But she was not one to run. She needed to know for sure who her father’s murderer was, and if it was Gareth, she could not run away until she had brought him to justice. She knew that her father’s spirit would not rest until whoever killed him was caught. Justice had been his rallying cry all his life, and he, of all people, deserved to have it for himself in death.
Gwen thought again of her encounter with Godfrey and Steffen. She felt certain Steffen was hiding something, and wondered what it was. A part of her felt he might open up on his own time. But what if he would not? She felt an urgency to find her father’s killer-but did not know where else to look.
Gwendolyn finally rose from her seat beneath the water, climbed onto shore naked, shivering in the morning air, hid behind a thick tree, and reached up to take her towel from a branch, as she always did.
But as she reached for it, she was shocked to discover her towel was not there. She stood there, naked, wet, and could not understand it. She was certain she had hung it there, as she always did.
As she stood there, baffled, shivering, trying to understand what had happened, suddenly, she sensed motion behind her. It happened so quick, a blur, and a moment later, her heart stopped, as she realized a man stood behind her.
It happened too fast. In seconds the man, wearing a black cloak and hood, as in her dream, was behind her. He grabbed her from behind, reached up with a bony hand and clasped it over her mouth, muting her screams as he held her tight from behind. He reached around with his other hand and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her close and hoisting her off the ground.
She kicked in the air, trying to scream, until he set her down, still clasping her tight. She tried to break free from his grasp, but he was too strong. He reached around and Gwen was to see he held a dagger with a glowing red hilt-the same from her dream. It had been a warning after all.
She felt the blade pressed up against her throat, and he held it so tight that if she moved in any direction, her throat would be cut. Tears poured down her cheeks as she struggled to breathe. She was so mad at herself. She had been so stupid. She should have been more vigilant.
“Do you recognize my face?” he asked.
He leaned forward and she felt his hot, bad breath on her cheek, and saw his profile. Her heart stopped-it was the same face from her dream, the man with the missing eye and scar.
“Yes,” she answered, her voice shaking.
It was a face she knew too well. She did not know his name, but she knew that he was an enforcer. A low class type, one of several who hung around her brother, Gareth, since he was a child. He was Gareth’s messenger. Gareth sent him to anyone he wished to scare-or torture or kill.
“You are my brother’s dog,” she hissed back at him, defiant.
He smiled, revealing missing teeth.
“I am his messenger,” he said. “And my message comes with a special weapon to help you remember it. His message to you today is to stop asking questions. It is one you will come to know well, because when I’m finished with you, the scar I will leave on that pretty face of yours will make you remember it for your entire life.”
He snorted, then raised the knife high and began to bring it down for her face.
“NO!” Gwen shrieked.
She braced herself for the life-changing slash.
But as the blade came down, something happened. Suddenly, a bird screeched, swooped down from out of the sky, dove right for the man. She glanced up and recognized it at the last second:
Ephistopheles.
It swooped down, its claws out, and scratched the man’s face as he was bringing down the blade.
The blade had just begun to slice Gwen’s cheek, stinging her with its pain, when it suddenly changed directions; the man shrieked, dropping the blade and raising his hands. Gwen saw a white light flash in the sky, the sun shining behind the branches, and as Ephistopheles flew away, she knew, she just knew, that her father had sent her.
She wasted no time. She spun around, leaned back and, as her trainers had taught her to do, kicked the man hard in the solo plexus, taking perfect aim with her barefoot. He keeled over, feeling the strength of her legs as she drove her kick right through him. She’d had it drilled into her, from the time she was young, that she did not need to be strong to fend off an attacker. She just needed to use her strongest muscles-her thighs. And to take aim precisely.
As the man stood there, keeled over, she stepped forward, grabbed the back of his hair and raised her knee-again, with pinpoint precision-and connected perfectly on the bridge of his nose.
She heard a satisfied crack and felt his hot blood gush out, pour onto her leg, staining it; as he slumped to the ground, she knew she had broken his nose.
She knew she should finish him off for good, take that dagger and plunge it into his heart.
But she stood there, naked, and her instinct was to clothe herself and get out of here. She didn’t want his blood on her hands, however much he may have deserved it.
So instead she reached down, grabbed his blade, chucked it into the river, and wrapped her clothes around herself. She prepared to flee, but before she did, she turned back, wound up, and kicked him as hard as she could in the groin.
He screamed out in pain, and curled up in a ball, like a wounded animal.
Inwardly she was shaking, feeling how close she had come to being killed, or at least maimed. She felt the cut stinging her cheek, and realized she would probably carry some scar, however light. She felt traumatized. But she did not let him show it. Because at the same time, she also felt a new strength welling up in her, the strength of her father, of seven generations of MacGil kings. And for the first time she realized that she, too, was strong. As strong as her brothers. As strong as any of them.
Before she turned away, she leaned down close so he could hear her amidst his groans.
“Come near me again,” she growled to the man, “and I will kill you myself.”
CHAPTER TEN
Thor felt himself getting sucked down beneath the water and knew that within moments he would be plunged to the depths and drowned-if he wasn’t eaten alive first. He prayed to god with all that he had.
Please, don’t let me die now. Not here. Not in this place. Not by this creature’s hand.
Thor tried to summon his powers, whatever they were. He tried with all that he had, willed that special energy to flow through him, to help him defeat this creature. He closed his eyes and willed for it to work.
But it did not call when he summoned it. Nothing happened. He was just a regular boy, powerless, just like everybody else. Where were his powers when he needed them most? Were they real? Or had all those other times just been a fluke?
As he was beginning to lose consciousness, a series of images flashed through his mind. He saw King MacGil, as if he were right there with him, watching over him; he saw Argon; and then he saw Gwendolyn. It was that last face that gave him reason to live.
Suddenly, Thor heard a splash behind him, then heard the creature shriek. He turned, just before he descended beneath the surface, to see Reese, in the water beside him. His sword was drawn, and he held the creature’s severed head in his hand. The creature’s head, detached from its body, continued to scream, as yellow blood gushed from its body.
Slowly, Thor felt its grip loosening on his leg, as Reese reached over and yanked it free of him. Thor’s leg felt as if it were on fire, and he hoped and prayed that no permanent damage had been done.
Thor felt Reese’s arm around his shoulder, and felt himself dragged back towards the boat. Thor blinked, in and out of consciousness, dimly seeing the huge rolling waves of the churning sea, feeling them rise and fall all around him.