A Land Of Fire (Book 12) (17 page)

Thorgrin sat in the small boat, joined
by his Legion brothers and Indra and Matus, all of them rowing in the dead
calm, lost in their thoughts as they peered out to the ocean. Thor rowed,
encouraged, feeling his mother’s bracelet vibrating on his wrist, sensing he
was getting closer to his son. As he studied the waves, covered in mist, he
could not see anything, yet he could feel his son somewhere out there, could
sense he was close. Most of all, Thor sensed his son was alive, and that he
needed him.

He rowed harder, as did the others, his
muscles rippling, determined.

As they cut through the water, slowly
bobbing in the current, unable to see far beyond, Thor’s thoughts turned to
Mycoples and Ralibar, and he missed more than ever having the opportunity to
soar through the sky, to simply ride on the back of a great beast, to see the
world spread out below, to cover so much ground so quickly. Now he was confined
to the earth, like any other human, traveling slowly, his sight hindered. He
also missed the companionship of Mycoples dearly; it was as if a part of him
had been killed back there.

Reece, beside him, took a break and
clasped Thor’s shoulder.

“We shall find Guwayne,” he encouraged.
“Or we shall all die trying.”

Thor nodded back with equal solemnity,
grateful for Reece’s support. As Thor studied the waters, he wondered what
would happen if he was all wrong, and if it was already too late. What if, when
he finally found Guwayne, he was dead? Thor would be unable to live with
himself. And he would be unable to break the news to Gwen.

Or what if, even worse, he
never
found him?

Thor tried to shake these thoughts from
his mind as he rowed harder, knowing failure was not an option. He felt the
bracelet vibrating, and he knew he needed to have faith. He did not know where
they were going, but he realized that was all part of the test: sometimes one
needed to proceed on faith. Sometimes, faith was all one had. And sometimes
tests came to make your faith stronger.

One hour blurred into the next as
morning turned to afternoon, and Thor began to lose all sense of space and
time, rowing and rowing, no sound in his ears but that of the oars lapping the
water. The others began to slow their rowing, breathing hard, needing a break.

Every muscle in his body on fire,
feeling on the point of collapse, Thor closed his eyes and slowed his rowing,
too. He focused, tried to find his inner power, begged it to help direct him to
his son.

Please, Mother,
he thought.
If
you’re there, give me a sign. A clear sign. Please. For Guwayne’s sake. I need
your help.

A screech tore through the air and Thor
craned back his neck, and in the distance, he spotted Estopheles, circling
high, producing a cry that filled the lonely ocean. She swooped down and
dropped an object from her claw, and it plummeted down to the sea, landing in
the water beside Thor. Water splashed up at him as it did, and Thor looked
down, amazed, to see a small, glass bottle floating in the water.

He retrieved it, pulled out the cork,
unrolled the scroll, and others gathered around as he read Gwendolyn’s letter.

It touched Thor deeply, and he looked up
the skies as Estopheles screeched, amazed to see her here, in the middle of
nowhere, feeling less alone. He felt encouraged; he felt it was a sign, and
that he would find Guwayne.

Estopheles suddenly turned in the other
direction, and dove up and down repeatedly, and Thor sensed she was telling him
something. That she was leading them somewhere.

Guwayne.

“We must follow her!” Thor called out to
the others.

The wind suddenly picked up, the sails
were filled, and they all turned the boat, heading toward Estopheles.

They sailed through a thick cloud of
mist, hanging low on the waters, and when finally they emerged from the other
side, Thor’s heart pounded with delight. He was amazed to see, hardly a hundred
yards away, an island, larger than the last one, clearly inhabited, footprints
all over the beach.

And as they got closer, sailing into the
breaking waves, Thor looked out and saw on the sand something which made him
feel faith in life again: beached on the shore was a small boat. And judging by
its size, it was large enough to hold just a single person.

A boy.

*

Thor and the others moved quickly
through the dense island jungle, Thor out of breath, heart pounding as he ran,
the others by his side, fanning out, tracking the footsteps in the sand that
led from the beach. It was clear that from the footsteps that someone had
discovered the boat, had taken Guwayne, and Thor burned as he thought of it.
Whoever it was, he would make them pay—if he was not already too late.

The jungle was so thick that Thor could
barely see as he ran, scratched by branches and not caring. When it got too
thick, Thor drew his sword and hacked at anything in his way as he sprinted
with all he had, leaping over felled trees, hearing his heart pounding in his
ears.

The sounds of exotic birds and animals
punctuated the air, but Thor could barely hear anything other than his own
heartbeat, than his own thoughts driving him mad. Where had they taken his boy?
How long ago had he landed? Were they friendly, or did they have sinister
intentions?

And worst of all: what if he did not
find him in time?

His mother’s bracelet buzzed like crazy,
and Thor could barely think straight knowing that his son was here, just out of
his reach, just out of reach, somewhere behind these trees.

“It looks like an army took him!” Matus yelled
out, looking down as he ran.

Thor was thinking the same thing—there
were so many tracks in so many different directions. How many people lived
here? What sort of people were they? Where could they all be leading?

As they burst through a thick wall of
foliage, there came the sudden sound of tribal chanting and dancing, a
persistent drumbeat filling the air. The drums beat so fast, to the beat of
Thor’s heart, and they grew louder as he ran. They all ran for the direction of
the music, and Thor felt both encouraged, and a sense of dread. Whoever was out
there did not sound friendly. Why, he wondered for the millionth time, would
they take his son? What would they do with him?

“Do you know of the people of this
isle?” Thor called out to Matus. “The Upper Isles is closer than the Ring.”

Matus shook his head as he ran, dodging
a tree.

“I’ve never been this far north. I
didn’t even know these islands were inhabited. Your guess is as good as mine.”

They all came to a sudden stop at the
edge of the jungle, right before a wall of vines, through which they could see
a vast clearing. Hardened warriors, they all knew better than to rush through
the perimeter of a hostile enemy without first taking stock.

Thor stared, breathing hard, and was
amazed at the sight before him: in the clearing stood hundreds of natives, men
with translucent white skin and bulging, glowing green eyes. They were barely
clothed, and had wiry, muscular bodies. They chanted and beat on drums, dancing
in circles every which way, again and again, circling barefoot on the sand in
the jungle clearing. In the center of their village was a tall stone well, and
above it, draped across, a thick log. Smoke rose from the well, and from inside
it, Thor could hear screams.

A baby’s screams.

The hairs stood on Thor’s back as he
listened, as he watched the natives circling, dancing around the well again and
again, raising torches, banging on drums. He realized, with a flash of horror,
what was happening: these primitive people were getting ready to sacrifice that
baby.

Without even thinking of a strategy,
without even considering how outnumbered they were, Thor burst into the
clearing, sword drawn, and raised a great battle cry, charging these hundreds
of armed warriors. Even if he had stopped to think of it, Thor would not have
paused; something visceral inside of him drove him forward. Thor knew that
could be his son in that well, and he would kill anyone and anything in his
path to rescue him.

His brothers all joined him, all of them
rushing headlong into danger, all by his side, prepared to go anywhere with
him, no matter what the risk.

They had hardly gone ten feet, were
still a good fifty yards away, when the entire village spotted them, and
hundreds of warriors stopped their dancing and turned toward them. They raised
their spears, and bows and arrows, and charged to meet them.

Thor did not slow, and neither did his
brothers. The seven of them raced headlong into the army, reckless and
carefree, preparing to do battle to the death.

They all met each other in a clash of
arms. Thor, sword held high, was the first to reach them. Three tribesmen
raised crude daggers and leapt for him, and as they did, Thor ducked low, and
slashed, slicing their chests and sending them all collapsing to the ground, as
he rolled out of the way.

Thor jumped back to his feet and
continued his charge, heading for a group of tribesmen who were all raising
spears, preparing to throw them right at him. Thor leapt into the air and
sliced the spears in half before they could throw them, then he planted his
sword in the ground and used it to propel himself into the air, swinging his
legs around and kicking them all in the chest and knocking them back. Thor
landed back on his feet, grabbed his sword, and swung around in a wide circle,
felling them all.

Thor heard the baby’s cry in the
distance, ringing in his ears, rising even above the shouts of the men, and he
fought like a man possessed. He did not try to summon his powers; he did not
want to. He wanted to kill these men with his bare hands, these men who dared
take his son from him, who dared try to kill him. He wanted to kill them all
man to man, face to face.

Thor slashed left and right as these men
came at him with daggers and spears. Thor killed them left and right, but he
could not kill all of them before they fired off at him. One of the tribesmen
hurled a stone with his sling, and it hit Thor hard in the head, cutting him
above his temple and drawing blood. Others fired off arrows before Thor could
reach them, and while Thor ducked and evaded most, seeing them coming from the
corner of his eye, he could not miss all of them, and one arrow grazed his left
arm. He cried out in pain as it drew blood.

Yet still Thor did not slow down. He
thought of nothing but his child, and even with his wounds, Thor continued to
charge, swinging his sword with both hands, slashing and kicking and elbowing
his way for the village center. Soon he was engulfed by tribesmen, elbow to
elbow with them, fighting hand to hand, eye to eye, through the thick crowd. It
was slow going, even with his brothers fighting side by side with him, helping
to block blows and felling tribesmen in their own right.

Thor was faster and stronger than these
natives with their crude weapons, and he weaved in and out of them expertly,
dodging spear thrusts as he slashed and stabbed. Yet the crowd grew thick, and
there were just too many of them, and as he found himself enclosed from all
sides, there were a few he never saw coming. Thor heard something behind him,
and spun to see a villager lowering his dagger for the back of his head. It was
too late to react, and Thor braced himself for the blow.

Suddenly, the tribesman opened his eyes
wide and collapsed at Thor’s feet, and Thor watched him fall, puzzled. He
looked down and saw an arrow through his back, and he looked up to see
O’Connor, holding his bow, grinning, his aim as true as always. Indra stood
beside him and fired off an arrow of her own, and as she did, Thor heard a
grunting noise and he looked over to see another tribesman, to his right, fall
before he could unleash his spear.

Elden stepped forward, wielding a huge
hammer, and in a broad stroke, he knocked three of them across the chest with a
thumping noise, sending them to the ground. Elden then raised his hammer and
turned it sideways, and butted two of them across the face, knocking them down.
He then swung the heavy hammer over his head and sent it sailing into the mass
of bodies, and it took down four more tribesmen, creating a path in the crowd.

Reece lunged forward with his sword,
slashing every which way, while Conven did not even bother swinging his sword
as he ran recklessly right into the thick of the tribesmen. He reached up and
snatched a spear from one of their hands, and used that spear against its own
attacker. He then spun around, creating a circle around him as he slashed every
which way, downing tribesmen left and right. When he was done, Conven raised it
above his head and hurled it with such force that it went through one tribesman
and into another.

As Thor made progress, fighting his way
through the crowd, his shoulders burning from the nonstop battle, he heard a
whooshing noise above his head, and he noticed Matus coming up beside him,
swinging a spiked flail, the chain swishing through the air as the metal ball
found its target again and again, taking down a half dozen of them and
lightening the crowd.