An Oath of Brothers

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Gwendolyn marched across the Great Waste beneath the relentless two suns of the desert sky, Krohn at her side, as she had been doing day after day, putting one foot before the other, stirring up dust, her legs aching with the endless monotony of marching. They had not stopped marching ever since they had left Darius’s people, all of them determined to cross this desert, to find the Second Ring, to find help.

Yet as she looked up ahead, as she had for days, all she saw before her was more monotony, an empty landscape, nothing on the horizon, just more of this red waste. The hard desert floor was cracked, stiff, stretching forever to nothing, and nothing to break up the monotony except the occasional passing dust cloud or thorn bush rolling in the wind. It was the emptiest landscape she’d ever seen, a hopeless, barren place. She felt as if she were marching to the very ends of the world.

Krohn panted heavily, whining, and as she marched, her apprehensions deepening, Gwendolyn wondered what she had gotten her people into. They had been trekking for days now, already running low on provisions, especially water, and there was no hope in sight. There was no shelter in sight, either, and she did not know how many more nights she could have her people sleep out in the open, exposed, on the desert floor, with the freezing, whipping sand winds and the endless critters crawling on them at night. She was already covered in bites, awake every hour, swatting away exotic bugs that swarmed near her ear. Last night one of her men had died from a scorpion bite—and this morning Gwen had herself crushed the largest spider she’d ever seen, right before she put on her boot. It was a landscape of poisons and hidden death, a treacherous place, home only to reptiles and scorpions—and the bones of others who had been foolish enough to try to cross it.

“Did she really think this would lead us somewhere?” came a voice.

Gwen heard a murmuring, and she turned and saw her ragtag collection of people, what was left of the Ring, hundreds of survivors of the Ring, and she felt for them. They had endured so much—battles, voyages, sickness, hunger, the loss of loved ones, of their possessions, of their homeland—their suffering never seemed to end—and here they were, on yet another trek, to yet another destination that might not ever come to be. They were exhausted, cynical, and beginning to lose hope. She could hardly blame them. Her heart broke most of all for the baby, crying, its shrill cry always with them as Illepra carried her carefully, wrapped up to protect her from the sun, never failing her duties for her. Gwen wished she could give her water, shade, a comfortable place to sleep.

“If this Great Waste actually led somewhere,” another person replied, “don’t you think the slaves would’ve tried it already? Don’t you think they would have tried to make their escape?”

“That’s because it leads nowhere,” the other said, “and they know it. They were not foolish enough to attempt to cross it.”

Gwendolyn saw the faces of her people, angry, sunburnt, parched, desperate—and as they looked up and glared at her, their eyes filled with hatred, crazed from the relentless sun—she had to look away. Despite all their harsh words, she could not stand to see them suffering like that.

She also recognized the face of the one who was instigating it all—Aslin; he had been one of the instigators behind the rebellion back in the cave. She thought he had been humbled, but apparently not. She had been merciful to let him live back there; perhaps, she realized, that had been a mistake.

“Where is it that you think this waste will take us anyway?” she heard Aslin suddenly call out, in a loud voice rising above the din.

Gwendolyn was surprised to hear him so emboldened, as if gaining momentum, calling out in open rebellion.

“You really pretend to believe that there exists a Second Ring?” he added. “Why don’t you just call this what it is: you’re leading us to our graves.”

There came a rumbling from some of her people, starting to warm up to him, and Gwendolyn felt her hair stand on end, felt the tension rising in the air behind her. She felt pained to be condemned by them so harshly, especially after all she had sacrificed for them. Was that what it meant to be a queen?

Beside her, Krohn began to snarl.

“It’s okay, Krohn,” she said reassuringly.

“We never should have fought for those villagers!” another of her people yelled. “We never should have stayed there to begin with!”

There came another disgruntled rumbling.

“We never should have burned our ships!” another yelled.

“We never should have sailed to the Empire!” another yelled.

The mumbling grew louder, and it was followed by the distinctive sound of a sword being drawn, cutting through the air. Krohn turned, snarling, standing before Gwen.

The crowd suddenly stopped marching, and Gwen turned to see Steffen standing there, sword drawn, facing the rebellious people.

“If you wish to complain,” he seethed, “then have the courage to face the Queen and complain directly to her. Stop snickering behind her back like scared little children. It is treason to incite others, and if you continue this line of talk, you will learn what real death means.”

Gwen was impressed by Steffen’s strength, by the authority in his voice, by his deep, unshakable loyalty to her, and she felt overwhelmed with gratitude for his presence. She realized she had felt too guilty for what had become of her people to stand up for herself.

Aslin glowered back at Steffen.

Beside Steffen, Kendrick turned and drew his sword, too.

“You will have to get through me, too,” he added.

Krohn’s snarling intensified, as he began to walk slowly toward Aslin, and Aslin looking from Krohn to Steffen to Kendrick then finally, finally lowered his head.

“I was just saying,” he mumbled, backing down.

Gwendolyn stepped forward and laid a gentle hand on Steffen and Kendrick’s swords, and they sheathed them. She gestured to Krohn, and he quieted and came back to her, as she turned and faced her people.

“I know this journey is hard,” she said. “All worthwhile journeys are. I know our entire exile has not been easy. But we are the people of the Ring. We have suffered worse, and we shall get through this. We are of indomitable spirit. We fight not only for the slaves, but for ourselves, for we are all slaves to the Empire—we always have been, as everyone under the sky. We fight finally for real freedom, to throw off the yoke of the Empire, once and for all.”

Gwendolyn took a deep breath, seeing her people hanging on her every word, riveted.

“I know you are scared,” she called out. “I am scared, too. We are on a mission for our very lives, for our freedom, and for the freedom of others. No one said it would be easy—freedom has never been easy. And fighting amongst ourselves will not make it any easier.

“I promise you, a brighter future awaits us. We need to stay to the course, to be strong. I would not lead you anywhere I would not go myself—and if we are all going to die, I will be the first to fall.”

Gwendolyn saw in the faces of her people that many of them were mollified by her words, and she turned back and resumed the march, Kendrick and Steffen falling in beside her.

“Fine words, my lady,” Steffen said.

“Father could not have said them better,” Kendrick said.

“Thank you,” she said, reassured by their presence and still shaken by her people’s behavior.

“They don’t speak for everyone,” Kendrick said. “Only the disgruntled few.”

“And there will always be a disgruntled few,” Steffen added. “No matter how great a queen you are.”

“I thank you both for your loyalty,” Gwen said. “But I must mind, and I understand their frustration. I fear our greatest danger may not lie ahead—but right here, amidst us.”

“If it be so,” Steffen said, tightening his grip on his sword, “then I shall be first to kill the offenders.”

“There are other dangers, my lady,” Aberthol chimed in weakly, marching beside them. “Chief among them, lack of food and water. We have not found a single water source, and if we do not find one soon, I fear the sun may be our worst opponent of all.”

Gwen had been thinking the same things. She looked back to the horizon as they continued to march, hoping for a sign, anything. But there was nothing.

She turned and looked at Aberthol, marching beside her, using his staff, looking weaker than she’d ever seen him.

“You have studied all the histories,” she said to him quietly. “You know not only the history of the Ring but also that of the Empire. You know all the legends, all the geography. Tell me,” she said, turning to him, “is it true? Can a Second Ring exist?”

Aberthol sighed.

“I would say its chances of existence are as good as not,” he replied. “The Second Ring was always held out in the literature as part myth, part fact. You’ll find numerous references to it in the early histories of the Ring, but few in the later volumes. It is dropped altogether in the recent histories.”

“Perhaps that is only because it was never found,” Gwendolyn said hopefully.

Aberthol shrugged.

“Perhaps,” he replied. “Or perhaps because it never existed.”

She pondered his words as they marched in silence. Finally, he turned and looked at her.

“Have you considered, my lady,” he questioned, looking at her meaningfully, “what you shall do if it does not exist? If this Great Waste leads us nowhere but to a hostile slave city? Or worse, to more waste?”

“I have,” she replied. “Every moment. What choice do we have? A certain death awaits us back in the village. This is the path of hope. The toughest path is always the path of hope.”

They fell back into a gloomy silence as they continued to march.

As she trekked, hour after hour, the sun getting hotter and hotter, Gwen wondered how her life had come to this, how this could be all that was left of the once great and awesome Ring. These few hundred men, with a few dozen Silver, all that represented the place and nation whom she loved. She thought back to the wedding she had been planning to Thor, to the baby she once held in her arms, to the endless bounties of the Ring—and she bit back tears. How had it all come to this?

What she wouldn’t give now to hold Guwayne again; what she wouldn’t give to see Thor again, to have him by her side. To have Ralibar and Mycoples back. She felt utterly alone, and wondered if things could get any worse.

She contemplated her family, not long ago all together, and splintered, fractured in so many ways. Her father and mother, dead; Luanda, dead; Gareth, dead; Godfrey, entering Volusia on a dead man’s mission; Reece, with Thor halfway across the world, most likely dead; and Kendrick, her last remaining relative at her side, on a fool’s march into the desert where he would likely soon be dead. She wondered why destiny had been determined to rend everyone apart.

A hot, dusty wind blew up in her face, and Gwen sheltered her eyes as another cloud of desert sand tore through. She choked on it, coughing with the others, trying to regain her vision.

This time, though, the wind did not pass through; on the contrary, the red dust felt as if it were clawing at her face, scratching it, and it became stronger and stronger. Gwen heard a sudden shriek, an odd noise that sent a chill up her spine, unlike anything she’d ever heard, and as she looked up into the dust, she was shocked to see before her, emerging from the dust cloud, a pack of creatures.

The exotic creatures were tall and thin and twirled in the dust cloud, their bodies red, the same color of the dust, with long jaws and stretched-out ghoulish faces. There were dozens of them, carried by the wind, twirling inside the cloud of dust, and they let out a horrific wailing noise as they appeared, spinning amidst the dust, and suddenly attacking all her people.

“Dust Walkers!” Sandara yelled out. “Defend yourselves!”

Kendrick, Steffen, Brandt, Atme and all the others drew their swords, and Gwendolyn drew hers and spun along with them, as the Dust Walkers descended upon them from all directions. Gwen slashed and missed, and a Dust Walker scraped the side of Gwendolyn’s face, scratching her with its claw. She screamed out in pain as her face was scratched, its palm as rough as sandpaper.

Another came at her and sliced her arm with its three claws, making her again cry out in pain.

Another came at her—and another, Gwen feeling as if she were tumbling in a field of thorns.

Steffen stepped forward and slashed wildly, as did Kendrick and the others—and they all missed. The Dust Walkers were just too fast.

The Dust Walkers darted in and out of the crowd, scratching and slashing, the cries of Gwen’s people calling out as they inflicted a thousand small cuts.

Gwen, desperate, grabbed a dagger from her waist, spun, and slashed one right in the throat. It dropped to the ground, screeching, disappearing in a pile of dust.

“Get down!” Sandara called out. “Drop to your knees! Cover your heads!”

Gwen heard a baby’s cry rip through the air and she looked over to see Illepra clutching the baby, both of them getting attacked. She dropped her dagger and rushed forward, protecting them, covering the baby with her body, and dropping them down to the ground.

Gwen lay on top of them, covering up the baby with her hands and arms and elbows, feeling the scrapes and scratches all over her as the cloud continue to blow through. She felt as if she were being scratched to death, and did not know how much more she could withstand. At least, though, she was protecting the baby.

Gwen knelt that way, as did the others, for what felt like an eternity, the horrific buzzing and howling and wailing of these creatures filling her ears.

Finally, the cloud began to recede, blowing through the desert, right past them, until the scratches grew lighter, the noise quieted, then it all stopped.

The desert was suddenly still, quiet, just as it had been before they’d arrived, and Gwen knelt and looked back and watched the cloud blow on through, disappearing into the horizon.

Shaking, Gwen got to her hands and knees and surveyed her people. They were all still on the ground, scraped and cut, looking traumatized. She turned the other way and looked out at the great expanse still waiting before them, and she wondered: what other horrors lay before them?