The Gift of Battle. Morgan Rice
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was descending over all of them. They had made it; they had passed through the Straits, albeit with a heavy price. Thor did not think they could survive a trip through it again.
“There!” called out Matus.
Thor turned with the others and followed his finger as he pointed – and he was stunned by the sight before them. He saw a whole new vista spread before them on the horizon, a new landscape in this Land of Blood. It was a landscape thick with gloom, dark clouds lingering low on the horizon, the water still thick with blood – and yet now, the outline of the shore was closer, more visible. It was black, devoid of trees or life, looking like ash and mud.
Thor’s heartbeat quickened as beyond it, in the distance, he spotted a black castle, made of what appeared to be earth and ash and mud, rising up from the ground as if it were one with it. Thor could feel the evil emanating off of it.
Leading to the castle was a narrow canal, its waterways lined with torches, blocked by a drawbridge. Thor saw torches burning in the windows of the castle, and he felt a sudden sense of certainty: with all his heart, he knew that Guwayne was inside that castle, waiting for him.
“Full sails!” Thor cried out, feeling back in control again, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.
His brothers jumped into action, hoisting the sails as they caught the strong breeze that picked up from behind and propelled them forward. For the first time since entering this Land of Blood, Thor felt a sense of optimism, a sense that they could really find his son and rescue him from here.
“I’m glad you’re alive,” came a voice.
Thor turned and looked down to see Angel smiling up at him, tugging on his shirt. He smiled, knelt down beside her, and hugged her.
“As I am you,” he replied.
“I don’t understand what happened,” she said. “One minute I was myself, and the next… it was like I did not know myself.”
Thor slowly shook his head, trying to forget.
“Madness is the worst foe of all,” he replied. “We, ourselves, are the one enemy we cannot overcome.”
She frowned, concerned.
“Will it ever happen again?” she asked. “Is there anything else in this place like that?” she asked, fear in her voice as she studied the horizon.
Thor studied it too, wondering the very same thing himself – when all too soon, to his dread, the answer came rushing out at them.
There came a tremendous splash, like the sound of a whale surfacing, and Thor was amazed to see the most hideous creature he’d ever seen emerging before him. It looked like a monster squid, fifty feet high, bright red, the color of blood, and it loomed over the ship as it shot up out of the waters, its endless tentacles thirty feet long, dozens of them spreading out in every direction. Its beady yellow eyes scowled down at them, filled with fury, as its huge mouth, lined with sharp yellow fangs, opened up with a sickening sound. The creature blotted out whatever light the gloomy skies had allowed, and it shrieked an unearthly sound as it began to descend right for them, its tentacles spread out, ready to consume the entire ship.
Thor watched it with dread, caught up in its shadow with all the others, and he knew they had gone from one certain death to the next.
Chapter Two
The Empire commander lashed his zerta again and again as he galloped through the Great Waste, following the trail, as he had been for days, across the desert floor. Behind him, his men rode on, gasping, on the verge of collapsing, as he had not given them a moment to rest the entire time they had been riding – even throughout the night. He knew how to drive zertas into the ground – and he knew how to drive men, too.
He had no mercy on himself, and he certainly had none for his men. He wanted them to be impervious to exhaustion and heat and cold – especially when they were on a mission as sacred as this. After all, if this trail actually led to where he hoped it might – to the legendary Ridge itself – it could change the entire fate of the Empire.
The commander dug his heels into the zerta’s back until it shrieked, forcing it ever faster, until it was nearly tripping over itself. He squinted into the sun, scrutinizing the trail as they went. He had followed many trails in his life, and had killed many people at the end of them – yet he had never followed a trail as enthralling as this one. He could feel how close he was to the greatest discovery in the history of the Empire. His name would be memorialized, sung of for generations.
They ascended a ridge in the desert, and he began to hear a faint noise growing, like a storm brewing in the desert; he looked out as they crested it, expecting to see a sandstorm coming their way, and he was shocked, instead, to spot a stationary wall of sand a hundred yards away, rising straight up from the ground into the sky, swirling and churning, like a tornado in place.
He stopped, his men beside him, and watched, curious, as it did not seem to move. He could not understand it. It was a wall of raging sand, but it did not come any closer. He wondered what lay on the other side. Somehow, he sensed, it was the Ridge.
“Your trail ends,” one of his soldiers said derisively.
“We cannot pass through that wall,” said another.
“You have led us to nothing but more sand,” said another.
The commander slowly shook his head, scowling back with conviction.
“And what if there lies a land on the other side of that sand?” he retorted.
“The other side?” a soldier asked. “You are mad. It is nothing but a cloud of sand, an endless waste, like the rest of this desert.”
“Admit your failure,” said another soldier. “Turn back now – or if not, we shall turn back without you.”
The commander turned and faced his soldiers, shocked at their insolence – and saw contempt and rebellion in their eyes. He knew he had to act quickly if he were to quash it.
In a fit of sudden rage, the commander reached down, grabbed a dagger from his belt, and swung it backwards in one quick motion, lodging it in the soldier’s throat. The soldier gasped, then fell backwards off his zerta and hit the ground, a fresh pool of blood collecting on the desert floor. Within moments, a swarm of insects appeared out of nowhere, covering his body and eating it.
The other soldiers now looked to their commander in fear.
“Is there anyone else who wishes to defy my command?” he asked.
The men stared back nervously, but this time said nothing.
“Either the desert will kill you,” he said, “or I will. It’s your choice.”
The commander charged forward, lowering his head, and cried a great battle cry as he galloped right for the sand wall, knowing it might mean his death. He knew his men would follow, and a moment later he heard the sound of their zertas, and smiled in satisfaction. Sometimes they just had to be kept in line.
He shrieked as he entered the tornado of sand. It felt like a million pounds of sand weighing down on him, chafing his skin from every direction as he charged deeper and deeper into it. It was so loud, sounding like a thousand hornets in his ears, and yet still he charged, kicking his zerta, forcing it, even as it protested, deeper and deeper inside. He could feel the sand scraping his head and eyes and face, and he felt as if he might be torn to bits.
Yet still he rode on.
Just as he was wondering if his men were right, if this wall led to nothing, if they would all die here in this place, suddenly, to the commander’s great relief, he burst out of the sand and back into daylight, no more sand chafing him, no more noise in his ears, nothing but open sky and air – which he had never been so happy to see.
All around him, his men burst out, too, all of them chafed and bleeding like he, along with their zertas, all looking more dead than alive – yet all of them alive.
And as he looked up and out before him, the commander’s heart suddenly beat faster as he came to a sudden stop at the startling sight. He could not breathe