Argon turned and smiled.
“You are quick boy, I will give you that. Mostly, we are shown omens to prepare ourselves. We are shown our fate to give us time to prepare. Sometimes, rarely, we are given an omen to enable us to take action, to change what will be. But this is very rare.”
“Is it true that the Whiteback foretells death?”
Argon examined him.
“It is,” he said, finally. “Without fail.”
Thor’s heart pounded at the response, at the confirmation of his fears. He was also surprised by Argon’s straightforward response.
“I encountered one, today,” Thor said, “but I don’t know who will die. Or if there is some action I can take to prevent it. I want to put it out of my mind, but I cannot. Always, that image of the snake’s head is with me. Why?”
Argon examined him a very long time, and sighed.
“Because whomever will die, it will affect you directly. It will affect your destiny.”
Thor was increasingly agitated; he felt that every answer bred more questions.
“But that’s not fair,” Thor said. “I need to know who it is that will die. I need to warn them!”
Slowly, Argon shook his head.
“It may not be for you to know,” he answered. “And if you do know, there may still be nothing you can do about it. Death finds its subject-even if someone is warned.”
“Then why was I shown this?” Thor asked, tormented. “And why can’t I get it from my head?”
Argon stepped forward, so close, inches away; the intensity of his eyes burned bright in this dim place, and it frightened Thor. It was like looking into the sun, and it was all he could do not to look away. Argon raised a hand and placed it on Thor’s shoulder. It was ice to the touch and sent a chill through him.
“You are young,” Argon said, slowly. “You are still learning. You feel things too deeply. Seeing the future is a great reward. But it can also be a great curse. Most humans who live out their destiny have no awareness of it. Sometimes the most painful thing is to have an awareness of your destiny, of what will be. You have not even begun to understand your powers. But you will. One day. Once you understand where you are from.”
“Where I’m from?” Thor asked, confused.
“Your mother’s home. Far from here. Beyond the Canyon, on the outer reaches of the Wilds. There is a castle, high up in the sky. It sits alone on a cliff, and to reach it, you walk along a windy stone road. It is a magical road-like ascending into the sky itself. It is a place of profound power. That is where you hail from. Until you reach that place, you will never fully understand. Once you do, all your questions will be answered.”
Thor blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he found himself, to his amazement, standing outside Argon’s dwelling. He had no idea how he got here.
The wind whipped through the rocky crag, and Thor squinted at the harsh sunlight. Beside him stood Krohn, whining.
Thor went back to Argon’s door and pounded on it with all his might. There came nothing but silence in return.
“Argon!” Thor screamed.
He was answered only by the whistling of the wind.
He tried the door, even putting his shoulder to it-but it would not budge.
Thor waited a long time, he was not sure how long, until finally the day grew late. Finally, he realized that his time here was over.
He turned and began to walk back down the rocky slope, wondering. He felt more confused than ever, and also felt more certain that a death was coming-yet more helpless to stop it.
As he hiked in that desolate place, he began to feel something cold on his ankles and he looked down and saw a thick fog forming. It rose, growing thicker and rising higher by the moment. Thor did not understand what was happening. Krohn whined.
Thor tried to speed up, to continue his way back down the mountain, but in moments the fog grew so thick, he could barely see before his eyes. At the same time, he felt his limbs grow heavy, and, as if by magic, the sky grew dark. He felt himself growing exhausted. He could not take another step. He curled up in a ball on the ground, right where he stood, enveloped in the thick fog. He tried to open his eyes, to move, but he could not. In moments, he was fast asleep.
*
Thor saw himself standing at the top of a mountain, staring out over the entire kingdom of the Ring. Before him was King’s Court, the castle, the fortifications, the gardens, the trees and rolling hills as far as he could see-all in full bloom of summer. The fields were filled with fruits and colored flowers, and there was the sound of music and festivities.
But as Thor turned slowly, surveying everything, the grass began to turn black. Fruits fell off the trees. Then the trees themselves shriveled up to nothing. All the flowers dried up to crisps, and, to his horror, one building after the next crumbled, until the entire kingdom was nothing but desolation, heaps of rubble and stone.
Thor looked down and suddenly saw a huge Whiteback, slithering between his legs. He stood there, helpless, as it coiled around his legs, then his waist, then arms. He felt himself being suffocated, the life squeezed out of him, as the snake coiled all the way around and stared at him in the face, inches away, hissing, its long tongue nearly touching Thor’s cheek. And then it opened its mouth so wide, revealing huge fangs, leaned forward, and swallowed Thor’s face.
Thor shrieked, and then found himself standing alone inside the king’s castle. The castle was completely empty, no throne left where one used to be, and the Destiny Sword lying on the ground, untouched. The windows were all shattered, stained-glass lying in heaps on the stone. He heard distant music and turned and walked through empty room after empty room. Finally he reached huge double doors, a hundred feet tall, and he opened them with all his might.
Thor stood at the entrance to the royal feasting hall. Before him were two long feasting tables, stretching across the room, overflowing with food-yet empty of men. At the far end of the hall sat one man. King MacGil. He sat on his throne, staring right at Thor. He seemed so far away.
Thor felt he had to reach him. He began to walk through the great room, towards him, between the two feasting tables. As he went, all the food on either side of him went bad, becoming rotten with each step he took, turning black and covered with flies. Flies buzzed and swarmed all around him, tearing apart the food.
Thor walked faster. The king was getting close now, hardly ten feet away, when a servant appeared out of a side chamber carrying a huge, golden goblet of wine. It was a distinct goblet, made of solid gold and covered in rows of rubies and sapphires. While the king wasn’t looking, Thor saw the servant slip a white powder into the goblet. Thor realized it was poison.
The servant brought it closer, and MacGil reached down and grabbed it with both hands.
“No!” Thor screamed.
Thor lunged forward, trying to knock the wine away from the king.
But he was not fast enough. MacGil leaned back and drank the wine in big gulps. It poured down his cheeks, down his chest, as he finished it.
MacGil then turned and looked at Thor, and as he did, his eyes opened wide. He reached up and grabbed his throat until, gagging, he keeled over and fell off his throne; he fell sideways, landing on the hard stone floor. His crown rolled off it, hit the stone floor with a clang, and rolled several feet.
He lay there, motionless, eyes open, dead.
Ephistopheles swooped down, landed on MacGil’s head. It sat there, looked right at Thor and screeched. The sound was so shrill, it sent a shiver up Thor’s spine.
“No!” Thor screamed.
*
Thor woke screaming.
He sat up, looking all around, sweating, breathing hard, trying to figure out where he was. He was still lying on the ground, on Argon’s mountain. He could not believe it: he must have fallen asleep here. The fog was gone, and as he looked up and saw that it was daybreak. A blood red sun was breaking over the horizon, lighting up the day. Beside him, Khron whined, jumped into his lap and licked his face.
