Crisanta Knight: To Death & Back

by Geanna Culbertson

  I recalled the warning of the man from the stables who’d taken us up the mountain. He’d said that this forest disrupted magic tech, including Mark Twos. I guess I just wished he’d been wrong.

  Defeated, I put the Mark Two in my bag and returned my wand to hairpin form before clipping it to the bra strap beneath my tank top. That’s when I heard something rustling in the trees behind me. I whirled around but the sound stopped, and when I stalked through the trees in investigation, there was nothing to explain it.

  I trudged on through the forest in search of my friends, but soon even this grew difficult. I may have been super charged when I’d first come back to life, but my exhaustion and pain were growing as time passed, causing me to feel heavy and stiff.

  Things went from bad to worse a few minutes later. Distracted by the aching and dizziness, as well as the sound of rustling leaves that had started up again, I took a wrong step and fell through an animal trap. The hole was maybe eight feet deep. It had been covered by leaves and woven grass, which made it blend into the ground. I crashed to the bottom.

  As if through a long tunnel, I looked up at the hole above me and saw a flash of silver and fur. My head felt woozy and I knew I was about to go unconscious. So I found myself praying to any higher power who might listen that this whole “bring myself back to life” thing did not have a time limit.

  lass, may I have your attention?”

  The classroom of young adolescents looked up from their work. Among them was Natalie Poole. She sat at a desk near the front of the class. Ryan Jackson sat a few seats behind.

  The students minded their teacher—a slender, caramel-skinned woman with curly hair and horn-rimmed glasses. The shadow of someone standing in the hallway cast its way across the floor.

  “I would like to introduce a new student,” the teacher said “She just moved to Los Angeles and will be starting class with us today.”

  A girl with long, platinum blonde hair, shining pink lip gloss, dark black eyes, and perfect porcelain skin entered the room. She smiled at the class and winked at Ryan Jackson when their eyes met. Then her gaze fell upon Natalie. She continued to smile, but the grin seemed different, somehow sinister.

  The blonde girl appeared slightly older than the rest of the kids. Natalie moved uncomfortably in her seat as the teacher put her hands on the girl’s shoulders.

  “Everyone,” she said. “Say hello to Tara Gold.”

  Natalie snapped the pencil in her hand. The image of Tara—Arian’s right-hand woman who was charged with the campaign of destroying Natalie’s life on Earth—faded to black.

  I was now looking out at a spectacular view of snow-covered mountains. I leaned my hands against a low stone wall. The feeling of cold against my cheeks and the soft snowflakes that fell on my hands confirmed that I was not an observer in this scene, but a player.

  In most of my dreams I was an omniscient presence who simply saw what was going on. Once in a while I had dreams where I was full-on present and talked to Liza in a void. This kind of dream was something in the middle. I was very much aware and a part of my surroundings, but it felt like I was not in control of anything I said or did. It was like I was on autopilot.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

  My ears perked up at the recognizable voice. The last time I’d heard it in real life had been close to a year ago.

  “Mark,” I said, turning to see my old friend approaching from across a snowy courtyard.

  Mark, prince of Dolohaunty, had been Jason’s roommate and a friend of ours for a few years. But he hadn’t returned to Lord Channing’s last fall, so Daniel had become Jason’s new roommate and joined our group as a result.

  The staff at Lord Channing’s said that Mark was taking a temporary leave of absence due to an illness, though later we discovered that the antagonists had also been targeting him just like they’d been targeting me, my friends, and any other protagonists they deemed a threat to their plans. We’d been extremely worried about him until Liza shared that he was okay, actually had been sick, and that we would reunite with him in the fall. I’d had a vision to confirm this, which helped, but sometimes I still wondered about what had happened to him.

  Looking at the prince now, he seemed perfectly healthy and fit as ever. His dark skin stood out against the sharp white snow. The silvery dress regalia he wore, the glowing lights of the palace behind him, and the long-sleeved, sparkling purple gown I was wearing told me that we were at some kind of formal event.

  “You’ve been enormously helpful,” I found myself saying. “We’ll figure out the rest as we go. There’s still some time left.”

  “Not a lot of time when you’re preparing for the end of the world,” Mark responded.

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m not doing that,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not preparing for the world to end. I’m preparing to save it.”

  It was so strange to feel like I was reciting lines from a script I hadn’t read. This vision was also more detailed and longer than other autopilot ones I’d experienced in the past. Maybe my visions were getting more powerful?

  Mark leaned against the wall beside me. He tilted his chin up at the starry sky and closed his eyes for a moment. Tiny snowflakes fell on his face. He looked peaceful but also a bit sad. I didn’t know why, but I felt my heart hurt with empathy.

  “You’re not just hiding from the crowd, are you?” Mark commented after a beat.

  My eyes flicked to him. “What else could I be hiding from?”

  Mark smiled sympathetically. “I know it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, Crisa, but I still remember how you like to run away.”

  “I do not.” I frowned, genuinely insulted. “I never run from a fight if I can help it. I’ve faced every monster and antagonist this realm and others have thrown at me.”

  “I didn’t mean from a fight,” Mark said calmly. “I meant from people. You’ve always been like that—pushing people away, keeping friends at arm’s length, never letting your guard down completely.”

  “I’m not like that anymore,” I said flatly. “At least, I try not to be. Last year I had to deal with all that stuff you’re talking about. It took a lot, but I overcame it. I’ve let a good number of people in since then—SJ, Blue, Jason, Girtha, Chance, Daniel …”

  Mark nodded. “I guess old habits die hard with the last two.”

  “How do you mean?”

  He raised his eyebrows and gave me an incredulous look. “Crisa.”

  My gaze darted away from him. The snowfall was picking up; a storm was coming. In that flurry of frozen fractals, the scene faded away.

  Now I was in Rampart’s castle, in the Knights’ Room. Arian was glowering over a pair of nervous magic hunters—the ones who’d been standing over my undead body in the Shifting Forest.

  “What do you mean she’s alive?” Arian barked. “You just told me that you killed her.”

  “We did,” one of the hunters said apprehensively. “She was dead … and then she wasn’t. That life magic of hers is way more powerful than we thought.”

  Arian looked angry enough to kill someone himself. In the next instant, he did. Faster than I could look away, Arian drew his sword from its sheath and cut down one of the hunters. Blood and body fell to the otherwise glistening floor. The other hunter took a step back.

  Geez, I wish someone had given my subconscious a warning. I did not need to see that.

  “Let that be a lesson to you and the rest of your men about what happens to those who don’t complete their orders,” Arian said menacingly. “Now get out of my sight. The next time I hear from you, I better have news that Crisanta Knight is actually dead. Or Merlin has been captured.”

  The hunter bolted out of the room. Arian bent down and wiped his bloodied sword on the jacket of the dead hunter. Rampart, who’d been sitting in his chair at the head of the Round Table, shook his head and sighed. “I just had this floor cleaned,
Arian. Next time you kill one of your henchmen, couldn’t you do it in the courtyard?”

  Arian scoffed, stowing his weapon as he stalked toward the king. “Watch yourself, Rampart,” he said. “You may have this kingdom at your command, but don’t forget whose orders you follow. Nadia and I helped put you on that throne and we can easily take you off. Which I’ll take great pleasure in doing if you screw up again.”

  “First off, you didn’t exactly help my grandmother and I take over Camelot out of charity,” Rampart argued. “You did it so that when you made a play to take over your realm, you would have allies and armies to back you up. And second, I am providing you with the Simia Crown in exchange for Excalibur.”

  “And thanks to your ineptitude, that mission is in jeopardy too.”

  “Don’t blame me for your little Knight dilemma,” the king said defensively. “You instructed me to keep her here until you arrived. If you’d have just let me execute her on sight, then she wouldn’t be on the loose right now.”

  “We had to make sure her brother was viable, you know that. Now that we’re sure about Alex, her being alive is a major problem.”

  “Okay, so turn that problem into an opportunity,” the king said. He got up from his throne and walked to the other side of the room. He gestured to a tapestry above the door. It was the gold and black one with a design of crossed swords in the middle.

  “Have I ever told you about this tapestry?” he asked. “It’s a symbolic depiction of the tale of Sir Balin, The Knight of Two Swords.”

  Arian rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for a history lesson, Rampart. In case you haven’t noticed, my kind isn’t so fond of old stories.”

  “Yes, I know you antagonists hate the old tales. But if you look close enough, you can find inspiration in them. Take this tale for example.” He gestured at the tapestry. “Sir Balin won the magic sword that made him famous because of his goodness. Only a hero of the purest heart and truest courage could claim it, and of all the knights in Arthur’s court, he was the only one able to. As the blade was enchanted to grant its owner great strength and skill in combat, he wielded it proudly for many years.”

  “And let me guess,” Arian said. “He became some big, important hero in Camelot and—I don’t know—got a castle named after him. Happily ever after.”

  “Not even close,” Rampart responded. “What Balin didn’t know was that while the blade’s enchantment gave him great fortune, it would also lead to his destruction. Like Excalibur, his sword originated on Avalon. However, unlike Excalibur, which Arthur earned, a dark wizard stole this blade from the Isle. In revenge, the Lady of the Lake placed a curse on it. Whoever wields the sword is doomed to use it to kill the person they love most. In the end, Balin unknowingly killed his own brother with the sword, and later killed himself from the grief and guilt.”

  “So what?” Arian said. “You think we should try to use this sword to stop Crisanta Knight?”

  Rampart shook his head. “We have no idea where the sword is. The blade couldn’t be destroyed, so after Balin’s death Merlin put a spell on it to make it difficult to find. A couple other knights have run into it over time. It’s my understanding that Sir Lancelot took possession of the sword and killed his best friend Sir Gawain years ago. And Sir Galahad fell victim to the curse as well. However, after each owner of the sword fulfills the curse, it transports to some other place per Merlin’s spell. Since the unpleasantness of Sir Galahad’s fate, no one has seen it.”

  “Okay, then why are you bringing it up now?” Arian asked, frustrated.

  “Because of the meaning behind the story,” Rampart replied. “Balin’s internal strength—that which gave him his power and made him so formidable—is the same quality that set him on his path to destruction. The sword that he was given because of his goodness was what caused his demise. Why not set up Crisanta Knight for the same fate?

  “Her prophecy says that she’s meant to either help or stop your takeover of the realm, but you’ve been acting like she’s predetermined for just the latter. Prophecies are vague for a reason, Arian. People change. Their choices are not set in stone and neither are their futures. So instead of seeing this girl as a problem who must be eliminated, why not consider her power as untapped fuel for your cause? Why not turn her strength for heroics into a tool for devastation?”

  Face pensive, Arian studied Rampart.

  “Arian,” the king said steadily. “Why not turn Crisanta Knight the enemy into Crisanta Knight, the asset?”

  For a final time, my dream shifted. I entered a white void and found Liza sitting at a simple wooden table.

  “You haven’t tried to talk to me through my dreams in a while,” I commented as I walked over and sat down in the empty chair across from her.

  There was a porcelain teapot and two teacups on the table. Liza poured. “I gave you the Mark Two so I wouldn’t have to,” she said. “Reaching you this way is much easier now that your magic is getting more powerful, but it’s still extremely taxing. I will probably wake up feeling completely drained. However, your Mark Two isn’t getting a signal, so I saw no other choice than to call on you like this.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked. Liza gestured toward the teacup but I waved it away. “I don’t like tea.”

  “Hey, it’s your dream.” Liza shrugged, taking a sip. She put the cup down then folded her hands on the table and looked at me solemnly and sternly. “I felt bad about how we left things and I wanted to talk about your Magic Instinct again. I’ve had too many visions of your future not to push the subject. I’m worried that if I don’t, something terrible might happen to you.”

  “Something terrible already did,” I said. “I died today, Liza. A magic hunter shot me in the chest, but Magic Instinct kicked in and brought me back to life.” Liza’s eyes widened, but she didn’t seem too shocked. “Did you know it could do that?” I asked.

  “Not for a fact,” she replied. “However, I am not surprised given how powerful your magic is becoming.”

  “That makes one of us,” I commented. “I honestly can’t believe it. If I can do that, who knows what my limits are.”

  “I couldn’t say,” Liza responded. “I’m not sure how far this ability can stretch, or what its restrictions are. But perhaps more important for the moment—if you were dead, then you didn’t activate that instance of Magic Instinct, Crisa. You didn’t choose to let go, and that’s what I am attempting to hammer home. It’s why I called on you in this dream now. I know you don’t want to let go of control when using your magic—I’d prefer it if you didn’t too—but I’m afraid you need to accept that soon enough you will have to. I didn’t want to push too hard during our last conversation, but to survive the trials ahead, you’re going to need more power than full control currently allows.”

  “Liza, I really think that’s a bad idea,” I argued. “I agree with everything you’ve taught me about control before now. I don’t want to relinquish that for the very reason that my magic may be too powerful. I mean, look at what it just did. I was dead and it brought me back. If I let it off the leash intentionally, who knows what it could do. What if I can’t contain it?”

  “I know, Crisa. I know. And again, I understand how this goes against so much of what I’ve tried to teach you. But the situation has changed. My visions have foreseen this as a necessity.”

  “But what if—”

  “Crisa, you’ve never been ruled by the fear of what could be. I tend to be the cautious one in our dynamic. You are always pushing yourself.”

  “Playing with fire is different than diving head first into it, Liza.”

  The room began to shake. Liza’s image faded as she took another sip from her teacup. More of her vanished with every second.

  “You’re waking up,” Liza said. “And I have a feeling we won’t speak again for a while. So I’ll just say this. Magic runs deep in your blood, Crisa. It is a part of your very essence and your powers have a greater range than you realize or may
even want. I can’t promise you that you will be able to handle the challenge. But then, I never have and you’ve charged ahead anyway. You have never simply played with fire, my girl. You’ve lived in it. Now I am just asking you to be brave enough to walk in deeper.”

  Liza disappeared. The teacup she’d been holding fell and shattered.

  When I opened my eyes, I was lying on a bed, definitely not in the animal trap I’d last been in. The bed had crimson silk sheets, pillows, and canopies. Every inch of the floor was covered in blue rose petals—the world’s most fragrant and fragile carpet.

  I sat up and looked down. My SRB and Alex’s bracelet were gone, as was my wandpin. My feet were crammed into high heels instead of combat boots. And I was wearing a full-on, floor-length ball gown.

  I leapt off the bed and looked myself over.

  The dress was blood red, A-line, and sleeveless. The material was hard satin with pleats around the skirt. A dark silver belt with a hexagon pattern of chrome-colored crystals sat around my waist.

  I was horrified. I didn’t know how I’d come to be wearing this dress, but it didn’t matter. Even if magical bunnies had wiggled their noses and caused my previous outfit to morph into this one through a flurry of rainbow sparkles, it was a violation.

  You don’t change a girl’s clothes without her permission. That’s just messed up.

  I had no idea where I was. The walls of the room were built from giant gray stones and there were no windows. A single panel radiated pale blue light from the ceiling, and a dark wooden door resided on the far wall. I dashed over to it—my long dress dragging against the flower petals and leaving a trail of clean floor in my wake.

  Surprisingly, the door was unlocked. When I stepped into the hall it was eerily quiet, but there were a few other girls wandering down the red-carpeted corridor in dresses just as long and scarlet as mine. I hurried over to a pair of them.

  “Um, hi,” I said.

  “Hello,” they said in unison.