by Joe Corso
Her voice was so melodic, like music to his ears. Her lilting accent reminded him of Scarlett O-Hara, one of his favorite movies and the recitation of, “As God is my witness, I will never be hungry again,” for some reason. It was passionate, expressive, and it made his heart sing.
“Princess Krystina,” Lucky said in a gentle tone, “it was I that did not afford your body to move. It was a potion that did this. I could not bear your eyes to open to a strange land and strange things to which your eyes have not born witness. My fear was that great harm might come to your healing process should I bring forth such shock. The learned men did as I ordered. Using their potions, they forced your body to sleep until at my direction, it was safe for you to return to your land. My sorrow is great in that my enemies kidnapped, uh, took you and put you into a dungeon. These men were meant for me, not you. But your safety is now. Is this understood by the Princess?”
She smiled the most radiant smile and answered, “It is well understood. You put your life in peril for me. You cured my ailment and brought me home. Yes, it is all understood, Sire. I have but one request.”
“Your wish Princess?” Lucky asked not knowing what to expect. He felt certain that he had answered most all of her questions.
“Might you journey with me to my dear father in the northern border of Brittany? I am certain that King William, dreams of my presence after such an absence, and whilst I will have the King’s guards, I welcome you as my true, esteemed protector.”
Lucky’s heart leapt at the suggestion. His back straightened a bit and his smile broadened. He reached down, lifted her hand and gently kissed it.
“It is my honor,” he said, “to accompany the Princess on her journey. It is with pride that I ride as your protector. Tell me, how many days of journey will there be?”
“Thirty days, if we travel light and achieve many miles each day.”
“Well, so be it,” Lucky answered. “We shall get there when we get there. But, now may I impose you upon you a favor?”
“Certainly sire,” she responded.
“May I ask that my friend, Mickey, also journey with us? I would not want him to feel without friend.”
“Oh Sire, forgive me,” she said a bit embarrassed. “I have been most selfish. Sire Mickey’s presence is indeed requested.”
“My gratitude,” Lucky said, “and now I must return to my horse and to the others,” he said as he leaned down once again to kiss her hand. This time, however, he leaned closer and lightly kissed her cheek. She blushed and he loved it. Her innocence, her beauty, they were both so consuming.
Back on his horse, Lucky began to gallop in order to catch up to Mickey. Mickey never asked him anything, only remarked, “So is the carriage more comfortable than this horse? Hope so, ‘cause my ass is grass right now. Never hurt so much in my life,” he said as he rubbed his rear. Lucky laughed.
There was plenty of time to think on this journey. Hours passed, villages began to all look the same and the reception of the King and Queen was always the same – flowers were tossed, food was brought right up to the horses as gifts and Lucky couldn’t help but wonder what it must feel like to live like this. He chuckled at how the King and Queen might respond to royalty in the modern world. At least they could retreat to their castle, behind fortified walls, surrounded by water and drop bridges, but celebrities and politicians and Princesses had nowhere to run in modern day times.
It struck Lucky that since he had already ‘created’ one portal that served him well while rescuing the Princess, that perhaps he could do it again. One thought led to another and Lucky began replaying his life. What was he becoming? He had always been a strong person, but he knew that he was still a mere mortal. Why had all of this happened to him? While exhilarating, especially at first, there were times when he felt a bit like a freak. His ability to travel through portals was exciting and indeed every new experience was intriguing and novel, but the whole process was weird. Perhaps this ability lay within every living person, every living being, but had not been awakened. He began to think of his gift in a spiritual and metaphysical way. If God had given him this ability, then surely he entrusted him with it, its use, the prudence that went along with it, how to decipher when to employ this power and the discipline of resisting temptation. Maybe this was a test, a test of his will power, of his priorities.
How far into the spectrum of portal evolution had he traveled? Was he morphing into something else? Was he nearing the end of a transmigration phase into the unknown or . . . was it all just beginning? These were intriguing questions to which he had no answers. He had read somewhere that after Albert Einstein died, scientists somehow discovered that the brilliant man had used eleven percent of his brain compared to the average person who uses much less. Now if Einstein, genius that he was, only used eleven percent, imagine the full firepower of humans who could train themselves to use more. At that moment, it was almost as though Lucky could feel synapses firing off in his head. Imagine if people could control that. It would be like whole areas of neurons lighting up like fireworks like those in Times Square on New Year’s Eve. He could swear, at that moment, right on his horse, in ancient England, that his dormant brain cells had awakened and were dancing all around, having a party on a gray matter dance floor, bringing light into dark and brilliance into unused recesses of his brain. But what, he thought, what if that light, that power was switched off? Could life return as normal or would life forever be altered? First – portals seen, then – portals traveled, and now portals . . . created. The whole portal thing was accelerating. Maybe his ability to make a portal, as he needed it was part of an evolution. Whatever the reason, Lucky became comfortable with the idea that he and his gift would evolve together; along whatever path fate took them.
Lucky breathed a sigh of acceptance and relief, confident in his assessment of his life.
Chapter Twenty – One
King Robert was a gracious traveler. He purposely went off the official route in order to show Lucky and Mickey various small hamlets and shires along the way. The townspeople continued to greet them, some taking time from tilling the fields or selling their wares in order to gather along the road, just to get a glimpse of royalty and the man amongst them. Along the way, the Kingsmen would regale the townsfolk with Lucky stories – disappearing with a near dead Princess only to return with a cured one. They spoke of his battles with the local town-boxing champion and how he had used the thunder to stop King Emerick from attacking the land. These stories, though true on their own, became even more embellished over time and Lucky emerged as the great warrior hero, much the same way as does a modern day rock star.
Men, women, and children, walked up to him, just to touch his clothes, his horse, hoping that his powers would bring them good luck, but as with every century and time, there were bullies or neighborhood sports champions, always out to prove something to either themselves or their fellow citizens in order to establish a prime position in the history books, a primal need to prove to be ‘the one’ who caused the great one to fall. Many of the more merciless men had left the country to work as mercenaries for whomever would offer the highest pay, while others remained in town, just bullying their way into the business of others. Most had more brawn than brains and size was often an intimidating factor.
Word traveled fast about the wizard and his many miracles performed on the King’s behalf. Rumor had it that the wizard, while talking, could just disappear and vanish before your eyes, if he so desired, but most thought that pure fancy, the product of wild imaginations as after all, he was human, a mortal, like the rest of them. Nevertheless, he was the talk of the land. It was said that he was good and kind, but dangerous when the King was threatened. His loyalty to the King was no secret.
And so it was that the King’s party stopped for the day in a pleasant shire. It was here that King Robert was to speak with the stonecutter and his family. The party settled into a small, pleasant inn on the outskirts of the village. As usual, th
e innkeeper assigned the best rooms and promised food that would leave the King’s, Queen’s, and Princess’s taste buds singing for the remainder of their travels. He kept his promise. The food was excellent served with the finest of wines from his cellars.
Before taking their rest for the evening, the King sent word that he would like for the stonecutter to meet with him at the inn the following day, early morning.
The following morning, the stonecutter arrived with his sons. A sergeant-at-arms brought him to the King who greeted him warmly. The man, not knowing the reason for being summoned, was a bit nervous and had spent an uneasy night prior, with questions of what the King might want from him.
The King asked if at present, the stonecutter was working on any major projects. The man shook his head and replied no.
“What do you call yourself sir?” the King asked.
“Oscar,” the man replied. “I call myself Oscar and my sons are, Alfred and Boris.”
The King nodded toward each son and said, “It is spoken that you are a master stonemason who possesses considerable talent. Are these words true, Sire Oscar?”
“These words humble me, Your Majesty. My craft is my life. It has served me well for myself and my family.”
“You are modest Sire. Your name came forth first when the King made inquiry into the finest stonemasons in the land. Should you free yourself from your village, it would bring me great joy to have you and your family as my guests on the castle grounds whilst you advance the great palace toward modern times.”
Oscar’s eyes grew wide. He turned and looked at his sons whose eyes were now fixed upon their father, each wondering how his father would answer, how their mother would feel to have such offerings from their great leader.
Oscar, barely able to speak, answered, “Your Majesty, this is a great honor that you have bestowed upon me. I, I, do not have words for this matter at present.”
The King continued in explanation.
“I will need the timber walls replaced with stone, at least the look of stone if not all precisely real. Your pay will be great and your regard will increase amongst all others in your craft as you have now worked for the King. Might your answer be forthcoming?”
“Why, yes of course. I mean, yes, I, well we, my family will be honored to live amongst your dwelling and labor for you dear King. We will begin our task of collecting the finest of stones, my sons and I, and bring those with us on our travels.”
“Good,” the King said as he smiled and nodded in approval. “Before you leave, please receive from my knight a token in gold for your expenses while traveling.”
The sergeant-at-arms held out a small bag. Oscar took it. The bag shook in the stonemason’s nervous hands. This was no single token of gold. There were numerous coins inside clanking about. If only the King had known. It had been only this morning that the jittery stonemason had spoken to his wife about the slowdown in his craft and how he was frightful about providing for his family. Just hours later, here he stood, the new Master Mason for King Robert, the leader of the land.
The Kingsmen, working with Oscar that evening, sorted out all the details and preparations for the man and his family to begin their long journey to the castle grounds. The Kingsmen then returned to discuss the arrangements with their leader and were engaged in deep conversation over the logistics of the trip when a man asked for permission to approach the King.
“What is your name?” the King asked the man standing before him.
“Erik, Your Highness,” he answered.
“State your case,” the King said.
The man began.
“In our shire, we have a man who is our champion. He is brave, a great warrior who has prevailed over those he has fought. Might the King be so gracious as to permit your champion to fight ours?” he asked as he pointed toward Lucky. “We have heard of the wizard’s greatness. This event would have people speaking of it for many days.”
The King looked at Lucky to check his reaction. Lucky just sat there looking at the man. Something felt wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he had learned a long time ago to listen to his screaming gut when it cried out. His mind tossed around the possibilities, but his main concern was the King. The King needed to save face and Lucky was the one to prove all the rumors true. This could protect the King from his enemies, so instead of saying no, Lucky agreed and the time was set for . . . now.
There was briskness in the air, a chill that Lucky and Mickey had not felt thus far while on their travels. Lucky whispered for Mickey to stay close by. The room emptied as the King and his entourage left to go outside and congregate on the grounds in the clearing in front of the inn. A town crier immediately began announcing the fight. Lucky, sporting his black delta outfit underneath, complete with ski mask and pistol, removed his tunic and walked to the center of the circle. None of the townspeople, fortunate enough to attend a fight, had ever witnessed anything like this. Lucky looked like some black devil. It was purposeful. He wanted to strike some sort fear into his opponent well before the beginning of the fight.
There were murmurs as anticipation filled the crowd. They had heard of the King’s champion. Now, there was the chance to see him, live, in action. Lucky sensed that something was amiss, but wanted to attribute it to his gift, his uncanny perception and ever evolving awareness, but still, he was edgy. The man standing before him, while large for this time period, was approximately the same size as Lucky. The man stood frozen, eyeing Lucky as if to intimidate him, sizing him up. Another man, the one who had requested the fight, moved into the center, and as a signal for the fight to begin, threw down his right arm.
Lucky’s opponent began to advance toward him, just like all the others before him, hoping to quickly secure a choke hold and end the fight early. Lucky knew his game, and as he lunged forward, Lucky spun to his left and kicked him high on the side of his head, knocking him off to the side and into the crowd. The man stumbled back to position. He looked around to see fellow towns neighbors staring at him, surprised, but cheering for Lucky now. This made him angry, really angry, so he came at Lucky much harder and faster than before. He threw a long looping right hand toward Lucky. Lucky saw it coming and ducked, and just as quickly slammed the man with his own right hand to the gut. The man’s momentum carried him well past Lucky where he fell to the ground on one knee, his breath clearly knocked out of him. He remained there for a moment, got back up, and more determined than ever, wearily circled Lucky, looking for an opening of any kind.
The Queen, who had witnessed Lucky fight her own champion, was cheering him on. The Princess kept looking away, moving her lips, as if praying to the gods, half fighting back tears and half yearning to jump between the two men and call a halt on this sport, but alas, the King had spoken and the Princess could not dishonor the King nor his kingdom.
The man began inching closer to Lucky. A left caught Lucky flush on his cheek. The fighter followed with a strong right. Lucky moved away letting the second punch fly past him and as it did, he grabbed the man’s arm and in a quick motion, spun the man around, until he dropped to the floor, jumped on top of him and punched him hard with a series of rights, lefts, rights, lefts until the fight was over.
Lucky waited for the caller to acknowledge his victory but suddenly he leapt off his opponent, spinning to his right to remove himself from the makeshift ring, but as he did, an arrow zipped right by him. A stunned crowd was silent at first and then let out a series of dismayed sounds as the arrow buried itself into the ground, exactly in the same spot where Lucky had been only seconds before. Lucky ducked and rolled to the ground just as he spotted a second arrow soar past him. He jumped to his feet, reached for his pistol and fired a shot high into the trees behind the crowd overlooking the grounds. Almost in unison, the crowd gasped again and stood still, frozen in place at the sight of a man falling from a tree.
Damn, Lucky thought. He was hoping his shot hadn’t killed the man. It was a cardinal rule he had made to himsel
f – never kill someone in another time as it could truly alter history. That shot could have reverberating repercussions affecting Lucky’s own time.
The crowd’s rumblings began to pick up, and one by one, the townsmen began to walk toward the fallen, injured man.
“It’s a miracle,” one said.
“The gods are here,” said another.
“The wizard indeed lives and his powers prevail,” said another man.
“The wizard called down the thunder and struck the man down with it.”
“And just exactly how did he know a man with bow was up amongst the branches hidden in the leaves? He is truly the wizard.”
Lucky walked over to the fallen man, flipped him over onto his back, and checked his wound. The bullet had pierced the upper part of his chest, near his shoulder, and had exited that same area of his back. It appeared that bullet had avoided any vital organs or arteries, but the man, judging by marks on his head, had struck it hard when he fell and now lay completely unconscious.
Lucky called over his shoulder to the sergeant-at-arms, still holding Lucky’s backpack, and motioned for him to hurry over. Working quickly, Lucky began to search through the pack, and as he found each item, he pulled it from the bag – a set of black talon gloves, an emergency four inch bandage, some cravats, a triage bag, an Asherman chest seal (the standard for the treatment of open chest injuries) and a one handed CAT (combination application tourniquet). He immediately set about patching the unconscious man, tying the tourniquet, and applying some sort of potions to his wounds. Meanwhile, the townspeople, including the King, Queen, and Princess, remained on the side, observing his actions. Lucky next grabbed a smelling salts capsule, snapped it open with a flourish (after all, he was still the wizard, you know), and waved it underneath the man’s nose, causing the would-be murderer to awaken. The man moved slightly, opened his eyes a little and found Lucky’s eyes staring back at him. The crowd that had gathered round gasped yet again, and took a few steps backwards. The man had apparently awakened from the dead. The Great Wizard had now outdone himself. He had brought the man back from the dead!
