by Adam Wallace
Don’t feel too sorry for him though. From the age of twelve, Rayon was trained by the best archers in the land; from the age of fourteen he received training in, well, basically anything he wanted with the best in that particular field. At the age of sixteen, Rayon was sent off to experience other cultures. He travelled for a year in all, fully paid for by his parents. So along with having to, as many saw it, lower himself to work with peasants, he got to see the good side of life as well.
At twenty-nine, Rayon received notice that King Cyril the Unloved had perished and that he, Rayon, was to become King. This was a shock as, although his parents knew he was in line to become King, they had forgotten to pass on this fairly important information to Rayon. They hadn’t told him why he had been sent off to have all these adventures. They had just said that it would be good experience for when he was older.
He had believed them, and why wouldn’t he? He was actually glad he hadn’t known about the king stuff, because it could have gone to his head. As it was, when the call came he was ready, fully grounded in who he was and confident in his abilities to do anything. Which was lucky, because he had to lead a country as their king!
Rayon sighed and sat on the royal toilet, the news of the day in his hand. He knew he would see sons of noblemen today, but he hoped they had some spark. He hoped there was more to them than the families they had been born into. He also hoped against hope that some of the poorer young men would not be put off by the odds that were against them, and would proudly come forth. With that thought he opened the news of the day, began to read, and began to empty the royal bowels.
elow the ground, a stirring. Movement. Worms slithered away from their morning meal. Bugs scuttled through the corridors within the dirt. And bones moved. Fingers twitched. Shoulders shrugged. Pieces of flesh and skin quivered, hanging loosely from half-eaten muscles. Hundreds of years would normally be enough to decompose an ordinary human body, but these were no ordinary humans. These were the knights Arlyle Motain had ordained as the Wilderene Flower’s saviours and protectors.
From above the ground, if anyone had been there, nothing would have seemed unusual. Everything was as it should be. A cemetery with the usual stuff: headstones, graves, tombs, crows, rats, mice.
From twelve of the graves though, quiet but definitely there, sounds could be heard … if there had been anyone there to hear them. Groans from beings awakened after many centuries. The sound of dirt being displaced.
A tree also fell in the woods, but that’s beside the point.
Suddenly a bony hand thrust its way through the surface, flinching and returning underground at the feel of fresh air after so many years. It slowly resurfaced again, hesitated, and then with dirt flying everywhere rose high above the ground, followed by the entire body of a knight, long dead yet still alive!
Unfortunately, this first zombie knight did things a little too quickly, and in bursting through the surface its body wasn’t able to handle the forces and fell apart, bits flopping left, right and centre.
The head rolled to a stop at the base of the headstone. The zombie knight rolled his eyes in frustration, picked them up, put them back into their sockets, and started to reassemble.
A hand, with arm attached, started to scramble towards a shoulder.
Legs stood up, stretched, and then walked of their own accord over to hips that they attached themselves to.
The head, with some effort, rolled over and joined the neck and shoulders at the end of the mound of dirt that had been home for so long.
The knight stood, rolling his head around to loosen up. He looked down at his body. It wasn’t too bad. Well, you know, one eye was loose in the socket, most of his skin was only staying on him because he had been buried in his armour, he was rotting badly, and his left arm was trying to climb a tree. He sighed and walked over to it, his movements rusty and out of practice. The arm struggled for a bit, holding onto a branch, but being right-handed meant the strength was with the nearly fully-formed knight, and eventually his left arm was attached and he was whole (sort of) again.
The knight stretched his arms high, gently so they stayed attached, and wondered what forces of magic had returned him to a living (sort of) state. He looked around. The visor on his helmet fell down and knocked off his nose. He took the helmet off and bent down to pick up the nose, but in doing so his entire upper body fell off at the hips. He rolled his eyes again, picked them up, and reattached himself to himself. This was going to take some time.
He walked over to the tree his left arm had been so fond of, sat down, leaned back against the trunk and waited. He knew he could not be the only one.
Pete McGee was rapt. Even with the money coming in from Marloynne, Ashlyn and his mum, he knew there wasn’t a fortune to go around. This meant that the presents he received had even more meaning.
From Ashlyn, he got his very own tiger eye crystal. She had handed him her own at the start of his previous quest. It had given him great courage and comfort, and had also been crucial in snapping Marloynne out of the spell he had been under.
From his mum, there was a hug and a new jacket she had made him. His old one had seen better days, and the new one was for him and him alone. It only had one sleeve, so he didn’t need to worry about tucking the spare sleeve away, or having it hang loose for people to stare at.
It also had extra pockets, inside and out, to place his new crystal in, as well as the note from his mum that he carried everywhere. A hood, a zipper, and Pete was rapt! Of course, being a mum, Mrs McGee had also written his name on the label in case he lost his jacket. That was a little bit dorky, but Pete didn’t mind too much.
From Marloynne, fourteen birthday punches.
‘That is the worst birthday present ever,’ Pete said, rubbing his arm. ‘You didn’t even say happy birthday after you did them.’
Marloynne laughed and went outside to feed the pigs. Pete sadly watched him go. He had become great friends with Marloynne, and looked on him as an older brother … which probably explained the punches and no present. Pete shrugged and tried to ignore his disappointment. His mum squeezed his shoulder.
‘Boys will be boys, Pete. Don’t worry, Marloynne thinks the world of you. Maybe if you go and help him feed the pigs, do normal activities, it will take your mind off things. And besides, your special birthday meal will be waiting for you when you return from the castle.’
Pete nodded and headed outside but didn’t feel any better. Maybe he could do normal things, but he didn’t want to. This wasn’t a normal day! This was the day he turned fourteen and had to go to the castle and apply to become a OH MY GOD!
He stopped walking and stood with his mouth hanging open in shock. A fly flew in and he didn’t even flinch, he just kept staring. There, standing by the pigs, in the spare pen that never had any animals in it, was Marloynne. Okay, so that wasn’t so amazing, but it was what Marloynne was standing next to that was impressive.
It was a horse!
A young colt, skinny like Pete, but also starting to fill out, the muscles defined amongst the skin and bones. It lifted its front legs into the air, shook its head and whinnied, forcing Marloynne to grip the reins tighter, speaking to the horse softly.
Pete kept on staring, hoping against hope that the horse was what he thought it was (not that Pete’s stupid or anything. He wouldn’t look at a horse and think, ‘Oh man, I hope that’s a horse.’ He was hoping against hope that the horse was meant for him, that it was his birthday present from Marloynne).
Marloynne laughed out loud at Pete staring, not moving.
‘Get over here, rat-brain!’ he cried out. ‘A present is no use to its giver. Come and say hello.’
Pete wandered over, his mouth still hanging open. The fly flew out, a little damp. Pete looked back at the house and saw his mother and Ashlyn standing at the door with huge grins on their faces. He smiled, still in a daze, and went inside the pen, locking the gate behind him. Almost instantly the horse calmed down and stared at hi
m. Pete stared back, wary about walking over in case the horse disappeared or something.
Marloynne loosened his grip and the horse trotted towards Pete, who stood his ground. The horse stopped just short, then leaned in and sniffed. It let its breath out in a snort, right into Pete’s face, who gagged on it, laughing. The horse whinnied, sounding as though it was laughing too. Pete reached out his hand and the horse sniffed it, before letting Pete stroke him. There was a white streak of fur up the horse’s nose which looked just like a lightning bolt. Aside from that he was brown, and not that wussy light brown like those show ponies either, but a deep brown that said, ‘Do not mess with me, my friend.’
Pete smiled, braver now, and moved closer. He ran his hand over the horse’s body, feeling the muscles, feeling the curves and the strength in the slightly built body. A hand clapped him on the back.
‘Well?’ Marloynne asked impatiently. ‘What do you think?’
Pete looked at him, trying his hardest to avoid crying.
‘It is amazing,’ he said softly. ‘Is it really mine?’
‘What? No,’ Marloynne said. ‘Oh wow, no, I am so sorry. The horse is to carry goods for your mum and Ashlyn. I don’t like seeing them carrying all those heavy things.’
He tried to keep a straight face but burst out laughing at Pete’s reaction, the boy’s face dropping, looking as though it might melt with disappointment.
‘Of course it’s for you!’ Marloynne cried. ‘What good is a knight without a trusty steed?’
Pete breathed out a sigh of relief and the horse imitated him, snorting, making everyone laugh. Pete hugged his arm tightly around Marloynne.
‘This is the best!’ he said. ‘How did you how did you how did you?’
Marloynne laughed again.
‘I’ve been saving up for a while now. Ashlyn and I wanted to thank you for bringing us back together, and nothing we thought of seemed right. Except this,’ he said, stroking the horse. ‘When I was accepted back to the castle, I told the King that I would only accept the job if he could promise there would be a horse I could buy at the end of six months’ service.
I said to him, “Look here, King man, if you don’t give me what I want, well, you don’t get my skills” … or something like that anyway. It wasn’t exactly that, but there was no begging or anything … well, maybe a little, but I was strong when I begged, I didn’t get down on my knees … just one knee, but that was only because … ’
Pete cut him off with a punch to the arm.
‘Shut up and let me enjoy my horse,’ he said.
Marloynne nodded and looked over at Ashlyn, who walked over with Mrs McGee. They stood outside the pen, leaning on the fence.
‘There is one other present we have for you Pete,’ Ashlyn said. ‘It’s not actually a present, but more a question.’
Pete had no idea what she was talking about.
‘Marloynne has asked me to marry him,’ Ashlyn said. ‘I accepted, of course, and we are to be wed. We haven’t set a date yet, but we would like you to be our best man.’
‘He’s only fourteen,’ Marloynne cut in. ‘Can we really call him a man? Maybe best almost-man is better.’
Ashlyn stopped his teasing with a glare, and then she looked at Pete.
‘Well, Pete? What do you think?’
Pete leapt up and punched the air, whooping with delight.
‘WOOO! THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER! YOU’RE GETTING MARRIED? SO AWESOME! OF COURSE I’LL BE YOUR BEST MAN! YOU HEAR THAT, NEW HORSE? I AM THE BEST MAN!’
With that he started running around the pen, whooping again. His horse followed him, jumping and prancing and trying to punch the air, but it’s hard when you’re a horse and you’re running and prancing. The others watched and laughed, except for Marloynne, who ran out of the pen to avoid being run over by the crazy kid and his crazy horse.
he first zombie knight continued to sit against the tree. He had been known, in his first journey on this earth, as Sir Charge. He had not been a good knight, although he had acted the part for the benefits it provided. But his heart had not been pure and nobility had not sat with him comfortably.
He watched as more bones and rotting flesh started to poke through the earth. He wondered how many there would be, and why they had been chosen. He also wondered if he would recognise any of the other knights. Even if they had been from his time, they would be in various states of decay.
He himself felt unrecognisable, what with the protruding bones, the rotting flesh, the eyes that bobbled around in his head, the smell … actually, the smell was pretty similar. Baths hadn’t been very popular back in the day.
Sir Charge rubbed his chin and almost lost his head. Literally. He had died when a sword had slashed his neck, partially severing his head. He pulled it down lower, his head that is, to try and stick it on a little better. The head wobbled but was somewhat more secure than it had been. He would have to be careful of that.
He wondered anew how many others would rise, and how they had died. They would be of little use to him unless they were fully functional. He presumed they had been restored to the world for some purpose, but that did not bother him greatly. He had tired of acting the good knight, and he didn’t believe that he would have to do it in the state he was in. If anything, he assumed being undead gave him licence to do as he pleased.
Another body burst through the surface. That was the tenth one, including himself. Sir Charge smiled, rotten teeth showing through black, shredded gums. This would be a fine order indeed.
Pete finished playing with the horse. He still had to think up a name for it, but nothing had come to mind just yet. He thought maybe he would wait and see what its personality was like first. For now, Horsey Horse Horse would have to do.
He gave Horsey Horse Horse an apple to chew on and raced inside. The sun was high in the sky, and Pete knew he had to get to the castle by midday or he would be too late.
He did not want to be too late.
In his room he slipped on the new jacket from his mum, and into the right inside pocket he slipped his most prized possessions: the tiger eye crystal from Ashlyn and the note from his mum. He squeezed the crystal before sliding it into the pocket, and then he read the note his mum had given him seven years earlier. He read it less these days, partly because he knew it word for word, and partly because he was getting older, and as you get older you tend to do those sorts of things less and less. But he read it now.
You are Sir Pete McGee, a brave and noble man, slayer of monsters and righter of wrongs. You are strong in many ways. Believe in yourself and the world will see just how great a man with one arm can be.
Pete folded the note and placed it carefully into his jacket pocket. The paper was becoming worn, the ink fading, but it meant more to Pete than anything. He patted it, then took his dagger and slid that into the holster attached to his belt, slung his pack over his shoulder, and he was ready. After hugs, handshakes, and cries of good luck, Pete left his family and went over to Horsey Horse Horse.
‘What am I going to call you?’ he thought out loud. The horse whinnied and snorted hot air onto Pete’s face. Stinky Breath? No, that was no name for a knight’s noble steed. Pete smiled. He stroked his new pet’s nose and then it was time to go. It was time to make his dream a reality. He was going to be a knight!
Eleven knights. Sir Charge looked at them all. They had pulled themselves together and were slowly gathering their bearings. It was odd. He did recognise them. Every single one. But it was odd. They were all from the Order of Starry, Starry Knights. He himself had not been of that order, or of any order in fact. He had been more of a freelance knight. He didn’t particularly mind that, although it would have been nice to have been asked to join an order at least once.
Sir Charge shook his head to bring his thoughts back to the present day. After making sure it was back on tight, he set about analysing his fellow zombie knights. What was odd was this:
(a) He was the only zombie knight that was not of
the Order of Starry, Starry Knights.
(b) Their leader, Sir Pass, was not there.
This confused Sir Charge. They had been resurrected for a reason, of that much he was sure. In that case, Sir Pass would have been the first one to be resurrected. Surely. He was the bravest of the brave; the strongest of the strong; the tallest of the tall; the noblest of the noble; and the least stinky of the stinky. And, to be honest, although the rest of the order were brave and noble and blah blah blah, they weren’t all that bright. Sir Pass was though, and he had been able to use that intelligence to lead the others to greatness.
So why, Sir Charge thought, why me and not him? The reason they had been brought back may provide a clue. Or perhaps, the thought struck him, just perhaps someone realised that he, Sir Charge, was actually smarter and, well, none of the other things like brave and noble and nice-smelling, but maybe whoever did this thought he was smarter than Sir Pass and therefore better suited to leading the order.
Sir Charge smiled to himself. Yes. That was definitely it.
‘Sir Charge? Why for art we here? And where, pray tell, is Sir Pass? I must say, I do feel a little shocked at what has become of us.’
Sir Charge looked up and saw Sir Pryse standing above him. Sir Charge stood gingerly, still getting used to his new state.
‘I do not know, Sir Pryse. This I can honestly say. Do any of us truly know why we are here?’
