stayed by his side and took a step closer. He saw her looking down at him with her soulful eyes, and he felt overcome with shame.

“Do you remember when I told you of the Land of the Giants?” she asked. “The place that might hold the cure for my leprosy?”

Thorgrin nodded, remembering.

“The Land of the Giants is a metaphor,” she said. “It is not an actual land. It is a place where the great ones live. This is the place that Gwendolyn speaks of. I know, because I have heard of it my whole life—the place rumored to hold not only the cure for leprosy, but the Sorcerer’s Ring.”

Thor looked back, perplexed.

“Don’t you understand?” she pressed. “If you find this Ring, it could not only save the others—it could save me, too. Can’t you do it for me?”

As Thor looked back at her, he wanted to help her, wanted to help them all—but something inside him felt weighed down, felt like he could not go on.

Despite himself, he looked down.

Angel turned, a look of betrayal in her eyes, and stormed across to the far side of the deck.

Thor closed his eyes, suffering, feeling a pain in his chest. Then, for some reason, he thought of his mother.

Why, Mother? Why have I failed? Why have my powers met their limits? Why have I let you down?

He closed his eyes, trying to picture his mother’s face, waiting for an answer. But there came none.

He focused with all his might.

I’ve never asked for anything, Mother. I ask you now. Help me. Help me save my son.

This time, as Thorgrin closed his eyes, he saw his mother as she stood at the end of her skywalk, a smile on her face, looking back at him with compassion.

Thorgrin, she said, you have not failed. You cannot fail. What you see as a failure is just a delusion. Don’t you see? A failure is what you define it to be.

Thorgrin shook his head in his mind’s eye, grappling with her words.

No. I have failed. My son is without me.

Is he? asked his mother.

I shall never find him again.

Shall you not? she asked. Never is a long time. In life, we fail. Life would not be life without failure. Loss. Defeat. But it is not the defeat that defines us. It is what we do after the defeat. Will you crumble and fall, Thorgrin? That is failure. Or will you stand and rise? Will you be brave enough to get back on your feet? Will you have the courage to fight again? That is victory.

Something stirred within Thorgrin, and he realized she was right. Courage, chivalry, honor, valor—it had nothing to do with victory or defeat. It had to do with the courage to try, to stand up for what you believed in, the courage to face your enemy, however formidable he was.

Thorgrin suddenly felt a fresh wave of energy overcome him, and suddenly, he felt himself casting off the wave of gloom that had oppressed him ever since leaving the Land of Blood. He stood, rising to his full height, and felt himself getting stronger, bolder, until he was standing tall and proud.

Thor began to cross the deck, to walk toward Angel, and as he went, the others in the Legion must have sensed it, because they all turned and watched him go, and this time, their eyes were filled with joy as they saw him standing tall and proud. He was back to the old Thorgrin.

Thor walked over to Angel, tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned, and her eyes lit up, too.

He knelt down and embraced her, and he leaned back and looked her in the eyes.

“I shall find the Sorcerer’s Ring,” he said. “Or I shall die trying.”

She hugged him, and he hugged her back. Then he stood, turned, and solemnly, one by one, embraced each member of the Legion.

Thor turned and his eyes met Lycoples, two warriors, eyes gleaming. He could see the resolve on her face, and it was a resolve that he himself now felt. They would ride, gladly, to the ends of the earth together.

Thor turned to the others, as they all stood there, ready to see him off, and as they all looked to him hopefully, for leadership.

“Set sail for the Ring, all of you,” he said, his voice filled once again with confidence. “Meet me there. I shall find this Sorcerer’s Ring, I shall return to the Ring, and there, we shall be united for all time. I shall find this Ring, or I shall die trying.”

The group stared back solemnly, a long silence falling over them.

“And if you do not return?” Matus asked.

Thor looked at him gravely.

“I shall,” he replied. “This time, no matter what, I shall.”