Chapter Two

Alistair, sobbing, knelt beside Erec’s body, clutching him tight, her wedding dress covered in his blood. As she held him, her entire world spinning, she felt the life flow beginning to ebb out of him. Erec, riddled with stab wounds, was moaning, and she could sense by the rhythms of his pulse that he was dying.

“NO!” Alistair moaned, cradling him in her arms, rocking him. She felt her heart rend in two as she held him, felt as if she were dying herself. This man whom she had been about to marry, who had looked at her with such love just moments before, now lay nearly lifeless in her arms; she could hardly process it. He had received the blow so unsuspecting, so filled with love and joy; he had been caught off guard because of her. Because of her stupid game, asking him to close his eyes while she approached with her dress. Alistair felt overwhelmed with guilt, as if it were all her fault.

“Alistair,” he moaned.

She looked down and saw his eyes half open, saw them becoming dull, the life force beginning to leave them.

“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