Knight Watch

by Tim Akers

  Faux-Eric had a second knife. It appeared from under his robes (the illusion of a bard’s costume was fading before my eyes, to be replaced by grayish robes that covered pale, gaunt flesh) and flashed in front of my face. I leaned back, off balance, giving him the chance to wrench his knife away from my blade and attack again. It was all I could do to get the forte of my sword in the way, catching the blade with the crossguard. I fell backwards, hitting the table with the small of my back. Rolling over the table, I landed on the other side with my sword up. It was a lot cooler than I thought it would be. Eric grinned at me. His teeth were small and pointed.

  “You’re looking less and less like Eric every second,” I said. “So why not drop the act and tell me who the hell you really are?”

  “I’m never really anyone, not completely. Maybe I’ll be you tomorrow. Maybe not,” he said, as though we were discussing what to have for dinner, rather than the fact that he was trying to kill me. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? You won’t be around to see it happen.”

  We circled the table, guards up, Eric’s daggers swaying back and forth like cobras looking for the perfect time to strike. As much as I loved my sword, I had to admit that it wasn’t the ideal weapon for this environment. Too long, and too difficult to swing. My butt brushed the fireplace, and I remembered the shield.

  I kicked the table between us. Eric dodged it easily, but it gave me just enough time to pull the shield down from its place on the mantle. The enarme strapping whipped across my hand just in time, forming a center grip. Eric pounced, leaping over the upset table. I punched him with the boss of the shield, then followed up with a downward stroke with my sword, sliding the blade along the edge of the shield. He faded back, wary eyes on my blade. Backing toward the door, I kept the sword close to my waist, point resting against the shield. I had to get him outside, in the open, where I could swing my blade around like a maniac, as was my way.

  “We’ve hardly started, and already you’re trying to get away? Come play, Sir John of Rast. Come and die!”

  “Heroes can’t die in their own domain,” I said, with a lot more confidence than I felt.

  “Clarence said that, too. But there are things worse than dying, hero,” Eric snarled. His body popped and strained, as his arms grew longer, and his back became stooped. The daggers in his hands looked more and more like talons by the second. “You should ask him about that. If you ever see him again.”

  The Eric-thing leapt at me. There wasn’t a lot of room inside the cabin to maneuver. Panic seized me, and I brought my shield up, then staggered back when he slammed into it. Claws scrambled around the edges of the shield, scratching at my face and shoulder. I triggered the panels on that side, smacking the creature back and buying myself a little space. I tried to drag my sword into the fight, but every time I swung, Eric was somewhere else. Finally, I forced him toward the fire and settled into a solid guard.

  “I’m starting to think we’re not friends anymore, Eric,” I said. The creature cackled.

  “Were we ever? He sees the way you look at him, the way you listen to his stories. He knows what you think of him. But I’ll never leave him, not like you did. I’ll never leave him! He’s the perfect vessel!”

  “We’ll see about that,” I said. I shuffled forward, thrusting my sword in a series of short strikes, filling the space between us with dangerous steel. The creature jumped back, but there was no place to go. His foot went into the fire, and he yelped in pain. Immediately, any illusion that this thing was Eric, could ever have been Eric, disappeared like a morning fog. The flames turned its skin to ash.

  Enraged, the creature threw itself at me, heedless of its own safety. I flicked my sword sideways and landed a good blow, points in the old system, but not enough to kill. The tip of the sword glanced off its arm, stuttered across its chest, then slipped free. The blood that came out was black as pitch, hissing against the wooden floor. The acrid smell of burning gore sent me reeling. The creature shoved me aside and ran out the door.

  It no longer looked like Eric. Hell, it no longer looked like a human at all. The creature that fled from me wasn’t wearing gray robes, it was a bundle of gray robes wearing the scraps of a human. A hollow arm flapped limply from its neck like a scarf, and tattering layers of graying skin trailed along the ground. When I grabbed at it, a tuft of crumbling hair came away in my hand. It looked back at me with a dozen faces, each one stacked inside the other, like masks hanging on a peg. I wouldn’t have known it was the same creature, if one of those masks hadn’t been Eric’s face, and a bunch more I didn’t recognize. It laughed with a hollow voice.

  “What’s the matter, little man? See something you don’t like?”

  I punched at it with the edge of my shield. The hollow face crumbled, and suddenly Eric was back, just for a second. He looked around the room with wide eyes and clear shock. When he saw me, he nearly screamed.

  “John! John where the hell am I? John, you’ve got to help—”

  And then the monster’s face returned, pale eyes and needle teeth. It snapped at me, then barreled through the door and was gone, disappearing into the rain like mist. I shook myself out of my horrified stupor. I wasn’t sure what I had just seen, but I was glad it was gone. I slammed the door, then looked around the cabin. Every piece of furniture was broken. The floor and ceiling were spattered with stew and the monster’s burning blood. Even the crocks were shattered. I sighed and sat down heavily in the ruin of my chair.

  My best friend was either a monster or in trouble. And all I had to do was figure out which it was and save him. Or kill him.

  Or both.

  Chapter TWENTY

  WAKING UP ON THE

  WRONG SIDE

  I braced the front door with one of the chairs from the kitchen table, then passed a fitful night in the embrace of my lounge chair, sword in one hand and shield across my chest like a blanket. In the morning...it was still night. But at least the rain had stopped.

  I stood up and stretched, or at least I tried to. Remember what I said about not sleeping in your armor? This is why. I couldn’t feel my hands, my arms, my legs, my feet, and portions of my head. I don’t know if you’ve tried to stand when you’re that numb. I certainly hadn’t, and promptly fell on my face. I felt my nose pop, and a warm spray of blood started to trickle down my face.

  I found a rag in the kitchen that I promptly ruined. The bloodflow eventually stopped, and I became steadily aware of my surroundings. The pot of stew was gone, replaced by a sizzling rasher of bacon and a kettle of the strongest tea I’ve ever smelled. I fell into it, not even bothering to carry my breakfast into the next room, just shoving bacon and tea into my face while standing over the sink. I splashed cold water from the basin on my face, then wiped the skillet clean with a chunk of warm bread.

  “Okay, this is worth it,” I said. “Give me food like this every morning, and I’ll suffer an assassination attempt any time.”

  The cabin grew warmer, as though it were blushing, and I felt a smothering happiness waft down from the rafters. But as much as I liked it here, it was time to get back to the mundane. I know I was supposed to stay here and get more in touch with my mythic self, but frankly I needed to get home and tell Esther what I had seen. Maybe murder-Eric was part of the domain, but I suspected not. And he had mentioned Clarence. Surely Esther would want to know about that.

  Thing was, Esther had never talked to me about how to leave my domain. Maybe that’s something that would have come out in the training, or maybe she expected me to figure it out. Learn by failing. But I didn’t have time for that. I needed to get back to MA, tell them what I knew about Eric, and get on with the business of saving my friend.

  I packed a leather satchel with the remainder of the bread and a wedge of soft, orange cheese, along with a waterskin filled from the basin and a wool blanket, in case I got stuck in the forest. I gave one last look around the bedrooms, then went outside. There was no lock on the front door. That would take some ge
tting used to, but in theory there wasn’t anyone else here.

  “A theory that’s already been proven wrong, of course, but...” I gave the cozy cabin one last look, then set off into the forest.

  I had some theories about how I was going to get out of here. Clarence’s domain had an established trail, directly connected to the front gate of that cartoonishly large castle, always patrolled by the resident dragon, Kyle. It was part of the schtick. A knight and his dragon. But that wasn’t my gig, and it wasn’t the gig with this domain. So what was?

  I was the kind of guy who didn’t do stuff, mostly because it was different. I wasn’t a coward, but I was stubbornly uninterested in the outside world. I spent a lot of time not fitting in, and that had created a barricade of fear around my childhood; fear of rejection, fear of ridicule, fear of even getting noticed. I was afraid a lot of the time. Which is why the world of dragons and knights and castles appealed to me. There was something comforting about a house with stone walls, a suit of armor, and a visor that covered your face. I could be anonymously brave, and just as anonymously afraid under my steel suit.

  Which is why I didn’t get that fantasy when creating my own domain. That was Clarence, and always would be. I was something else. I was the guy who had to face his fears and overcome them, so other folks could face their fears as well.

  Hence the constant night, the forest full of monsters, the sky that flickered with leather wings and distant howls, with just enough light that my eyes were fooled into seeing things that weren’t there and blinded to the dangers that were. It was a trial, a place to come to sharpen my bravery, not by being a safe place, but by being a dangerous place. No one gains courage in the embrace of crushing safety, but in the face of overwhelming terror.

  That was all good to know. But what did it mean for my escape plan? What was the way out of a realm of constant fear?

  Courage, I thought. So I wandered the forest looking for something to be scared of. I found what I was looking for at the top of a waterfall. Now, I’m not a terrible swimmer, but I’m not the kind of swimmer who can survive a dip in icy water while wearing full armor. I’m not sure anyone can survive that, despite the hours I’ve spent exploring deep sea caverns in various videogames, all while wearing plate mail, carrying a spare set of armor for my healing spec, and lugging around three million gold pieces, twelve platters of spicy shrimp surprise, and a sack full of shattered crystal medallions, which I was hoarding to buy that sweet reputation mount. In short, gaming had not prepared me for the unreal world.

  The waterfall was about forty feet high, and I could see a deep, rocky pool at the bottom, barely visible through the cloud of spray. The fall could kill me, a rock could kill me, or I could drown. Hell, I could do all three. Or maybe, just maybe, I could hit the deepest part of the pool, drag myself out from under the pummeling waterfall, and crawl to the shore. It was possible.

  “Bloody unlikely, but possible.” I stood at the top of the deluge staring down at certain death. “The point is courage, not suicide. I mean, I could just stick this sword down my throat and stand on my head if I wanted to kill myself.” I shied away from the edge, bounced on the balls of my feet a couple times, then rushed forward. My heart stopped halfway there, and I pulled up short. “Nope, nope, no...no way. This is a terrible idea.” My sudden stop dislodged a handful of stones, and they were still falling when I looked over the edge. “That doesn’t look like forty feet. That’s more than...they’re still going. Damn it, why are they still falling!” The stones disappeared into the mist, and I was left alone with my incalculable fear and an unpleasant drop. I took a deep breath. There it was. Complete terror. Absolute, knee-buckling fear. There was no way I was doing this.

  Three steps and it was over. The edge was closer than I thought, so my foot was still reaching for stone when I found nothing but air. I got to a good speed in those three steps, so I cleared the waterfall and avoided being dashed against the stones. My eyes wanted to squeeze shut, but the point of this whole exercise was courage, so I forced them open, staring with grim determination at the rapidly approaching ground. The pond was the color of carved agate, a jewel set in a ring of broken rocks. It was coming fast. I clasped my hands together and held them over my head, staring down my death. The impact, when it came, was a cold hammer against my skin.

  I immediately knew this was a mistake. The driving roar of the waterfall pinned me to the bottom of the pool. The air squeezed out of my lungs, and the force of my landing was still humming through my bones. I blinked, but there was nothing but darkness. I was dying. I could feel the cold oblivion creeping into my limbs.

  Maybe death would be a relief. Let’s be honest, I’m not really cut out for the hero business. Maybe if I just lay here and let the water crush me into a pulpy, cowardly, worthless...

  Fuck that. That’s what old John would do. Mundane John. And I was no longer that guy. Not because I finally had a cool sword, or because I had killed a dragon or fought off a storm harpy or even briefly walked past a super-hot Valkyrie. Not because I was part of a team of miracle workers, all of whom seemed to believe I was capable of miracles myself, despite all contrary evidence. No, I wasn’t going to die here because I didn’t want to, and I was going to do something about it.

  I pushed myself up off the floor and started crawling forward. I had no idea which way the shore was, or if I was dragging myself deeper into the pond, but I didn’t really have a choice. The pressure was incredible. It was all I could do to get a few inches between my chest and the rocky bottom. My legs were completely numb, but I kept sending them signals to kick, to push, to drive. I made progress. My lungs were burning, and my head was a fuzzy cloud of pain and determination, but I kept going. I. Kept. Going.

  The darkness started to fade. Either I was getting closer to the surface, or I was finally seeing that tunnel of light people always talked about. The pressure on my back let up, so maybe I was getting out from under the waterfall, or maybe my body was losing the last traces of feeling. I could see my hands. They were bloody rags against the gravel of the pool, but I could definitely see. I was hunched over, rather than crushed flat, and the weight of my armor was the only pressure on my shoulders. Scrambling forward, the sound started to change around my head, and then my face broke through the shining surface of the water.

  I was alive. Because that’s what I do in the face of fear. I survive.

  I stumbled out of the door Esther had pushed me through the day before. I was soaked from head to toe. I fell to the floor and emptied a gallon of water from my lungs, sputtering and vomiting and crying the contents of my body onto the stone floor. Finally, I was empty, and lay there gasping for breath and gathering my dignity. I needn’t have bothered. A soft giggle brought my attention to the rest of the room. I wasn’t alone.

  The whole team was gathered. Esther stood at the end of the table, with Matthew and Tembo on either side. Bethany was several chairs away, and the closest to me. She was just covering her mouth...the source of the giggle. I stood stock upright and said, “What’s so damned funny, Beth?” Except I didn’t, because my lungs were recently full of water, so when I opened my mouth a jet of gray sludge came out, along with a chorus of burps. Bethany went down hard, floored by her own amusement.

  “You’re not looking so hot there, champ,” Tembo said. His brows were knit in concentration, as though he was trying to remember if I usually breathed water, or if this was unusual for me. “Y’alright?”

  “I’m fine,” I gasped, hands on knees, staring down at the contents of the bottom of the pond, along with several small fish and bits of stew. I glanced back up at the saint.

  Then I stared at Matthew for a while.

  I wouldn’t have recognized him without his hair, and because his costume generally matched the dingy white blazer and blue jeans I had seen him in earlier, though of a more medieval cut. A cream half-cape draped his shoulders, and the rest of his outfit was brown and gray, very similar to a priest’s vestments if prie
sts regularly had to run marathons as part of their duties. But that’s not why I had trouble recognizing the saint named Matthew.

  Matthew’s face was hidden behind a featureless steel mask that sat close to his skin, while a high collar covered his neck and tucked into the bottom of the front part of the plate. Thick leather gloves protected his hands. Not an inch of Matthew’s skin showed. But it was the blank steel of the mask that bothered me the most. It was like staring at an empty canvas.

  “What’s the deal with the mask, man?” I asked. Matthew mumbled something, but it was difficult to understand.

  “Our saint has been in the presence of his radiance, if only briefly,” Tembo said. “Believe me, if he wasn’t covered up, you couldn’t bear to look at him.” Matthew mumbled something else, and Tembo waved him off. “Not like that. And use your divine voice, Matthew. No one can hear you.” He turned in my direction. “His skin glows, Sir John. Like fire.”

  “I swear there’s a cancer risk involved,” Bethany mumbled. Matthew sat back and turned his head in her direction.

  “You let me worry about that,” he said, more clearly this time. His voice almost seemed to echo off the stones, though it wasn’t terribly loud. “I heal faster than I burn.”

  At that, my stomach did a quick flip against my intestines, and I leaned forward again.

  “Oh, God, I think I’m going to be sick,” I said. Bethany laughed again, and I looked up miserably. “What’s so funny?”

  “There’s a fish in your boot,” she said. “It’s staring at me.”

  I looked down. The fish blinked at me, nonplussed by its current circumstances. I pulled it free and tossed it on the table.

  “My contribution to the meal,” I said.