“Know that this is not your fault,” he whispered. “And know how much I love you.”
Alistair wept, holding him to her chest, feeling him growing cold. As she did, something inside her snapped, something that felt the injustice of it all, something that absolutely refused to allow him to die.
Alistair suddenly felt a familiar, tingly feeling, like a thousand pinpricks in the tips of her fingers, and she felt her entire body flush with heat from head to toe. A strange force overtook her, something strong and primal, something she did not understand; it came on stronger than any surge of force she had ever felt in her life, like an outside spirit taking over her body. She felt her hands and arms burning hot, and she reflexively reached out and placed her palms on Erec’s chest and forehead.
Alistair held them there, her hands burning ever hotter, and she closed her eyes. Images flashed through her mind. She saw Erec as a youth, leaving the Southern Isles, so proud and noble, standing on a tall ship; she saw him entering the Legion; joining the Silver; jousting, becoming a champion, defeating enemies, defending the Ring. She saw him sitting erect, posture perfect on his horse, in shining silver, a model of nobility and courage. She knew she could not let him die; the world could not afford to let him die.
Alistair’s hands grew hotter still, and she opened her eyes and saw his eyes closing. She also saw a white light emanating from her palms, spreading all over Erec; she saw him infused with it, surrounded by a globe. And as she watched, she saw his wounds, seeping blood, slowly begin to seal up.
Erec’s eyes flashed open, filled with light, and she felt something shift within him. His body, so cold just moments before, began to warm. She felt his life force returning.
Erec looked up at her in surprise and wonder, and as he did, Alistair felt her own energy depleted, her own life force lessening, as she transferred her energy to him.
His eyes closed and he fell into a deep sleep. Her hands suddenly grew cool, and she checked his pulse, felt it return to normal.
She sighed with great relief, knowing she had brought him back. Her palms shook, so drained from the experience, and she felt depleted, yet elated.
Thank you, God, she thought, as she leaned down, laid her face on his chest, and hugged him with tears of joy. Thank you for not taking my husband from me.
Alistair stopped crying, and she looked over and took in the scene: she saw Bowyer’s sword lying there on the stone, its hilt and blade covered in blood. She hated Bowyer with a passion more than she could conceive; she was determined to avenge Erec.
Alistair reached down and picked up the bloody sword; her palms were covered in blood as she held it up, examining it. She prepared to cast it away, to watch it go clattering to the far end of the room—when suddenly, the door to the room burst open.
Alistair turned, the bloody sword in hand, to see Erec’s family rush into the room, flanked by a dozen soldiers. As they came closer, their expressions of alarm turned to one of horror, as they all looked from her to the unconscious Erec.
“What have you done?” Dauphine cried out.
Alistair looked back at her, uncomprehending.
“I?” she asked. “I have done nothing.”
Dauphine glowered as she stormed closer.
“Have you?” she said. “You’ve only killed our best and greatest knight!”
Alistair stared back at her in horror as she suddenly realized they were all looking at her as if she were a murderer.
She looked down and saw the bloody sword in her hand, saw the bloodstains on her palm and all over her dress, and she realized they all thought she had done it.
“But I did not stab him!” Alistair protested.
“No?” Dauphine accused. “Then did the sword appear magically in your hand?”
Alistair looked about the room, as they all gathered around her.
“It was a man who did this. The man who challenged him on the field in battle: Bowyer.”
The others looked to each other, skeptical.
“Oh was it, then?” Dauphine countered. “And where is this man?” she asked, looking all about the room.
Alistair saw no sign of him, and she realized they all thought she was lying.
“He fled,” she said. “After he stabbed him.”
“And then how did his bloody sword get into your hand?” Dauphine countered.
Alistair looked down at the sword in her hand in horror, and she flung it, clanging across the stone.
“But why would I kill my own husband-to-be?” she asked.
“You are a sorcerer,” Dauphine said, standing over her now. “Your kind are not to be trusted. Oh, my brother!” Dauphine said, rushing forward, dropping down to her knees beside Erec, getting between him and Alistair. Dauphine hugged Erec, clutching him.
“What have you done?” Dauphine moaned, between tears.
“But I am innocent!” Alistair exclaimed.
Dauphine turned to her with an expression of hatred, and then turned to all the soldiers.
“Arrest her!” she commanded.
Alistair felt hands grabbing her from behind, as she was yanked to her feet. Her energy was depleted, and she was unable to resist as the guards bound her wrists behind her back and began to drag her away. She cared little for what happened to her—yet, as they dragged her away, she could not bear the thought of being apart from Erec. Not now, not when he needed her most. The healing she had given him was only temporary; she knew that he needed another session, and that if he did not get it, he would die.
“NO!” she yelled. “Let me go!”
But her shouts fell on deaf ears as they dragged her away, shackled, as if she were just another common prisoner.
CHAPTER THREE
Thor raised his hands to his eyes, blinded by the light, as the shining, golden doors to his mother’s castle opened wide, so intense he could barely see. A figure walked out toward him, a silhouette, a woman he sensed, in every fiber of his being, to be his mother. Thor’s heart pounded as he saw her standing there, arms at her side, facing him.
Slowly, the light began to fade, just enough for him to lower his hands and look at her. It was the moment he had been waiting for his entire life, the moment that had haunted him in his dreams. He could not believe it: it was really her. His mother. Inside this castle, perched atop this cliff. Thor opened his eyes fully and laid eyes upon her for the first time, standing but a few feet away, staring back. For the first time, he saw her face.
Thor’s breath caught in his throat as he looked back at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She looked timeless, at once both old and young, her skin nearly translucent, her face shining. She smiled back at him sweetly, her long blonde hair falling down past her stomach, her big bright translucent gray eyes, her perfectly chiseled cheekbone and jawline matching his. What surprised Thor most as he stared at her was that he could recognize many of his own features in her face—the curve of her jaw, her lips, the shade of her gray eyes, even her proud forehead. In some ways, it was like staring back at himself. She also looked strikingly like Alistair.
Thor’s mother, dressed in a white silk robe and cloak, the hood pulled back, stood with her palms out to her sides, adorned with no jewelry, her palms smooth, her skin like that of a baby’s. Thor could feel the intense energy exuding from her, more intense than he had ever felt, like the sun, enveloping him. As he stood basking in it, he felt waves of love directed toward him. He had never before felt such unconditional love and acceptance. He felt like he belonged.
Standing here now, before her, Thor finally felt as if a part of him were complete, as if all was okay in the world.
“Thorgrin, my son,” she said.
It was the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard, soft, reverberating off the ancient stone walls of the castle, sounding as if it had come down from heaven itself. Thor stood there in shock, not knowing what to do or what to say. Was this all real? He wondered briefly if it was all just another creation in the Land of the Druids
, just another dream, or his mind playing tricks on him. He had been wanting to embrace his mother for as long as he could remember, and he took a step forward, determined to know if she was an apparition.
Thor reached out to embrace her, and as he did, he was afraid that his hug would go through nothing but air, all of this just an illusion. But as Thor reached out, he felt his arms wrap around her, felt himself hug a real person—and he felt her hug him back. It was the most amazing feeling in the world.
She hugged him tight, and Thor was elated to know that she was real. That this was all real. That he had a mother, that she really existed, that she was here in the flesh, in this land of illusion and fantasy—and that she really cared about him.
After a long while, they leaned back, and Thor looked at her, tears in his eyes, and saw that there were tears in hers, too.
“I’m so proud of you, my son,” she said.
He stared back, at a loss for words.
“You have completed your journey,” she added. “You are worthy to be here. You have become the man I always knew you would.”
Thor looked back at her, taking in her features, still amazed by the fact that she really existed, and wondering what to say. His entire life he’d had so many questions for her; yet now that he was here before her, he was drawing a blank. He wasn’t sure even where to begin.
“Come with me,” she said, turning, “and I will show you this place—this place where you were born.”
She smiled and held out her hand, and Thor grasped it.
They walked side-by-side into the castle, his mother leading the way, light exuding off of her and bouncing off the walls. Thor took it all in in wonder: it was the most resplendent place he’d ever seen, its walls made of sparkling gold, everything shining, perfect, surreal. He felt as if he had come to a magical castle in heaven.
They passed down a long corridor with high arched ceilings, light bouncing off of everything. Thor looked down and saw the floor was covered in diamonds, smooth, sparkling in a million points of light.
“Why did you leave me?” Thor suddenly asked.
They were the first words Thor had spoken, and they surprised even him. Of all the things he wanted to ask her, for some reason this popped out first, and he felt embarrassed and ashamed that he hadn’t anything nicer to say. He hadn’t meant to be so abrupt.
But his mother’s compassionate smile never faltered. She walked beside him, looking at him with pure love, and he could feel such love and acceptance from her, could feel that she did not judge him, no matter what he said.
“You are right to be upset with me,” she said. “I need to ask your forgiveness. You and your sister meant more to me than anything in the world. I wanted to raise you here—but I could not. Because you are both special. Both of you.”
They turned down another corridor, and his mother stopped and turned to Thor.
“You are not just a Druid, Thorgrin, not just a warrior. You are the greatest warrior that has ever been, or ever will be—and the greatest Druid, too. Yours is a special destiny; your life is meant to be bigger, much bigger, than this place. It is life and a destiny meant to be shared with the world. That is why I set you free. I had to let you out in the world, in order for you to become the man you are, in order for you to have the experiences you had and to learn to become the warrior you are meant to be.”
She took a deep breath.
“You see, Thorgrin, it is not seclusion and privilege that make a warrior—but toil and hardship, suffering and pain. Suffering above all. It killed me to watch you suffer—and yet paradoxically, that was what you needed most in order to become the man you have become. Do you understand, Thorgrin?”
Thor did indeed, for the first time in his life, understand. For the first time, it all made sense. He thought of all the suffering he had encountered in his life: his being raised without a mother, reared as a lackey to his brothers, by a father who hated him, in a small, suffocating village, viewed by everyone as a nobody. His upbringing had been one long string of indignities.
But now he was beginning to see that he needed that; that all of his toil and tribulation was meant to be.
“All of your hardship, your independence, your struggling to find your own way,” his mother added, “it was my gift to you. It was my gift to make you stronger.”
A gift, Thorgrin thought to himself. He had never thought of it that way before. At the time, it felt like the farthest thing from a gift—yet now, looking back, he knew that it was exactly that. As she spoke the words, he realized that she was right. All the adversity in his life that he had faced—it had all been a gift, to help mold him into what he had become.
His mother turned, and the two continued to walk side-by-side through the castle, and Thor’s mind spun with a million questions for her.
“Are you real?” Thor asked.
Once again, he was ashamed for being so blunt, and once again he found himself asking a question he did not expect to ask. Yet he felt an intense desire to know.
“Is this place real?” Thor added. “Or is it all just illusion, just a figment of my own imagination, like the rest of this land?”
His mother smiled at him.
“I am as real as you,” she replied.
Thor nodded, assured at the response.
“You are correct that the Land of Druids is a land of illusion, a magic land within yourself,” she added. “I am very much real—yet at the same time, like you, I am a Druid. Druids are not so attached to physical place as are humans. Which means that a part of me lives here, while a part of me lives elsewhere. That is why I am always with you, even if you cannot see me. Druids are everywhere and nowhere at once. We straddle two worlds that others do not.”
“Like Argon,” Thor replied, recalling Argon’s distant gaze, his sometimes appearing and disappearing, his being everywhere and nowhere at once.
She nodded.
“Yes,” she replied. “Just like my brother.”
Thor gaped, in shock.
“Your brother?” he repeated.
She nodded.
“Argon is your uncle,” she said. “He loves you very much. He always has. And Alistair, too.”
Thor pondered it all, overwhelmed.
His brow furrowed as he thought of something.
“But for me, it’s different,” Thor said. “I don’t quite feel as you. I feel more of an attachment to place than you. I can’t travel to other worlds as freely as Argon.”
“That is because you are half human,” she replied.
Thor thought about that.
“I am here now, in this castle, in my home,” he said. “This is my home, is it not?”
“Yes,” she replied. “It is. Your true home. As much as any home you have in the world. Yet Druids are not as attached to the concept of home.”
“So if I wanted to stay here, to live here, I could?” Thor asked.
His mother shook her head.
“No,” she said. “Because your time here, in the Land of the Druids, is finite. Your arriving here was destined—yet you can only visit the Land of the Druids once. When you leave, you can never return again. This place, this castle, everything you see and know here, this place of your dreams that you have seen for so many years, it will all be gone. Like a river that cannot be stepped in twice.”
“And you?” Thor asked, suddenly afraid.
His mother shook her head sweetly.
“You shall not see me again, either. Not like this. Yet I will always be with you.”
Thor was crestfallen at the thought.
“But I don’t understand,” Thor said. “I finally found you. I finally found this place, my home. And now you are telling me it is just for this once?”
His mother sighed.
“A warrior’s home is out in the world,” she said. “It is your duty to be out there, to assist others, to defend others—and to be become, always, a better warrior. You can always become better. Warriors are not meant to sit in
one place—especially not a warrior with a great destiny such as yours. You will encounter great things in your life: great castles, great cities, great peoples. Yet you must not cling to anything. Life is a great tide, and you must allow it to take you where it will.”
Thor furrowed his brow, trying to understand. It was so much to take in at once.
“I always thought that, once I found you, my greatest quest would be finished.”
She smiled back at him.
“That is the nature of life,” she replied. “We are given great quests, or we choose them for ourselves, and we set out to achieve them. We never truly imagine we can achieve them—and yet, somehow, we do. Once we do, once one quest is complete, somehow we expect our lives to be over. But our lives are just beginning. Climbing one peak is a great accomplishment in itself—yet it also leads to another, greater, peak. Achieving one quest enables you to embark on another, greater, quest.”
Thor looked at her, surprised.
“That’s right,” she said, reading his mind. “Your finding me will lead you now to another—greater—quest.”
“What other quest can there be?” Thor asked. “What can be greater than finding you?”
She smiled back, her eyes filled with wisdom.
“You cannot even begin to imagine the quests that lay ahead of you,” she said. “Some people in life are born with just one quest. Some people, none. But you—Thorgrin—have been born with a destiny of twelve quests.”
“Twelve?” Thor repeated, flabbergasted.
She nodded.
“The Destiny Sword was one. You achieved that marvelously. Finding me was another. You have achieved two of them. You have ten more to go, ten quests even greater than those two.”
“Ten more?” he asked. “Greater? How is it possible?”
“Let me show you,” she said, as she came up beside him and draped an arm around him and led him gently down the corridor. She led him through a shining sapphire door, and into a room made entirely of sapphires, sparkling green.
Thor’s mother led him across the room to a huge, arched window made of crystal. Thor stood beside her and reached up and placed a palm on the crystal, sensing he needed to, and as he did, the two windowpanes gently opened.