The Forever Knight

25

I chose a spot far enough from the river so that she wouldn’t be disturbed, yet close enough for her to see the waterfall. A wise-looking tree stood guard over the spot, giving her shade and a place for her spirit to sit and remember the better life she’d had before war and madness touched her world. I had no shovel, so I used my hands to dig out the soft earth enough to cover her slight remains. I worked in a fog, alone, cutting my fingers on rocks and ignoring the blood. This was her death place, and I wanted to make it beautiful.

Ten at a time I carried armloads of stones from the river banks, choosing the largest and prettiest ones I could find. I stacked them neatly atop her grave, saying nothing as I worked, oblivious to the hours slipping away. I suppose I was exhausted. I really can’t remember. Those hours are like broken glass in my memory, almost impossible to piece together. Malator did not come to me nor speak to me, nor offer any apology for letting her die. I wrote her name in smaller stones at the foot of the grave.

L I S E A

To me, she was Cricket. I’d call her that forever. But she had a name before she’d taken her sister’s, a name given by a mother and father, and I meant to honor that. I looked at her name and said it softly to myself. I touched the stones that made it. And I realized I never really knew her. Over and over I heard her cries in my mind. Her screams reminded me of someone else I’d lost.

“Lukien?”

I turned from the grave and saw Malator standing behind me near the river bank. His long face looked as if he’d been weeping, but I knew that wasn’t possible. He looked at me cautiously, reminding me that time was wasting. He took two shimmering steps forward then stopped. His vaporous feet made no marks in the sand at all. I remained kneeling over Cricket’s grave.

“Cassandra died screaming, too,” I said softly. “She died like Cricket died. With me. Because of me.”

Malator glided closer. “Cricket didn’t die because of you, Lukien.”

“She did. And you knew she would. You warned me.” I turned to look at his glowing face. “You never wanted her to come with me. You saw this, didn’t you?”

Of course, Malator didn’t answer that.

“I thought it would be the monster,” I said. “I thought it would be Crezil. Why’d you let me believe that?”

“Did I ever tell you that? No, I did not. I warned you not to bring her, and that was all I ever said.”

“I let her get between us. Is that why you wouldn’t save her?”

“Are you angry with me for not saving her?” he asked.

I thought about that. “At first,” I replied. “But not anymore. Not with you. But I am angry.”

My fury burgeoned like a thunderhead. I could barely check it. And now I didn’t have to. I got off my knees and went to the place where the rass skin cape still hung upon the stick. Malator floated after me without a word.

“He followed her here,” I said. “To try and get to me.”

“He must have thought she was going north to meet you,” agreed Malator.

“I could have stopped him. I could have killed him when I saw him.” I bent and picked up the cape. Weeks of wear had made the rass skin supple like velvet. “Must I live with that now? That and everything else, every day of my life?”

“How could you know?”

“I didn’t know! I shouldn’t have cared! I just should have ended him, right there!”

“And be killed yourself by the others.”

“But I would have spared her this.” I put the cape against my face. The smell of her overwhelmed me. “She was fourteen, Malator. He raped her.”

“A child,” nodded Malator. “Wrestler is a beast beyond compare. Worse than Crezil.”

I unsheathed the sword, holding it out in my palms and dropping to my knees. “Help me, Malator,” I pleaded. “Only blood can avenge this crime. Give me the magic of life and death. Grant me the power to grind them to dust!”

Malator floated closer, looking down at me with a sober expression. “Vengeance is just, but you must know what you’re asking, Lukien.”

“Give me the power to damn them!”

“Understand me,” he insisted. “I can give you the might to match your fury, but it will change you. There’s no turning back from what you ask.”

“Do it!” I demanded. I slammed the sword point-down in the dirt. “I’ll pay your price. I’ll follow my fate. Just let me destroy them!”

Malator put his hand over my eyes. Though his fingers were translucent, I was suddenly blind. “Hold on to the sword. Do not let go.”

I reached in front of me to where the Sword of Angels stood speared into the ground. My fingers burned as they wrapped around the leather hilt. The bones in my hands fused, unable to move as the blade’s fire entered me.

“Give it to me,” I gasped. Sweat gushed from my skin. A glorious pain boiled my blood. “Make me strong. Make me unstoppable!”

“Feel it,” commanded Malator. “That is the fire of the Akari. The forge of life! No man will stand against you. You are reborn, Lukien. Forever!”

The magic engulfed me, immolating me. I tried to scream but couldn’t. My mind saw my body blazing, kneeling in the sand. And there stood Malator, like a duke of hell, touching me with his ghostly hands. I felt my bones melt, then mend themselves. Every scar burned away. Memories of my long life wailed inside my rattling skull, of Cassandra young and beautiful, of Akeela old and mad. I opened my mouth and a tongue of flame spat out.

“Help me. .!”

This was hell, I thought. This was Crezil’s Gahoreth. But I kept hold of that sword. I didn’t care if Malator turned me to ash or a spirit like himself. I wanted my revenge, and I knew he alone could give it to me. Finally, when all my strength had fled, I heard Malator’s voice again.

“One day,” he said, “you will know why I agreed.”

The flames enveloping me died. A cool breeze touched my skin. Malator pulled his hand away. Slowly my fingers unwrapped from the sword. Then, as weak as a newborn, I toppled over into the sand. Malator hung over me, but offered no help. I glanced up and saw him cock his head, then smile. My whole body was soaked with sweat. My hands shook, but when I looked at them they seemed different, like they weren’t mine. I took half a breath. Something more than air filled my lungs.

“How do you feel?” asked Malator.

“How do I look?” I croaked.

Malator’s flashed his familiar grin. “Go to the river.”

I dragged myself to the bank of the river. The water moved quickly, but as I hung my face over it the water suddenly stilled like a mirror. What I saw chilled me.

“Is that me?”

My hair was yellow again. No fading, no gray at all, just the wheaty gold of my youth. I’d lost the lines of age and my skin was tight again. I peered down further, touching my cheeks, feeling the skin with my soft fingertips. Even my teeth seemed straighter, whiter. I was as I’d been when Cassandra loved me, when I’d first met her years before.

“What did you do to me?” I asked. “I’m young again!”

“You are as old as you ever were,” he assured me. “But stronger. More whole.” He reached down toward my face, gently plucking off my eye patch. I jerked back, surprised and annoyed by the intrusion, then realized an eyeball had replaced the dead, white flesh. “Look at the world now, Lukien.”

Around me everything was clear and beautiful. Deep, the way it hadn’t been in years. I stood up, wobbly at first, flexing my fingers and then my arms. I stomped my feet and felt the strong bones inside my legs. Fresh air swelled my chest. I hardly recognized myself! Malator glided over to where the sword stood in the dirt and pulled it free. He returned and handed it to me. I hesitated.

“Do I still need this?” I asked. “Can I not live without it?”

“We are bound, still and always,” said Malator. “Until the day you decide to discard me, we are together.”

“Then I accept you,” I said and sheathed the sword. “Now we make Diriel’s end.”

“And Wrestler’s,” added Malator.

“Oh, yes.” I had a special end in mind for him. “Wrestler will not die a man’s death.”

“There’s an army to fight too, Lukien. You need to be ready. Those men you tried to save-Diriel’s legionnaires-they won’t stop. You’ll have to kill them.”

“They are forfeit,” I declared. “Every mother’s son of ’em.”

I meant to have them all-not just Diriel and Wrestler, but all the filth that followed them. Everyone pledged to that demented cannibal would be slaughtered. They were the ones who made me this way, I told myself. They deserved the coming storm. But first I needed to find them. I went back to where I’d left the horse, the majestic Ganjeese barb that had brought me all this way. He was standing on the other side of the river, watching me, waiting. I hadn’t even tied him. The stallion’s brown eyes noticed the change in me approvingly.

“You are a prince of horses,” I told him. I patted his barrel, feeling his powerful rib cage. “I have never seen your like or equal. Will you ride with me? Battle with me? We’ll see many bloody days.”

Horses understand. They really do. This one knew exactly what I meant and didn’t buck or complain.

“You’ll need a name,” I told him. “I don’t know what Fallon calls you, and I don’t care. I’m going to name you for myself.” I took his muzzle in my hand and looked into his eyes. “From now on you’ll be called Venger.”

I climbed up onto his broad back, feeling like a Royal Charger again. Malator looked up at me with approval, then disappeared into the sword. I took a long moment to say goodbye to Cricket, trotting Venger over to her grave and trying not to weep. It was just a body, I told myself. Her spirit-her soul-had already left it. Realizing that, I glanced around the serene setting that was her death place, knowing that she was here, in this very spot. I just couldn’t see her.

“Goodbye, Lisea,” I whispered. “I’ll kiss Gilwyn’s baby for you.”

Venger turned from the grave, then led me back down and out of the river valley. I wasn’t sure where I was going-maybe south, maybe east. Just for now, I needed to ride. And to think. I needed to plan the bloodiest doom possible for Diriel and his puppets.