at him coldly.
“Send these foreigners back across the sea,” he added. “Why shall we shed blood for them?”
“I am of your blood,” Sandara said, stepping forward, sternly facing the warrior.
“Which is why you should have never brought these people here and endangered us all,” he snapped.
“You bring disgrace on our nation,” Sandara said. “Have you forgotten the laws of hospitality?”
“Your bringing them here is the disgrace,” he retorted.
Bokbu raised his palms at both sides, and they quieted.
Bokbu stood there, expressionless, and he seemed to be thinking. Gwendolyn stood there, watching it all, and realized the precarious situation they were in. Setting back out on the sea, she knew, would mean instant death; yet she did not want to endanger these people who had helped her.
“We meant you no harm,” Gwen said, turning to Bokbu. “I do not wish to endanger you. We can embark now.”
Bokbu shook his head.
“No,” he said. Then he looked at Gwen, studying her with what seemed to be wonder. “Why did you bring your people here?” he asked.
Gwen sighed.
“We fled a great army,” she said. “They destroyed our homeland. We came here to find a new home.”
“You’ve come to the wrong place,” said the warrior. “This will not be your home.”
“Silence!” Bokbu said to him, giving him a harsh look, and finally, the warrior fell silent.
Bokbu turned to look at Gwendolyn, his eyes locking with hers.
“You are a proud and noble woman,” he said. “I can see you are a leader. You have guided your people well. If I turn you back to the sea, you will surely die. Maybe not today, but certainly within a few days.”
Gwendolyn looked back at him, unyielding.
“Then we shall die,” she replied. “I will not have your people killed so that we should live.”
She stared at him firmly, expressionless, emboldened by her nobility and her pride. She could see that Bokbu studied her with a new respect. A tense silence filled the air.
“I can see the warrior blood runs in you,” he said. “You will stay with us. Your people will recover here until they are well and strong. However many moons it takes.”
“But my chief – ” the warrior began.
Bokbu turned and gave him a stern look.
“My decision is made.”
“But their ship!” he protested. “If it stays here in our harbor, the Empire will see it. We will all die before the moon has waned!”
The chief looked up at the mast, then at the ship, taking it all in. Gwen looked about and studied the landscape and saw they had been towed deep into a hidden harbor, surrounded by a dense canopy. She turned and saw behind them the open sea, and she knew the man was right.
The chief looked at her and nodded.
“You want to save your people?” he asked.
Gwen nodded back firmly.
“Yes.”
He nodded back at her.
“Leaders must make hard decisions,” he said. “Now is the time for you. You want to stay with us, but your ship will kill us all. We invite your people ashore, but your ship cannot remain. You will have to burn it. Then we shall take you in.”
Gwendolyn stood there, facing the chief, and her heart sank at the thought. She looked at her ship, the ship which had taken them across the sea, had saved her people from halfway across the world, and her heart sank. Her mind swirled with conflicting emotions. This ship was her only way out.
But then again, her way out of what? Heading back out into an endless ocean of death? Her people could barely walk; they needed to recover. They needed shelter and harbor and refuge. And if burning this ship was the price of life, then so be it. If they decided to head back out to sea, then they would find another ship, or build another ship, do whatever they had to do. For now, they had to live. That was what mattered most.
Gwendolyn looked at him and nodded solemnly.
“So be it,” she said.
Bokbu nodded back to her with a look of great respect. Then he turned and called out a command, and all around him, his men broke into action. They spread out throughout the ship, helping all the members of the Ring, getting them to their feet one at a time, guiding them down the plank to the sandy shore below. Gwen stood and watched Godfrey, Kendrick, Brandt, Atme, Aberthol, Illepra, Sandara, and all the people she loved most in the world pass by her.
She stood there and waited until every single last person left the ship, until she was the last one standing on it, just her, Krohn at her heels, and to her side, standing quietly, the chief.
Bokbu held a flaming torch, handed to him by one of his men. He reached out to touch the ship.
“No,” Gwen said, reaching out and clasping his wrist.
He looked over at her in surprise.
“A leader must destroy her own,” she said.
Gwen gingerly took the heavy, flaming torch from his hand, then turned and, wiping back a tear, held the flame to a canvas sail bunched up on deck.
Gwen stood there and watched as the flames caught, spreading faster and faster, reaching out across the ship.
She dropped the torch, the heat rising too fast, and she turned, Krohn and Bokbu following, and walked down the plank, heading to the beach, to her new home, to the last place they had left in the world.
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