“I disagree,” came a voice.
Thor looked over to see Matus coming up on his other side, sitting and joining them. Matus looked out at the sea, stern and proud.
“I believe there is another thing we live for,” he added.
“And what is that?” Conven asked.
“Faith.” Matus sighed. “My people, the Upper Isle men, they pray to the four gods of the rocky shores. They pray to the gods of the water and wind and sky and rocks. Those gods have never answered my prayers. I pray to the ancient god of the Ring.”
Thor looked at him, surprised.
“I have never known an Upper Isle men to share the faith of the Ring,” Conven said.
Matus nodded.
“I am unlike my people,” he said. “I always have been. I wanted to enter the monastic order when I was young, but my father would never hear of it. He insisted I take up arms, like my brothers.”
He sighed.
“I believe we live for our faith, not for others,” he added. “That is what carries us through. If our faith is strong enough, really strong enough, then anything can happen. Even a miracle.”
“And can it return my son to me?” Thor asked.
Matus nodded back at him, unflinching, and Thor could see the certainty in his eyes.
“Yes,” Matus answered flatly. “Anything.”
“You lie,” Conven said, indignant. “You give him false hope.”
“I do not,” Matus retorted.
“Are you saying faith will return my dead brother to me?” Conven urged, angry.
Matus sighed.
“I am saying that all tragedy is a gift,” he said.
“A gift?” Thor asked, horrified. “Are you saying the loss of my son is a gift?”
Matus nodded back confidently.
“You are being given a gift, as tragic as that sounds. You can’t know what it is. You might not for a long time. But one day, you will see.”
Thor turned and looked out at the sea, confused, unsure. Was this all a test? he wondered. Was it one of the tests his mother had spoken of? Could faith alone bring his son back? He wanted to believe it. He really did. But he did not know if his faith was strong enough. When his mother had spoken of tests, Thor had been so sure he could pass anything that was thrown his way; yet now, feeling as he did, he did not know if he was strong enough to go on.
The boat rocked on the waves, and suddenly the tides turned, and Thor felt their small boat turning around and heading the opposite direction. He snapped out of it and checked back over his shoulder, wondering what was happening. Reece, Elden, Indra, and O’Connor were all still rowing and manning the sail, a confused look across their face, as their small sail flapped wildly in the wind.
“The Northern Tides,” Matus said, standing, hands on his hips and looking out, studying the waters. He shook his head. “This is not good.”
“What is it?” Indra asked. “We can’t control the boat.”
“They sometimes pass through the Upper Isles,” Matus explained. “I have never seen them myself, but I have heard about them, especially this far north. They are a riptide. Once you’re caught in them, they take you where they please. No matter how much rowing or sailing you try to do.”
Thor looked down, and saw the water below them rushing by at twice the speed. He looked out and saw they were heading toward a new, empty horizon, purple and white clouds spotting the sky, both beautiful and foreboding.
“But we’re heading east now,” Reece said, “and we need to head west. All of our people are west. The Empire is west.”
Matus shrugged.
“We head where the tides take us.”
Thor looked out in wonder and frustration, realizing that each passing moment was taking them further from Gwendolyn, further from their people.
“And where does it end?” O’Connor asked.
Matus shrugged.
“I know only the Upper Isles,” he said. “I have never been this far north. I know nothing of what lies beyond.”
“It does end,” Reece spoke up, darkly, and all eyes turned to him.
Reece looked back, grave.
“I was tutored on the tides years ago, at a young age. In the ancient book of Kings, we had an array of maps, covering every portion of the world. The Northern Tides lead to the eastern edge of the world.”
“The eastern edge?” Elden said, concern in his voice. “We’d be on the other end of the world from our people.”
Reece shrugged.
“The books were ancient, and I was young. All I really remember was that the tides were a portal to the Land of Spirits.”
Thor looked at Reece, wondering.
“Old wives’ tales and fairytales,” O’Connor said. “There is no portal to the Land of Spirits. It was sealed off centuries ago, before our fathers walked the earth.”
Reece shrugged, and they all fell silent as they turned and stared out at the seas. Thor examined the fast-moving waters, and he wondered: Where on earth were they being lead?
Thor sat alone, at the edge of the boat, staring into the waters as he had been for hours, the cold spray hitting him in the face. Numb to the world, he barely felt it. Thor wanted to be in action, to be hoisting sails, rowing—anything—but there was nothing for any them to do now. The Northern tides were taking them where they would, and all they could do was sit idly by and watch the currents, their boat rolling in the long waves, and wonder where they would end up. They were in the hands of the fates now.
As Thor sat there, studying the horizon, wondering where the sea would end, he felt himself drifting into nothingness, numb from the cold and the wind, lost in the monotony of the deep silence that hung over all of them. The seabirds that had at first circled them had disappeared long ago, and as the silence deepened, as the sky fell darker and darker, Thor felt as if they were sailing into nothingness, into the very ends of the earth.
It was hours later, as the last light of day was falling, that Thor sat upright, spotting something on the horizon. At first he was certain it was an illusion; but as the currents became stronger, the shape became more distinct. It was real.
Thor sat up straight, for the first time in hours, then rose to his feet. He stood there, boat swaying, hands on his hips, looking out.
“Is it real?” came a voice.
Thor looked over to see Reece stepping forward beside him. Elden, Indra, and the rest soon joined them, all staring out in wonder.
“An island?” O’Connor wondered aloud.
“Looks like a cave,” Matus said.
As they approached, Thor began to see the outline of it, and he saw that it was indeed a cave. It was a massive cave, an outcropping of rock that rose up from the sea, emerging here, in the midst of a cruel and endless ocean, rising hundreds of feet high, the opening shaped in a big arch. It looked like a giant mouth, ready to swallow all the world.
And the currents were taking their boat right toward it.
Thor stared at in wonder, and he knew it could only be one thing: the entrance to the Land of the Spirits.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Darius walked slowly down the dirt path, Loti by his side, the air filled with the tension of their silence. Neither had said a word since their encounter with the taskmaster and his men, and Darius’s mind swarmed with a million thoughts as he walked beside her, accompanying her back to their village. Darius wanted to drape an arm around her, to tell her how grateful he was that she was alive, that she had saved him as he had saved her, how determined he was to never let her leave his side again. He wanted to see her eyes filled with joy and relief, he wanted to hear her say how much it meant to her that he had risked his life for her—or at the very least, that she was happy to see him.