He turned and glared back at Thor.
“What are you still doing there?” he asked. “Get inside!”
Thor stood there, torn. He didn’t want to disobey his father, but he had to speak with him. His heart pounded as he debated. He decided it would be best to obey, to bring the swords, and then confront his father. Disobeying outright wouldn’t help.
Thor raced into the house, out through the back and to the weapons shed. He found his brothers’ three swords, objects of beauty all of them, crowned with the finest silver hilts, precious gifts for which his father had toiled years. He grabbed all three, surprised as always at their weight, and ran back through the house with them.
He sprinted to his brothers, handed each a sword, then turned to his father.
“What, no polish?” Drake said.
His father turned to him disapprovingly, but before he could say anything, Thor spoke up.
“Father, please. I need to speak with you!”
“I told you to polish – ”
“Please, Father!”
His father glared back, debating. He must have seen the seriousness on Thor’s face, because finally, he said, “Well?”
“I want to be considered. With the others. For the Legion.”
His brothers’ laughter rose up behind him, making his face burn red.
But his father did not laugh; on the contrary, his scowl deepened.
“Do you?” he asked.
Thor nodded back vigorously.
“I’m fourteen. I’m eligible.”
“The cutoff is fourteen,” Drake said disparagingly, over his shoulder. “If they took you, you’d be the youngest. Do you think they’d choose you over someone like me, five years your elder?”
“You are insolent,” Durs said. “You always have been.”
Thor turned to them. “I’m not asking you,” he said.
He turned back to his father, who still frowned.
“Father, please,” he said. “Allow me a chance. That’s all I ask. I know I’m young, but I will prove myself, over time.”
His father shook his head.
“You’re not a soldier, boy. You’re not like your brothers. You’re a herder. Your life is here. With me. You will do your duties and do them well. One should not dream too high. Embrace your life, and learn to love it.”
Thor felt his heart breaking as he saw his life collapsing before his eyes.
No, he thought. This can’t be.
“But Father – ”
“Silence!” he shrieked, so shrill it cut the air. “Enough with you. Here they come. Get out of the way, and best mind your manners while they’re here.”
His father stepped up and with one hand pushed Thor to the side, as if he were an object he’d rather not see. His beefy palm stung Thor’s chest.
A great rumbling arose, and townsfolk poured out from their homes, lining the streets. A growing cloud of dust heralded the caravan, and moments later they arrived, a dozen horse-drawn carriages, with a noise like great thunder.
They came into town like a sudden army, halting close to Thor’s home. Their horses, pranced in place, snorting. It took a long time for the cloud of dust to settle, and Thor anxiously tried to steal a peek at their armor, their weaponry. He had never been this close to the Silver before, and his heart thumped.
The soldier on the lead stallion dismounted. Here he was, a real, actual member of the Silver, covered in shiny ring mail, a long sword on his belt. He looked to be in his thirties, a real man, stubble on his face, scars on his cheek, and a nose crooked from battle. He was the most substantial man Thor had ever seen, twice as wide as the others, with a countenance that said he was in charge.
The soldier jumped down onto the dirt road, his spurs jingling as he approached the lineup of boys.
Up and down the village dozens of boys stood at attention, hoping. Joining the Silver meant a life of honor, of battle, of renown, of glory – along with land, title, and riches. It meant the best bride, the choicest land, a life of glory. It meant honor for your family, and entering the Legion was the first step.
Thor studied the large, golden carriages, and knew they could only hold so many recruits. It was a large kingdom, and they had many towns to visit. He gulped, realizing his chances were even more remote than he thought. He would have to beat out all these other boys – many of them substantial fighters – along with his own three brothers. He had a sinking feeling.
Thor could hardly breathe as the soldier paced in silence, surveying the rows of hopefuls. He began on the far side of the street, then slowly circled. Thor knew all the other boys, of course. He also knew some of them secretly did not want to be picked, even though their families wanted to send them off. They were afraid; they would make poor soldiers.
Thor burned with indignity. He felt he deserved to be picked as much as any of them. Just because his brothers were older and bigger and stronger didn’t mean he shouldn’t have a right to stand and be chosen. He burned with hatred for his father, and nearly burst out of his skin as the soldier approached.
The soldier stopped, for the first time, before his brothers. He looked them up and down, and seemed impressed. He reached out, grabbed one of their scabbards, and yanked it, as if to test how firm it was.
He broke into a smile.
“You haven’t yet used your sword in battle, have you?” he asked Drake.
Thor saw Drake nervous for the first time in his life. Drake swallowed.
“No, my liege. But I’ve used it many times in practice, and I hope to – ”
“In practice!”
The soldier roared with laughter and turned to the other soldiers, who joined in, laughing in Drake’s face.
Drake turned bright red. It was the first time Thor had ever seen Drake embarrassed – usually, it was Drake embarrassing others.
“Well then I shall certainly tell our enemies to fear you – you who wields your sword in practice!”
The crowd of soldiers laughed again.
The soldier then turned to Thor’s other brothers.
“Three boys from the same stock,” he said, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “That can be useful. You’re all a good size. Untested, though. You’ll need much training if you are to make the cut.”
He paused.
“I suppose we can find room.”
He nodded toward the rear wagon.
“Get in, and be quick of it. Before I change my mind.”
Thor’s three brothers sprinted for the carriage, beaming. Thor noticed his father beaming, too.
But he was crestfallen as he watched them go.
The soldier turned and moved on to the next home. Thor could stand it no longer.
“Sire!” Thor yelled out.
His father turned and glared at him, but Thor no longer cared.
The soldier stopped, his back to him, and slowly turned.
Thor took two steps forward, his heart beating, and stuck out his chest as far as he could.
“You haven’t considered me, sire,” he said.
The soldier, startled, looked Thor up and down as if he were a joke.
“Haven’t I?” he asked, and burst into laughter.
His men burst into laughter, too. But Thor didn’t care. This was his moment. It was now or never.
“I want to join the Legion!” Thor said.
The soldier stepped toward Thor.
“Do you now?”
He looked amused.
“And have you even reached your fourteenth year?”
“I did, sire. Two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks ago!”
The soldier shrieked with laughter, as did the men behind them.
“In that case, our enemies shall surely quiver at the sight of you.”
Thor felt himself burning with indignity. He had to do something. He couldn’t let it end like this. The soldier turned to walk away – but Thor could not allow it.
Thor stepped forward and yelled: “Sire! You are making a mistake!”
A horrified gasp spread through the crowd, as the soldier stopped and once again slowly turned.
Now he was scowling.
“Stupid boy,” his father said, grabbing Thor by his shoulder, “go back inside!”
“I shall not!” Thor yelled, shaking off his father’s grip.
The soldier stepped toward Thor, and his father backed away.
“Do you know the punishment for insulting the Silver?” the soldier snapped.
Thor’s heart pounded, but he knew he could not back down.
“Please forgive him, sire,” his father said. “He’s a young child and – ”
“I’m not speaking to you,” the soldier said. With a withering look, he forced Thor’s father to turn away.
The soldier turned back to Thor.
“Answer me!” he said.
Thor swallowed, unable to speak. This was not how he saw it going in his head.
“To insult the Silver is to insult the King himself,” Thor said meekly, reciting what he’d learned from memory.
“Yes,” the soldier said. “Which means I can give you forty lashes if I choose.”
“I mean no insult, sire,” Thor said. “I just want to be picked. Please. I’ve dreamt of this my entire life. Please. Let me join you.”
The soldier looked at him, and slowly, his expression softened. After a long while, he shook his head.
“You’re young, boy. You have a proud heart. But you’re not ready. Come back to us when you are weaned.”
With that, he turned and stormed off, barely glancing at the other boys. He quickly mounted his horse.
Thor, crestfallen, watched as the caravan broke into action; as quickly as they’d arrived, they were gone.
The last thing Thor saw was his brothers, sitting in the back of the last carriage, looking out at him, disapproving, mocking. They were being carted away before his eyes, away from here, into a better life.
Inside, Thor felt like dying.
As the excitement around him faded, villagers slinked back into their homes.
“Do you realize how stupid you were, foolish boy?” Thor’s father snapped, grabbing his shoulders. “Do you realize you could have ruined your brothers’ chances?”
Thor brushed his father’s hands off of him roughly, and his father reached back and backhanded him across the face.
Thor felt the sting of it and glared back at his father. A part of him, for the first time, wanted to hit his father back. But he held himself.
“Go get my sheep and bring them back. Now! And when you return, don’t expect a meal from me. You will miss your meal tonight, and think about what you’ve done.”
“Maybe I shall not come back at all!” Thor yelled as he turned and stormed off, away from his home, toward the hills.
“Thor!” his father yelled. A few of the villagers who remained on the road stopped and watched.
Thor broke into a trot, then a run, wanting to get as far away from this place as possible. He barely noticed he was crying, tears flooding his face, as every dream he’d ever had was crushed.
Chapter Two
Thor wandered for hours in the hills, seething, until finally he chose a hill and sat, arms crossed over his legs, and watched the horizon. He watched the carriages disappear, watched the cloud of dust that lingered for hours after.
There would be no more visits. Now he was destined to remain here in this village for years, awaiting another chance – if they ever returned. If his father ever allowed it. Now it would be just him and his father, alone in the house, and his father would surely let out the full breadth of his wrath on him. He would continue to be his father’s lackey, years would pass, and he would end up just like him, stuck here living a small, menial life – while his brothers gained glory and renown. His veins burned with the indignity of it all. This was not the life he was meant to live. He knew it.
Thor wracked his brain for anything he could do, any way he could change it. But there was nothing. These were the cards life had dealt him.
After hours of sitting, he rose dejectedly and began traversing his way back up the familiar hills, higher and higher. Inevitably, he drifted back toward the flock, to the high knoll. As he climbed, the first sun fell in the sky and the second reached its peak, casting a greenish tint. Thor took his time as he ambled, mindlessly removing his sling from his waist, its leather grip well worn from years of use. He reached into the sack tied to his hip and fingered his collection of stones, each smoother than the next, hand-picked from the choicest creeks. Sometimes he fired on birds; other times, rodents. It was a habit he’d ingrained over years. At first, he’d missed everything; then, once, he hit a moving target. Since then, his aim was true. Now, hurling stones had become part of him – and it helped to release some of his anger. His brothers might be able to swing a sword through a log – but they could never hit a flying bird with a stone.
Thor mindlessly placed a stone in the sling, leaned back, and hurled it with all he had, pretending he was hurling it at his father. He hit a branch on a far-off tree, taking it down cleanly. Once he’d discovered he could actually kill moving animals, he’d stopped aiming at them, afraid of his own power and not wanting to hurt anything; now his targets were branches. Unless, of course, a fox came after his flock. Over time, they had learned to stay clear, and Thor’s sheep, as a result, were the safest in the village.
Thor thought of his brothers, of where they were right now, and he steamed. After a day’s ride they would arrive in King’s Court. He could just picture it. He saw them arriving to great fanfare, people dressed in their finest, greeting them. Warriors greeting them. Members of the Silver. They would be taken in, given a place to live in the Legion’s barracks, a place to train in the King’s fields using the finest weapons. Each would be named squire to a famous knight. One day, they would become knights themselves, get their own horse, their own coat of arms, and have their own squire. They would partake in all the festivals and dine at the King’s table. It was a charmed life. And it had slipped from his grasp.
Thor felt physically sick, and tried to force it all from his mind. But he could not. There was a part of him, some deep part, that screamed at him. It told him not to give up, that he had a greater destiny than this. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew it wasn’t here. He felt he was different. Maybe even special. That no one understood him. And that they all underestimated him.
Thor reached the highest knoll and spotted his flock. Well trained, they were all still gathered, gnawing away contentedly at whatever grass they could find. He counted them, looking for the red marks he had stained on their backs. He froze as he finished. One sheep was missing.
He counted again, and again. He couldn’t believe it: one was gone.
Thor had never lost a sheep before, and his father would never let him live this down. Worse, he hated the idea of one of his sheep lost, alone, vulnerable in the wilderness. He hated to see anything innocent suffer.
Thor scurried to the top of the knoll and scanned the horizon until he spotted it, far off, several hills away: the lone sheep, the red mark on its back. It was the wild one of the bunch. His heart dropped as he realized the sheep had not only fled, but had chosen, of all places, to head west, to Darkwood.
Thor gulped. Darkwood was forbidden – not just for sheep, but for humans. It was beyond the village limit, and from the time he could walk, Thor knew not to venture there. He never had. Going there, legend told, was a sure death, its woods unmarked and filled with vicious animals.
Thor looked up at the darkening sky, debating. He couldn’t let his sheep go. He figured if he could move fast, he could get it back in time.
After one final look back, he turned and broke into a sprint, heading west, for Darkwood, thick clouds gathering above. He had a sinking feeling, yet his legs seemed to carry him on his own. He felt there was no turning back, even if he wanted to.
It was like running into a nightmare.
* * *
Thor sped down the series of hills without pausing, into the thick canopy of Darkwood. The trails ended where the wood began, and he ran into unmarked territory, summer leaves crunching beneath his feet.
The instant he entered the wood he was engulfed in darkness, the light blocked by the towering pines above. It was colder in here, too, and as he crossed the threshold, he felt a chill. It wasn’t just from the dark, or the cold – it was from something else. Something he could not name. It was a sense of…being watched.