Thor looked up at the ancient branches, gnarled, thicker than he, swaying and creaking in the breeze. He had barely gone fifty paces into the wood when he began to hear odd animal noises. He turned and could hardly see the opening from which he’d entered; he felt already as if there were no way out. He hesitated.
Darkwood had always sat on the periphery of the town and on the periphery of Thor’s consciousness, something deep and mysterious. Any herder who ever lost a sheep to the wood had never dared venture after it. Even his father. The tales about this place were too dark, too persistent.
But there was something different about today that made Thor no longer care, that made him throw caution to the wind. A part of him wanted to push the boundaries, to get as far away from home as possible, and to allow life to take him where it may.
He ventured farther, then paused, unsure which way to go. He noticed markings, bent branches where his sheep must have gone, and turned in that direction. After some time, he turned again.
Before another hour had passed, he was hopelessly lost. He tried to remember the direction from which he came – but was no longer sure. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach, but he figured the only way out was forward, so he continued on.
In the distance, Thor spotted a shaft of sunlight, and made for it. Finding himself before a small clearing, he stopped at its edge, rooted – he could not believe what he saw before him.
Standing there, his back to Thor, dressed in a long, blue satin robe, was a man. No, not a man – Thor could sense it from here. He was something else. A Druid, maybe. He stood tall and straight, head covered by a hood, perfectly still, as if he did not have a care in the world.
Thor didn’t know what to do. He had heard of Druids, but had never encountered one. From the markings on his robe, the elaborate gold trim, this was no mere Druid: those were royal markings. Of King’s Court. Thor could not understand it. What was a royal Druid doing here?
After what felt like an eternity, the Druid slowly turned and faced him, and as he did, Thor recognized the face. It took his breath away. It was one of the most famous faces in the kingdom: the King’s personal Druid. Argon, counselor to kings of the Western Kingdom for centuries. What he was doing here, far from the royal court, in the center of Darkwood, was a mystery. Thor wondered if he were imagining it.
“Your eyes do not deceive you,” Argon said, staring directly at Thor.
His voice was deep, ancient, as if spoken by the trees themselves. His large, translucent eyes seemed to bore right through Thor, summing him up. Thor felt an intense energy radiating from the Druid – as if he were standing opposite the sun.
Thor immediately took a knee and bowed his head.
“My liege,” he said. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
Disrespect toward a King’s counselor would result in imprisonment or death. That fact had been ingrained in Thor since the time he was born.
“Stand up, child,” Argon said. “If I wanted you to kneel, I would have told you.”
Slowly, Thor stood and looked at him. Argon took several steps closer. He stopped and stared at Thor, until Thor began to feel uncomfortable.
“You have your mother’s eyes,” Argon said.
Thor was taken aback. He had never met his mother, and had never met anyone, aside from his father, who knew her. He had been told she died in childbirth, something for which Thor always felt a sense of guilt. He had always suspected that that was why his family hated him.
“I think you’re mistaking me for someone else,” Thor said. “I don’t have a mother.”
“Don’t you?” Argon asked with a smile. “Were you born by man alone?”
“I meant to say, sire, that my mother died in birth. I think you mistake me.”
“You are Thorgrin, of the clan McLeod. The youngest of four brothers. The one not picked.”
Thor’s eyes opened wide. He hardly knew what to make of this. That someone of Argon’s stature should know who he was – it was more than he could comprehend. He’d never even imagined that he was known to anyone outside his village.
“How…do you know this?”
Argon smiled back, but did not respond.
Thor was suddenly filled with curiosity.
“How…” Thor added, fumbling for words, “…how do you know my mother? Have you met her? Who was she?”
Argon turned and walked away.
“Questions for another time,” he said.
Thor watched him go, puzzled. It was such a dizzying and mysterious encounter, and it was all happening so fast. He decided he could not let Argon leave; he hurried after him.
“What are you doing here?” Thor asked, hurrying to catch up. Argon, using his staff, an ancient ivory thing, walked deceptively fast. “You were not waiting for me, were you?”
“Who else?” Argon asked.
Thor hurried to catch up, following him into the wood, leaving the clearing behind.
“But why me? How did you know I would be here? What is it that you want?”
“So many questions,” Argon said. “You fill the air. You should listen instead.”
Thor followed as they continued through the thick wood, doing his best to remain silent.
“You come in search of your lost sheep,” Argon stated. “A noble effort. But you waste your time. She will not survive.”
Thor’s eyes opened wide.
“How do you know this?”
“I know worlds you will never know, boy. At least, not yet.”
Thor wondered as he hiked to catch up.
“You won’t listen, though. That is your nature. Stubborn. Like your mother. You will continue after your sheep, determined to rescue her.”
Thor reddened as Argon read his thoughts.
“You are a feisty boy,” he added. “Strong-willed. Too proud. Positive traits. But one day it may be your downfall.”
Argon began to hike up a mossy ridge, and Thor followed.
“You want to join the King’s Legion,” Argon said.
“Yes!” Thor answered, excitedly. “Is there any chance for me? Can you make that happen?”
Argon laughed, a deep, hollow sound that sent a chill up Thor’s spine.
“I can make everything and nothing happen. Your destiny was already written. But it is up to you to choose it.”
Thor did not understand.
They reached the top of the ridge, where Argon stopped and faced him. Thor stood only feet away, and Argon’s energy burned through him.
“Your destiny is an important one,” he said. “Do not abandon it.”
Thor’s eyed widened. His destiny? Important? He felt himself swell with pride.
“I do not understand. You speak in riddles. Please, tell me more.”
Argon vanished.
Thor’s mouth fell open. He looked every which way, listening, wondering. Had he imagined it all? Was it some delusion?
Thor turned and examined the wood; from this vantage point, high up on the ridge, he could see farther than before. As he looked, he spotted motion in the distance. He heard a noise and felt sure it was his sheep.
He stumbled down the mossy ridge and hurried in the direction of the sound, back through the wood. As he went, he could not shake his encounter with Argon. He could hardly conceive it had happened. What was the King’s Druid doing here, of all places? He had been waiting for him. But why? And what had he meant about his destiny?
The more Thor tried to unravel it, the less he understood. Argon had warned him not to continue while tempting him to do so. Now, as he went, Thor felt an increasing sense of foreboding, as if something momentous were about to happen.
He turned a bend and stopped cold in his tracks at the view before him. All his worst nightmares were confirmed in a single moment. His hair stood on end, and he realized he had made a grave mistake in coming this deep into Darkwood.
Opposite him, hardly thirty paces away, was a Sybold. Hulking, muscular, standing on all fours, nearly the size of a horse, it was the most feared animal of Darkwood, maybe even of the kingdom. Thor had never seen one, but had heard the legends. It resembled a lion, but was bigger, broader, its hide a deep scarlet and its eyes a glowing yellow. Legend had it that its crimson color came from the blood of innocent children.