by Lee French
This wide corridor, made of the same stone as the stairs, had ceilings high enough to accommodate the tallest Knights. Noise dampened the moment they stepped into it, and their eyes slid across every surface without catching. This was not a hall intended for grand or lofty purposes, nor did it have any features to be admired. Knights used it to get from one place to another and its form did nothing more or less than fulfill that function.
Guiding Claire up to the left, Justin scanned every branching hall for potential threats, though he hated feeling he needed to. The Palace was supposed to be their safe haven. For at least two millennia, the Spirit Knights had used this other dimension as a home away from home. Only Knights could come here, and all Knights were welcome. Except Claire, who’d challenged the very foundation of the Knights by doing nothing more than being a girl.
They passed the kitchen—an enormous expanse of granite countertops and chrome appliances—on the way to the small room he wanted to use to help Claire forge her sword. Given what he knew of how this place worked, Justin had never been able to wrap his head around the food always waiting in the pantry and refrigerator. Nothing in the Palace ought to actually satisfy hunger, yet it somehow did.
As they walked by, Justin accidentally caught the eye of the one Knight he’d rather not see with Claire by his side. Djembe turned with a steaming mug and froze when he saw them. A muscle in the Ethiopian-born Knight’s forehead twitched. Claire stiffened beside Justin.
“Djembe,” Justin said. He waited to see if they’d wind up coming to blows over Claire or not.
“Justin.” Djembe approached them, the aroma of his coffee reminding Justin he should be having dinner.
“Good to see you,” Justin said, trying to keep things light.
“Mm.” Djembe flicked his gaze toward Claire. His face betrayed none of his thoughts.
Claire gulped. “I got my sprite.” She pointed to the dragon sitting on her shoulder. Enion chirped.
“A dragon?” Curiosity and interest lit up Djembe’s face.
“Can’t think of a better word for it.” Justin had no idea if the unusual creature could be a bridge between Claire and Djembe, but he hoped so.
“Mm.” Djembe sipped his coffee. “Why are you here?”
Though no Knight needed to explain their presence anywhere in the Palace, Justin did anyway. “Claire needs a sword.” Hoping to prevent what would probably become awkward silence, he tried to think of another subject to bring up. While they were here anyway, he figured he might as well see about helping Claire understand her sprite. “Have you seen Rondy around? If anyone knows about dragons, it’d be him.”
“Library. All the time, lately.” Djembe eyed Claire. Justin hoped he remembered her right hook.
“Thanks.” Justin tugged on Claire’s sleeve, urging her to move again.
By unspoken accord, they walked more briskly away from Djembe. Claire glanced back several times before speaking again.
“That was weird,” she said.
“Yes. You did fine.”
“I guess it’s okay for me to wander around here, then?”
Justin glanced back even though they’d turned a corner. He couldn’t decide if his impulse to disagree came from practicality or a desire to keep her safe at all costs. If Missy gazed up at him with her big, blue eyes and asked that question, he’d say no without hesitation. Instead, Claire’s dark eyes searched him for an answer, and he didn’t know which one to pick. He’d had no idea the adoptive father job would be this hard when he signed up for it.
“Probably. To be on the safe side, I suggest staying in a crowd when you can.”
Claire nodded, hopefully out of seeing the wisdom in his suggestion. “What’s in the library?”
“Collected wisdom and knowledge from all the Knights who’ve passed through here.”
“So it’s kinda empty then?”
He glanced at her and saw her biggest, cheesiest grin. “Funny.”
They reached a giant set of double-doors on one side of the never-ending corridor, and Justin stopped. Each had an intricate carving of a horse, head down and bursting through a stone tablet. He grabbed one of two thick, iron rings serving as handles and heaved the door open. Claire gasped, and Justin remembered how the carvings shifted as the door opened, transforming into horses standing guard over the stone pieces.
“It’s supposed to do that,” he said.
“This place is weird.”
“Yes,” Rondy said. He stood on the other side of the open door, leaning against a wooden walking stick, his shoulders slumped. Dark circles ringed his dark eyes, and even his gray dreadlocks seemed to droop. The elder Knight mustered a weary smile for both of them.
“Just the man we came to see.” Justin gave Rondy room to decide where to go and gestured for Claire to follow as they walked up the corridor again.
“I’m glad I ran into you.” Rondy’s Jamaican accent seemed heavier than usual. Justin figured he needed food and sleep. “I’ve examined all the archives relating to the subject of Claire’s locket and feel confident saying no one has ever done anything like it before. I think, though, that if I accompany her to meet with the Heart of the Palace, we can work together to take care of it. There are a few accounts of Knights accomplishing major tasks this way.”
“Are you sure you want to handle that?” Justin asked. “If you explain how, I could do it.”
Rondy patted Justin’s shoulder. “For something like this, where the stakes are high and the path uncharted, my experience will be of more help than your endurance.”
“But not until you’ve had some rest?”
“Give me a day. We’ll do it tomorrow.”
Chapter 3
Claire
The idea of being able to take her locket off made Claire’s gut flutter. On the one hand, she wanted to be free of its liability. On the other, her father had created it, and fixing this problem felt like betraying his memory. Wrapped up in her thoughts, she missed an exchange between Justin and Rondy.
Rondy put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m glad to serve as your guide for this. We apples in a sea of oranges need to stick together.” He smiled and squeezed her shoulder.
Claire opened her mouth to ask what that meant, but Rondy shook Justin’s hand and walked away. She stared after him. Justin seemed just as puzzled, so she decided Rondy needed sleep more than he thought. When Justin started walking again, she followed.
After several minutes of passing small side rooms too swiftly to get a good look inside, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“One of the enchanting rooms.”
She couldn’t decide how to respond to that, so she shrugged it off, hoping things would become clearer when they reached it. “How long is this hallway? We’ve been walking down it forever.”
“The Thoroughfare is infinite.”
They passed yet another Knight who acknowledged Justin and ignored Claire. She wanted to scream at all these men. She also wanted them to keep ignoring her. “So we actually have been walking forever.”
Justin smirked. “I’m just not putting very much effort into willing it to take us where we want to go. The Palace works on the will of the Knights. Everything here is that way. If you want a towel, you focus, and poof, you get a towel. If you want a chicken sandwich, you visualize the parts and they appear so you can assemble them. Don’t ask me how that fills your belly, because I don’t get that part. The point is, whatever you want, you can imagine it and have it, so long as it isn’t a living creature.
“The trick is, whatever you create here can’t go back to the real world with you. It’s a figment of the Palace’s imagination, so to speak. Again, I don’t understand the food. Anyway, in order to get something that’s permanent outside the Palace, you have to work for it. That’s the hard part, and why we need a specific place to do it.”
Though she heard all the words and grasped their individual meanings, Claire couldn’t quite wrap her head around the whole idea. She looke
d up at Justin, which didn’t help. He stopped, so she stopped too. They faced an open archway into a small, dark, empty stone room.
Justin walked in and beckoned her to follow. “Have a seat.”
She stepped inside and sat where he pointed, her back against the wall. “I thought we’d be banging on metal with a hammer or something.”
“Nope. That would be too simple.” He grinned and waved a hand from the top of the arch to the floor. As he did, the stone filled in the arch, and the room went pitch black. “To start, see if you can make light for the room. Think about what light looks like and demand the Palace create it for you.”
“Um, sure. Palace, gimme some light.”
“In your mind, Claire. You can say it out loud, but the important stuff will all happen inside your head. Picture the color of light you want, then apply your demand as thoughts directed at the walls, the floor, the air, or whatever else works for you. When I first started, I felt stupid thinking at the wall. But it works.”
Claire could see how Justin felt stupid doing this. She felt stupid too. If he said it worked, though, she’d try. She thought about her favorite color: green. It made things seem more alive and vibrant, and complemented the slight olive tone of her skin. The color also reminded her of Justin’s emerald cloak and his protection. He’d welcomed her into his home and taken care of her, so far.
She had no idea how to demand green from the Palace, so she just thought about how much she’d like some green light right now. In her hands, a spark of emerald light flared into existence, revealing Justin’s approving face.
“Good. Want it bigger, and it will be.”
His praise bolstered her, and the light flared to fill the space. “Hey. I did that.”
“You did.” Justin beamed as he sat across from her. “Now do the same thing, only imagine a sword in your hands. Try not to stab me with it.”
Pleased with herself, Claire straightened. She patted Enion’s head, wondering how he could stand staying so quiet and still for so long. He made a noise in his throat that sounded like purring, so she knew he hadn’t fallen asleep. Patience was apparently one of his virtues.
“A sword, right.” She nodded, then she frowned. “What should a sword look like?”
“It can look however you want. You’ll be the one using it. The basic parts are a hilt to hold onto, a guard to keep your hand safe from a corrupted Phasm’s blade, and the blade itself.”
Claire thought about Justin’s sword. He used a straight blade with a plain, no-nonsense hilt. Her father’s, as she recalled, had been more ornate, with carving along the blade and a fancy guard. As she considered what to make hers look like, she couldn’t stop questions from popping up.
“Why do we use swords? I mean, why not baseball bats or guns? Swords are kinda old school, and from the training you’ve given me so far, they’re pretty hard to use.”
“Good question.” Justin cracked his knuckles and took a deep breath. “Our entire job is to hunt corrupted Phasms and their extensions, the ur-phasms and ne-phasms. Those are their proper names. If you want, we can just call them ghosts or spirits, because that’s close enough to what they are. In the simplest terms, a Phasm is an echo of a dead person, making it look, act, and think like the person did in real life. You know that from facing your father’s Phasm.
“Normal weapons can’t harm them. If you take an ordinary baseball bat into a Phasm’s demesne, you might be able to annoy it if your will is strong enough, but you won’t be able to destroy it without the power of the Palace backing you up. That only comes in the form of a weapon forged here. You could use a baseball bat forged here. Or a crowbar, a two-by-four with nails in it, or whatever else strikes your fancy. Guns are harder to use because the bullet is the part that needs to destroy the spirit. Once you see the hassle you have to go through to make things permanent here, you’ll understand that one.
“We all use swords for a few reasons. One is tradition. The original Knights all used swords. Until only a few hundred years ago, swords were the best option available for personal defense. No one questioned a man carrying a blade, and it often served him well in many aspects of his life. Nowadays, there’s no good reason to switch, because we can just pass it off as a costume or ceremonial thing.
“The second reason is practicality in slaying spirits. You really do have to cut them up to destroy them. A whack with a blunt object will slow them down, but it’s got to be slicing for the kill. And as to why we learn to fight with them properly, that’s because the corrupted Phasms were all once Knights. They know how to swordfight, so we keep learning how to do it.”
Claire almost gaped at him. Justin had never used so many words explaining a single concept before. She’d gotten the impression he barely knew anything about the whys of Spirit Knights. “Oh. Okay. That’s a pretty good reason.”
“I thought so.”
“Right. So, a sword for me.” Though she pictured a basic sword, it felt wrong in her head.
“Sleepy,” Enion said around a yawn. He walked up her shoulder, his tiny claws pressing through her shirt without breaking her skin, and draped himself around her neck. Though his legs, head, and tail dangled, his wings lay flat against his back.
He’d reminded Claire she had a dragon for a sprite. That made her unique, and her blade ought to reflect it. She closed her eyes and thought about the shape of Enion’s wings, teeth, and claws. The parts whirled in her head until they clicked together. She pictured a flat, silvery blade with the curve of a tooth. Wings flared at the base of the blade to guard her hand. Echoing a claw, the hilt curved and ended in a sharp point.
“That’s…different.”
Claire’s hand grasped something cold and she opened her eyes. She held a blade exactly like the one she’d pictured, except for one minor detail. The blade extended only twelve inches from the guard.
She slumped and sighed. “I screwed up.”
“Well, no. You created a blade that’s uniquely suited to you.” Justin scratched his cheek. “Actually, it makes a lot of sense for the Palace to consider a dagger more appropriate for you than a sword. You’re smaller and don’t have the same build as a guy like me. Daggers are lighter, and better for someone whose strength is more about surprise and agility. Like you. A sucker punch to the face is your style, and this will help you follow that up.”
“I guess. You’ve been teaching me to fight with a sword, though.”
“Yes, well.” Justin gave her a sour smirk. “I’m afraid I have to admit I’m not perfect.”
Claire snorted. “How could you say that? It’s like telling me there’s no Santa Claus.”
“Laugh it up, because the next part is no fun at all.” He reached out and tousled her dark hair.
Having seen him do the same thing to his little girls, the gesture chafed at the same time it warmed Claire’s heart. Being loved as a member of the family meant everything. They could work on the part where he sometimes saw her as a child later.
“Next,” Justin said, “you have to convince the Palace you deserve this item to help you carry out your duties as a Spirit Knight.”
“Uh?”
“Close your eyes. That same kind of demand you used to summon the light? Direct that at the desire to keep the blade with you at all times.”
Claire frowned at the blade. “But I want a sword.”
“Spend the next two years weightlifting and training, then come back and get a sword. You’re not binding your soul to this dagger for eternity. It’s not the same as your locket.”
“Fine.” She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Her job required a weapon, and she had a dagger. From the sound of things, trying to make something different now would be more trouble than it was worth. As Justin had instructed, she focused her thoughts on a demand for the dagger to be made permanent.
Chapter 4
Claire
Claire felt like someone reached through her body to grab her spine and yank her sideways. She snapped her eye
s open to find herself sitting on a rocky outcropping, her legs dangling over the edge. No sun hung in the pale blue-gray sky, yet light glared down on her, throwing sharp, jagged shadows. She leaned forward and saw nothing but vague beige between her combat boots. The rock curved away, leaving her perched on an unsupported finger.
She scrambled back without getting to her feet and bumped into something solid. With a gulp, she turned to see a man’s feet in leather sandals, his skin tone matching her own. Blood red metal sleeves reminiscent of soccer shin guards covered his lower legs and knees, the surface swirling with an eerie crimson glow. Her gaze traveled up his thick, heavily-muscled thighs to the golden hem of his blazing white tunic. Strips of more disturbingly red metal formed a breastplate covering his broad chest. He cradled a helm of the same metal under one arm.
Beside him stood the largest horse Claire had ever seen. The huge beast’s coat, mane, and tail gleamed so white her eyes watered and she had to look away.
“Um, hi. Sorry to disturb you.”
Emotions flickered over his face too quickly for her to grasp. She thought she saw recognition before he settled into anger. He gripped the hilt of the blood red sword hanging from his golden belt, his knuckles turning white. “How did you get in here, Iulia? By what mad witchcraft have you bound a dragon to your service?” His jawline reminded her of her father, as did his eyes.
Claire blanched. Djembe had accused her of witchcraft. She raised her hands in the hopes he would give her a chance to explain. The dagger probably didn’t help, but she had no intention of letting it leave her possession. “My name is Claire, not Iulia.”
The man raised an eyebrow and sneered. “Yet you wear her guise.”
“I’m not pretending to be her, if that’s what you mean. This is just what I look like. I’m sorry if I remind you of someone else.”
The man crossed his arms, the fingers of one hand brushing the hilt of his blade. “I’ll not be taken in by your wiles again, woman.”
