by Heath Pfaff
"When I arrived at the Post, I found it besieged and had quite a difficult time getting myself in. The grounds were in chaos and the other Knights were already falling back. I was getting ready to join the fray myself when I spotted you lying on the ground, about to be devoured by a Lantern Eye. I saw the bandages around your eyes, that you were unconscious, and knew that if I didn't act quickly the newest Knight - and all of his potential - would be converted to fertilizer. I'll not bore you with the details, but I managed to get you free from Fell Rock before it was beat into the ground."
I sat down heavily. "Does that mean... they're all dead?" I asked, thinking of Malice and feeling a new burden of pain falling upon me.
"Oh no, Lowin, you misunderstand. The Knights abandoned Fell Rock when they saw that it was lost. They will reassemble elsewhere, gather their strength, and decide how best to proceed." He explained hastily, obviously seeking to offer some comfort to my frazzled emotional state. "Some few have perished, of that I'm certain, but the majority will have fled to fight again."
I was still confused, the events of the night before didn't make any sense to me. "Why didn't we go with the others?" I asked.
Weaver shrugged. "It's standard procedure to divide and travel separately. It makes us less of a target for those who might be looking for us."
"Then we go to the rendezvous point to meet up with the others?"
"We will be heading south, where we will meet up with the rest of our forces," he answered in a no nonsense manner.
I gave a sigh of relief. Malice was a brilliant fighter, she would have survived, and I would have the chance to meet up with her again when we reached wherever we were going. I couldn't quite dispel the nagging worry that she had fallen during the battle, but at the same time I at least had some hope. Weaver, I thought, must be quite able as a warrior if he was able to save me from the giant beast that had come with the attackers at Fell Rock and then carry me away from the battle. What was more important was that he knew where we needed to go. Of course, maybe I didn't want to go back to the Knights. Maybe I would be better off striking out on my own. I thought about that for a short time, but came to the realization that I needed to at least see that Malice had survived the siege of Fell Rock before I could leave. I had too many burdens on my heart already. I would feel better if I could alleviate at least that one. A thought occurred to me then, seeming to spring out of thin air.
"How did you know my name?" I asked the red-eyed Knight.
"We do not have new Knights so often that one cannot learn their names. You are the only new addition we've had in three years- a long stretch by even our standards. You are obviously, please excuse the term, 'new blood.'" He said the last with a smile. In the blink of an eye he was suddenly crouched directly in front of me, mere inches from where I sat. His strangely beautiful red eyes were locked on my own, his smile widened. "Oh my, I had suspected but... Have you seen your eyes yet, my boy?" It seemed strange that he called me "my boy" when he seemed barely older than I, but at the same time I remembered that he was, in reality, probably nearly four hundred years old.
I tried to hide my surprise at his sudden approach, and shook my head in negative. I hadn't had the chance to see much of anything during the events of the last few days. I told him as much.
"Hmm, you should." He replied, and in another flash he was back to the other side of the fire, lifting a pack from the ground and tearing through it, tossing things out on the ground as he went. "Ahha!" He said, there was yet another flash, and he was back in front of me again, holding out a mirror. I noticed that I could see a faint trail left by his motion from one side of the fire to another. He had moved so quickly I hadn't seen him shift but the trail remained as sign that he had indeed done more than simply disappear in one place and reappear in another. "I keep it for shaving..." He paused for a moment, thoughtfully rubbing his beard, then added, "Not that I ever shave. ...face gets cold." I took the mirror from him and held it up in front of my eyes, noticing the peculiar way my own motion left a trail. I looked for the first time at my new face. My features had changed entirely, though I could still see myself at the base of my appearance, as though all the new additions were simply improvements of the old. Where I'd been weak, the peculiar magic had made me stronger. The line of my jaw was firm, and the cut of my cheek was graceful yet powerful. I was far more attractive than I had ever been before, but the four scars from Wisp's attack still ran the course of my face, from my forehead to my chin, forever marring an otherwise amazing face. All of this, though, I noticed only peripherally, and cared little for either way.
What held my attention, what riveted my gaze to the mirror were my eyes. My eyes, Kye's gift to me, were a purple so close to the shade they had been in their original body, that for a moment I thought I was looking through the veil of death. I dropped the mirror, noticing subconsciously the way it trailed down to the ground. "They're still her eyes..." I gasped in a whisper.
Weaver's ears perked forward, catching the words, and for just a fraction of a second a look of profound, debilitating pain crossed his face and then his smile was back. "You and I, it seems, have some things in common."
It took me a few moments to gather myself enough to speak again but once I had, a multitude of questions surfaced in my mind. "Why do we have color in our eyes while the others have black eyes?" I asked the most obvious question my mind could latch onto.
Weaver sat down in front of me. "That is a difficult question, my friend. Of the lot of us, only Ethaniel, you, and I have eyes that are not pure black. I have often speculated on the reason for that, but I feel certain that it is tied to the bonding experience that takes place before..." He looked away, and I could see a hard line of anger on his features. "Before we become Knights." He finished in a quiet tone. I waited for him to say more, but he had gone silent and I could tell that he would not be forthcoming on this subject any longer. The question had been difficult for me as well so I did not mind letting it go at that, for the time being.
"What of my body? I didn't grow the clawed arms or the wolfish feet the way so many of you have. Does that mean I'm not as powerful, or is that something that will happen later?" I asked, and it was a question that had been bothering me for some time. At the heart of the question, was my desire to know why all the Knights of Ethan were different if the process of their creation was the same.
"Haha," Weaver laughed heartily. "I forgot that they don't tell trainees absolutely anything about the nature of the Knights. Suffice to say, for now, since I don't feel like getting into the matter too deeply, that those aspects will indeed come later. As for the power of the individual, that is a difficult attribute to measure. The eyes are telling... how long it takes to heal, how well a Knight," I noticed a strange inflection in his voice when he said the word 'knight.' "...can each master their skill. In your case, your Bound One," he paused after the term, watching me, and I knew that he saw the wince that I couldn't avoid as he used the term. The term "Bound One" had become something offensive in my mind and I hated to think of Kyeia that way. I wasn't sure what Weaver expected from me, or if he was disappointed or satisfied with my reaction, but he went on anyway. "She told the king before she even found you that you were going to be something special; a knight of a different caliber of strength. This hadn't happened before. The interest in you was quite high."
Kyeia had always thought I was special, and I still wondered whether she had possessed some great insight into my future, or was simply projecting her feelings for me into her expectations. In the end, it didn't matter. I hoped she had been proud of me in her life and, for my part, I would continue to grow to the best of my abilities and stand for what I believed right. I didn't yet know what was right, or how to be the best, but I don't think anyone ever really knows how to get to the top of the mountain when they're standing at the bottom. One has to find the way while on the path. I realized that I had been silent for too long, creating an awkward emptiness, so I nodded my head and said, "I
'm going to be the best."
Weaver smiled, and I sensed that there was something hidden behind his smile, something that shouldn't have been there at all. It came like the shadow of a bird across the sun, just a split second and it was gone and Weaver's smile was as open and honest as ever. "I don't doubt that, Lowin. I can sense the potential in you already, but you'll need to train your new abilities. They don't just work on their own and if you don't learn to use them properly you'll never be the best at anything."
Like the look of sadness I'd seen on his face earlier, the hidden aspect of him I'd seen beneath his smile nagged at me. I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind for the time. This red-eyed Knight, I thought, was one I would need to watch carefully. "Will you be training me?" I asked him.
He nodded. "I intend to. The trip south will take us through some hostile territory and it won't do to have you unprepared to defend yourself." His eyes opened wide as if something had just occurred to him and in a flash he vanished from where he was sitting in front of me and appeared at the opposite side of the fire, rifling through his pack again. After a moment he seemed to find what he was looking for. He took it under his arm and picked up a sword that had been lying on the ground near his pack. There was a flash of motion and he was back in front of me again, holding out a cloak like the one he was wearing and a scabbard containing a Knight of Ethan's sword, a fine blade with a silver crosspiece and handle wrapped in the finest black leather. The weapon had a belt and scabbard as well, both of the same fine black leather as the handle, though the scabbard was of a firmer finish.
"The cloak is my spare," the red-eyed warrior explained. "The sword I found on the field of battle at Fell Rock and thought you might want it when you were able to walk on your own." I took the items from him, noting again how the cloak was different than those I'd seen on the Knights at Fell Rock. He must have noticed my attention to the fabric. "They're new. Including the one you're holding right now, there are only ten of them. There will be more though, the design is good, the process perfected."
I noticed, as I went to put on my new cloak, that I was wearing an outfit of black and gray, a fine dark gray shirt that laced at the front, and well-fitted black pants. I hadn't had the chance to see the outfit I'd put on the night of the attack at Fell Rock, but I found it to my liking now that I could. The shirt reminded of the one Malice had worn when I had visited her in her room and she had worn nothing else. That memory made me smile despite myself, but the smile faltered as remembering Malice also made me remember that I didn't know if she was alright. I wanted to believe that she was safe, that her combat skills had seen her to safety, but the worry still nagged at me. I resumed dressing myself, a somber feeling sitting heavily upon me.
Donning the cloak was not an easy process. The nature of the fabric made it quite difficult to determine how it should be oriented. I did, eventually, figure it out and was surprised to find that the temperature inside the cloak seemed warmer than I had expected. The early fall air was chill but the cloak felt as though it had been warmed by my body already, despite having been just pulled from Weaver's pack.
Weaver again anticipated my question before I needed to ask it. "The inside of the cloak is always that temperature. It's part of the magic of the fabric. The one wearing it will never be too hot, or too cold. That is a surprisingly important feature for those who have to wear the same cloak day after day, come winter snow or summer heat. The fabric is also resistant to staining or tearing but will do either if put through extreme distress."
"Thank you, Weaver. I will wear it in good faith." I said, and indeed I was happy to have the cloak. From inside it, I felt much more secure. I fastened the sword at my waist, checking to see that the blade moved easily in the scabbard. It did, and I was happy for that. The blade also aided my feeling of security. Though I knew that I was far from a skilled swordsman, there was something reassuring about having the length of metal strapped at my side. Having a good weapon could make a coward feel like a hero and a hero feel like a god. I felt I belonged more in the former group than the latter, but it was an improvement either way.
"You'll still need a chain-mail vest to protect your chest. Your heart is important. If it stops beating, you'll die. Ha, yes, I know that seems an obvious sentiment, but not much else will kill you now. Just remember, if you're in a fight, protect your heart and try to keep yourself from taking any serious damage. The more serious the injury, the longer it will take for your body to heal it, and it can be hard to fight if you're mangled beyond recognition," As Weaver instructed me, he walked to the fire and pulled a wood skewer with an unidentifiable meat from where it was sticking up out of the ground at the flame's side. He walked back to me and handed me the hot stick. "Eat, you'll need the energy for traveling. When you're done, we should get moving. I could only get us so far from Fell Rock while carrying you. We should put some more distance between us and whatever forces may still be there, as soon as possible."
Following Weaver down the road dressed in my flowing cloak, carrying a sword at my hip, my strange new eyes highlighting the world in pristine detail, I found myself truly feeling like a Knight of Ethan for the first time since my training had begun all those months before. Inside I was still the same, frightened young man that I had always been, but now I was cast into the role of an imposing warrior, strong and mysterious beneath my shifting cloak. It was easy to act the part but I wondered how others would perceive me. Would they know that I was only sixteen, almost seventeen, years old and still inexperienced in the ways of combat or would they only see a "Black-Eyed Devil," some monster from stories they had never quite believed were real? I didn't know, indeed, couldn't know. A part of me didn't want to find out. If they saw me for the young and inexperienced man I was, it would shake my confidence in the man I was trying to become. If they saw me as a monster, they might be right, and that was a truth I feared deeply. Was I still human?
"Where are we headed?" I asked Weaver, looking for some topic to break the monotony of the road and stop the repeating, hopeless circles of thought I'd been caught in for several hours.
"South." Weaver stated.
"Where 'south'?" I pressed, not content with such a vague answer. It was easy to say 'south,' but there was quite a lot of 'south' we could be traveling to. For a moment I wasn't certain he would answer, but, after a short pause, he spoke again.
"Our final destination is an island in the Rip Tooth chain, Howling Wind. We'll meet up with our forces and from there we can decide our next move." His voice was tight, authoritative, not the same friendly tone he had used around the fire. I was quite shocked at his answer, not the tone, but the subject itself. I had not realized we would be traveling so far south. The Rip Tooth islands were at least another two or three weeks of travel away by foot, if we kept to the major roads. If we could find transport we might make it in a single week or less, but that was still a considerable distance to travel.
"Will we be obtaining transport?" I asked the stalwart cloaked figure, not eager to walk for three weeks.
"No, hiring transportation is too easy to track, especially for us. In a battle, or out in the countryside we can use our cloaks to vanish, but towns, cities, and villages will see us and remember our passing. We will leave as little trail as possible." Again, there was a note of command in the way he spoke. It was, I guessed, probably attributable to his many years in the Knights of Ethan. Being second only to Ethaniel himself must have put Weaver in positions of command on many occasions. I didn't reply again, but after a time Weaver turned his eyes to me and I thought I could see a smile about his features, though it was hard to tell for certain as he had the face mask portion of his cloak pulled up, leaving only his eyes clearly visible. "We should probably begin your training."
I nodded my agreement, happy to have something to do. The tedium of travel is matched in torment only by the foot pain.
He walked as he continued talking. "Let us begin with something easy, yet vitally important. In fac
t, this will be the most important thing you'll learn how to do and, conversely, the easiest. You will use it much more effectively later, but for now you need to learn its function and how to call upon it in times of distress." He bent down and picked up a rock from the road. Weaver tested its heft in his hand for a moment before pulling back his arm and flinging the stone forward at an almost straight course out from us. Such was the velocity of his throw that I could barely detect an arc in the object's trajectory, even with my improved vision. "Now, if you were watching that closely, you should have seen a strange streaking behind the rock when I threw it, like a light that followed the path of the stone. Did you see it?" He looked at me again.
"Yes, I saw it." I told him, not sure if I should tell him that the streak following the stone had been quite distinct. In fact, it had been almost blatant, as were all things that moved, especially those that moved in contrary force to the world around them. For instance, a leaf blowing in the wind only left a faint trail, but a bird, struggling against the pull of the ground and grip of the winds, left a much more resonant trail. I had spent a good deal of time studying the effect.