He turned and scowled at Darius, first surprise, then vengeance in his eyes.
He shrieked like a wounded animal, and charged Darius. The taskmaster threw down his sword, raced forward, and embraced Darius in a bear hug. He heaved Darius up off the ground, squeezing him so tight, Darius dropped his sword. It all happened so fast, and it was such an unexpected move, that Darius could not react in time. He had expected his foe to use his sword in battle, not his fists.
Darius, dangling off the ground, groaning, felt as if every bone in his body was going to crack. He cried out in pain.
The taskmaster squeezed him harder, so hard Darius was sure he was going to die. He then leaned back and head-butted Darius, smashing his forehead into Darius’s nose.
Darius felt blood gushing out, felt a horrible pain shoot through his face and eyes, stinging him, blinding him. It was a move he had not expected, and as the taskmaster leaned back to head-butt him again, Darius, defenseless, was certain he would be killed.
The noise of chains cut through the air, and suddenly the taskmaster’s eyes bulged wide open, and his grip loosened on Darius. Darius, gasping, confused, looked up, wondering why he’d let go. Then he saw Loti, standing behind the taskmaster, wrapping her dangling shackles around his neck, again and again, and squeezing with all her might.
Darius stumbled back, trying to catch his breath again, and he watched as the taskmaster stumbled back several feet, then reached back over his shoulder, grabbed Loti from behind, leaned over, and flipped her over his head. Loti landed on her back, on the hard ground, in the dirt, with a cry.
The taskmaster stepped forward, lifted his leg, aimed his boot over her face, and Darius saw he was about to bring it down and crush her face. The taskmaster was a good ten feet away by now, too far for Darius to reach him in time.
“NO!” Darius yelled.
Darius thought quickly: he reached down, grabbed his sword, stepped forward, and in one swift motion, he threw it.
The sword went flying through the air, end over end, and Darius watched, transfixed, as the point pierced the taskmaster’s armor, impaling him right through his heart.
His eyes bulged wide open again and Darius watched as he stumbled and fell, sinking to his knees, then to his face.
Loti quickly gained her feet, and Darius rushed to her side. He draped a reassuring hand over her shoulder, so grateful to her, so relieved she was okay.
Suddenly, a sharp whistle cut through the air; Darius turned and saw the taskmaster, lying on the ground, raise a hand to his mouth and whistle again, one last time, before he died.
A horrific roar shattered the silence, as the ground shook.
Darius looked over, and was terror-stricken to see the zerta suddenly charging right for them. It sprinted for them in a rage, lowering its sharp horns. Darius and Loti exchanged a look, knowing they had nowhere to run. Within moments, Darius knew, they would both be dead.
Darius looked all around, thinking quick, and he saw beside them the steep slope of the mountainside, littered with rocks and boulders. Darius raised his arm, his palm out, and draped his other arm around Loti, holding her close. Darius did not want to summon his power, but he knew that now, he had no choice, if he wanted to live.
Darius felt a tremendous heat rush through him, a power he could barely control, and he watched as a light shot forth through his open palm, onto the steep slope. There came a rumbling, gradual at first, then greater and greater, and Darius watched as boulders began tumbling down the steep mountainside, gaining steam.
An avalanche of boulders all rushed down on the zerta, crushing it just before it reached them. There was a huge cloud of dust, a tremendous noise, and finally, all was still.
Darius stood there, nothing but silence and dust swirling in the sun, hardly understanding what he had just done. He turned and saw Loti looking at him, saw the look of horror in her face, and he knew everything had changed. He had unleashed his secret. And now, there was no turning back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thor sat erect at the edge of their small boat, legs crossed, palms resting on his thighs, his back to the others as he stared out at the cold, cruel sea. His eyes were red from crying, and he did not want the others to see him like this. His tears had dried up long ago, but his eyes were still raw as he stared out, baffled, at the sea, wondering at the mysteries of life.
How could a son have been given to him, only to have been taken away? How could someone he loved so much disappear from him, be snatched away with no warning and no chance of return?
Life, Thor felt, was too relentlessly cruel. Where was the justice in it all? Why couldn’t his son return to him?
Thor would give anything—anything—walk through fire himself, die a million deaths—to have Guwayne given back to him.
Thor closed his eyes and shook his head as he tried to blot out the image of that burning volcano, the empty bassinet, the flames. He tried to block out the idea of his son dying such a painful death. His heart burned with fury, but most of all, sorrow. And shame, for not reaching his little boy sooner.
Thor also felt a deep pit in his stomach as he tried to imagine his encounter with Gwendolyn, his telling her the news. She would surely never look him in the eyes again. And she would never be the same person again. It was as if Thorgrin’s entire life had been snatched away from him. He did not know how to rebuild, how to pick up the pieces. How does one, he wondered, find another purpose for living?
Thor heard footsteps and felt the weight of a body beside him as the boat shifted, creaking. He looked over and was surprised to see Conven take a seat at his side, staring out. Thor felt as if he hadn’t talked to Conven in ages, not since his twin’s death. He welcomed seeing him here. As Thor looked at him, studied the sorrow in his face, for the first time, he understood. He really understood.
Conven didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. His presence was enough. He sat beside him in sympathy, brothers in grief.
They sat there in silence for a long time, no noise but the sound of the wind ripping through, the sound of the waves lapping gently against the boat, this small boat of theirs adrift in an endless sea, their quest to find and rescue Guwayne taken away from all of them.
Finally Conven spoke:
“Not a day goes by when I don’t think of Conval,” he said, his voice somber.
They sat again silence for a long time. Thor wanted to reply, but he could not, too choked up to speak.
Finally, Conven added: “I grieve for you for Guwayne. I would have liked to see him become a great warrior, like his father. I know he would have been. Life can be tragic and cruel. It can give only to take away. I wish I could tell you I have recovered from my sorrow—but I have not.”
Thor looked at him, Conven’s brutal honesty somehow giving him a sense of peace.
“What keeps you living?” Thor asked.
Conven looked out at the water for a long time, then finally sighed.
“I think it was what Conval would have wanted,” he said. “He would have wanted me to go on. And so I go on. I do it for him. Not for myself. Sometimes we live a life for others. Sometimes we don’t care enough to live it for ourselves, so we live it for them. But, I am coming to realize, sometimes that must be enough.”
Thor thought of Guwayne, now dead, and he wondered what his son would have wanted. Of course, he would have wanted Thorgrin to live, to take care of his mother, Gwendolyn. Thor knew that logically. But in his heart, it was a hard concept to grasp.
Conven cleared his throat.
“We live for our parents,” he said. “For our siblings. For our wives and sons and daughters. We live for everybody else. And sometimes, when life has beaten you down so much that you don’t want to go on for yourself, that has to be enough.”