John Marco - The Forever Knight

“You stay there, god-damn it!” I shouted.

Marilius brought his horse in front of her, guarding her. I looked up into the monster’s eyes, those two black holes crawling with insects, and summoned the rest of my strength.

“Whatever you are, demon, whatever hell you came from, hear me-I am forever! Cursed and immortal!”

It lowered its head, its uneven horns twisting in thought, as though pondering what I was. I braced myself, holding the sword in both hands now, my sword arm still shrieking in pain. It took one hulking step, its fleshless nostrils sniffing me. Then like a dog it sprang, its goat horn fingers seizing my shoulders, forcing me down and pinning me to the dirt. I struggled, trying to drive the sword into it, but all its weight and fire pressed on me, cooking me inside my armor.

“Malator! Strengthen me!”

The great ox skull hovered over my face, and I looked into those maggoty eyes, hypnotized by the living emptiness. I swear, whatever soul I had fled my body. The monster was inside me, searching me, raging in my mind even as Malator fought to free me. The breath spilled from my lungs, filling with fire instead. I wanted to scream but couldn’t. Darkness soaked my brain, and I felt my one eye closing, closing. .

And then it was off me. It rose up, retracting its bony limbs, and with one last questioning look regarded me. Then the thing turned and stalked toward the dell. I sputtered, coughing blood from my seared lungs, fighting unconsciousness. My fingers coiled around the sword, hungry for its power.

It’s gone , spoke Malator. Hold on.

“After it,” I choked. “Marilius, help me.”

Cricket hovered over me, wiping the blood from my mouth with her sleeve. Marilius swooped down from his horse.

“We’re getting out of here,” he said. “Cricket, help me with him.”

“It’s escaping. .”

“Lukien, my shoulder,” ordered Cricket, burrowing under my arm to lift me. “Come on, onto the horse.”

I could barely feel my arm. Words bubbled from my bloody lips. “Why’d it go? It let me live.”

“Stop talking,” snapped Marilius. With Cricket’s help he hoisted me into the saddle. “Hold on to that damn sword. Go, Cricket!”

Cricket snatched the reins. Quickly she pulled the horse back the way we’d come. I don’t remember much of anything after that. My vision dimmed as I surrendered to nothingness, but I wasn’t afraid. I couldn’t die, no matter what the creature dealt me. As sleep took me I heard Marilius’s voice, at once taunting and sweet.

“Hang on, Lukien. . I’m gonna save your ass again.”

I opened my eyes but was still asleep, and I knew immediately that I was still dreaming. I was back in Anton Fallon’s palace, in the room I shared with Cricket. Only it wasn’t really our room anymore. Now it was much, much bigger, like a throne room, with a hall at the end where a door had once been. Moonlight pierced the window over my bed, and when I sat up I thought for a moment I had left my body behind. My head swam with magic, and I felt no pain, even when I glanced at my badly burned arm. Someone had taken off my armor and bandaged my arm and chest, and when I remembered what had happened I looked around in fear.

“Cricket?”

She was in her bed, not far from my own. Relieved, I tossed my bare feet over the bedside, then saw that she was in the grip of her own nightmare. Her body shook with fits, her eyes dancing madly beneath their lids. She was saying something, but I couldn’t tell what, gasping as she wrestled her dream. I walked across the ornate carpet, hovering over her, my hand dangling above her forehead.

“Cricket?”

I touched her shoulder, gently at first. She felt cold. I brushed her clammy forehead. Her hand shot up and grabbed my wrist, pulling me. I let her drag me down, almost to face to face, and when I looked into her terrified expression her eyes shot open.

“Cricket, wake up! It’s me.”

For a moment my voice calmed her. She released me and closed her eyes but then slipped quickly back into her shivering dream. I was confused and annoyed because I knew who had dragged me here, to this place between the worlds.

“Malator! Where are you?”

I looked around the chamber then heard his voice coming from the hallway.

“You can’t wake her, Lukien.”

My eye scanned the room. Mostly it was how I’d left it. I saw my armor tucked neatly in a pile, my boots beside it, gleaming and polished once again. The Sword of Angels rested against my wooden bed, not far from where I was-or had been-sleeping.

“Am I awake?” I asked.

“Partly,” said Malator. “Come out to the hall.”

“Why the theater?” I groaned. “Just answer me-what’s happened? What’s wrong with Cricket?”

“Just a dream, that’s all.”

“Why won’t she wake?”

“It’s her dream, Lukien, not yours. She’ll wake when it’s over.”

I drifted toward the hallway. “But it’s a nightmare. She’s afraid.”

“She dreams this way all the time. Haven’t you noticed? She’s told you about it. Tomorrow she’ll tell you again. Maybe this time you’ll listen. Come on, I want to show you something.”

His voice was almost playful. I followed it like a dog whistle. I had been in Malator’s dreamscapes before. He loves drama, my Akari. This felt different, though. He was right about me not really being asleep, but neither was I awake. The body was mine, plainly, but now I was in a different realm. I was irritated, but excited, too.

“How are you doing this?” It took me forever to cross the chamber. “This is new.”

“Someday you’ll be able to do this on your own,” said Malator. “Maybe.”

“What? Sleepwalk? I can do that without your help.”

“Cross between the worlds,” said Malator. “If you let me teach you.”

“Really?” I had almost reached the dark hallway, but still I couldn’t see him. “What world is this, then?”

Finally he stepped out of the hall, emerging from the darkness with his wavy smile. I never know for sure how Malator will appear to me. His body never changes but he loves to play dress up, like a little kid. I’ve seen him in Akari garb, and in the armor he once wore. I’ve seen him in priestly robes and in rags and in kingly finery, but I never once saw him dressed the way he appeared that night. I recognized the uniform at once. A Liirian soldier. An elite, like I had been before my fall. A Royal Charger.

“Why are you dressed like that?” I asked.

“I’m a soldier, remember?”

“An Akari warrior,” I said. “And that was a long time ago. Never a Liirian. Never a Charger.”

He held out a ghostly hand without apology. “Come. You’ll like this, I think.”

I wanted to talk about the monster. I wanted to know what happened, not just to me but to Cricket and Marilius. When I hesitated, Malator read my mind.

“They’re fine. You’re fine, Lukien. Or you will be when you wake up. Now trust me. This is something you should see.”

So I stepped into the hallway, and instantly it came to life. I had walked into another world entirely, back in time to a place so ripe in my memory that the sight of it paralyzed me. Suddenly my ears came alive with the noise-the rush of people, the clang of metal, the bawdy voices of men. The smell, that unmistakable coal smoke of the braziers, the kind that burned night and day and stained the old tapestries upon the gray brick walls. Maybe my mouth fell open, or maybe my eye popped out of my head, but Malator was laughing suddenly, giddy at my reaction to the phantasms he’d resurrected. He leaned over and kissed my cheek, like he’d given me a gift.

“Welcome home, Lukien.”