Road to Anywhere

Chosen

Prompt from Contests and Challenges, by @newlywrittenbooks, March, 2024: "The ring chose you...for a reason."

Story word count = 993

Forbidden was my presence here, punishable by death.

I wore the rough brown burlap clothes of a slave, and such I was. A decade ago, at barely the age of remembering, the king's conquering army brought me here from the Northlands. Becoming skilled with numbers and written word, I toiled as a scribe, spared from the dangerous labor given other slaves.

Over time, specific memories of my parents faded, but the treasured love remained. "Be sly as a fox, my dear son," came the tearful words of my mother before the soldiers took me away, "but heed your heart and listen closely to its whispers, for often destiny speaks softly."

At first, the visions appeared as little more than wispy fragments of dreams, seemingly random creations of a sleeping mind. Yet they repeated, over and over, in increasing unavoidable vividness, and whispers became shouts.

Horrible visions of war appeared before my inner eye. Of broken steel, ash, and dragon bones. Villages aflame and blackened corpses. A demon army from far away marching, death and destruction in their wake. The visions tore at my heart, but then a flicker of hope. The ring.

"Come," it beckoned. And I could no more resist than I could stop breathing.

Hours before dawn and deep under the castle, a stolen iron key unlocked an arched oaken door with a faint clunk. Slowly, I pulled open the door, lest squealing rusty hinges awaken the sleeping guard.

There, in the middle of an empty, desolate chamber, the Electus hovered, an obsidian ring, dark like midnight. A shimmering sphere of impenetrable Magik surrounded it, casting blueish light against the smooth domed block walls, without which, the chamber would have been pitch black. Great powers that altered worldly destiny would the ring grant to any who would wear it, so said the legend.

But fickle was the Electus, discerning of any who would bear it, and only in times of pending upheaval. Many generations have passed since the last ring bearer.

Why would it call me, a lowly slave?

"You should not be here!" an unknown baritone voice called out, echoing.

Flinching, I spun around to catch the narrowed eyes of Magus Orvyn, the king's chief mage. A tall, aged man with wrinkles forged by war and intrigue, he wore a long, gray-streaked dark beard and a blue robe. In his right hand, he clutched a carved wooden staff topped with a glowing blue crystal. Brown eyes beneath bushy eyelashes regarded me with suspicion.

"Forgive me, Magus," I said, dropping to a knee. "I have lost my way."

"I think not," the wizard huffed. But then his expression softened. "You are Hawke, are you not? The scribe?"

"Yes, sir."

Orvyn once defended me against unjust accusation. But here in this forbidden place, he would be within rights to condemn me.

"Tell me truthfully, what brought you here?"

"Horrible visions of war, sir, against a vile army from afar, descending like a plague upon our land," I replied, standing, but keeping my head bowed in required reverence. "Nothing could stand against them, but the ring. I know not how, yet it inexorably called me."

Orvyn raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. Your visions of war have credence. True, does a dark lord marshal an army far away. The king knows of this, and secret is that knowledge, but he believed they would not dare march against us. Do you contradict the king's assessment?"

"I am but a slave, sir. No standing have I to challenge," I answered, shaking my head. "I merely report that seen."

"And would you take up the ring, Hawke, if you could?" the Magus asked, his eyes shooting fire. "Do you desire the power? Have you such high ambition?"

"Power only corrupts, sir. I wish only to live a free and honest life."

Magus Orvyn softened his expression. "Perhaps that is why Electus called you, young slave. Many a knight and noble have tried to grasp it, including myself, yet failed."

"Why, sir," I asked, lifting my eyes to his, "why would the ring call someone like me?"

A smile crept across the wizard's lips. "My dear Hawke, the Electus cares not for human station or wealth, only character of heart." He motioned to the ring. "This far have you come. Take up the ring, if you dare. But I must warn you, if it chooses you not, painful will be the attempt. This I know well. And fate is often unkind to a ring bearer."

Butterflies flooded my gut as I hesitated. Did I dare? Did I even want the power? But if my visions were true, the fate of humanity was at risk, and if I refused, I might die anyway.

"Come."

Stepping forward, I glanced at Orvyn, who crossed arms and lifted eyebrows as if to say 'Well? Get on with it.'

My hand moved forward to touch the shimmering shield and tingles like countless ants climbed my arm. Pressing on, my hand passed through the shield, which sizzled and pulsed in many colors at my intrusion, yet I felt no pain. Gathering courage, I grabbed the ring and yanked it out. Heat strangely warmed the palm that cradled it.

Magus Orvyn nodded. "Only one more step, young Hawke."

I twirled the black ring between thumb and forefinger. By all appearances, it was unremarkable, hinting not of potential. But was this not also true of men? With another measure of courage, I slid it on a finger.

At first, nothing. But then pulsing power surged through me like a tidal wave, reaching deep within my soul. My body seized from the overwhelming sensations, and I screamed to the heavens. Dazzling light washed the chamber in blue. Memories of past quests and ring bearers fluttered through my mind. Finally, it subsided, leaving me breathless and tingling.

"We are One."

"Your destiny has forever changed, Ring Bearer," Orvyn announced. "But much have you to learn. Your training begins now."