Children of the Knight

by Michael J. Bowler

  Lance struggled to maintain his composure. “Yeah, he did, and I told him no. I don’t want no part a that shit! I run myself.”

  “No problemo, Mexicano,” Justin said mockingly, tossing Lance to the ground like a ragdoll. “’Cept Mr. R., he don’t like guys who know too much ’bout his business. Especially guys who won’t work fer him.”

  Lance landed and rolled, leaping to his feet almost at once. Survival on these streets required the agility of a stuntman. He’d learned that early on. His heart thumped wildly, his green eyes blazing with equal parts fury and fear. “I don’t know nuthin’,” he spat angrily, visibly shaking with panic, “’cept you jerks slang that shit for ’im! Who would I tell? What could I say anyway?”

  Dwayne whipped out and flipped open an evil-looking switchblade and pressed the razor-sharp point to Lance’s throat before the boy could even flinch. He chuckled.

  “Ya could just say no—to life, ya little shit!” He began slowly pressing the knife into Lance’s throat, a wicked smile creasing his dark, tatted face.

  A deep, harsh voice echoed from behind the three boys. “Unhand that lad, or forfeit thy lives!”

  Dwayne whirled to look over his shoulder while Justin whipped his head around, mouth hanging open in startled surprise. Lance’s eyes bulged with incredulity.

  In the shadows, slowly, but confidently approaching, was a man on horseback! The three youths merely gaped in astonishment. None of them had ever even seen a real horse before, much less one in this neighborhood. When the rider emerged from the darkness into a patch of streetlight, they gasped anew. He wore a full suit of knightly armor and carried a massive, gleaming sword that looked capable of slicing all three of them in half at the same time! The boys could not make out any facial features, as they were covered by a helm and mouthpiece.

  The three stood frozen to the spot, Dwayne’s blade pressed against Lance’s throat as the knight halted his horse a few feet away.

  Dwayne found his voice first. “Say what?” He couldn’t believe what he was seeing! He needed to stop sampling R’s stuff, that was a for sure.

  “I do believe my intent be clear,” calmly stated the knight in a strong voice tinged with something like a Southern accent. “Unhand the boy or forfeit thy lives.”

  He swirled the massive sword up and around so fast it caught all three boys unawares, its point coming to rest squarely on Dwayne’s chest. The big youth could already feel the point pricking him. But Dwayne was no stranger to street fighting, and he hated being told what to do.

  “Fuck you, asshole!” Dwayne screamed in fury, pulled the knife from Lance, and pointed it at the knight.

  With speed seemingly impossible underneath all that armor, the knight flicked his sword downward and across, and Dwayne’s pants dropped to his feet. Startled, the boy reached down to retrieve them, and the knight swung the sword again, this time slicing open the hand holding the knife, causing Dwayne to cry out in pain and fling the blade to the ground.

  “Shit!” Dwayne exclaimed in furious surprise.

  Without pause, the knight just as swiftly swung the sword deftly back up, letting the point rest against Justin’s throat. The muscular boy whimpered in terror.

  “Okay, you win,” he muttered fearfully, the point of the sword already drawing blood. He quickly stepped away from Lance. The smaller boy leapt hurriedly away from Dwayne, who fought a losing battle with his falling pants while also failing to staunch the bleeding in his hand.

  The mysterious knight looked down at Lance, who stood gaping up at him. “Shalt I kill these two for thee, lad?”

  Lance sucked in a sharp breath. He didn’t know what to say. He must be going crazy, he thought, still speechless.

  Justin began keening with fear. This wasn’t the way tonight was supposed to go. Track the little shit and kill him. Those were R’s orders. Nothing about some crazy-ass dude on a horse! “Hey, man, ya’ll can’t kill us cuz my dad’s a cop!”

  Dwayne also shook with fear, but he was too hard-ass to show it front of Lance or this nut with the sword. “Shut up, fool!”

  The knight ignored them, focusing his attention on Lance, who still gawked like a fish out of water. “Well, lad?”

  Coming back to his senses, Lance realized that the man wanted an answer. Shit, would he really kill these guys if I asked him to, he thought? He didn’t think he wanted to find out. “Let ’em go.”

  Without pause, the knight pulled his gleaming sword back from Justin’s throat but still gripped it firmly, ready to strike. He gazed down at the two black youths, who cowered before him. “Methinks we shalt meet again.”

  Always the bolder of the two, Dwayne spat viciously on the ground in front of the horse, causing it to neigh in annoyance. “Like hell!”

  Then he and Justin turned and bolted, Dwayne struggling to keep his pants from tripping him up. They quickly vanished from the mouth of the alley, swallowed by the night.

  Lance gazed upward at the knight, still speechless, staring at the horse, the sword, and the armor. His breath caught in his throat. He didn’t do drugs, so it couldn’t be that. So what the hell was going on?

  The knight sheathed his sword as he stared down at the boy, his eyes shimmering slightly within the helm. “Hast thou no manners, to not thank me for thy life?”

  That helm and those hidden eyes creeped Lance out something fierce. He always wanted to see into the other guy’s eyes. That’s how you knew what was really up. “Oh yeah, sorry,” he stammered, his voice unsteady. “Yeah, uh, thanks.” He paused a moment. “Would you, would you really have killed them guys for me?”

  The knight shook his helm from side to side, causing the metal to creak and squeak. “No. Not unless my life or thine be at stake. I wished merely to discern something of thy character.”

  “Huh? You talk weird, mister.”

  The knight ignored Lance’s comment. “What beeth thy name, lad?”

  Lance’s hackles instantly rose. On these streets you didn’t trust no one. “Uh, they call me, well, ‘Pretty Boy’. I don’t think I am, neither, but I guess it’s the hair.”

  The knight nodded, his armor creaking as he gazed down at the boy, who stood beneath a sickly alley light attached to the wall above him. “Thou art a handsome youth, so the name appears to fit thee. Why doth thou dislike it?”

  “Cuz they don’t mean it like a compliment,” Lance replied, still awed by the horse and the armor and that amazing sword. “They just do it to mock me.”

  The knight nodded again. “If it displeases thee, I shalt not use it. Hast thou no Christian name?”

  Lance didn’t normally share his true name with anyone. On these streets, knowing one’s true name could be dangerous. Yet somehow, this man’s commanding tone and presence rattled his usual composure and forced his guard down. “Huh? Oh, uh, Lance. Lance Sepulveda.” It was practically a whisper. Then he felt his old boldness return. “What’s it to you, anyways?”

  The knight reacted with surprise. “Thy name doth be Lance?”

  The boy grew more suspicious. “Yeah, so?”

  He squinted through the helm, studying the boy’s shadowed face. He could not discern eye color, but the hair looked right.

  “Of course that beeth thy name, lad,” he murmured, almost to himself, almost as if the boy wasn’t even there. “All is as it should be.”

  Lance just stood warily gazing up at him, a shiver flitting up and down his spine at those mysterious words, as though everything really was as it should be. But that didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

  The man noted Lance’s scattered clothes on the ground and pointed one gauntleted finger. “Tell me, young Lance, are these all your worldly belongings?” There was deep sadness in that voice, a sadness Lance was too nervous to notice.

  His initial surprise and concern about the knight having run its course, Lance bristled at the man’s comment. “What about it? I move around a lot.” He set about picking up his stuff and shoving everything into the t
orn backpack.

  The knight sat atop his horse and observed the boy carefully. “I see.”

  Lance retrieved his skateboard and stood staring up at the knight, uncertain what to do next. His breathing had calmed, his heart subsiding, and he found himself deeply curious about this guy, even though curiosity on these streets often got you killed.

  “Hast thou a place to lay thy head this night?” the knight inquired in a very nonthreatening tone.

  Lance went rigid, his breath hitching in his throat, his heart pounding anew. He knew about grown men and what some of them liked to do to boys like him. He knew all too well. He stepped back, fighting for control.

  “I always got places,” he announced firmly, his heart still racing, preparing to leap onto his board and jet out of there in a split second.

  The knight made no threatening gestures, nor did the magnificent white horse even shuffle its feet with impatience. His body tight with tension, Lance still eyed the animal admiringly. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  “Come with me,” the knight offered. “I doth have a bed for thee.”

  Lance leapt back warily, eyeing the stranger with suspicion, and whipped a knife out of his pocket. It was small and wouldn’t do much damage, but even that short blade gave him a tiny sense of security. Sweat broke out on his face as he gazed upward and gulped. “You queer or somethin’?”

  The knight merely shook his head. “How odd that after so many centuries, some words doth still retain their more common meanings.”

  Lance knew he was a smart kid—teachers had told him that since the first grade. But he didn’t have a clue what this guy was talking about. What kind of English was he speaking, anyways?

  “Huh?” was all he could muster in reply, his heart still thrumming with fear.

  “Be at peace, young one,” the knight assured him. “The answer to thy question be nay.”

  Lance continued to eye him with great uncertainty. “Nay” sounded like “no,” and that made him feel more at ease, slowing his heart a bit. “You got food at yer place?”

  The knight nodded, his helm creaking and squeaking some more. “Yes, lad, all thou couldst possibly eat. Now, if you get up on mine horse, we shalt be away.”

  Lance’s extreme hunger did the deciding for him. Sure, he had the junk food in his pack, but real food was always better. “Okay. But if you try anything I’ll cut yer throat.”

  “Agreed. Up with you now. We have a long journey ahead.”

  The knight reached down with a gauntleted hand. Lance eyed it cautiously for a moment then put away his pocketknife and reached up to do something he hadn’t done since he was six years old—he grasped the hand of a stranger.

  With superior strength and ease, the knight easily hefted the boy up and onto the saddle behind him as though Lance weighed no more than a stuffed animal. He was caught off guard by the man’s physical power and shook his head in admiration.

  “Man, you’re strong!”

  The knight glanced back over his shoulder at the wide-eyed boy behind him. “As will you be, Lance Sepulveda.”

  The knight spurred his horse, and the large animal cantered softly and quietly down the alley, rounding the corner and disappearing into the dark streets of Lennox.

  THE knight, with Lance clinging tightly to his back, stopped at the edge of the Los Angeles River, and the two of them gazed down into the dry, concrete riverbed. The river was really more of an aqueduct and, depending on rainfall totals, seldom had much water coursing through it. The horse neighed approvingly.

  “You weren’t shittin’ me about a long journey!” Lance exclaimed, sitting up to get a better view.

  “Hold on tightly,” the knight intoned as he flicked the reins, and the muscular white mare began her descent to the riverbed below. Lance felt nervous and afraid atop such a large animal, but somehow the presence of this strong, confident man eased his fear.

  “Does, uh, does your horse have a name?” he asked, trying to quell the nervousness in his voice. This descent was steep, and he wanted nothing more than to plant his feet firmly on cement. He was a street kid, after all.

  “She hath been given the name Llamrei, after my first mount of long ago,” the knight replied, his tone wistful, filled with longing.

  Something about his melancholy tone silenced Lance. The mare reached bottom without even the slightest misstep and began trotting along the riverbed, halting at an enormous entrance to the storm drain system, which wound underground throughout the Los Angeles basin. This cavernous maw looked large enough to drive a van through without hitting the top.

  A huge metal grill guarded the entrance to the drain, but Lance noted that the aged lock had recently been broken. The knight reached out and grabbed one side of the grill, backing his horse to slowly ease it open. The metal screamed with disuse, and the sound sent chills down Lance’s back. The dark, gaping orifice threatened to envelope him, and his stomach pulled up into his throat.

  “We, uh, we’re goin’ in there?” He fought to keep his quivering voice steady.

  The knight turned as best he could to the boy behind him. “Have no fear, young Lance.”

  Lance instantly bristled, his pride winning out. “I ain’t afraid! It just don’ look like no home ta me.”

  The knight merely nodded. “It doth be mine at present.” He gently spurred Llamrei forward into the dark, forbidding tunnel, pulling shut the grill as they entered, and sealing them within.

  Lance watched warily as the knight extended a gloved hand outward, grasping an old, weathered torch from a small alcove. With his other gloved hand, he dug into a leather pouch hanging from the saddle and extracted a pinch of some kind of powder, sprinkling it atop the torch. Flames sprang instantly to life, causing Lance to gasp with surprise as its flickering glow cast weird shadows and reflections off the man’s armor. He gazed in wonder. That looked like something out of a movie! Who was this guy anyway?

  The knight noted the boy’s wary look and smiled to put him at ease, forgetting for the moment that his helm obscured his features. “A mere trick, my boy, taught to me long ago by M—by an old friend.”

  He turned forward again and spurred his horse into the darkness of the tunnel. The man’s quick change of subject was not lost on Lance. What had he been planning to say? All his street instincts told him to leap down from the horse and hightail it out of there and never look back. None of this made any sense, not here, not in his city, not in his sorry life. And yet he didn’t jump. He didn’t run. There was something about the guy…. Growing up as he had, Lance had a good gut when it came to people. No, this guy wasn’t out to hurt him or kill him or….

  No, don’t even go there!

  No, he decided as they trotted along the dark, dank underbelly of the city, this guy would not hurt him. But if he didn’t want to hurt him, then what the hell did he want?

  The two remained silent as Llamrei trotted fearlessly along the damp and drafty storm drain. There were no sounds save the clop, clop, clopping of her hooves against the lichen-covered concrete. It surprised Lance that the horse seemed so comfortable underground. He always thought most animals, himself included, preferred above ground to below. She must be used to it, he surmised, which meant the guy was telling the truth. He really did live here.

  Suddenly, Llamrei stopped. Lance had been so lost in his musings that he hadn’t realized they’d left the tunnel to enter an enormous chamber.

  “We doth be here,” the knight announced, drawing Lance back into reality. As the man deftly dismounted, Lance’s eyes bulged wide with wonder at his surroundings.

  The immensity of the underground chamber awed him. It appeared to be some sort of central hub from which a multitude of tunnels branched off, disappearing into darkness. Lit solely by the light of numerous torches imbedded within the concrete walls, Lance gazed in amazement at what appeared to be the central hall of an old castle, the kind he’d only ever seen in books. What the hell? There wasn’t such things i
n LA!

  He observed bedrolls lining the walls and disappearing down each branching tunnel, furniture like old tables and chairs, but all wooden and rough-hewn and not like any modern stuff he’d ever seen. There was even a big-ass throne of some kind with huge arms and a really high back set against one wall, like right out of a frickin’ old movie! What the…? And then his eyes fell upon the weapons, and his face lit up with wonder. Spread out before him were racks upon wooden racks of weapons—swords of all shapes and sizes, shields, short-handled dirks, knives, longbows and short bows, and arrows and quivers.

  Carefully, eyes pinned to the armory before him, he dropped slowly off the horse, allowing his skateboard and backpack to fall to the ground unnoticed. Heart beating wildly with excitement, he stepped forward into this wonderland, gaping in astonishment at the sight before him. He slipped the hood down, allowing his long brown hair its freedom. He just shook his head in awe.

  “Wow!” was all he could think to say, hurrying to the nearest of the weapons racks and gingerly touching some of the swords. He gripped the leather-bound hilt of a large broadsword and struggled vainly to heft it over his head. The blade alone was almost five feet in length.

  The knight turned to observe Lance grappling with the weight of the sword and smiled as he recalled his own first attempt ages ago. He couldst almost believe that time so long ago had been merely a dream, or that perhaps this time beeth the dream. Yet he knew the truth—he’d known it the moment he’d awakened in this foreign land—both time periods were real, and once again he had a crusade to mount, one greater and more significant than his first. And this small, longhaired boy battling the weight of a sword nearly as large as himself… well, this boy was the key.

  “Each doth be forged of solid iron, lad, and honed to a fine edge. One day soon, thou shalt be hefting the largest of them with ease.”