John Marco - The Forever Knight

“Can’t!” barked the man. “I warned you off the north. That’s all. Have the sense to turn around. Go back to Norvor. Or stay in Zura when you get there. Just keep clear of Akyre. All of it.”

He yanked the oxen forward and the wagon waddled past us. Cricket called after them, begging them to wait. Marilius looked at me, his expression cross.

“Will you take some advice?” he asked. “Nobody here’s going to tell you about Diriel, Lukien. Nobody. So just stop asking.”

* * *

Finally that night, I saw Malator again.

We rode until the sun went down, finding a campsite far enough from the road so no one would see us while we slept. I helped Cricket clear the brush and make a fire, and Marilius took care of the animals. None of us spoke as we worked. Cricket was in a particularly foul mood. Spooked by the refugee boy, she kicked away the branches with clenched teeth. When we sat around the fire to eat, Marilius helped himself to our food, while Cricket picked at her own. My appetite had flown as well. All I wanted was rest.

But when I tried to sleep I couldn’t. Images flashed through my mind-of Cassandra, Cricket, even Wrestler’s ugly face. I looked up at the stars, counting them to quiet my mind, but the constellations taunted me, forming monstrous patterns in the sky. I listened to Cricket’s breathing next to me, using the cape I’d made her for a blanket, her peaceful face turned toward me.

She was safe, for now, but where was I taking her? I sat up, anxious to get away, needing a place to scream. In the shadows of the dying fire I tiptoed away, the Sword of Angels still-forever-belted to my waist. The darkness trapped me like a cage. I took a moment to let my vision adjust, then prowled through the trees like a restless tiger until at last I reached the road.

Silence.

I walked out into the center of the road, awash with moonlight. I looked east toward Zura and thought of Sariyah. I looked west toward home and thought of Gilwyn. When my sight cocked north, I heard Cassandra in my head. I closed my eye to hear her voice, imagining it precisely. Just a year before I had heard that voice for real, in the Story Garden. I had summoned her from the world of the dead just to see her one more time. She alone had convinced me to live, when all I wanted was to join her.

“You can always go back there, you know,” said a voice. “The Story Garden remains.”

I looked down and saw Malator sitting cross-legged in the middle of the road. He smiled up at me, his impish face weary. He seemed substantial this time, as if the moonlight had made flesh of him. But he was a spirit, and I wondered if I had conjured him the way I’d conjured Cass’s voice.

“I’m all alone, Malator,” I whispered. The desolation and empty road felt unbearable. “Why am I here? Why’d I come? I miss her so much. I should be with her. Really with her.”

“She doesn’t want that, Lukien. She told you that. She wants you to live and find your destiny.”

Malator didn’t understand. He’d spent his whole life fighting, back when he was alive. He’d never been in love. Not really. I sat down beside him in the dusty road, laying the sword across my lap. “Shouldn’t you be in here resting?” I asked, tapping the blade.

“I’m all right now,” he said in a reedy voice. “Your loneliness woke me. I’m very angry with you.”

“Angry? Why?”

“For making me save you-again. You shouldn’t even be here talking to me. You should be floating around somewhere like a ghost. You know where you’d be if I let you die? In Arad. That would be your death place.”

Like Cassandra in the apple orchard, a death place is where a soul resides when the body finally expires. But Cassandra’s orchard was a far better place to spend eternity than Arad.

“That’s not what’s bothering you,” I said. “You’re angry because you think I tried to kill myself.”

“Didn’t you? I thought I had you figured out, Lukien. I thought you wanted to die just to be with Cassandra again. Now I can’t tell if you’re trying to die or just trying to prove yourself.”

“You saw what he did to Cricket, Malator. You know what he wanted. Wrestler deserved to die. And when I see him again he will.”

“You mean when you go to Akyre?”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? You told me to come to the Bitter Kingdoms, remember? Well, here I am! I don’t see a whole lot of answers! What’s the point of me coming to this shithole? What am I supposed to find here?”

Malator grinned. “Why ask, Lukien? You know I’m not going to tell you.”

“You make me want to strangle you, Malator. But. .” I leaned back. “Thank you for saving me. I was afraid when I was dying. Just floating in that darkness.” I looked at him. “What was that thing I saw, Malator? Tell me that at least.”

“I still don’t know,” said Malator. “Maybe nothing. Maybe just a symbol.”

“No, it was real. I saw it. It was dead like me, only it wasn’t.”

“Just like you.”

“That’s right. It was dead, and it wasn’t dead. What could be like that, Malator? You must know.”

“I know a lot of things, Lukien. Some of them I can tell you, some of them I can’t.”

“You drew that thing in the sand, then told me not to take Cricket with me. Is that thing after Cricket?”

“I can’t answer. I told you that already.”

“All right,” I said, “then what’s this Legion of the Lost that boy mentioned? Diriel’s death army?”

Malator looked around, then up at the stars. “It’s dark. How is your vision, Lukien?”

“No, don’t do that. Don’t ignore me.”

“I’m not. How is your eye?”

“My eye is fine, damn-it. Better than fine.”

“And you feel good? Your neck feels good? You feel strong?”

“Yes, I feel strong! Why?”

Malator shrugged. “I give you what I can, Lukien. I give you everything I can. Do you realize how dark it is out here? The moon seems bright because you’re more than just a man now. I made you that way. Cricket or Marilius wouldn’t be able to find their shoes in this darkness. They’d have never made it to the road. So don’t ask me for answers I can’t give you, please. Just take what I offer.” He stood and glared down at me. “You can go on or you can turn back. It’s up to you. Or you can just go back to Torlis and spend your days babbling to Cassandra in the Story Garden. I don’t manipulate you, Lukien. It’s always been up to you.”

“I know,” I grumbled.

Malator held out an upturned palm, summoning a tiny yellow flame. He blew on the flame, making it grow until it was the size of an apple, lighting the road around us.

“Put out your hand,” he said, and when I did so he placed the flame into my palm. It wriggled there, soft and alive but did not burn me. “This will keep you company,” he said.

I laughed in delight. “What is this? A pet?”

“A gift. So you won’t feel so lonely.”

With my other hand I caressed the ball of flame like it was a baby bird. “I didn’t know you could do that, Malator.”

“I can do a lot of things, Lukien,” Malator answered, then quickly disappeared.

As Marilius predicted, we reached Isowon the very next day.

Gradually, the ground beneath us turned from sun-baked rock to sandy soil. The heat abated, becoming almost bearable, and the tang of salt in the air told me we were nearing the sea. Our horses and mules picked up their pace, eager for water and rest. A single pomegranate tree greeted us along the roadside. Cricket reached up from horseback to fill her pockets with fruit.

“Don’t stop now,” said Marilius. “We’re almost there.”