by Tim Akers
There’s this hobby called freediving. I looked into it one summer, not because I was ever going to do it, but because I couldn’t imagine anything that would be more terrifying. Basically, freediving consists of tying yourself to a stone and throwing it into a very deep body of water. The diver sinks through colder and colder depths, the pressure ratcheting up as their lungs collapse, slowly drowning as the light fades above them. There are long moments of complete darkness as you’re dragged down by this relentless stone. I’m sure there’s more to it than that, but that’s as far as I got in my research. I still had nightmares about it, and all I’d done was read a book. I couldn’t imagine actually submitting to this activity in the name of entertainment. Or rather, I could imagine it all too well.
This felt like I imagined freediving felt. There was no light, no ground under my feet, no way to move forward or backward, but I was being dragged forward by this relentless Clarence. His wheelchair was no longer in my hand, but I could sense him in front of me, drawing me into the darkness. Chesa was somewhere over my shoulder, a presence sensed but never truly felt. This seemed to last forever.
The first relief from the gloom was a dim, green glow dancing overhead. It reminded me of the northern lights. The light grew, a slow trickle of illumination that spread across the sky, until it stretched from horizon to horizon. The shimmering slowed, until I realized what I was looking at.
“Trees,” I whispered. Clarence’s answer came from just ahead of me and slightly above. He was standing.
“Dappled sunlight through the primeval canopy,” he said, and the strength was fully back in his voice. Leaves rustled above us, and birdsong filled the air. A warm breeze touched my face. Twigs and gravel crunched under my boot. I heard Chesa stir just to my right. We were walking on a forest path. Clarence’s tall form appeared ahead of me. He walked confidently through the forest, his hand resting easily on the sword at his belt, chainmail jingling like Christmas bells. He turned and smiled at us. “It’s the most beautiful morning in the world. It always is. One of the rules of domains. Every domain has three things: a door for opening, a path to travel, and a hearth to call home. This is my door.” His eyes darted to the sky. “The path will find us soon enough.”
“Is this Valinor?” Chesa asked, her voice hushed.
“That is not my mythology, child,” Clarence said. “I have more of Arthur in my blood than Aragorn. The old tales, before the French got involved. When it comes time to build your own domains, you’ll have to find your own path into the mythic realm. Build your own legend.” He smiled at her, and I was shocked at how young he looked, how vital. “Though it looks like you’re well on your way, my lady.”
I glanced over at Chesa and had to restrain my shock. She stood in the middle of the path, her head cocked toward the canopy of trees overhead. She was holding an intricate bow of fresh yew wood, carved with leaves and feathers, the grip shielded by a gilded hawk of bronze and steel. Her costume, which had always been top notch, was suddenly and absolutely real. The plasticard scale mail of her leggings and greaves now glowed like polished starshine, and her cloak rippled with inner life. Her crown of feathers was suddenly a helm of finely worked steel, each feather so delicate and realistic that they looked alive. When she turned to look at me, I noticed that her eyes were purple, and her features had taken on an unworldly beauty, delicate and fey.
“Holy shit, Ches. You’re an elf!”
“Not quite,” Clarence answered. “The fae are jealous of their blood and wouldn’t countenance a daughter of Adam in their ranks. But she is surely something more than she was.” He glanced at me. “And you, Sir John. That doesn’t look like the dress of a servant.”
I glanced down at my feet and found that my clothes were also transformed. Like Clarence, I was in chainmail, with a leather doublet underneath, and a plain tabard of simple cloth. My boots were well-worn leather and looked about as expensive as anything I had ever worn, with buckles and straps and velvet-soft lining. My heart fell.
Don’t get me wrong, it was better kit than my paltry income could ever afford. But it wasn’t anywhere as cool as Chesa and her purple eyes.
“This is...it’s amazing!” Chesa said. “Where did it come from?”
“Inside your heart,” Clarence said. “That is an expression of your mythic self. The truest form of your intentional being. It’s the first step toward tapping into your heroic powers, whatever they might be. And that’s what we’re here to find out.”
“I thought I would be...taller,” I said. A life spent slightly taller than everyone else, but not tall enough to be noteworthy, was one of my secret frustrations. I would rather have gone all in, one way or the other.
“You’re in the intro kit right now. Building your own domain will change you, for better or worse. Some people go into their domains and come out as completely different people. Or they emerge as their true selves, the lie of modern life stripped away.”
“If this is the intro kit, I can’t wait for the full package,” Chesa said. She lifted her empty hand, cupping the air in front of her face, and blew into her palm. Lines of light flared across her fingers. They twisted into the air, knotting together until they formed a flower. She gestured, and the blossom spun away, shedding glowing petals as it flew down the path. It disappeared into a fog of luminous specks that lingered in the air.
“Can I do that?” I asked. I blew into my hand, harder and harder, until my palm was coated in a thin glaze of saliva and desperation. Chesa chuckled.
“You’re going to have to build your own legend, John,” Clarence said.
“It just seemed like a good trick, that’s all. I wish—”
Clarence shushed us, then cocked his head to the sky, shielding his eyes from the shafts of light. A shadow passed over the sun, dropping us into brief darkness. Clarence stopped and followed the shadow’s path with his gaze.
“The wyrm has found us. We should get moving.”
He picked up the pace, leading us down the forest path. Chesa ran effortlessly at my side, but I was starting to learn exactly how difficult it is to jog in heavy chain and leather. I hadn’t taken ten steps before I broke out in a heavy sweat.
We started to descend, heels digging into the soft earth. Ahead of us the light grew. I could see the forest’s edge, and beyond it, green fields and a tall gray structure. At first, I thought it was a mountain of stone. When I realized what I was looking at, I stumbled to a halt. Chesa brushed past me, saw what I had seen, and came to a stop as well. She gave a long, low whistle.
It was the largest castle I had ever seen, larger than anything I had even imagined. Tier after tier of stone walls piled up like layers of a wedding cake, each wall hung with thin, flowing yellow and blue banners that cracked in the breeze. The top of the castle bristled with towers, and a pair of heavy gates were at the foundation of this monstrous structure. I wasn’t far wrong in thinking it was a mountain. Clouds ringed the highest towers and danced across the face of the walls. Horns sounded from the castle walls as we emerged from the forest.
“Do the two of you have horses?” Clarence asked urgently.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“That’s something we will have to work on. But for now, we will ride together,” he said. He drew something out of his belt, a leather harness tightly folded, with reins and an ornamented bit. With a crack, he unfolded the entire thing, almost like a whip. Fog shot through with twinkling stars formed inside the bit, swirling larger and larger, until it started to take the shape of an animal. For a brief instance, the form could have been any creature; I saw a lion’s mane, the claws of a dragon, wings and jaws of unimagined beasts. The fogs continued to swirl, and the creature’s form solidified. In the flash of an eye, there was a horse pulling at the reins, fully saddled and caparisoned in the same yellow and blue that flew from the castle walls. Clarence threw his leg over the saddle while the horse was still forming, riding the mount’s sudden growth into the air. He held out hi
s hand.
“Come on,” he snapped. “We don’t have time to screw around.”
“How are we both supposed to—” Chesa started.
There was a roar of sound, thunder and crashing trees. A shadow flashed overhead, flying inches over the treetops, tearing at the canopy with the force of its passage. Blood-red wings and black claws ripped through the sky. Flaming eyes turned to look at us as the shadow passed. The dragon swooped down the valley. It let out a terrifying shriek that pierced my ears and shook the forest leaves. Turning, it rose high into the air on a pillar of flame.
“Kyle?” I asked.
“Seriously, John. We need to fucking go!” Clarence grabbed my wrist and jerked me onto the horse, nearly pulling my shoulder from its socket. I landed belly first on the saddle, the high horn knocking the wind out of me. Chesa leapt effortlessly onto the horse’s rump. Of course, she is preternaturally agile, I thought. Of course.
I was barely able to squirm into a seated position, still gasping for breath, when Clarence spurred the horse. We flew down the valley, the hammer of hooves jolting my bones, the wind tearing the breath from my lungs. With each bounding gallop, I felt like I was about to fall from the mount. I clung desperately to the horse’s mane. It was only Clarence’s iron grip that kept me seated. When I glanced back, I saw that Chesa was perched daintily, her deep amethyst eyes watching the dragon’s flight. Kyle’s deafening roar came again, as close and as terrifying as a lightning strike. Clarence bent close to the saddle, pushing me down. The dragon’s shadow passed over us.
“What the hell is going on?” I shouted.
Clarence didn’t answer. We were getting close to the castle gates. I watched as they slowly rose. A jet of flame rolled over the ground next to us, but Clarence didn’t balk. We charged through the gatehouse.
“Drop the gate! Drop the gate!” Clarence yelled. Chains rattled as the gate boomed down. He did something with the reins, and I felt the horse turn to smoke between my legs. I crumpled to the ground, but Clarence landed smoothly, whipping his sword out of its sheath as he ran toward the gate. Chesa rolled, drawing an arrow from her quiver and knocking it before she even got to her feet. The whole courtyard shook with the dragon’s roar.
Kyle slammed into the gates. The mighty doors boomed, wood groaning as the dragon’s bulk pushed against the wood and iron. Kyle roared his fury, and flames erupted over the wall’s height, rising in a pillar toward the sky. Clarence stood just inside the gate, shifting lightly on the balls of his feet, sword ready. I scrambled to my feet and grabbed for my belt, but there was no sword there, not even a dagger. I backed nervously away from the gates.
There was a moment of silence, then the roar of wind and leathery flapping of wings. Kyle rose above the walls, his sinuous neck twisting to bring his massive head into the courtyard. Flames flickered between his black teeth. Chesa drew her arrow to her cheek, sighting at the dragon’s chest. Clarence noticed, and gestured for her to hold her fire. Kyle, massive and muscular, smiled at us malevolently.
“Hiding behind your stone walls, hero? That is unlike you.” The dragon’s voice sounded like the breaking of mountains. Just the noise of it put me on my heels. Clarence didn’t move.
“I have no time for this, wyrm. Your blood will have to wait to be spilled.”
Kyle huffed, and a cloud of sulfurous air filled the courtyard, choking me. The dragon’s head shifted, bringing its burning gaze squarely on me. His lips curled back in an insolent grin. His hide was covered in scars, and the broken blades of dozens of swords hung buried in his flesh.
“Some other day, then, champion. Your flesh will keep for another dawn.”
He rose on battered wings, spinning into the air, his shadow passing again and again over the castle. With a final shriek, Kyle turned and flew toward the distant, foggy mountains, disappearing as quickly as he had come.
Clarence turned to us with a jaunty smile, sheathing his sword and walking toward the castle interior.
“That was pretty good, wasn’t it? The ride and all. Bracing. That’s the path in for my mythology. The draconic threat. Kyle takes it very seriously. Well, we’ve got a lot to do. Put some hop in your step, you two.”
I watched him walk into the keep, then turned to stare into the empty sky, looking for any sign of the dragon. Birdsong filled the forest again, and the breeze swept away the stink of the monster’s breath. Chesa came to stand next to me. She was still in her elven glory, but there was a look of dull shock on her face. It was unsettling to see such a familiar expression on that otherworldly visage.
“They have an interesting relationship,” she said. “I really thought he was trying to kill us.”
“Oh, I’m certain of it,” I said.
“I can promise you this,” Chesa said. “My domain’s not going to have any of this almost getting killed bullshit.”
She returned her unused arrow to the quiver and slung the bow across her shoulder, then followed Clarence into the castle, leaving me alone in the courtyard. I scanned the distant mountains one last time. There was no sign of the dragon.
“What the hell, Kyle?” I whispered. Then I turned and joined my companions.
The castle appeared empty, although I heard servants in the distance, and the evidence of their passage was everywhere, but I never saw anyone. When we stopped our practice to eat, the banquet hall was filled with food. When we passed through that room later, the tables had been cleared and the fire stoked. And there was a choir somewhere, chanting day and night.
That first day, Clarence led us directly to the practice yard. It was a long field of packed sand, with a jousting list down the center, and on one side a line of quintains, man-shaped practice dummies balanced on poles that would spin when struck. These quintains were different, though, and moved of their own accord. They saluted Clarence when he entered the yard, then settled into various guard positions.
“Live blades today, gentlemen. No need for your service,” Clarence boomed, and the quintains went limp. He drew his sword, slicing the air with a dozen practice swings before turning to face us. “Neither of you seem to have swords.”
“I guess it’s not part of my mythological ideal yet,” I said.
“I’m more of a bow and arrow girl,” Chesa answered.
“To each their own. But you can’t depend on being able to stay away from the enemy forever. You will need a blade eventually, even if it’s only out of desperation. And you,” he said, pointing to me. “The sword should be the first thing you imagine. I expected that much of you, after your performance at the shinty pitch. A pity. We will have to make do.”
He gestured to a rack of blades that folded out of the wall. Dozens of swords of every shape bristled out of the shelves. “I don’t think I have much in your particular style, my lady. Perhaps this?” His fingers danced in the direction of the rack, then pointed toward Chesa. A pair of short blades sang through the air, landing crossed in the sand at Chesa’s feet. She stared down at them with distaste.
“Two blades? No. I’ll leave that to the rogue.” She plucked one of the swords up and cut the air with its curved blade. Kind of a scimitar, with an open grip and a spiked pommel. “This will do. For now.”
Clarence nodded and turned to look me over. “And for you...a little more medieval. Longsword, double edge, hand and a half. Do you usually fight with a shield?”
“Sword and board,” I said proudly. He grunted, then made the same gesture. A sword jumped off the rack and flew to my hand. “How does it feel?”
My palm stung from the impact of the hilt. I shook it out, then gave the blade a few swings. It was heavier than my rattan blade, the difference between steel and wicker, but the balance was superb. The edge was razor sharp.
“Very nice. But how are we supposed to practice with these?”
“Like so,” Clarence said, then lunged forward.
I barely got the blade up in time, my reflexes naturally moving into a tent guard. Clarence’s sword sang off my st
eel, but the impact nearly twisted the hilt out of my hand. No sooner was his blade clear of mine than he twisted it back, thrusting hard at my chest. I spun laterally, drove my hilt against the forte of his blade, then thrust it to the side. Clarence’s shoulder went into my chest. I stumbled back.
“Not bad, but you still stink of the mundane. You battle for points, and the touch. It will take more than a touch to kill.” He drew the blade behind his back, then danced forward and struck in a series of downward strokes. I grabbed my hilt in both hands, blocking and blocking again, catching Clarence’s blows on hilt and forte. My shoulders sang in pain as he hammered down. Each strike set my skull ringing. By the time I scrambled out of range, my entire body was sore, and we had just started.
“So that’s what it looks like to be outclassed,” Chesa said with a smirk. She stood at the edge of the practice yard, sword held loosely in her hands.
“It will be your turn soon enough, fae-child,” Clarence said with a jaunty smile. “You’re doing well, Sir John. But I don’t think you understand the point of this exercise. We’re supposed to try to hit each other. So far, it’s just been me hitting you.”
“Come on, man! Be a little careful, will you?” I shook out my arms, trying to get some feeling back in my hands. My own sword was so sharp that I managed to nick my shin with the tip, drawing blood. “Damn it! Why are these swords so sharp? You’re going to kill somebody if you don’t watch out.”
“Yes, I suppose we should get that out of the way, shouldn’t we?” Clarence asked. Before I could answer, he lunged forward, thrusting his sword smoothly into my chest. I heard Chesa scream in shock.
The steel tip passed cleanly through my ribs and into my heart. The pain burned so hot and bright that I couldn’t feel anything else. Blood bubbled out of the wound, splashing on my face and down my chest. Clarence whipped the sword free of my chest, and the blood flooded out. I went to my knees. The pain was unimaginable. Chesa’s shocked face stared at me as I went to my knees, hands pressed against the wound. I looked down at my chest. The last thing I saw was my lifeblood soaking into the sand between my fingers.
