The Reckless Oath We Made

by Bryn Greenwood

  Sometimes you had to talk Marcus down to a nap, but he was so tired all I had to do was take off his shoes. I was out almost as fast.

  I woke up to a sound I couldn’t identify. Whacking and grunting, and every once in a while a thud and a shout. The light in the room had changed, from bright to soft yellow. I almost didn’t understand what that meant, because I never got to take naps in the afternoon. It felt more like waking up in a different universe than like time had passed. I reached for my phone, but I’d forgotten to plug it in, and it was dead.

  The whacking and grunting had stopped, so that I wondered if I’d dreamt it. Marcus was still sleeping, and even me kissing his forehead didn’t wake him up, so I left him there. There was nobody out in the great room or in the kitchen, but I could smell dinner cooking. I was about to go look in the dining room when the patio door opened and Gentry walked in. His hair was dripping wet and he was wearing something that looked like quilted pajamas.

  “Is it raining out?” I said. It didn’t make sense to me, because I hadn’t heard rain, but I couldn’t come up with any other reason that he would be soaking wet.

  “Nay.” Before he could say anything else, a kid walked through the door behind him.

  “Oh, wow! You’re Lady Zhorzha,” the kid said. He was maybe fifteen, Asian, a little taller than Gentry. Also damp and wearing quilted pajamas.

  “My brother Trang,” Gentry said.

  We were about to shake hands when Charlene called from the dining room, “You boys take those nasty, sweaty clothes off!”

  Not rain. Sweat. I pulled my hand back and Trang grinned at me.

  “Sorry, we were jousting,” he said, which I remembered was how Gentry had injured his shoulder.

  Charlene came in carrying a laundry hamper, and the two of them stripped down to T-shirts and running shorts that were plastered to them with sweat.

  “Dinner’s almost ready, so you two need to get cleaned up,” she said.

  “Can I do anything to help?” I said.

  “No, come and meet my husband.”

  I followed her into the dining room and shook hands with her husband, Bill, who was a big bald white guy with a gray beard.

  “Well, we are honored to have you here, Lady Zhorzha,” he said. I couldn’t tell whether they were being serious with that.

  “Thank you for having me.” How many times had I said that to how many people? How many friends’ parents’ houses where I tried to be as polite and invisible as I could?

  “Bill.” Charlene tilted her head toward the table. He reached out and folded over the newspaper in front of him. Today’s paper. With LaReigne’s face now hidden. That jolted me back to reality. I took a step backward and almost fell over on top of a little girl in a wheelchair who’d come up behind me. She was so tiny I couldn’t guess how old she was—maybe four or five—but she wore great big glasses and her hair in a pair of afro puffs.

  “Oh god, I’m sorry,” I said.

  “And this is Elana, Gentry’s sister,” Charlene said.

  “Lady Elana,” the girl said.

  “Well, Lady Elana, this is Lady Zhorzha,” Bill said.

  I didn’t know what to make of the fact that she looked starstruck. She held out her hand, so I took it very gently, because it seemed too fragile to shake.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Lady Elana,” I said.

  The starstruck fell off that fast. She squinted at me and pulled her hand back.

  “You’re not really Lady Zhorzha. You don’t talk right at all.”

  I looked at Charlene and Bill, hoping for some help, but she rolled her eyes and he was trying not to laugh.

  “I’m sorry, but I really am Zhorzha,” I said. Elana wasn’t convinced.

  “Dinner’s about ready. Why don’t you get Marcus up and herd the boys this way?” Charlene said.

  Marcus came awake the way he always did, as belligerent as a prizefighter, but I rousted him out and got him to the bathroom. Just like Gentry had said, his room was next to mine. Because Charlene had told me to “herd the boys” to dinner, I knocked, but the door wasn’t latched, and it swung open.

  The room was almost identical to the guest room. Two twin beds. Two nightstands. Only it wasn’t a bedroom. It was an armory with beds in it. All over the walls, hanging off hooks and sitting on shelves, were swords and helmets and shields and pieces of armor I didn’t know the names for. Chain mail shirts and big metal gloves. And more swords. And knives. And an axe. And a thing that looked like an axe on a long pole.

  “My lady,” Gentry said, as he stood up from the foot of his bed, wearing nothing but boxers. Of course, because he’d just taken a shower, and I’d barged into his room without being invited. At least Trang was dressed.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting the door—”

  “You do have swords,” Marcus said. He pushed past me so I couldn’t close the door, and stood there as saucer-eyed as I felt, staring at all the glittering blades.

  “I have, Master Marcus.” With us there as an audience, Gentry pulled on a T-shirt and shorts. Still barefoot, he stepped up onto his bed, lifted the biggest sword off the wall, and brought it down to us. It was a two-handed sword, and it must have been heavy, but Gentry didn’t have any trouble with it.

  “It’s big,” Marcus said. It was taller than him. He stared at it with the kind of amazement that was usually reserved for giant Christmas trees and people in superhero costumes.

  “Yea,” Gentry said. He looked off to his left and laughed. “A bastard sword for a bastard.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Charlene

  Zee was not quite what I expected. White and redheaded, that much I knew, because Gentry had described her as “flame-haired and fair.” Nobody had had the sense to put the girl in a hat when she was little, and she was freckled all across her cheeks and down to her décolletage. She was taller than Gentry by several inches, at least five eleven. I’d imagined her as a delicate Arthurian princess, but she was solid, with a broad, nervous smile. Trying hard to be polite, but the kind of girl who puts on her good manners like clean, white church gloves. Not the sort of thing you wear all the time.

  Because we had guests, I made dinner milder than usual. So many kids weren’t used to eating anything but chicken nuggets, and Marcus did pick out and eat some chicken and potatoes, but most of his dinner was the cheese toast I served on the side. Zee, I got the impression, would have eaten anything I put in front of her, to be polite. The only way to tell she didn’t care for it was that she turned down seconds.

  Gentry of course didn’t. As he was coming back to the table with his and Trang’s bowls, Elana whispered to him, “You said her hair was pretty.”

  Gentry hesitated, setting the bowls down before he answered her: “’Tis.”

  “’Tis not.”

  “Elana. We do not talk about our guests.” I gave her a warning look, but the little sass box ignored me.

  “’Tis not,” she said.

  Gentry sat down and picked up his spoon. Then he put it back down.

  “Sister, thou shalt make me wroth if thou art uncourteous to Lady Zhorzha,” he said.

  “It’s okay,” Zee said.

  “He said your hair was red, but it’s orange,” Elana said.

  “It’s from eating too many carrots.” Zee reached over and took a chunk of carrot out of Elana’s bowl and ate it. That made Elana giggle. Gentry smiled, and then Elana couldn’t decide whether she liked Zee or was jealous.

  We usually watched a little TV before Elana’s bedtime, but there was an immediate problem when Zee sat on the couch next to Marcus, and Gentry sat on the floor in front of her. I could tell the whole day was wearing on him, because as soon as he sat down, he started stimming. One hand at first, scratching his neck. Then after a few minutes, both hands scratching his shoulders, so that his arms were pressed up
near his ears with his elbows pointed up.

  “Does your back itch?” Zee said. “I can scratch it for you. If you want.”

  I thought it would go nowhere. Sometimes he went so far away when he was stimming that it was hard to get him back. After a few minutes, though, he nodded and scooted back far enough that he could have leaned against her legs.

  Zee started scratching his shoulders, just below the seams of his T-shirt. I couldn’t see the look on his face, but Bill and Trang were both looking at him. They glanced at each other, then at me. I gave a very small shrug, because I didn’t want Zee to notice that we were all watching and waiting to see what would happen.

  “That’s not fair! Why does she get to scratch your back?” Elana said, and that put an end to that. Zee jerked her hands back, and Gentry jumped up.

  “Child, it must be your bedtime,” I said. “Why don’t you boys go to bed, too?”

  Elana put up some crying and fussing, but I finally got her down to sleep. Coming back past Trang and Gentry’s room, the light was off, but I could hear them talking. Swords and armor? Or love and ladies? It was always one or the other with them.

  Bill had turned over to the news, and that’s what we were watching when Zee came back from putting Marcus to bed. She sat down to watch with us, but it was only a few minutes before the news cycle came back around to the situation at the prison. Bill reached for the remote.

  “No, it’s okay,” Zee said. “I feel a little better seeing her. It lets me think she’s maybe okay.”

  “I’m sure she is,” I said. “You both seem like strong girls.”

  We watched, but there was nothing new to the story. Manhunt continues, that was the sum total of it.

  “Would you like a little wine? I thought I might have a glass before bed,” I offered.

  That was how I lured her into the dining room, with a glass of that cheap sparkling peach wine I liked. She didn’t seem like a girl with expensive taste, either.

  “So, tell me about yourself. I think you can guess getting information from Gentry isn’t all that reliable, since he didn’t tell you about Miranda.”

  Zee took a sip of her wine, and then a swallow. She had nice fingernails. Not painted, but clean, neat ovals. Good nails for scratching.

  “Well, you know. My sister is Wiccan, like they said on the news. She’s part of a volunteer ministry at the prison.” She was embarrassed, which I hadn’t intended. I reached over to put my hand on hers, and she let me.

  “What about you, honey? I know you’re working as a waitress. It’s the only reason Gentry would ever eat at a restaurant. Are you in school?”

  “No. My sister’s taking some classes to finish her degree, but I never—I’m not good at that kind of thing.”

  “Not everybody is. So, you had a motorcycle wreck? That’s how you and Gentry met?” I tried. I appreciated that she was more comfortable talking about her sister, but I felt like I deserved to know more about her, considering I’d waited two years to meet her.

  “Ma’am, I—I feel like I owe you an explanation about me and Gentry. I don’t really—we’re not dating or anything. I don’t know what he’s told you and I don’t want to be rude but—”

  I had to get ahold of both her hands and squeeze them before she quit trying to explain. I did my best, but couldn’t stop myself from laughing.

  “Oh, honey. It’s okay. I know you and Gentry aren’t dating. I’m not sure he—I’m not sure how that would go,” I said.

  “It was awkward.” Zee gave me an embarrassed smile.

  Then it was my turn to be surprised, because I didn’t know there’d been dating. I’d laughed at the very idea. I let go of her hands so that we could have a drink of our wine.

  “A few times, I tried to convince him to take you flowers, but he didn’t think it would be appropriate, because you might think he was pursuing you.”

  “Except after we broke up or whatever happened, after I met his other family, he kept coming by my house, and where I work,” she said. I felt bad for both of them, because obviously she was confused.

  “He hasn’t told you why?” I said.

  She shook her head, so I took the plunge I’d taken with a few other girls: I explained about his autism, which she seemed to have figured out on her own. Then I told her about the voices he’d been hearing since he was a boy. Gawen, who was like an overgrown playmate, but a bit of a bully. Hildegard, who was pious but awfully judgmental.

  “And the Witch, who is sort of Gentry’s spiritual adviser,” I said.

  “Really? A witch?”

  Zee laughed, which was new to me. Most people didn’t find any of it funny. She wasn’t the first girl I’d explained Gentry’s voices to. I wasn’t proud of myself, but with a few girls, I used the explanation to get rid of them. Girls who seemed needy or inclined to take advantage of his good nature.

  With the Navarro girl from church, I’d had higher hopes. I’d imagined that if I explained carefully, she wouldn’t be nervous about all of Gentry’s side conversations. I was half right. She stopped being nervous, but her interest in Gentry immediately turned from romantic to pitying. Not that he noticed either way.

  Of course, all those girls came along before the Witch pointed to Zhorzha in the physical therapy clinic and said, There she is. That’s the girl I’ve been telling you about.

  “The Witch has been telling him for years that he has a special duty,” I said. “It turns out you’re his special duty.”

  “I don’t understand,” Zee said.

  “The Witch told him he was supposed to protect you, so that’s what he’s been trying to do. He didn’t mention that to you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he did. Honestly, I don’t always understand what he says. I got a C in English in high school, and we never got to Shakespeare. I wasn’t in the advanced class.”

  I hadn’t been sure what I thought of her until then. She wasn’t stupid, but a lot of people won’t admit their own ignorance. I could respect that.

  “Do you know what a champion is?” I said.

  “Yeah. It’s like a knight who defends a lady, right? But in romance novels it’s more romantic, I guess.”

  “Well, he means it in the chivalric sense. In the knightly tradition, a champion is a knight in service of a lady. Gentry only wants to protect you, so you don’t need to worry about him or his intentions. Today was pretty important for him, that he was able to help you. I want you to know that.”

  “And there isn’t anything they can do to keep him from hearing those voices?” she said. It was what people asked: can’t he be treated or cured?

  “Oh, honey, no. Plenty of people hear voices, a lot more than you might imagine. The only ones who ever make the news are the ones who have a serious untreated mental illness. The rest of them just go on with their lives. Mostly, I think Gentry’s voices are useful to him. They help him navigate the world, when that’s not easy for him.”

  “But why me? Why is he supposed to be my champion?”

  “Oh, you’d have to ask the Witch about that. But why not you? Didn’t you need a champion today?”

  “I guess I did. I didn’t know he was so into this medieval stuff. Being a k-night,” Zee said. I laughed to let her know it was okay to think that was a weird way to say it.

  “Oh, yes. Ever since he learned to read, he’s been obsessed with knights and castles. You should ask to borrow some of his books. I know he’d be happy to have you read them.”

  “But he’s serious, like with the swords and everything.”

  “He’s always been serious about it. Enough that it’s caused some problems. When he was eleven, he ran away because he wanted to become a knight. His older brother, Carlees, was on a Boy Scout camping trip that weekend, and Gentry really wanted to go, but we didn’t feel he was ready yet. Socially. Instead, we told him he could camp at hom
e. My sister, Bernice, had given him a little pup tent that he set up in the backyard.

  “We were getting ready to host a barbecue for Memorial Day weekend. Bill went out to light the grill, and Gentry was gone. He’d packed up his camp and left. Bless us, I think we actually laughed about it a little. When the guests came, we went out walking around the neighborhood, figuring we’d find him at the park or the school playground. Someplace obvious. Then it got dark and we panicked. Called the police. Our pastor.”

  “Where was he?” Zee said.

  “Oh, we didn’t find him that night. Or the next night. A ranger up at El Dorado State Park came across his camp five days later. Gentry had walked all the way there, cross-country. Pitched his little tent, built himself a fire, picked some berries, and caught a fish for dinner.”

  “Oh my god. And he was how old?”

  “Not quite twelve. It’s a funny story now, but there were a few days where I thought we might lose custody of him. We’d had him since he was three, as a foster, before we adopted him. After that we had to be much stricter with him.”

  “Why did he run away?”

  “He didn’t even see it that way. He and Gawen were on an adventure. There was this book, his favorite book at the time—I don’t remember the title of it, as embarrassing as that is.”

  “One of those Barbara Leonie Picard books,” Bill called. He’d been listening all along.

  “If you say so. A historical book anyway. About a young boy in medieval times who runs away and becomes a knight. That’s what Gentry was planning to do. After that, we were off the deep end into all the medieval romances. Gawain and Yvain and Arthur and Lancelot. Then we took him to a meeting for the SCA—the Society for Creative Anachronism—and he found a knight who was willing to take him on as a page.

  “Until then, he’d struggled with speaking, but learning Middle English took a lot of the pressure off, because everyone starts on the same footing. Except Gentry. Even when he was twelve, he spoke better than most of the adults at those get-togethers. Of course, his voices speak in Middle English so, in some ways, it’s his native language.”