earth. But few Druids ever reach this level of power.”
Thor thought about that, and realized that his power was imperfect. It did not always come when he summoned it, and it did not always work. He also seemed to get tired quickly after using it. He wondered if that was because he was human, too. Did that riddle him with imperfections? He felt that it did.
As Gwen closed the book, Thor could not feel certain anymore of who or what he was, or what his place in the world was. Was he a Druid? Was he a human? He felt as if he were caught between two worlds, a half-breed perhaps, not a true Druid, yet not a true human. He wondered if Gwen thought any less of him for that.
“I hope you don’t think of me as different,” he said to her.
She shook her head.
“No, of course not,” she said softly.
“Because all I want is to be like you,” Thor said. “To be human. To be normal. I’m grateful for whatever powers I have, but I never asked for them. I just want to fight fair and square, like any other warrior. I just want to train and become great, based on my own efforts. I feel as if I am cheating when I summon a power.”
Gwen shook her head.
“You are doing nothing wrong,” she said. “This is who you are. You are meant to be who you are for a reason. All destiny has a purpose. To not fully embrace who you are—that would be wrong. That would be rejecting the fates. We are born with our special powers for a reason. And we are born with our limitations for a reason, too. They make us stronger.”
Gwen reached over and grabbed another book, a beautiful thick book, covered with a gold and silver plate, and slid it over to Thor. Thor reached out and held it with both of his hands, looked down at the incredible craftsmanship, the emblem of the falcon, of the MacGil family, and he felt a tremendous energy coming off of it.
“What is it?” he asked.
“The Chronicle of the Ring,” she answered. “It was written nearly a thousand years ago. It not only charts all the history of MacGils, it also tells the story of the Great Divide. Back when the Ring was one kingdom. Before the Highlands. Before the McClouds. It goes back even to before the Canyon. When the Empire was one. When there was no divide.”
Thor stared at the book in wonder.
“But it also goes forward, into the future. They say it was written by a council of scholars and mystics and sorcerers. This council knew everything, saw everything. And they set it all down in this book. They talk about things that happen even today. They talk of seven generations of MacGil Kings. They predict that the seventh would bring a great evil upon the Ring. They do not mention Gareth by name, but they describe him in action.”
Thor looked at the book with a new respect. He pulled back its heavy lid, and flipped through its pages, crinkling as he went, running his hand along the ancient, handwritten script which he could not understand.
“What else does it say?” he asked.
“It talks of the eighth MacGil ruler,” she said. “It says that he will bring destruction to the Ring unlike any we have ever known. Yet he will also bring great change and the Great Peace. It is a mysterious prophecy. All the others are clear, but this one is vague. I do not understand it. Neither does Aberthol. If Argon does, he is not telling us. I have checked all the sources, and I can get no clarity. Our best guess is that this book is unfinished.”
Gwen reached over, closed the book, and looked deeply into Thor’s eyes, with an intensity unlike any he’d ever seen. Her eyes shone with scholarship.
“Do you understand what this means?” she asked. “If I am to rule, I will be the eighth MacGil ruler. That is me. I do not wish to be the harbinger of destruction. This prophecy, it scares me. I can’t help but feel as if I’m a cog in the wheel of destiny, as if I’m destined to bring some great doom on my people, no matter how hard I try. Unless of course, I am killed, and the eighth MacGil ruler is someone else.”
Thor sat there, trying to follow her quick wit, her bouncing between books with a