The Mystical Knights: The Sword of Dreams

by K. A. Robertson

  The old pines creaked sleepily in the dark and the large maples and gigantic oaks groaned oppressively. There was something almost sinister about these noises—something hidden inside the still quiet that Nia couldn’t seem to touch. She tried reaching for the reason in her mind, but it was like trying to scoop up a handful of clouds.

  “...would you shut your face, you blithering idiot?” a voice hissed sharply. Nia froze and slipped down behind a scraggily bush, resting her knees on a cold pile of moss and dying brown grass. She carefully pulled away some of the brush and weak limbs that were hanging between her and the angry voice like a curtain between the living and the dead.

  There was a boy—he must have been at least Nia’s age if not a year older—standing in a small clearing just beside a small pit fire. He was dressed in a long black travelling cloak—its hood covering his face from sight. He was standing with a sort of proud arrogance, his head inclined towards another figure dressed in black—obviously female. Her arms were outstretched over the fire, in her hands—a tiny satchel.

  The two reminded Nia of people in a ritualistic cult; she had a sinking suspicion that they had met up in this same area before, not that long ago. Nia’s eyes narrowed darkly, staring past the crackling flames.

  “I’m just saying,” the female snapped back—and Nia could have sworn that she had heard that snarky voice before—with cool intention. There was an impish smirk across the girl’s shrouded face—Nia couldn’t see it physically, but she sure could hear it. “Now let’s get this show on the road—I’m freezing my ass off over here!”

  “I’ll kindly continue if you keep shut that obnoxious mouth of yours,” the boy said, his voice eerily light as though he were commenting on the trillions of stars that lay scattered across the night sky. He grabbed the satchel from the girl’s hands and dumped its contents into the fire. The fire sparked loudly before it imploded, causing a cloud of dense smoke to curl up high into the starry sky.

  The girl coughed, waving a hand in front of her face. “Well there goes my eyebrows...” she muttered.

  “Shh!” The boy bounded precariously onto a rock, his arms stretched out wide, reaching upwards towards the treetops.

  The dark gray smoke began to swirl, spiraling through the air like a cyclone, ten feet high. The funnel billowed and twisted, causing the dying leaves that hung on tree branches to rattle and spin like propellers to the frost covered ground. There was something strangely unique about this manmade twister that made Nia watch in terrible awe; it was just as marvelous as it was frightening. As the smoke spun wildly, it made a maniacal cackling noise like insane laughter. No—Nia’s eyes darted quickly to where the boy stood, arms still outstretched—the malicious laughter was sounding from him.

  “Can you feel it!” he shouted wildly, glancing around at his companion. “This time it’s going to work!”

  “I could have sworn you said those exact words the last time...” the girl mumbled listlessly, twirling a twig along the tips of her fingers.

  A bright silvery light, shining like a glorious beacon, broke through the smoke and haze; Nia squinted, shielding her eyes with a cupped hand. There was a shape—an object hanging like a twinkling ornament on a Christmas tree in the misty rays.

  A sliver of the bizarre light caught the edge of the blade the way the sun crept through a crack in the window; the curved blade twinkled and sparkled as though it were encrusted with a trillion diamonds—rainbows like prisms poured down through the mist, cascading like waterfalls.

  Nia had seen this weapon before—it had once been the subject of her dreams for as long as she could remember. It was a Khopesh; an ancient Egyptian short sword that had been used to cut the grain from fields of gold.

  Why this particular weapon dangled prophetically against the silver clouds, Nia couldn’t guess. The Khopesh wasn’t a fighting weapon—its blade was far too short and blunt and its curves mimicked its distant relative, the sickle. But there it was, dwindling between space and time for the three of them to see.

  “That is your glorious resolution?” the girl asked cynically. “An ancient rusty butter knife?”

  “That,” said the boy, his eyes alight with fascination, “is nothing to be mocked. That is The Sword of Dreams.”

  Silence, and then a stifled snort. “’Scuse me?”

  “The Sword of Dreams, you imbecile!” The boy leapt from the rock he had been perched on, his eyes soaking in the sword like a starving man. He never turned his sight away from the sword, as though he were afraid it would simply evaporate along with the mist. “A most ancient sword—one that had not been seen for centuries upon centuries...it is said that this sword has the power to manipulate anyone it is used upon. Its legacy is full of death and destruction, but its heavenly blade has never been dirtied by the blood of any living being.”

  Nia heard an exasperated yawn. “Sounds thrilling.”

  Something dark and uncouth flickered from within the boy, awakening from a long slumber. “I want it.”

  “Reach up and grab it then.”

  The boy’s eyes flickered away from the sword, only for a moment. He scowled. “I can’t just grab it,” he gestured to the mist. “It isn’t real.”

  The girl clicked her tongue, fighting the urge to say something snarky. Her tongue got the better of her. “And you say I have issues.”

  “This is an illusion, you moron,” the boy snapped, “a vision if you will. If I were to reach for it—” and he put his hand through the mist and his fingers longingly grazed the place where the blade should have been— “it will disappear.” As his outstretched hand clenched into a tight fist, the Sword of Dreams vanished; the lights, the fog—everything that had been before—was simply gone now as if it had never existed. Nia blinked her eyes furiously as her pupils shrank back to the size of pins.

  “I want that sword,” the boy whispered, his baritone voice thrumming louder with each spoken word. “If I find that sword, the Greys will respect me—give me the authority I deserve. With that sword, I will be all powerful—and nobody will be able to foil our plans. Not even those stupid, meddling Mystical Knights.”

  Nia swallowed back her gasp into her throat, nearly choking on the large lump it created. Could this boy be—it had to be—but he looked much younger than what she had expected. Human-like, too.

  “I hate to be a killjoy Axel, but those plans are yours and yours alone.” There was a sense of lucidness underlying the girl’s silky tone. “I’m just along for the ride.”

  Axel smirked wickedly. “Aren’t we all along for the ride?”

  Nia inched closer, trying to catch a clarifying glimpse of Axel’s face. Night’s shadows created an eerie silhouette; a hood of darkness hid his pointed elegant face from sight. As her hands slid across the dew covered forest floor, a loud crack sounded from underneath her; her knee had collided across a gangly stick that was propped just so against the frosty moss.

  “Nia.”

  Axel’s head snapped up, his wild eyes piercing the night where she lay, sprawled on her stomach. Nia’s heart plunged deep into her stomach and suddenly she was hurling skyward into the stars. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe; all the breath she had been holding had been knocked from her lungs with a desperate lunge of fear.... Axel was stalking closer towards the clump of trees where she had been spying—but Nia wasn’t there any more...she had never really been there in the first place...

  “Nia...” a voice whispered; her body convulsed wildly as her heart thudded, high in her throat now. There was something warm and thick on her face...the salty smell of iron and metal filled her mouth...

  “Nia!”

  Chapter 9: Tears in Heaven

  “Can someone wake her up? She’s bleeding all over my pillow...”

  “She’s bleeding all over the carpet...”

  Nia squeezed her eyes shut tight, wrinkling her nose. She could feel the strange sensation of sunlight burning her eyelids and the icy cold cocooned around her body like a stra
ight jacket. Her heart was still pounding, her blood was still racing...her mind felt clouded and fuzzy as if she had been holding her breath for too long and her limbs felt like lead...

  “Nia...Nia, wake up.” A warm hand shook her gently, velvet fingertips brushed back a few stray strands of hair from her forehead. The familiar voice sounded worried. “Would someone go get a glass of water?”

  There was the soft padding of footfalls and the creak of a door opening...Nia took a deep breath through her nose, felt her hands ball up into tight fists.

  “I wonder what she was dreaming about?” a voice mused curiously—a male’s voice.

  “I don’t think she was dreaming...” came a haughty, yet concerned reply.

  Whoever left the room was back now. Nia could hear rustling and movement. Then an icy blast of liquid hit her face, pooling down in torrents. Her eyes flew open, fluttering quickly as morning light seared through the blackness. Nia choked and sputtered as some water slipped down her throat. Her back snapped to attention as she found herself sitting up, head aching.

  At some point, Rowan, Quinn and Thor and joined the party. Everyone was gathered around her, watching with an admixture of unease and attentiveness.

  “Ugh,” Nia groaned, wiping the front of her face with her hands. As she pulled them away, she saw that her fingers were painted a crimson red; some of the liquid that was running down her face wasn’t water.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered hoarsely, pulling her night gown up to her nose to wipe away the blood. Tilting her head back, she felt most of the blood run down the back of her throat; it tasted coppery, like old pennies.

  “Are you okay?” Kenzie asked softly, her hand brushing against Nia’s back hesitantly.

  “Hmm,” Nia nodded, swallowing more blood and some bile down with it. She leaned her head forward, gratefully accepting the box of tissues that Thor had passed over.

  “What happened?” Thor asked. “Did you get punched in your dream or something?”

  Nia couldn’t help but chuckle; she shook her head. Brow crinkling, she looked around at the five of them, her eyes curiously staring at Rowan’s worried face. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “Making pancakes,” Quinn chimed in, but even his usually peppy voice wavered uncertainly.

  Nia blinked. "Making pancakes?" She looked around at Kenzie’s turquoise walls. “What time is it?”

  “Almost quarter of ten,” Fiona replied.

  “You were still sleeping so we went downstairs to cook,” Kenzie explained. Her eyes looked tired and distant. Nia vaguely remembered the sniffling noise she had heard while drifting off to sleep... Why are you sad? “I tried to wake you up and you began...twitching and—convulsing—and then your nose just started gushing—” she broke off, placing a pale hand over her mouth, looking rather green.

  “I thought you were having a seizure!” Thor put in.

  Again, Nia couldn’t help but laugh. “No,” she said finally, trying to swallow back the dull throb in her throat. “It wasn’t a seizure.”

  “Then what was...that?” Rowan asked, gesturing to the blood on the floor.

  Nia felt warmth blush her cheeks. “I was having a...out-of-body experience,” she confessed awkwardly, shifting her eyes towards the plushy white carpet.

  The others gawked at her, their eyes somewhat disbelieving. Rowan’s already furrowed brow creased further, Thor’s mouth fell slack and Fiona and Quinn exchanged an unreadable glance. Kenzie, if possible, turned even greener. “You mean,” she stammered, fumbling over her words like a clumsy person stumbling over cobblestone, “that just minutes ago, there was an actual corpse in my room?”

  Nia shot Kenzie a weary look. “My heart was still beating—my lungs still breathing. You can live without a soul—but it isn’t a life worth living.”

  Some color returned to Kenzie’s already pallid skin.

  “Does...that...happen often?” Thor softly asked.

  Nia shrugged. “Depends on your definition of the word often.” She pulled a shaky hand through her hair and scratched the crown of her head thoughtfully. “Dream-walking happens more often for me—I can get into other people’s dreams sometimes. It’s a safer version of having an out-of-body experience. But the catch is, when you’re dream-walking the corresponding person usually has to be sleeping. An out-of-body experience...” Nia trailed off, shutting her eyes as she remembered that very first time when she was seven years old. “They can be pretty scary. When I first did it, I wasn’t aware of what was happening—or much of anything really. I was...floating above my bed, watching my chest rise and fall as I slept and at first, I thought I was dreaming. I can't remember when I realized what was really happening, but I do remember panicking—I was so terrified that I wouldn’t be able to get back inside my body.” Nia’s heart raced at the sudden rush of memory. “When I relaxed enough I was back inside my body and I sat up in my bed screaming.... After that, I was okay. I knew then, to just relax and everything would happen the way it should.”

  “What was with the nosebleed?” Rowan retrieved some more tissues and handed them to Nia. “Does that happen every time?”

  “No.” Nia shut her eyes tightly as a ripple of pain passed through her head. It felt like her brain was on fire. “I don’t get nosebleeds often.” She only ever bled when a psychic dream was intense—or when after an outer-body experience, she was nonetheless pushed back inside of herself. Becoming one was a timely process; if it was ever done the wrong way, pieces of her soul could be forgotten forever and she would be left eternally damaged. She remembered the fear she had felt when her name had been called—saw the look of suspicion cross Axel’s face as he peered into the forest. She shuddered.

  “Are you hungry?” Quinn asked, his green eyes like pools of emeralds. “Pancakes are ready—and there is bacon and eggs.”

  Nia’s stomach gurgled at the mouthwatering thought of food. “I’m starving,” she admitted, giving her belly a soothing rub. “You guys can head downstairs. I’ll be down in a minute—I just want to,” Nia gestured to her bloody face, “clean up.”

  Rowan pushed her hair back over her shoulder as he got to his feet. His eyes still laced with concern, he gestured to the rest of the Knights and exited the room. Face still ashen, Kenzie followed suit, looking at Nia with an indifferent look—a look Nia wasn’t expecting from her at all. Thor and Quinn romped out of the room, tight on Kenzie’s heels and Fiona swooped gracefully towards the door.

  It was the perfect opportunity to get Fiona alone—Nia bit her lip indecisively, watching as Fiona reached the doorframe and with a surge of allegiance, Nia spoke. “Fiona?”

  Fiona paused momentarily before facing her, her mysterious eyes, hawk-like and dignified. She did not speak.

  “I saw Axel.”

  Fiona shut the door and watched Nia inquiringly. Nia tried to speak again, but her words dangled at the tip of her tongue.

  “You saw Axel?” Fiona prompted.

  “Yes.” Nia swallowed hard and sat up further, leaning back on the palms of her hands. “I saw him, but he was cloaked in shadows. I never saw his face, but I heard his name. There was someone else there too—a female—but I couldn’t see her face either.”

  Fiona nodded. “Axel has many on his side. It makes it most difficult to trust anyone these days.”

  Nia's swallowed her heart back down and creased her eyebrows. “Do you know anything about the Sword of Dreams? I know I've seen it before—but I don't know much about it.”

  Fiona’s vacant expression darkened; Nia could tell her mind was travelling very far away to a time Nia couldn’t even remember. As Fiona thought, her eyes darted back and forth as though she were skimming over the pages of an unseen book. “The Sword of Dreams is a very ancient weapon,” she stated suddenly, her voice sharp yet delicate all at once. “It’s been lost for centuries. I’m surprised Axel even knows of it.”

  “He doesn't just know of it. He wants it. The Sword.” Nia’s heart lunged unevenly
in her chest like a crappy transmission. "He's going to do something evil with it.

  "There's no such thing as good and evil. There is only existence and life and the choices we make." Fiona stated simply, her eyes narrowing. “You’re absolutely sure that Axel wants the Sword?”

  Nia nodded. “Yes—that’s where I was. I was in a forest watching Axel perform this ritual. The Sword of Dreams came out of this mist and he said that he wanted it. He-he said that it would make him unstoppable.”

  “Even in the right hands, that weapon could make anyone unstoppable.” Fiona began to pace the floor, lost in thought. Her long fingers thrummed her chin absently, her eyes half shut. “But in the wrong hands...he must want it for the Greys...They are the only ones old enough to know about it.”

  “How do we find the Sword?" Nia asked fiercely, a sense of urgency bubbling from her stomach.

  Fiona paused in her walk to give Nia a pointed look. “It’s funny that you should ask that.”

  Confusion furrowed along Nia’s brow. “Why?”

  “Because the Sword of Dreams was a gift that Nefertiti gave to her youngest daughter Setepenre. She used it only once in battle, but after that, I, myself never saw it again. She said that 'It wasn't hers to bear.' She hid it for one of her descendants to find.”

  If possible, Nia’s stomach dropped further into the floor. “What would I do with a weapon like that?”

  “What would anyone do with a weapon with such magical properties?” Nia fought the urge to ask why Fiona answered so many questions with more questions. Fiona shook her head, her unruly red curls quivering past her shoulders. “It takes a strong mind to wield such a weapon. It takes practice and immense power to be able to make the Sword do the things that it is capable of doing.”

  “I don’t want something that can destroy the world,” Nia started. “I’m not a very violent person.”

  “No, you’re not,” Fiona agreed, “but you are capable of wielding it, I think. The Sword of Dreams is destined for many things, but in the right hands, only its true master can choose the path it takes.”