The Forever Knight

by John Marco

  The clouds had blacked out the moon entirely. The streets of Isowon and the horizon beyond slept in utter darkness. There was no way another man could have kept up with me. But my horse didn’t hesitate, trusting my sure hand and the magical vision Malator provided my one good eye. Luckily the rain had stopped, and as I thundered through the streets a plume of water jetted up behind me, soaking the back of my shirt. My hunger, my weariness-both had fled, replaced by the most ghastly thoughts. Cricket was almost a full day’s ride ahead of me, heading north toward Akyre, where girls were scarcer than diamonds. And Wrestler was out there, too. By now he’d be long gone from the canyon, I suspected, and probably asleep somewhere. The odds of his finding Cricket were powerfully slim. I hoped.

  So I rode fast and hard, taking only the breaks my horse really needed and following the scribbled map past all the hastily jotted landmarks. Sky Falls, it turned out, was near Akyre’s border with Kasse, which made sense since Cricket had seen the Falls before. But it was a no man’s land, an oasis in a blighted hellhole. I tried not to think of Cricket being captured by bandits or slavers. I did my best to bury the guilt. I’d broken my promise to take her to the Falls. I should have seen how fragile she was, but I never supposed she’d ride off alone.

  Guts. That’s the word that made me smile. She was as brave as any man, braver than any of Fallon’s mercs. She deserved better from life.

  I rode and rode, pushing my horse miles too far, letting him rest only minutes at a time. He wouldn’t make it back alive, I knew; you couldn’t ride a horse that hard without killing it. I patted the beast’s neck and whispered in its ear, encouraging it, challenging it to go faster. Its stout heart answered, and by dawn we were more than halfway to Sky Falls. That’s when I saw the camp.

  The flatlands of the Bitter Kingdoms had one good aspect-I could see for miles ahead of me, even in the dark. As dawn approached I caught a glimpse of fires smoldering in the distance. With no one on the road to discover me, I turned my horse toward the camp and saw the green flags of Akyre waving in the blackness. A company of soldiers had bedded for the night. I counted up the tents and horses as best I could. Maybe two hundred soldiers, making ready for their southward march. I couldn’t tell if they were legionnaires or just unlucky conscripts, but I knew Diriel was keeping his promise. Our seven days were running out.

  I continued north, taking the long way around the camp, getting as much distance as I could from it before sun-up, and when the sun finally rose, the sky was clear again. My desperate horse brayed for water. I emptied my water skin into his mouth, then tossed the skin aside.

  “Make it,” I pleaded, rubbing his muzzle. “Not for me. For Cricket.”

  My own thirst hardly mattered. Soon we’d reach the river. I’d let the horse rest there, I promised him. But first we had to get there.

  * * *

  The river drawn on my map was part of the same waterway that led south to Isowon. It was also the same water that bisected Akyre and Kasse, and had sparked the genocidal feud between them. The river started way up in the mountains south of Norvor, an impenetrable range of peaks that never lost their snowy caps, not even in summer. The mountains were called the Quarrels, and had been inked on my map as a big black line, a clear indication that there was no going further. The Quarrels had kept the wars of the Bitter Kingdoms isolated from the rest of the continent, so that Norvor and Liiria and Reec could have their own wars.

  By the time we made it to the nameless river my horse was near collapse. I could barely feel my tongue. I plunged my head into the water, drinking all my stomach could hold, letting the barb slake its thirst next to me. He was breathing hard, his black coat lathered. His brown eye watched me as we drank beside each other. I knelt down near him on the muddy shore and pulled the map from my pocket.

  “Here,” I showed him. I traced the river with my finger. “That’s where we are.” Then I moved upward to where the Falls were drawn. “And that’s where we’re going. Sky Falls. Just a little farther. You can do it. You can.”

  I’d spent my life around horses. In Liiria, as a Royal Charger, I’d seen all manner of horses, but this one was special. I’d ridden him hard through the blackest of nights, then all morning through scrub land. I’d starved him of food and rest and jabbed my heels in his flanks just to get more speed, and still he was upright. His eye blinked at me but didn’t look away.

  “You’re a marvel,” I told him. “If there’s a heaven for horses, that’s where you’ll go.”

  I started to think he might not die at all. I reached out and scratched the side of his neck. But I didn’t want to love him.

  “Don’t be my friend,” I warned. I glanced down at my sword. “I’m only allowed one, it seems.”

  Malator had been almost completely quiet the entire journey. I didn’t know if he was afraid for Cricket or just staying out of my way. His mood was difficult to read. Why was he so distant? Instead of summoning him I studied the map. The man who’d drawn it-a Marnan named Pellin-said Sky Falls was part of a fork in the river, one of many I’d encountered so far. I was to look for a group of black rock hills surrounded by a forest, but that didn’t help much either. From the way he’d drawn the map I couldn’t really tell how close I was, or where the border with Kasse began. For all I knew I had already crossed it.

  I folded the map and looked up river. To me, all the hills looked black. A patchwork of trees sprouted from the landscape. I was about to mount up when a flash of movement caught my eye. I stiffened, listened, and watched as an animal emerged from behind a ten-foot rock. A small horse, without a rider. Just a pony, really.

  I should have recognized it instantly but for some reason just stared. That’s how it is when you see something out of place. When the truth finally hit me, I froze.

  The pony knew me at once. The empty saddle where Cricket once rode hung lopsided on its back. Slowly it trotted toward me.

  “Cricket!” I called, running past her horse, hoping she was just beyond the rock. But when I rounded it all I saw was the river. “Cricket!” I shouted, again and again, walking in circles and looking for clues. I went to the pony and asked in a panic, “Where is she?”

  It just looked at me stupidly.

  “Malator! Where’s Cricket?”

  Malator kept his distance. I knew he wanted to answer me, but in my mind he shook his head. Ride, Lukien, he said.

  “Why?” I pressed. “Do you see her?”

  You are close to so many things, he replied. Don’t ask me. Go.

  I had no time for riddles and resented Malator for speaking them. “Sorry, boy,” I told my horse as I climbed into the saddle. “This time we don’t stop until we find her.”

  There was nothing I could do for the pony. It was too small for me to ride and bringing it would only have slowed me down. Maybe it would find its way to Isowon, or maybe a friendly farmer would find it. I gave it one last look, then wheeled my stallion northward and galloped away. I forswore the map, riding by instinct alone, frantically searching the land as it passed me. My mind was a blur, every bit of me focused on finding Sky Falls. But maybe she hadn’t made it there. Or maybe the pony had wandered for hours, stranding her somewhere far from the Falls. I called out for her as I rode, afraid that someone else might hear me. But now it didn’t matter-I was ready to kill anyone who tried to stop me.

  I rode that horse through the mud and rocks of the riverbank, giving no concern at all for the brave beast. He might have easily snapped a leg or lost his footing on the slimy shore, but I drove him cruelly, uncaringly, thinking only of Cricket. The dark thoughts that had plagued me all day were freed, filling my head with the worst of predictions. By the time I sighted the black hills, the barb was frothing. I could feel his heart pumping wildly in his breast, about to burst. The guilt of one more dead horse overwhelmed me.

  “Enough!”

  I reined back, cursing. White foam dripped from his mouth. I leaned forward, rubbing his neck.

  “Enough. .”<
br />
  Ahead of me lay the hills. Maybe Cricket, too. But I couldn’t kill the noble barb, not even for her. I looked up river, following the ribbon toward the forested hills. If there was a fork ahead, it was hidden in trees. Gently I nudged the horse forward, calling out for again for Cricket. Birds shot out of the branches, but no one answered.

  I knew she was there, though. I could feel her.

  The horse caught its breath as we entered the woods. The river moved more quickly now, running with an easy music. High branches filled with colored leaves shaded me. The harshness of the world fell away, and suddenly I was in a different place, a green cathedral of flowers and jumping fish. Trees sprouted from the rocky faces of the hills and dragonflies buzzed the shore. I gazed around, sheltered by the trees that held me like motherly arms. I jumped down from my horse, onto the pebbly bank. That’s when I heard the Falls.

  The sound was quiet at first; I had to cock my head to hear it. I left the horse behind and followed the sound until it was unmistakable. It grew into a rumble, like the growl of a dog, and suddenly I was running, hurrying toward it. I saw the fork where the river split, breaking west against the ancient rocks, then looked up into the stepped hills where the river tumbled down, falling and rolling over itself and crashing into foam.

  I stopped. I think I even gasped. It must have been forty feet tall and the sun was right behind it, tossing rainbows into the spray. Birds nested in the moss-covered cliffs. I could hear their young chirping over the noise. The fallen water spread out into a lake, flooding the valley it had carved from the hills. Suddenly I realized why Cricket had remembered this place so vividly. In the midst of desolation, Sky Falls was a paradise.

  “Cricket!” I shouted. “It’s me-Lukien!”

  If she could hear me, I couldn’t tell over the din. I moved carefully toward the distant falls, studying the ground for clues, anything at all that might tell me if she’d been here. Amid the sheer hills there seemed a hundred places to hide, but when I saw hoof prints in the soft earth I knew I wasn’t alone. They looked like the prints Cricket’s pony might make, small and coming to a stop near the end of the river. I tracked them backwards to where they disappeared into the woods. That’s when I noticed the other prints-dozens of them, deep impressions made by big horses with heavy riders. I discovered them yards from where I’d seen the pony’s prints. Following them took me to the first real footprints. Human prints.

  I stared down at them, not wanting to believe it. The prints weren’t made by Cricket. Only a man could have made them. I shut my eye tight as sickness writhed inside me.

  “Malator,” I moaned. “Where is she?”

  Look.

  He directed my gaze toward the other side of the river, not far from where the water tumbled from its cliff. There, like a flag on a stick, hung the rass skin cape I’d made for Cricket, draped atop a branch plunged into the ground. I splashed toward it, fording the water up to my waist and calling out for her, shouting over the roar of the falls. I forged up the opposite shore, searching frantically as I snatched the cape from the stick. There was no blood on it; it wasn’t even torn.

  “Cricket! Where are you?”

  A feeble voice answered from behind a rocky outcropping. First her hands, then her face crawled into view. She was almost unrecognizable from the bruises puffing her eyes. I dropped the cape and ran to her, saw her lying broken in the sand, her bare feet pushing to reach me. Her clothes had been ripped open, top and bottom, and her wrists were bound and bloodied, tied with rope. Dried blood crusted her broken lips. A patch of blood soaked the right side of her head. Not far away sat the stone used to crack her skull.

  I sank down next to her and tried to keep the horror from my face. I had never in my life seen a person so brutalized. A girl! She looked at me and tried to talk. I put my hand to her cheek.

  “Don’t,” I told her. I lowered my face to hers. “Don’t move or say anything.”

  Cricket broke into sobs. “He found me, Lukien.”

  At first I thought she was the one who’d made the flag, but seeing her made me realize that was impossible. He’d stuck the cape there. He’d done it so I’d find her, so I’d see her like this. I slipped my hands beneath her battered body. She cried out as I cradled her. I could feel the lumps on her skin and the pulpy contusions through her tattered clothing. She felt cold but didn’t shiver. Her dark eyes-swollen to slits-smiled at me.

  “Did you get the monster?” she gurgled.

  I shook my head. I pulled her feather-light body against my own. “No. I tried, Cricket, but I couldn’t.”

  She strained to talk, coughed up a bubble of blood, then pointed to the water. “Take me there.”

  “In the water?”

  She nodded, clutching me with her broken arms. Her request made no sense to me. Then I realized she’d been trying to reach the water all along. Carefully I stood up and carried her down the river bank and into the water, going deeper until I was up to my waist again. She let go her arms and floated there, looking up at Sky Falls with my hands beneath her back. A sigh of enormous pleasure peeled from her lips. Her body went limp in my palms.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, struggling. “I failed.”

  “No. .” Her fingers curled around my shirt. “I remember.”

  Gently I lifted her dripping head from the water. Her dark hair spread out like ink on the surface. “Cricket? You remember?”

  “Not Cricket,” she said. “Lisea.”

  “Lisea.” I cooed the name like she was a baby. “Your name is Lisea.”

  She gave a little nod. “Cricket was my sister.”

  That made me freeze. She locked eyes on me and wouldn’t look away. Her newfound memories made her battered face slacken. She was waiting to unburden herself, and like a priest I gave her leave.

  “Go on.”

  “Don’t take me to shore. Keep me here in the water.”

  “I will, Lisea.”

  Her breath came in bursts. “Cricket drowned here,” she said. “My father sent us here. To hide us.”

  I held her as still as I could. “All right,” I whispered. “It’s all right.”

  “I was the protector that time, Lukien.” She laughed, then started to cry. “We ran. I couldn’t save her. .”

  She started shaking. A line of red saliva trickled from the corner of her mouth. I didn’t know if she and her sister had run from the war, or who her father was, or. .

  “She was just a baby!” Cricket wailed. “And I. . I. . I. . dropped. . her!”

  Then she screamed so loud it nearly drowned out the waterfall. Her hands curled into claws and her whole body stiffened, and there was nothing I could do to stop her enormous grief. Suddenly I was screaming too, cursing the Fate and the Akari and all creation. Cricket-Lisea-was dying. It might have been merciful, but I couldn’t bear it.

  “Malator!” I cried. “Help her!”

  My sword vibrated with his sorrow. I felt him inside me, watching Cricket through my own sight.

  I cannot.

  “You can! Do it! I command it!”

  No.

  “You black-hearted jackal. .”

  She’s dying, Lukien. Don’t let your curses be the last thing she hears.

  In my arms Cricket went on screaming, her whole body a spasm of pain. I lifted her out of the water completely and hugged her to my breast. I put her wet head to my lips and spoke softly in her ear.

  “I love you, Lisea,” I said. “I love you, and you’re going to a better place.”

  She stopped her cries. She held her breath. Her muscles tightened, and she rubbed against my cheek, the only reply she could marshal. I could feel her heart struggling inside her, beating wildly and weakly, losing its battle. Her hair smelled young and girlish. I kissed her, I rocked her, I did the only things I knew to do. Her last breath came in a rush, pushing past her lips to warm my face.

  And then she was gone.

  I held on to her for long minutes, standing with her in the
river with the spray and roar of the Falls all around me. Malator hovered somewhere in the distance. A fish brushed past my leg. I waited, and when the anguish came I crushed it down, deep down. I had work to do first. So I waded to shore with Cricket in my arms and looked for a place to bury her.

  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.