by John Marco
This was the thing stalking my dreams. Nine feet over the ground, its dead-eyed ox head looked at me. I searched for a heart inside its ribs but saw instead a glowing darkness. Nothing alive seemed within it. I spun Zephyr free of the filth around his hooves, out where I could fight. Cricket and Marilius started toward me.
“Back!” I cried.
They reined in their mounts. The creature, whatever it was, pulled free of the stinking mound, then stopped as if guarding the dell.
“It’s different now,” said Marilius. “It was just skins when I saw it.”
“But what is it?” asked Cricket. “What is it?”
“A monster, I told you!”
I quickly rubbed Zephyr’s neck to calm him. I needed him now. And Malator.
Malator? Are you with me? I asked, gripping the sword tighter.
I felt him pour into me. Like thunder, Lukien.
Rage is all I know in battle, and rage was all I felt. I silenced the others with a wave, raised the Sword of Angels, then cried out and charged. Zephyr shot forward, straight for the beast. The sockets of its two dead eyes turned against us. I drew back my sword, turning my arm to steel, spying the heartless chest of the thing, the pulsing darkness behind its stolen ribs. It hunched to meet the blow, unafraid. Zephyr galloped forward, splashing through the gore. A single bony arm came up, big as a tree limb. I ducked beneath it easily, saw my mark . . .
I swung the sword. I hit the mark. And then like fire it struck me. Unimaginable, burning pain, turning my arm to water in my armor. I think I screamed. I know I fell from horseback. The sword tumbled out of my hand, over and over my head until it hit the ground beside me. I tasted dirt in my mouth. I rolled to recover, but my arm felt broken, almost useless. Cricket ran to me, grabbing my breastplate. Marilius was over her, still on horseback.
“The horse!” he cried, and I didn’t know why.
I staggered to my feet, felt the shadow of the creature, and shoved Cricket away.
“Move!” I shouted, and turned to see Marilius. His horse bucked wildly, fighting him. My own horse had tangled in the bones of the beast, its slapping reins wrapped around a pair of elk ribs. Marilius whirled his mount around to push me backward.
“Lukien, run!”
My sword! I scrambled to find it. Cricket rushed it into my hand.
“Come on!” she cried, tugging at my hair. Marilius was still in front of me. I shouldered past him to get to Zephyr, watching as my horse—my brave and beautiful horse—kicked its way free of the beast and ran.
“Zephyr, go!”
I ran forward, screaming, as the monster came at me, its ox skull animated, the four legs coming alive beneath it. Again it met my sword, and again that icy fire surged up my arm. This time I managed to keep the sword in hand, spinning for another blow. Pain roared up my arm, rattling the bones and burning the skin. Malator cloaked me in his magic. Up went the creature’s enormous hand, slapping hard against my breastplate, sending me tumbling. I shook off the pain and rose again.
“Cricket, Marilius, run now! Run!”
Marilius galloped toward me. He raised his sword, charging past me like a mad man. His blade glanced the monster’s hide and shattered. Marilius screamed, holding up his hand. I could see the red and blistered skin, already charred. He managed his horse, turning it back toward Cricket, who once again was coming for me.
“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.”
14
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.”
Home. I was home. Back in Liiria, back in the castle where I’d grown to manhood. Back with friends I knew but who, for some reason, paid me no notice. There I was, just in trousers, my bare chest bandaged and standing there like a mute, and all around me rushed my past. Liirians I hadn’t seen in decades, some who’d died in battle and some who’d later called me a traitor, laughing, celebrating, twirling pretty girls to the music of lutes from the other side of the hall. Servants moved through the crowd, passing out food from silver platters and sloshing beer from great big mugs. A teenaged boy hurried past me, brushing me aside, unseen. When I saw his face I remembered where I was . . . and when. I shouted out his name.
“Akeela!”
Of course he couldn’t hear me. Thirteen again and this was his party. He ran, dodging the men and women his father had invited, chased by . . .
I waited, not breathing, knowing I would see myself bursting from the crowd. And there I came, the perfect happy memory, shoving past a flustered maid. The sight of my own, younger self seized my heart. I glanced at Malator, but the Akari said nothing, smiling serenely as he watched the other ghosts. I gazed at myself, my wonderful, younger self, my face bright with both my eyes and free of scars, laughing as I chased Akeela through the hall. I had teased him, I suddenly remembered, about a girl he’d fallen for but wouldn’t admit. It wasn’t Cassandra, though. It wouldn’t be Cassandra yet for years.
“Nymira.”
I whispered the name as I watched myself disappear. Malator shoved me into the hall.
“Go after them,” he chided.
So I did. With the air of a ghost I passed through the crowd, running easily after the boys, knowing exactly where I’d find them. Malator kept up with me as I traced the route from memory, thrilling at seeing the castle again and studying the happy faces of men who’d one day be my mentors and women who’d be my conquests. I found the drawing room where I’d cornered Akeela and found us wrestling on the floor, a moment away from toppling the vase.
I thought of jumping forward, of moving the table before Akeela kicked it over or catching the vase before it shattered. But I was a ghost. No matter what, the vase would fall. My younger self pinned Akeela to the carpet. He struggled with a cat-like shout, his foot shooting out toward the table. The vase tottered a long time, but neither boy noticed it until it crashed down next to them.
“Oh . . . !”
The cry was mine. I winced at the shock in Akeela’s face. The younger me released Akeela and sat back, astonished. Akeela cursed.
“Damn it!” He picked up bits of alabaster, trying to puzzle them together again. “Why’d you chase me, Lukien? Look!”
But it wasn’t my fault. I remembered what I’d said to him: “Why’d you run then? You’re so clumsy. You can’t beat me in wrestling or anything else!”
“This was my mother’s!”
“So? Blame me for it. I don’t care.”
Akeela nodded, but I knew he wouldn’t go for it. Even then I knew he wouldn’t.
“I broke it,” he sighed. “I’ll tell my father.”
Neither my younger self nor Akeela got up. I drifted closer, squatting down beside us. Akeela looked exquisitely beautiful. So logical. So resigned. And I—or the me I once was—gathered up the pieces of the vase.
“Anyone could have broken it,” I said. “Or stolen it. Get back to the hall. I’ll get rid of it.”
“You can’t. We’ll take the pieces to my father.”
“No, Akeela. It’ll be a secret.”
“You’ll get blamed for it. You always do. Forget it.” Akeela used his cape to collect the bits, holding it out for me to dump my own into. “Here.”
“That’s crazy. It’s your birthday!”
“So? I’m supposed to lie, then? What are they teaching you in the Chargers? You’re going to be a soldier soon, Lukien. Soldiers don’t lie, not even to protect their friends.”
“But friends keep secrets. Secrets make the friendship stronger.”
Akeela stood there with his cape full of broken alabaster, holding it out like a basket. “Come on,” he said, and walked back toward the hall.
“Loyal, your king,” said Malator suddenly. “Honest.”
I nodded. “He was always like that. I was the disloyal, dishonest one.”
“You were his favorite soldier.”
“I was his friend,” I corrected. “Being his soldier came later. But yeah, I was his favorite.”
“A king should be like that with his soldiers, don’t you think? Loyal to them? People forget that. They think soldiers are the only ones who need to be loyal.”
“Yeah . . .”
I knew from my time with the Akari that Akeela was alive somewhere; really alive, just as Cassandra was alive in her own death realm. I wondered if Akeela was still insane, or if becoming a spirit had healed him. But I had never asked that question, not of Minikin or Malator or anyon
e else.
“Why’d you show me this?” I asked. “Did you think I’d like seeing Akeela again? Because I don’t, Malator. I don’t need to be reminded about what I did to him. I don’t need you prancing around playing soldier!”
The room was silent except for my angry voice. Malator smiled without looking hurt.
“What?” I pressed. “There’s a lesson here? There’s always more with you, Malator. Tell me what it is.”
Malator shook his head. “I can’t, Lukien. I can only guide you.”
“You know everything, don’t you? What was that monster? What’s this all about?”
“First,” said Malator, “I don’t know everything. I’ve told you that already. That monster was a demon, not of this world. Ask questions, Lukien. Follow the answers.”
“But you won’t give me answers!” I raved. “All I get from you is horseshit!”
“Then ask someone else. Who would know about the monster? Who is pulling the strings here?”
I shrugged. All I wanted was to be back to sleep. “Fallon?”
“Fallon indeed. He knows more than he’s telling.”
“Yeah, all right, but what about all this?” I looked around the room. “None of this has to do with anything. I can’t figure it out, Malator.”
“Food for thought, then,” said Malator with his cheerful grin.
I took a breath to clear my mind. Thinking was tough, though. My arm started to hurt. “I think I’m waking up,” I said.
“It’s almost dawn.” Malator sighed. “I should take you back now.”
“Wait, what about that other thing you said? About me crossing between the worlds?”
“Oh, you won’t remember anything about that when you wake,” said Malator. “That’s not for now, Lukien. For now, just eat what’s on your plate.”