Knights vs. the End (of Everything)

by Matt Phelan

  “Welcome,” said Ash, who was suddenly beside her. “Hungry?”

  Mel didn’t answer.

  “Oh, you are the clever one.” Ash chuckled. “Later, perhaps? Shall we visit the others?”

  He led Mel to a corner furnished with enormous velvet chairs and chaise lounges. Morgause and Morgan Le Fay sat. Mordred stood a short distance away.

  “Why is she here?” said Morgause with dislike.

  “Because I wish her to be here,” said Ash. “She, too, wishes to be here.”

  “I do not,” objected Mel.

  “And yet you came.” Ash grinned.

  “I am not here. I am dreaming.”

  “You are half-correct,” said Ash, stretching out on a chaise. “You are dreaming. But you are here.”

  Ash nibbled a grape and considered it for a moment.

  “Then again, you are also not here. So you are two-thirds correct. Not bad for a mortal. You will be such an excellent addition to my collection.”

  Mel went cold, despite the crackle of the fire.

  Mordred stared at her with quiet loathing.

  “These two,” said Ash, gesturing at Mordred and Morgause, “are impatient for me to conquer Camelot and vanquish King Arthur. What say you, Melancholy?”

  “I think you should not do that,” said Mel. “We will stop you.”

  “‘We?’” Ash chuckled. “There is nothing any of you can do.”

  A baby began to cry. Sir Morien’s baby. Ash approached an enormous flower where the baby lay.

  Mel had to do something. She had to save the baby. She must—

  Morgan Le Fay was at her side.

  “Wake,” she hissed.

  Mel woke by the fire. Her companions slept around her. The forest was dark and cold and silent. There was no crying baby.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dream, Kick, Duel

  The spring thaw began, but instead of bringing a feeling of renewal, the growing buds had a slightly ominous look. The company searched forest, glens, lakes, caves—everywhere—but there were no signs of the faerie realm.

  Except for the purple vines. Every day there were more, choking tree trunks and crossing paths.

  “These blasted vines,” said Erec. “Have you noticed?”

  “They are spreading in the same direction,” said Hector.

  “Toward Camelot,” said Magdalena.

  It was late afternoon. The band had stopped in another forest. Mel wandered off to think. She had returned to Faerie only once more in a dream. She had watched the faerie celebration from a distance. No one spoke to her. She did not see Ash or the others. Yet this dream was the most disturbing, for she’d longed to join in the celebration.

  Mel felt more alone every day now. Magdalena, her one-time teacher, barely spoke to her. Was the Black Knight disappointed Mel neglected archery to dabble in wizardry? Was Magdalena just finished with her now? The distance between them grew, often literally. As Mel sat and pondered, Magdalena had ridden on alone to search for signs. She had left without a word, of course.

  There were quite a few words coming from the other three members of the band, however. Some not suitable for repeating.

  Bors was having a heated argument with a tree.

  “He’s completely lost it,” Erec said to Hector.

  Bors, red-faced, was pointing a finger at the old tree. A gnarled bit of bark on the trunk had a passing resemblance to a bearded face.

  “I’m on to you, tree! Open up!” yelled Bors.

  “I can sort of make out a face,” said Hector, squinting from a safe distance away. “It takes more imagination than I thought Bors possessed, poor fellow.”

  “Fine! We do it the hard way!” roared Bors, and he kicked the tree.

  “Ooh,” said Erec. “That hurt.”

  Bors was not beaten. He began to pummel the tree with his bare fists.

  Erec sighed.

  “Erec,” began Hector over Bors’s grunts. “Have you ever thought about . . . well . . . we’ve been at this for quite a while now.”

  “You want to give up our search for Morgause and the faerie king?”

  “Of course not,” said Hector quickly. “But after we’ve stopped them . . .”

  “Are you talking about quitting? No more adventure? No more knighthood?”

  “Well, just a simpler life for a change. Still keeping busy, you know. But perhaps fewer . . . evil creatures and things like that,” said Hector.

  Erec sputtered a bit, but couldn’t form any actual words.

  “Vile villain! I will make you talk, Tree Man!” Bors kicked the tree again and then hopped around holding his toe.

  “This is perhaps not our finest hour,” said Erec quietly.

  Magdalena rode slowly through the woods on her great midnight-black steed. The horse snorted.

  “I am bored as well, my old friend,” said Magdalena.

  She halted her horse and scanned the surrounding forest.

  “No sign of faeries here.” Magdalena patted her horse. “But at least I’m having a nice ride with you.”

  The horse whinnied.

  “Yes, and a nice talk. It has been a while since we chatted.”

  Magdalena flicked the reins, and they continued on.

  “Why is it so easy to speak with you and so difficult sometimes with the others?”

  Snort.

  “I know it’s ridiculous. But conversation has always been a challenge for me.”

  The horse shook its mane.

  “Mel? Yes, even with Mel nowadays. Of course, my counsel and teaching should be coming to an end. It is right that she finds her own way.”

  The horse bucked a little, jostling Magdalena in the saddle.

  “No. I am sure I am correct. Mel doesn’t need . . .” The words trailed off. Magdalena wiped her brow, then brought the horse to a halt. She sniffed the air. Campfire, extinguished, maybe a few hours ago. She dismounted and tied the reins around a low tree branch.

  The horse whinnied softly.

  “Thank you,” said Magdalena, patting the horse’s neck. “It is always good to talk with you, too, Peaches.”

  Magdalena moved cautiously through the trees until the landscape opened up to a hillside filled with boulders and rock formations. A little ways up was a cave. In front of the cave was Sir Morien.

  He was still as stone himself, his back to Magdalena. She took a silent step closer.

  “Leave me,” said Morien without turning.

  She took another step.

  “Leave me now, be you friend or foe. I have no time for you.”

  Magdalena took a deep breath.

  “How long now?” she asked.

  Morien slowly turned his head. He regarded Magdalena.

  “Six months. Six months since our baby was spirited away. Two months since I last saw her. When you and your companions ruined my plan.”

  “We did not know.”

  “It matters not.”

  Magdalena approached and stood a few feet behind him, watching the cave.

  “Have you found an entrance to Faerie?”

  “Possibly.”

  Silence fell.

  “I have heard of you, Sir Morien,” said Magdalena. “I have heard of your bravery and skill. For six months a knight of action has been forced to wait with nothing to strike, nothing to smite. I cannot offer you much; we have not been successful either. But I offer this: fight me, brave knight. Just for a while hit something concrete that will hit you back. Direct some of your anger at me.”

  Magdalena drew her sword. She waited.

  Morien spun, drew his sword, and struck. Magdalena barely managed to block the blow. Morien thrashed again. Clang! Clang! Magdalena backed up to the rock wall. Then with one mighty swing, Morien achieved the unimaginable: he knocked Magdalena’s sword from her hand.

  Morien’s blade stopped inches from Magdalena’s throat.

  “You think me angry?” said Morien quietly. “I assure you, Black Knight, I lost my anger a
long time ago.”

  Sir Morien lowered his sword and returned to his place at the mouth of the cave. “Now there is only fury.”

  Magdalena retrieved her sword and left Morien without another word. She returned to camp with a cut on her cheek.

  “What happened to you?” asked Erec.

  “Sir Morien and I dueled.”

  “Oh,” said Erec. “Who won?

  “Morien,” said Magdalena.

  Silence. The other knights turned to Magdalena.

  “Is he joining us?” asked Hector.

  “No,” said Magdalena.

  Mel started the fire with her spell. She watched the Black Knight. Magdalena held her eye for a split second, then turned to the fire.

  Bors leaned against the gnarled tree. He gave it one more punch, but it was halfhearted, at best.

  “I miss the monsters and the lizards,” he muttered.

  Chapter Twelve

  Choices

  “Melancholy.”

  Ash’s voice called, but this time not in a dream. Mel woke. Her companions slept around the low-burning fire.

  “Melancholy.”

  The voice traveled as if on a breeze. Mel sat up. The three glowing imps perched in a tree, staring at Mel. They alighted and drifted into the woods. Mel stood. She paused a moment to look down at the others.

  They had been through much together, but now—she was sure of this—now she must go on alone. Ash wanted her for some reason. Maybe she could set at least one thing right. Weaponless, Mel followed the light of the imps into the dark wood.

  “She is here!” said Crumpet as they entered a clearing that brushed up against thicker, denser woods. It gave the impression of a stage or amphitheater.

  Ash stood in the clearing, smiling.

  “Wonderful,” Ash said.

  And then Sir Morien stepped from the shadows, his sword raised.

  “Tedious.” Ash sighed.

  “I shall fight to the death,” said Morien.

  “No. Wait, Sir Morien. King Ash, I have a bargain for you,” said Mel.

  Ash still grinned, but his demeanor was suddenly colder.

  “If Sir Morien’s baby is returned immediately and never taken again,” Mel continued, “I will come willingly with you.”

  “Interesting,” said Ash.

  “I may not be able to stop you or save Camelot. But I can save the baby,” said Mel.

  “And you will stay in Faerie?” asked Ash.

  “Forever,” said Mel.

  Ash chuckled. “Oh, let’s not be dramatic. I am a fair faerie. Let us just say . . . until the impossible comes to pass. That has a nicer ring to it.”

  The baby appeared with a sparkling light, wrapped in a beautiful green blanket, set safely on the grass.

  Morien sheathed his sword as he rushed to the spot. He paused, inches from his small child.

  “Mel,” said Morien.

  “It’s all right, Sir Morien. Please, take your baby and go far from Camelot,” said Mel more firmly.

  Morien picked up the baby, who gave a small giggle at the sight of him. Morien was lost for a moment, staring at his daughter.

  “Thank you,” breathed Sir Morien.

  Erec, Magdalena, Bors, and Hector plunged out of the forest. “STOP!”

  “A bargain has been made,” said Ash with a smile. “Just to save a baby. How very strange.”

  Magdalena drew her sword as Mel went to Ash’s side.

  “You have a strategy, right, Mel?” said Erec frantically.

  “Not this time,” said Mel.

  The world seemed to blur. When it came back into focus, Mel and the faerie king were gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Fury of the Black Knight

  “RRRRRAHH!”

  It was all Bors could say.

  Hector and Erec raced to where Mel had stood, searching for . . . anything.

  Sir Morien stepped forward, holding his baby.

  “I am sorry for you,” he said. “However, my heart is filled with joy. I do hope sincerely that you someday find a way to Mel. Her sacrifice means all the world to me and my family. She will not be forgotten.”

  No one spoke.

  Morien turned and walked to the edge of the clearing, where his horse waited. He mounted with the baby held close.

  “I regret that I cannot stay,” Morien said.

  “No,” said Magdalena. “You must leave Camelot for your little girl. Her childhood will be a great adventure. I daresay you would not want to miss it.”

  “Not for the world,” said Sir Morien, and he turned his horse and rode off.

  “Right,” said Erec, snapping back into action. “Find those imps. Cratchet, Boil, and Pus or whatever their names are. We will force them to—”

  “Mel vanished here. Perhaps we should stay. Perhaps the way into Faerie lingers for a time,” interrupted Hector.

  Magdalena stood stock-still, her gaze fixed on the spot Mel last stood. She breathed slowly, evenly. She closed her eyes, then opened them, scanning the trees and the surrounding area. She walked along the edge of the tree line.

  “RRRRRAHH!” roared Bors.

  “Be quiet, Bors,” said Magdalena.

  “Quiet? Quiet? I think hollering is a perfectly normal response. Unlike you, Magdalena, I am not cold and silent as a stone! This is not the time to be calm and cool and quiet!”

  Magdalena turned to Bors and spoke softly. “I am neither calm nor cool. Mel has been taken. I am furious. Now. Be. Quiet.”

  Bors, Hector, and Erec watched Magdalena in silence.

  She breathed slowly and turned back to the trees.

  Meanwhile . . .

  In Faerie, Ash sat on a throne in the great hall with Mel at his side. The hall had a single wooden door at the opposite end. Torches cast a strange green light on the throne and the door, but the rest of the hall was in shadow.

  Mel glanced down at her left wrist. The purple vine that had been twisting around her arm turned to dust and blew away in a breeze.

  “I do so love it when I get what I want,” said Ash.

  “You didn’t get the baby,” said Mel.

  “True. But I no longer wanted the baby. My mood changes often. One whim today, another tomorrow. Sometimes I do not even look the same. You will get used to it,” said Ash. “You will have no choice,” he added.

  In the forest . . .

  Magdalena stood before two gnarled, twisted trees that stood six feet apart. Her eyes climbed the trees. She rested a hand on the trunk of one and then the other.

  Bors, Hector, and Erec watched, puzzled.

  Magdalena made a fist, drew it back, then thrust it into the empty air between the trees.

  BOOM!

  Ash and Mel turned toward the great door at the far end of the hall.

  “What was that?” asked Ash.

  BOOM!

  Magdalena raised both fists and pounded the air between the trees.

  BOOM!

  BOOM!

  Ash stood slowly.

  “No,” he whispered.

  Silence.

  And then the great door burst open with one final BOOM!

  The Black Knight stood in the doorway.

  “That is . . . ,” said Ash.

  “Impossible,” finished Mel.

  Ash waved a hand at Mel, and vines crawled from her chair to bind her. He snapped his fingers and creatures of all kinds appeared from the shadows and scurried down the walls, an army of monstrous beings.

  Magdalena had not moved. She simply stared directly at Ash. Her eyes were terrifying.

  Ash laughed.

  “She does not even have a weapon!” he chortled.

  Mel met Magdalena’s eyes.

  “She won’t need any,” said Mel.

  The creatures of Faerie attacked.

  And the Black Knight . . .

  Magdalena crossed the hall, stepping over the vanquished foes. She took a faerie knife, carved from a thorn, and cut through the vines that hel
d Mel.

  “You came for me,” said Mel.

  Magdalena paused. She turned to Mel.

  “I will always be there for you. No matter what. As long as you need me. As long as I live.”

  Mel wiped her eyes and smiled. Magdalena smiled back.

  “Now let us get out of this strange, unpleasant place,” she said.

  “Gladly,” said Mel.

  There was a great clattering at the door, and Hector, Erec, and Bors tumbled in.

  “Good! Excellent!” cried Erec. He examined the hall of fallen enemies. “Did you do all of this?”

  “Of course she did,” said Bors. “I’d recognize her work anywhere.”

  Hector was still by the door. “We’re not out of the woods yet. . . . Actually it appears that our woods have vanished. We need to find another escape route.”

  “Let’s go!” said Mel.

  Outside the hall more faeries, elves, goblins, and creatures without name were gathering.

  “There are more of them,” called Hector.

  “I should hope so,” barked Bors, and he threw himself into battle.

  The heroes fought with all their might. Weeks of frustration, anger, and fear poured out and was directed at the Good Folk of Faerie. Having left their swords behind, they made do with fists and kicks, clubs and borrowed faerie weapons.

  A safe distance away, Morgause, Mordred, Morgan Le Fay, and Ash pondered the scene.

  “They are really quite good. At fighting, I mean,” Ash mused.

  “Inexplicably so,” said Morgause.

  Ash sighed.

  “That Black Knight is something. I should have taken her.”

  “I do not think that would have ended well,” said Morgan Le Fay.

  Ash shot her a look. She turned away.

  “No. Perhaps not. Speaking of ending,” Ash continued brightly, “I believe this has gone on long enough.”

  “Kill them all,” said Mordred with an intense gleam in his eye.

  “Tsk, tsk,” said Ash. “Such brutal language. I do not care for you, Mordred. You utterly lack style.”

  Ash turned again to the battle. “This is how it shall end.” He clapped twice and the sound was deafening.

  All of the fighters stopped. A shadow passed over them. Faeries and knights alike looked to the sky.