by Adam Wallace
‘Yo Dude, verily I do.’
That was Sir Fing. Sir Charge rubbed his temples, small flakes of skin dropping off as he did so. Sir Fing always spoke in a manner different to the rest of the knights, and was extremely casual about everything.
‘Truly, Sir Fing?’ Sir Charge asked, one eyebrow raised. ‘Doth thou truly know of our condition?’
Sir Fing nodded and walked over, his left leg dragging along the ground.
‘’Tis seriously truthful, fellow knight dude. I, and I alone, saw that gnarly Warlock Arlyle Motain slip a little potion with true sneakiness into our drinks. ’Twas at the King’s feast to celebrate all knights of the realm.’
The other zombie knights gathered around to listen. The stench was truly unforgettable. They all ahhh-yessed as they remembered the luncheon Sir Fing spoke of.
‘But what of Sir Pass?’ asked Sir Pryse. ‘Why for did he not return with us? ’Tis shocking to me.’
The others murmured their agreement. Sir Fing ran his hands through his hair. (It wasn’t actually his hair though. He didn’t have a helmet on, but he also didn’t have any hair. He actually ran his hands through some worms that were snacking on what flesh was left on his skull.)
‘Yo Dude, ’tis a tricky question, and I do not know the answer. I do know we are here for one reason, and one reason only. I confronted Motain and demanded I be told what he had just done. He did tell me, and then swore me to secrecy until we arose. Which is, like, now.
We must retrieve a flower that Motain created. It holds gnarly magic. Then we must return it to the great oak, replant it, and protect it forever more. Wooooaaaahhh.’
The Order of Starry, Starry Knights stood as tall as they were able. They had been given a mission. An honourable mission at that. It was truly a great reason to be undead.
Sir Charge, however, was thinking. He too remembered that luncheon, and he well remembered swapping his drink with Sir Pass’s. It was an easy enough ruse.
‘Gadzooks, look over there,’ he had cried, and when Sir Pass looked, the drinks were swapped. The trick had only been performed because Sir Pass had raspberry ale, and Sir Charge loved raspberry ale.
But that drink had obviously had more benefits than tasty deliciousness. It had granted Sir Charge the opportunity to rise from the dead, and to inflict his kind of power upon the world. It had given him the opportunity to lead an order of knights. The rotting teeth flashed dully again. They would get the flower. Leading the knights on this mission was exactly what he was going to do.
ete arrived at the castle totally out of breath. He had his pack slung over his shoulder but it dropped to the ground as he skidded to a halt and bent over, hand on his knee, catching his breath in gasps. Fitness was obviously a priority. When he finally felt ready and able, he stood up straight and squeezed his side where there was still a slight stitch. He picked up his pack and walked up to the main gates. A sign hung on the door.
Pete smiled. This was the place. He knocked on the gates and was let in by the guards. They stared at his missing arm and Pete saw that they held back their laughter. He mentally shrugged. He didn’t care. He was used to that.
He walked through the corridors of the castle until he arrived in one of the smaller halls. The King was not there, but already present were at least thirty fourteen-year-old boys including, Pete was dismayed to see, Larson Smithers. What was he even doing there? He was fifteen and already a trainee knight.
Smithers was a bully, and he took any opportunity he could to pick on Pete. It was generally just name-calling and things about Pete only having one arm, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant.
Smithers was also one of those born-into-money, carved-out-of-rock-looking-type people, all muscle and height and silky, brushed-back hair. He turned just as Pete walked in. It was like he had a radar or something.
‘Hey look,’ he said to his friend, loud enough for all those around him to hear. ‘I do believe it is the one-armed wonder. Why are you even here, McGee? You have to be born into nobility to even apply.’
The others laughed, although Pete didn’t think it was that funny. He already had a comeback planned.
‘I thought the sign said “pure of heart”, Smithers. Why are you here? And anyway, you’ve been training for a year. What? Did you fail and get kept down?’
‘Ooooooooooooooooooooh,’ the other boys ooooooooooooooohed. Smithers’ face turned dark.
‘You’ll pay for that,’ he said, ‘I don’t need to be here, but I volunteered to help because I’m such a nice guy … well, that and the fact that I want to see you fail.’
He was cut off by the King’s entrance, followed by the entrance of the greatest knights of the realm. A hush fell over the entire room. Pete smiled and edged forward, Smithers forgotten. King Rayon walked to the front of the hall and addressed the potential knights.
‘Young men,’ he cried. ‘You are all here today as you wish to become great knights like the men you see before you. Some of you will be assigned a knight directly. Others will need to be tested. You will not all succeed today. Some of you will leave here disappointed. (Larson Smithers turned and pointed at Pete McGee, who was tempted to make a gesture in response, but the King was still talking.) First. The names of those who have a knight due to their lineage.’
Pete groaned. What that meant was the old rule that if your dad or his dad or his dad or whatever had been a knight then you would get to be a knight, regardless of what you were like. The King’s aide read out a list of eight names and the boys called were sent to their knights.
After those boys had gone, Pete was left in the room with about twenty others. Only ten of those would be assigned a knight and accepted into training. Pete looked around. The other boys all had a hunger in their eyes as well. This wasn’t going to be easy.
Not easy would have been great. Even slightly hard would have been good. Difficult would have been passable. What the training was actually like was difficult times infinity plus three times infinity again … plus one. Not because of what they had to do, but because of the other kids. Pure of heart they may have been, but they were also desperate to become knights. It was every man for himself.
In the wrestling section, which was hard for Pete and his one arm and skinny body anyway, he was bitten and scratched and eye-gouged and even copped a sleeper hold.
In the catching section, things were always thrown to the side of his missing arm.
In the jousting section, Pete was last in line, and he was given a Shetland pony while the other boys got horses. Pete’s feet were touching the ground, so he basically just ran along with a pony beneath him.
In the written test section, his pencil was stolen and his test was eaten by a mule that somehow got into the testing room.
Before the oral testing, Pete was offered a drink which, it turned out, made his voice all squeaky so he sounded like a little kid rather than a potential knight.
It was awful. Absolutely awful. But Pete was determined not to let it get to him. To be a knight was his destiny, he knew it was. So he kept showing up for the next challenge. He refused to be drawn into the cheating games.
By the end of the day though, his shoulders were sagging. He knew he had not done anywhere near enough. He hadn’t done anything, hadn’t completed any of the tasks. It was useless. He wanted to run out of the castle, but he figured he may as well hang around and see who made it through. Besides, his mum had always told him to be a good loser, so that was what he would be to those cheating cheat bum stupid heads.
The boys were exhausted and slumped on the ground, but they stood to attention when King Rayon entered the room with the results. He told them to relax, to sit down, and they gratefully did so. The King looked around at his potential future knights.
‘You have done well. All of you. As you know, I was present at all the testing, watching you. Then, along with my selection panel, I have chosen the ten boys who will be set on the path to knighthood, to greatness. These are those bo
ys, in no order of any sort: Fleetwood-Smith, Grimmett, Harwood, Larwood, Jardine, Woodfull, Ponsford, Ipswich, Ivanhoe, Jones.’
Pete McGee’s heart dropped. Even though he had known deep down he wouldn’t be selected, still he had held out a glimmer of hope. He didn’t know what to do. He felt like crying. This had been his one chance. Fifteen-year-old boys weren’t allowed to apply. It was over. He breathed in deep, stood, and gave three cheers with the other losers. That’s what he felt like. A loser. Smithers had been right. He wasn’t cut out to be a knight at all. He stayed standing while the others left the room. Eventually he walked over to gather up his jacket. He didn’t want to go home though. He didn’t feel like he could face Marloynne or Ashlyn. Or his mum. His mum. This was what they had dreamed of for so long. This was what they had both wanted so much. How could he tell her he had failed? Before he had even begun? And what was he now? What was he? His entire life had been about becoming a knight.
What was he now?
Pete sat on the ground and held his jacket in his lap, the tears running freely. He lived for his mother, to help her, to make her proud, and now he had done this to her. Embarrassed her. It never crossed his mind that she would be proud of him for simply trying. He only thought of how disappointed she would be.
He was totally lost in his thoughts and didn’t notice the presence by his side until a hand rested on his shoulder.
‘You must be more aware, young man, if you are to be a truly great knight,’ a gentle voice said. Pete looked up in surprise and realised that the hand belonged to King Rayon. Pete wiped his eyes and stood, bowing low.
‘Sorry, Your Majesty. I’m sorry. It’s just that …’
He couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t describe to the King how he felt right at that moment, not without using words a king shouldn’t hear and a fourteen-year-old shouldn’t know. The King, however, was smiling.
‘What is your name?’ he asked.
‘Pete McGee, Your Majesty.’
The king nodded.
‘I did not read that name out.’
Pete shook his head, biting his cheeks to stop the tears coming again. King Rayon once again placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
‘Tell me, Pete McGee. Tell me why this hurts you so much.’
‘Because of my mum,’ Pete blurted out. ‘Because she died and then she didn’t and all we have wanted, all we have wanted, was for me to become a knight. I wanted to do this for her so much. I wanted to make her so proud of me, and I have let her down.’
The King nodded.
‘And what of you, young McGee. It is okay to admit that you want this as well.’
Pete breathed out. It was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He did want it for his mother, but he also wanted it for himself. A lot. It just felt wrong saying it out loud. It felt selfish. So he didn’t say anything.
King Rayon seemed to read his thoughts. He sat on the ground and motioned for Pete to sit with him.
‘Sometimes,’ the King began, ‘It is okay to admit that you are doing something for yourself. To be a knight requires one to serve King and country. One must be selfless, one must sacrifice all for other people. But to get there, to become that knight, one must have drive and dedication. This comes from within. This comes from a burning desire to be the best one can be. You must follow your dream, Pete McGee. Your dream. Not anyone else’s. Not even your mother’s, no matter how much you love her. So tell me. Do you want to become a knight?’
This time Pete did answer, and he answered honestly and passionately.
‘I do, Your Majesty. I want to be a knight so much it hurts. Missing out feels like someone kicked me in the stomach, and I know what that feels like because three kids did it to me today.’
King Rayon smiled and stood up. Pete scrambled to his feet as well.
‘There is a knight that has not been assigned a squire,’ he said. ‘This is highly irregular, Pete McGee, highly irregular. Luckily, however, being a King does have some benefits.’
He clicked his fingers and a servant came running with a piece of paper. The King quickly scrawled something down, folded the paper, and handed it to Pete.
‘I will get you started, Pete McGee. The rest is up to you.’
With that he turned and left, leaving a very confused Pete McGee sitting by himself. It took about five minutes, but he finally convinced himself to unfold and read the note the King had written.
Pete McGee, your mentor knight is known as Sir Mountable. He shall be notified. Be at the castle with Sir Mountable for the opening training session at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.
Good luck.
Pete sat with his jaw hanging open. It was basically dragging on the ground.
He was going to become a knight.
He … was … going … to … become … A … KNIGHT!!!!!!!!!
He let out a mighty WOOOOOO and ran around the room three times, jumping and yelling and waving the paper in the air. After the third lap he ran out of the castle to go and tell his Mum, Ashlyn and Marloynne. Then he ran back and picked up his pack. Then he ran out of the castle to go and tell his Mum, Ashlyn and Marloynne. Then he ran back and got his jacket. Then he ran out of the castle to go and tell his Mum, Ashlyn and Marloynne.
So then, young Pete McGee is on track to become a knight. It’s just what he wanted, so that is pretty good for him. What he doesn’t know is that a gang of sort of skeletony zombie knights are after the Wilderene Flower, which is located in a vase in Pete McGee’s house. So I imagine at some stage they will arrive at the house to get it. What then, I ask you, what then? It probably doesn’t matter just yet, that’s ages away. For now, let’s get on with the rest of the story.
ete burst into the house, slamming the door behind him as he ran into the front room.
‘MUUUUUUUUMMMMMM! ! ’ he yelled at the top of his voice. ‘ASSHHHHHLLLLYYYNNNNN! ! MARLOYYYYYYYNNNNNNNNNE! !’
He didn’t need to yell that loud. They were all sitting in the front room about two metres from where he was standing. He realised that, took a breath, and calmed down a little, although his voice stayed at the same volume.
‘YOU WILL NEVER GUESS WHAT HAPPENED!’
Marloynne stroked his chin, where a wispy beard was struggling to grow.
‘Hmmm,’ he said. ‘Let me think.’
Pete ran over and whacked him on the top of the head, laughing.
‘Stop being such a doofus,’ he said, ‘I spoke to the king, I SPOKE TO THE KING!’
The others did the appropriate ooohs and ahhs. Pete continued.
‘He said that even though I didn’t pass the tests and even though … even though … even though lots of things, he is still going to let me train to be a knight! HOW SERIOUSLY AMAZINGLY COOL IS THAT?’
Mrs McGee was ready to burst with pride at the news, but she held it in. Instead she clucked her tongue and shook her head. She turned to Ashlyn.
‘Such talk for one who wishes to become a knight. Seriously amazingly cool? I truly do shake my head in despair. He must learn to—’
Pete cut her off, slipping into the knight-style talk he knew so well.
‘Verily, fair maiden,’ he said, standing as only a knight can, proud and tall, hand on his heart.
‘Verily thou art correct, and ’tis my error in speaking thus. I therefore wish to inform thee that thy son, Peter J. McGee, has been formally accepted into an apprenticeship with a knight known to the world as Sir Mountable. He shall train with this knight, learn from him, and in time the aforementioned Peter J. McGee shall become the greatest knight the world has ever known! ’Tis a great story, and one that shall be recounted from father to son throughout the ages.’
Now Marloynne got up and whacked Pete on the top of his head. Pete went into battle pose and the two started wrestling, much to the amusement of Mrs McGee and Ashlyn, who cheered them on.
The zombie knights stood in a line. Well, eleven of them did. Sir Charge faced them. He had assumed command, although
he hadn’t formally been placed into such a position. This was his time though, he could feel it in his bones … he could almost see it in his bones, they were sticking right out there. He picked a worm out of his eye socket and ate it before speaking.
‘Order of Starry, Starry Knights. Verily, this is an opportunity for greatness. But this is an opportunity for power also. Truly, we are in a state of undeadedness, and truly we shall not be defeated. I call on you. I call on you to join me in causing chaos. Verily, we shall retrieve the Wilderene Flower. But also, along our journey, we shall use our power to serve ourselves. We shall take what we require. We shall remove those in our way. We shall drive fear into the hearts of those who defy us. Thou art knights, and thou art my knights.’
The other knights murmured amongst themselves, unsure of what to say. They had lived lives of honour, of nobility, of selflessness, and now Sir Charge was asking them to go against all they had believed in.
Sir Vyvor spoke up.
‘Sir Charge, thou art wrong. This is not the reason we have been resurrected. We are here to do a great thing, to protect that which Motain created. We are not here to destroy people. We are here to serve them.’
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Sir Charge said wearily. ‘Honour, valour and all that. But canst thou feel it in thy bones? Canst thou feel the power we now possess? Strength no human has? We cannot be killed, for we are already dead. We must use this power, lest it go to waste. There is a chance to take control of the realm. Once we have the flower, that power will only increase. There is a chance that we, as knights, can be great once more. We must unite, and we must rule. Art thou with me?’
Now as mentioned before, knights, while brave and noble and everything, were not always the smartest cattle in the herd. Not all of them, of course, but in general. In fact, many of them needed a leader; they needed to be told what to do. It was just lucky that in the early days that leader had good intentions, and so great knights were born.
