As she looked around at the foreign jungle, heard the strange screeches of birds and animals she did not recognize, Gwen could only wonder:
Could they build a home here?
CHAPTER FIVE
Alistair knelt on the stone, her knees trembling from the cold, and looked out as the first light of the first sun of dawn crept over the Southern Isles, illuminating the mountains and valleys with a soft glow. Her hands trembled, shackled to the wooden stocks as she knelt, on her hands and knees, her neck resting over the place where so many necks had lain before her. She looked down and could see the bloodstains on the wood, see the nicks in the cedar where the blades had come down before. She could feel the tragic energy of this wood as her neck touched it, feel the last moments, the final emotions, of all the slain who had lain here before. Her heart dropped in misery.
Alistair looked up proudly and watched her final sun, watched a new day break, having the surreal feeling that she would never live to watch it again. She cherished it this time more than she’d ever had. As she looked out on this chilly morning, a gentle breeze stirring, the Southern Isles looked more beautiful than they’d ever had, the most beautiful place she’d ever seen, trees blossoming in bursts of oranges and reds and pinks and purples as their fruit hung abundantly in this bountiful place. Purple morning birds and large, orange bees were already buzzing in the air, the sweet fragrance of flowers wafting toward her. The mist sparkled in the light, giving everything a magical feel. She had never felt such an attachment to a place; it was a land, she knew, she would have been happy to live in forever.
Alistair heard a shuffling of boots on stone, and she glanced over to see Bowyer approaching, standing over her, his oversized boots scraping the stone. He held a huge double ax in his hand, loosely at his side, and he frowned down at her.
Beyond him, Alistair could see the hundreds of Southern Islanders, all lined up, all men loyal to him, arranged in a huge circle around her in the wide stone plaza. They were all a good twenty yards away from her, a wide clearing left just for her and Bowyer alone. No one wanted to be too close when the blood sprayed.
Bowyer held the ax with itchy fingers, clearly anxious to finish the business. She could see in his eyes how badly he wanted to be King.
Alistair took satisfaction in at least one thing: however unjust this was, her sacrifice would allow Erec to live. That meant more to her than her own life.
Bowyer stepped forward, leaned in close, and whispered to her, low enough that no one else could hear:
“Rest assured your death stroke will be a clean one,” he said, his stale breath on her neck. “And so will Erec’s.”
Alistair looked up at him in alarm and confusion.
He smiled down at her, a small smile reserved just for her, that no one else could see.
“That’s right,” he whispered. “It may not happen today; it may not happen for many moons. But one day, when he least expects it, your husband will find my knife in his back. I want you know, before I ship you off to hell.”
Bowyer took two steps back, squeezed his hands tight around the shaft of the ax, and cracked his neck, preparing to strike the blow.
Alistair’s heart pounded as she knelt there, realizing the full depth of evil in this man. He was not only ambitious, but a coward and a liar.
“Set her free!” demanded a sudden voice, piercing the morning stillness.
Alistair turned as well as she could and saw the chaos as two figures suddenly came bursting through the crowd, to the edge of the clearing, until the beefy hands of Bowyer’s guards held them back. Alistair was shocked and grateful to see Erec’s mother and sister standing there, frantic looks across their faces.
“She’s innocent!” Erec’s mother yelled out. “You must not kill her!”
“Would you kill a woman!?” Dauphine cried out. “She’s a foreigner. Let her go. Send her back to her land. She need not be involved in our affairs.”
Bowyer turned to them and boomed:
“She is a foreigner who aspired to be our Queen. To murder our former King.”
“You are a liar!” Erec’s mother yelled. “You would not drink from the fountain of truth!”
Bowyer scanned the faces of the crowd.
“Is there anyone here who dares defy my claim?” he shouted, turning, meeting everyone’s gaze, defiant.
Alistair looked about, hopeful; but one by one, all the men, all brave warriors, mostly from Bowyer’s tribe, looked down, not one of them willing to challenge him in combat.
“I am your champion,” Bowyer boomed. “I defeated all opponents on tournament day. There is no one here who could beat me. Not one. If there is, I challenge you to step forward.”
“No one, save Erec!” Dauphine called out.
Bowyer turned and scowled at her.
“And where is he now? He lies dying. We Southern Islanders shall not have a cripple for a King. I am your King. I am your next best champion. By the laws of this land. As my father’s father was King before Erec’s father.”
Erec’s mother and Dauphine both lunged forward to stop him; but his men grabbed them and pulled them back, detaining them. Alistair saw beside them, Erec’s brother, Strom, wrists bound behind his back; he struggled, too, but could not break free.
“You shall pay for this, Bowyer!” Strom called out.
But Bowyer ignored him. Instead, he turned back to Alistair, and she could see from his eyes he was determined to proceed. Her time had come.
“Time is dangerous when deceit is on your side,” Alistair said to him.
He frowned down at her; clearly, she had struck a nerve.
“And those words will be your last,” he said.
Bowyer suddenly hoisted the ax, raising it high overhead.
Alistair closed her eyes, knowing that in but a moment, she would be gone from this world.
Eyes closed, Alistair felt time slow down. Images flashed before her. She saw the first time she had met Erec, back in the Ring, at the Duke’s castle, when she had been a serving girl and had fallen in love with him at first sight. She felt her love for him, a love she still felt to this day, burning inside her. She saw her brother, Thorgrin, saw his face, and for some reason, she did not see him in the Ring, in King’s Court, but rather in a distant land, on a distant ocean, exiled from the Ring. Most of all, she saw her mother. She saw her standing at the edge of a cliff, before her castle, high above an ocean, before a skywalk. She saw her holding out her arms and smiling sweetly at her.
“My daughter,” she said.
“Mother,” Alistair said, “I will come to join you.”
But to her surprise, her mother slowly shook her head.
“Your time is not now,” she said. “Your destiny on this earth is not yet complete. You still have a great destiny before you.”
“But how, Mother?” she asked. “How can I survive?”
“You are bigger than this earth,” her mother replied. “That blade, that metal of death, is of this earth. Your shackles are of this earth. Those are earthly limitations. They are only limitations if you believe in them, if you allow them to have authority over you. You are spirit and light and energy. That is where your real power is. You are above it all. You are allowing yourself to be held back by physical constraints. Your problem is not one of strength; it is one of faith. Faith in yourself. How strong is your faith?”
As Alistair knelt there, trembling, eyes shut, her mother’s question rang in her head.
How strong is your faith?
Alistair let herself go, forgot her shackles, put herself in the hands of her faith. She began to let go of her faith in the physical constraints of this planet, and instead shifted her faith to the supreme power, the one and only supreme power over everything else in the world. A power had created this world, she knew. A power had created all of this. That was the power she needed to align herself with.