Damsel Knight

by Sam Austin

  Ness stands still, eyes shadowed, and her hand-print blooming red on his cheek. He doesn’t seem to see Neven hovering anxiously at his side. “Fine,” he says, so quiet she barely hears him. “Fine. If you want to be a boy so badly, then you’re a boy.”

  The fist seems to come out of nowhere. She goes flying across the grass, hitting the bottom of the steep burial hill. Gelert lets out a short sound of alarm, but there’s confusion in it still. He doesn’t know what she wants him to do. She doesn’t either.

  She pushes herself to her feet with her one hand. Pain flares across her jaw. It throbs with every heartbeat, sounding loud as drums played right next to her ear. Heat prickles at the back of her eyes. She bites her tongue hard, forcing the tears to stay hidden where they belong. Boys don’t cry.

  It’s not like she hasn’t been hurt before, but most of those times were caused by falling off things, or behaving too roughly for a girl, as her foster mother liked to say. There’s a harsh intimacy to being punched in the face that makes it feel a hundred times worse than any of the swats, or the few times she’s been put over someone’s knee.

  There’s one advantage though. She can hit back.

  Ness walks over to the dragon with huge confident strides. Gelert inches backward, but not fast enough. His black pits of eyes roam over all of them, searching for answers. Ness reaches out a hand to grasp the sword.

  Bonnie jumps, crashing into his back with enough force to knock him sideways. She grasps her arm around his neck, wishing she had another arm to help. He flails at her, hands beating at her shoulders and sides. He grabs her arm and tugs, spinning around so she flies over his head.

  She’s prepared for it this time. She lands in a crouch, then charges for him again. Neven’s shouting something, but they both ignore him.

  She catches him on the mouth before he recovers. It’s a real punch that makes his head snap back and his hands cradle his face. It’s a little like sword fighting. She has to keep moving so he doesn’t get too close. She’s faster, but he’s stronger. If he catches her, he’ll have the advantage.

  She gets him in the kidneys twice before he spins around. Blood drips from a split lip. It looks odd compared to his arms, still coated in red. Tiny, yet significant. She did that.

  She ducks under his next blow, and uses the moment he’s off balance to drive her fist into his stomach. He doubles over with a pained gasp. Wasting no time, she punches his face, feeling a satisfying crunch under her hand.

  Neven pushes his way between them, eyes wide. “Stop it. Stop it! We’re supposed to be friends here. Stop fighting!”

  Ness uses his head of extra height to catch her eyes over Neven. His nose is streaming blood along with his lip, making a congealed mess that gathers at his chin and falls to the ground. His chest heaves to catch more air. “I’m the only one left. You know that? Nine children, and I’m the only one. Two of my brothers went to war and never returned. One went to try his luck with your dragon, and the other went after him when he didn’t come back. Then there was just me, mom, the twins, my sister and the baby. Now. Now there’s just me.” His eyes unfocus, and he sways slightly, like that fact has just hit him again.

  Neven’s hand finds his shoulder and squeezes.

  “You don’t think I would give them back to you if I could?” Bonnie asks. Sure the twins could make mean comments, but they never meant anything by it, and there were hours when they’d follow her everywhere in hope of the chance to tend her long blonde hair. That’d been annoying as she’d usually be looking for a chance to sneak away to practice with her sword or shield, but she hadn’t totally hated the times she gave in. They were sweet kids. The youngest sister was quiet enough. The baby had been too young to do anything but love, and Ness’s mother had never objected to spending the time to dote on another’s child, no matter how many she had of her own. She missed them too. “But they’re gone Ness. And killing Gelert won’t bring them back.”

  “It’s a dragon! All they do is kill!”

  “Did he so much as lift a claw while you were driving a sword into his throat?” She asks, heart beating a rapid rhythm against her chest. Because that’s the real question here, isn’t it? You can argue all day about what someone did, or what they might do, but there isn’t much honour in killing someone who can’t defend themselves. “The only killer I see here is you.”

  There’s a scuffling sound above them. Bonnie looks up to see Alice scrambling up the last of the burial hill, something glinting in her hand. She disappears over the top, running.

  Gelert’s standing at the foot of the hill, staring at them. The sword is gone from his throat, but the wound still trickles a thick red down his chest. It hits her. Alice took the sword. Clever. It’s not like a knife would do the job. The only way to reach deep enough to find something vital is something long and sharp like a sword, so without it Ness can’t kill Gelert no matter how much he wants to.

  Only, there’s one problem with that plan. It’s strapped to her back, the hilt poking over her shoulder.

  Ness’s eyes fix on it and he leaps forward, past Neven.

  Bonnie springs back, the idea of him using her sword to kill Gelert sending shivers down her spine. Gelert can be saved. She knows he can. “Just because he’s killed doesn’t mean he’ll always kill,” she says quickly. The words fall on deaf ears. She understands his position all too well. That’s what makes this so difficult, because if someone were to try to convince her a day ago Gelert shouldn’t be killed she wouldn’t have listened. Then he came to save them. He came when she called just like he always did those years before.

  He killed Ness's brothers. He killed her parents. But part of him is still that tiny dragon who stared up at her from the box that day with nothing but love in his eyes. She can’t kill him like all those years of friendship meant nothing.

  “He won’t kill,” Ness says, dodging left and right, trying to herd her against the steep hill where she’ll be trapped. “Because I’ll kill him first. Neven can have his true love. You can have your knighthood. And I can have enough gold to bring them back.”

  “It’s too late Ness,” she hears Neven say somewhere to her left. “By the time we get to the city they’ll be…”

  They’ll be gone. Three days is the maximum time from death to successful resurrection. Or at least, the maximum time before the thing you bring back can no longer be considered human. Even if they rode day and night it would take six to reach the city.

  “No!” Ness charges with a sudden burst of speed.

  Heart racing, Bonnie darts sideways. Her foot catches on a clump of turf at the bottom of the hill. She stumbles. It’s less than a second of delay, but it’s enough.

  He grabs her by her shoulders, reaching for the carved hilt. His body weight destroys what little balance she has left, and she falls heavily, landing on her backside at the foot of the hill.

  Bonnie shoves herself back into the grass, leaning to the left to cover the sword as best she can. She rocks from side to side, kicking with her legs and using her hand to keep the hilt in its scabbard where it belongs. A single horrible thought occurs to her. With a little space she could draw her sword and end this fight in an instant. If she thought Ness might see the threat and back off she might consider it, but he’s past that now.

  She needs a different plan.

  She twists her neck and sees Gelert standing there, sniffing the air above them, waiting for some kind of indication what to do. That’s it. “Fly away Gelert!”

  “Stop!” Ness’s hand finds her mouth. It tastes of dirt and blood. His body crushes hers. “Stop it! Don’t you understand? I can bring them back. I won't ask for too much. Not all of them. Only some. I want - I want-”

  She bites his fingers hard enough to make him yelp and pull his hand back. “Don’t come back! You hear me! Fly away, and this time don’t come back!”

  The ground quakes as Gelert launches himself into the air. His wings throw a gale of wind down at them, kicking up ever
y loose plant and piece of dirt for a hundred metres around. Their clothes flap against their skins, and her short crop of blonde hair buffets madly against her forehead. He flies away, higher than he usually does, Bonnie sees with pride. And when he’s a red dot against the blue sky, she thinks she hears a deep mournful sound travel through the air between them.

  “You! You!” Red blazes up Ness’s neck, covering his face. He draws back his fist.

  Neven grabs his arm. “Please,” he says, pleading in his voice. “Please stop this.”

  It gives Bonnie enough time to buck her hips up, and dislodge Ness from on top of her. He falls onto his back, and she makes short work of rolling onto his chest, pinning down his arms with her knees. Fury races through her as she realises what she’s done. She told Gelert to go away, to never come back. She’d just admitted to herself how much she needs him, and now he’s gone.

  Worse Ness knows her secret. He’s always been the perfect boy. Strong of mind and body. Charming, and mindful of his duty to his family. Always ready to point out when she strays from her womanly role. There’s no way he won’t tell people what she used to be. It’ll all be gone. Her freedom to choose her own path, even express her own opinions. Her knighthood. Her life. Gone.

  All because he was born a boy, and she a girl.

  She hits him on his bloody chin as hard as she can. Pain stabs through her knuckles. She punches him again on the cheek, and this time his head rocks to the side. The skin blazes red. She draws her fist back twice more, each blow throwing a bucket of cool water on the pit of anger burning in her belly.

  Someone grabs her arm. It takes her too long to recognise Neven. He's almost crying. Both his hands wrap around her arm, grip iron tight.

  Then she freezes, because Ness is crying. Big, strong, unflappable Ness lies on the grass beneath her, fat tears rolling down the sides of his face. She's never seen a boy cry before apart from Neven, but even Neven's never cried like this.

  He sobs. Harsh uncontrollable sobs like a baby or a girl. He cranes his head to the sky in the direction Gelert left, though she doubts he can see through all his weeping.

  She jumps off him like she's been electrified by one of Neven's odd experiments. He doesn't move, not even to curl up or cover his face. He lies there, body shaking with a visceral grief she's only caught glimpses of in women.

  "I just want her back," he chokes out. His hand reaches up to swipe at his face as if the words had shocked some vague awareness back into him. "I wouldn't be greedy. Honest. I just - I want my mom back Neven. Neven. Please. I want my mom."

  Ness's hand paws at the sky, the action like his words that of a child, not a boy old enough to be considered a man. Neven drops to his knees beside the boy’s head, grabs the hand, then folds himself over Ness, hiding him from view.

  Bonnie stares as Ness sobs into the younger boy’s tunic like a baby. It’s odd. Everything that made up her view of life crumbles with each tear, and each heartbroken sound. It’s like watching the world be unmade.

  Neven tugs Ness up by his armpits and leans the larger boy against him. Tucking the newly shorn head under his chin, he rocks and murmurs like a mother to a newborn babe. After a moment, he catches her eyes and mouths ‘Go.’

  She does, walking back up the hill feeling like she’s in a dream. Once she reaches the top she sits down, facing the distant camp of soldiers. Both of them might hate her, but she’ll make sure they aren’t disturbed.

  Chapter 18

  Bonnie sits still in the cart as the medic pokes and prods her arm.

  “Feel that lad?” The old man asks as he (she assumes) presses somewhere along her arm with his gnarled fingers.

  “No,” she says again, keeping her eyes fixed on Alice huddled at the end of the cart.

  The princess stares back along King's road with a lost look that doesn’t seem to see the hundred or so old men and boys following them with dogged tiredness on their faces. King's road is flat and straight for miles. Even with darkness pressing in Bonnie imagines she sees the tiny dot of Porthdon in the distance.

  That’s not what Alice is looking at. She’s looking beyond that to where they last saw Gelert. It’s strange to not have considered it before, but while she had Gelert for five years, Alice had him for three. In a way he’s both of theirs.

  “This?”

  “A little,” she says. “There’s a pressure. Nothing more.”

  “And what was it you said did this?” He squints at her from beneath bushy white brows. She doubts he sees much. Both his eyes are clouded over with white.

  She glances over at Mrs Moore before remembering that it would not do to have the woman answer for her. Mrs Moore meets her eyes anyway, her gaze fierce and somehow reassuring before she looks down at the bottom of the cart. The old man might not be able to see her, but those beside them on horseback might.

  “I fell into a pool while playing,” Bonnie says, using the story they’d agreed on when she’d admitted wanting to let someone look at her arm. “It was frozen over.”

  “Frozen over?” His mouth gapes open enough to see the rotten stubs he has left for teeth. “In this heat?”

  “My mother thinks it’s magic,” Bonnie says, the word ‘mother’ slipping out easily enough. It’s not like it’s a total lie. Mrs Moore has been a mother to her these past four years. “I think she’s right.”

  Mrs Moore’s hands tighten their hold on her tunic, holding it so the old man can access the arm and shoulder without having to take the clothing off. At fourteen she’s too old to be able to pass off her chest as a boy’s. They were lucky the man didn’t insist.

  “I dare say you’re right lad. I’ve never seen anything like this wound. Blood still flows through the limb, but slower than the rest of the body. The arm holds an unnatural chill that puts me ill at ease, as does the blanching of the skin your mother has described to me.” He shakes his head. “No. I do not like this at all. There is little sensation, yet the fingers have a small twitching of movement left in them. It is magic, that is certain.”

  A small twitching. Bonnie pulls the hand to her lap and concentrates. The first two fingers curl ever so slightly. “They didn’t move at all before.”

  “Perhaps that is a good sign. Pray to the ancestors it's so. Get your women to pray too. The ancestors favour women in the same way they favour young children and fools." He takes a large strip of brown material out of his cloth bag. His crooked fingers work quickly, folding it into the shape of a sling. "Watch carefully. You'll have to remind your mother how to help you with this. Women are such sweet creatures, but prone to wandering of the mind. Here, like this."

  In moments the sling cradles her arm to her chest. It feels better, less likely to flop around like a dead fish. It'll be out of the way too, the next time she gets in a fight. She twitches her fingers experimentally, heart fluttering as they move.

  The man sways, almost falling forward into Mrs Moore's lap. He catches himself at the last second on stick thin arms.

  Mrs Moore catches her eye, and she remembers she's a boy now. A woman touching a strange man would be improper, but she doesn't have to worry about those rules any more. A thin thread of exhilaration runs through her, as it always does when she's reminded of her new freedoms.

  Grabbing his arm, she levers him to upright. The soldiers around them shout to each other, but none seems to notice the old man's fall.

  "Thank you lad," he says grasping her shoulder to keep himself steady. His dark wrinkled skin has a grey tone that wasn't there before. He wipes his brow with the back of a hand. "I came over faint all of a sudden. Never get old. It's the darkest kind of magic, taking and taking everything you love and giving nothing in return. I hope you never have to go through it."

  It's such an odd idea that she has to blink several times before she understands. Farmers get old, as do farmer's wives, but knights who prove themselves in battle don't have to. That could be her, earning the right to live forever in perfect health.

  A k
night forever. All she needs to do is impress Sir Julius, and keep her secret.

  Instinctively she looks over Alice's huddled form to the dishevelled mass of old men and boys following them. Ness and Neven are in there somewhere. Neven won't tell. She has no doubt of that. But Ness - she's not so sure. She's not sure of anything about Ness anymore.

  He's seen him stand up for the twins enough times to know he's no coward, but he cried. Is there some secret world where men can cry, just as women can get away with fierceness when there are no men about? Can she cry and still be considered a boy?

  The thoughts hold a foreign feeling she's not sure she likes. She'd been so sure Ness would tell everyone what she used to be, but he hasn't. She beat up Ness and got away with it. Sweet obedient Alice defied boys and saw no punishment. Ness cried.

  If girls can fight, and boys can cry, then what's the real difference between them?

  "When we get back to the city you'll have to see a druid about that arm. Many left with the other soldiers, so you may have trouble finding one." He sets his bag upon his hunched back, grimacing as he does so. "I'd help if I could, but I was not honoured with the chance to learn magic. A man with a birth such as mine does not have the mind for it. I hope you remember me though, humble as I am. I'm a hard worker, and faithful - ever faithful. I've served the Fair King since I was a young pot boy, and hope to serve him for many, many more years."

  There's a note of pleading in his voice, and those gnarled hands open and close in his lap, as if he's fighting to urge to cling to her and beg. It's his life he's begging for, she realises with a hollow feeling in her stomach.

  The maladies of old age are a small matter scrubbed away every day with the ease of wiping away a cobweb. His eyes could be returned to him, along with his health and a pain free body. If she becomes powerful enough, a word from her could go a long way toward him earning enough gold or favour to curing any ailment in his withered body.