by Adam Wallace
‘Betrayed you?’
Ashlyn pulled out a dagger. Marloynne stopped mid-sentence with a gasp.
King Cyril the Sneaky sensed his chance and began to slide towards the flower. Faydon just stood there, watching, waiting. Suddenly, a short, sharp whistle split the still air. Then another, from a different direction. Another, and soon Faydon was surrounded by the noise. He cried out a command as he had done on the Plains of Obon. As on the plains the whistles increased in volume. Faydon’s power was gone, and he panicked.
‘MANTRILS! MANTRILS!’
The King stopped walking and turned as Faydon sprinted towards the flower, a last desperate lunge to save his life. He was barely 10 metres from his goal when an invisible presence dragged him to the ground. As his screams died out, the true image of Dazene appeared, standing over him. It fed on the final stages of fear, drawing the life out of the body. Then it began to rip and tear at the corpse. King Cyril the Oh-My-God-I’m-Probably-Next didn’t want to look, yet he couldn’t look away. What he saw terrified him. He knew he had to move fast. He had to get to the flower before the monster returned. He began running but was stopped by an image of himself giving a speech to the people. He stared, mesmerised, as he heard for the first time what he had really said, and saw how he had looked. He watched the people as well and saw what deep down he had always known. He wasn’t revered and loved. He was being laughed at. He was an arrogant, spiteful and hated king. He fell to his knees. The crowd roared and charged forward.
Sir Pete McGee also dropped to his knees. He knew this was not his mother talking, but the creature was right. He shouldn’t have left. Not only could his mother be dead, but she would have died knowing that he had failed her. He had sworn that he would be by her side at the end. Instead he was here, trying to get a flower that may not work even if she was alive. Oh God, what had he done? How could he have done this to her? He looked to his left and saw Ashlyn. He watched, stunned, as the girl plunged a dagger into her stomach. Marloynne screamed and raced to his fallen love, burying his head in her body before lying on the ground, crying out for this not to be so. Then Ashlyn’s body began to rise.
‘No,’ Sir Pete McGee whispered. ‘NO!’ he shouted at the image of his mother that was moving ever closer. ‘I will not allow victory to you. I will not die today! I am Sir Pete McGee, and I am a brave and noble man.’
He rose to his feet, dagger drawn, and faced the vision of his mother. His voice was rising with his passion, with the certainty that he would be triumphant.
‘I am Sir Pete McGee, slayer of monsters and righter of wrongs. I am strong in so many ways, and now the world will see just how great I am. I will not lay down my life for a beast such as thee. I shall retrieve that flower, and I shall restore a love that must never be lost.’
Pete placed the dagger on the ground and reached into his pocket. He grabbed Ashlyn’s crystal, holding it tight for an instant before he hurled it. The crystal bounced off Marloynne’s side. He lifted his head and picked the crystal off the ground. The vision of Ashlyn stood over him. Marloynne scrambled backwards on his hands and feet before standing. He looked at the crystal and in it he saw the real Ashlyn, not the lie that stood before him. Marloynne started as he heard the boy cry out to him.
‘For Ashlyn, good Marloynne. She still loves you with all her heart and awaits your safe return. You have the word of a knight.’
Marloynne gripped the crystal, holding it to his heart. The vision of Ashlyn lost its character and twisted its face into an evil grin, its raspy voice harsh.
‘You listen to a boy? You are a fool, a fool’s fool, and you are nothing to me.’
Marloynne gripped the crystal so tightly the corners dug painfully into his palm.
‘No, it is you who are nothing. Yes, I will listen to a boy who puts others before himself. And I will listen to my heart. I was swayed by magic once, beast, but I will not be swayed from my destiny. I shall be reunited with my love.’
Dazene backed off a step, his features showing through the image of Ashlyn.
Sir Pete McGee cried out in triumph. Dagger in his hand, he turned to face Dazene and he roared.
‘COME ONNNNNN! !’
The vision of Mrs McGee recoiled as it realised that the love in the two men’s hearts had overcome all their doubts. They were strong again. Both visions began to merge back to the true form of Dazene, but he was weakened and could not completely transform. He was being faced with his own greatest fear, that of being defeated and losing the Wilderene Flower. If he lost that he had nothing, he was nothing.
With a shrill scream the twisted creatures lunged at Marloynne and Pete simultaneously. Pete’s arm swung up, the dagger moving with speed and accuracy. Marloynne, having nothing to defend himself with, was wrestled to the ground, his hands around the beast’s throat. As Pete’s dagger was about to strike home, the full vision of his mother appeared once more, sending a shock of fear through him, and he stayed his arm. Even killing a vision of his mother seemed wrong and Dazene, feeling some strength return at Pete’s hesitance, screeched and struck his adversary to the ground before moving in for the kill. But the faith Pete McGee had in himself and his mother’s love overwhelmed him, and he thrust the dagger deep into Dazene’s evil heart. An ear-splitting scream burst from the beast as the cries of all his victims were released. When faced with a fear of its own, Dazene had found that there was nothing inside that he could turn to in order to overcome it. All the images that Dazene had created merged into one, and it was the beast again. It rose to its full height, screams still bursting from it, before collapsing to the ground in a scaly heap. Dazene was dead.
ir Pete McGee, slayer of monsters, righter of wrongs.
Marloynne walked over.
‘I am sorry for my actions. I couldn’t stop myself.’
Pete smiled. ‘When it counted you came to my aid. It was then that I saw the real you.’
They both turned at the sound of sobbing. King Cyril the Couldn’t-Face-the-Truth was lying on the ground, bloody and bruised, his arms flailing at attackers who were no longer there. Blood flew from his wounds, splattering Pete and Marloynne. They ignored it and restrained their King.
‘It’s okay, your Majesty,’ said Marloynne. ‘It’s over. We won. We can return home.’
The King lay still, letting the words sink in, trying to work out how this could be a win. The people that had turned on him were gone now, but they would be waiting for him when he returned. He could not go back as he was.
Pete walked alone to the Wilderene Flower and bent down to pick it up, carefully avoiding the thorns. He stood, flower in hand, and realised Sir Loinsteak was standing next to him. The once strong, proud knight was a shadow of his former self. He was barely visible, his image almost transparent. He would momentarily look as solid as before, just for a second, then would flicker and fade once again.
‘Congratulations, Sir Pete McGee. Thou art truly a brave and noble knight.’
‘What is happening to you? And where were you just then?’ Pete found it hard to believe this was the same knight he had first seen on the Main Stage all that time ago. Sir Loinsteak smiled sadly.
‘I fear the time has arrived for us to part. I was created to protect thee in times of thy greatest need, and even then only when strength and truth and valour had been shown. Each time I helped you, you grew. Each time I appeared, more time had passed in the test, and you had shown more of the qualities that befit a person who is growing and evolving. Thus, I did not appear to help thee in thy most recent battle. Thou had to do this one alone, and thou did. However, thy increase in inner strength drained my own.’
Sir Loinsteak, feeling the sadness of the moment even though he was a being created by magic, looked down and gathered himself before he continued.
‘Every time thou discovered a new quality I was needed less by thee, and so I became less. They are all qualities of thyself, Sir Pete McGee. I was created to help bring them out. And so I did, until this, thy grea
test victory. There will be many more, many greater victories, but I shall not be there to help thee. Thou still hast much growth left, many more strengths and qualities to discover, but my help is not required to find them any more.’
Pete shook his head, his eyes beginning to water. When he spoke, his voice shook.
‘No. Mum didn’t tell me this bit. Why didn’t she tell me?’
‘Because there are things that one must discover for oneself. If thou had known I would disappear as thou grew, would thou not have slowed thy growth? Your chosen path has made thee a fine young man, and has given me great pleasure. I shall not be lost to thee forever, but I must go now.’
Pete didn’t want to believe this was happening. In his greatest moment he was losing one of his greatest allies, and it didn’t seem fair. Why must there always be a trade-off? He looked at the ground, tears streaming down his face now, his voice a mere whisper.
‘I thank thee, good knight. For everything.’
Sir Loinsteak smiled and placed a nearly invisible hand on Pete’s shoulder. Then, for an instant, he was the Sir Loinsteak of old. He stood tall, and his image was solid and sharply defined. His work was done, and he knew that his work had been a success.
‘Thou art brave, young Sir.’
Then he was gone, and Pete stood alone. He breathed deeply and drank in the memories of Sir Loinsteak, the rare magic knight who had saved him so often, who had helped him grow so much.
The King rose to his feet, although he still looked shaken. His eyes locked onto the flower that Pete held as he walked over. He continued to stare at it as he spoke.
‘How can I go back? How can I return to a place where the people hate me?’
Pete and Marloynne were lost for words. What the King said about the people was true.
‘Unless …’ King Cyril the Criminally-Insane-but-Starting-to-Scheme continued, ‘Unless I had that flower. Then I would be immortal. With my wish I would make everyone respect me as their finest King.’
He smiled at Pete as sweetly as he could force himself to.
‘I just need to hold the flower for an instant.’
Pete was not going to give the flower over, but before he could do or say anything the flower was wrenched from his hand.
‘Yes! This is it. My greatest moment, to be followed by my return and a new, greater greatest moment. Nothing can stop me, not when I have the Wilderene Flower.’
King Cyril the Slightly-Power-Mad paused, staring wildly at Pete and Marloynne. The look in his eyes was one of pure evil as the flower’s power grabbed hold. He smiled wickedly, waving the Wilderene Flower at the two young men.
‘I cannot have you two around. The people must not be told of the way things were. I must return alone. Yes. Alone.’
King Cyril the Totally-Lost-It giggled maniacally. He continued to wave the flower in the direction of Pete and Marloynne. Then the idea took hold and he rushed at Pete, brandishing the flower. He stabbed it viciously, but stabbed on the side of Pete’s missing arm and the thorns passed by harmlessly. Pete gasped. Having a missing arm had just saved his life. Marloynne tried to get the flower off the King but was knocked aside with a hip and shoulder. King Cyril the Desperate wasn’t finished. He recovered his balance and went for Pete once more. Pete backed away but stumbled, tripped and fell to the ground. The King towered over him, Marloynne staring helplessly from a short distance away. The thorned stalk sped down, but had barely touched Pete’s arm when it suddenly stopped. King Cyril the Uh-Oh dropped the flower and grabbed at his throat, clawed at it. Something was choking him from the inside and try as he might he couldn’t stop it. He screamed a silent scream, his face turning red, eyes bulging. Pete and Marloynne watched on helplessly as the big vein in the King’s head popped, his eyes flew out and he slumped to the ground. King Cyril the 23rd was dead. (Yeah, that’ll happen when your head suddenly explodes.)
Pete stared at Marloynne in amazement, then at his arm. He realised immediately what had happened. ‘Its thorn, if touched by blood, will kill the blood’s owner.’ Pete realised that the blood didn’t have to be in you. The thorn just had to touch your blood, no matter where your blood was. But the most important thing was that it was all true. The plant worked. It was real. He had to get it to his mother, and fast.
Well whaddaya know? He did it! I’m shocked. I had twenty bucks at good odds on them all dying a horrible, gruesome, bloody, gut-spilling, brain-chewing, vomitous death at the hands of Dazene. Oh well, you win some you lose some. Anyhoo, there’s still bad news for Pete McGee to face when he gets home, so let’s keep moving and see how he copes with his mother’s death.
shlyn sat in the McGee’s house feeling the solitude, the quietness. Although she had only known them for a short time, Pete and his mum had supported and taken her in when she needed it. For that she would always be grateful. Now though, Mrs McGee was dead, and Ashlyn had no idea what had happened to Pete. It seemed as though he had been gone forever. And no news of Pete meant no news of Marloynne. Mrs McGee had already been buried. A short service was conducted by the town priest, with Ashlyn the only mourner present.
Ashlyn had tidied everything in the two days since Mrs McGee’s death, as there was nothing else to do apart from wait. The little house sparkled. While Pete had always tried to help his mum, cleaning certainly hadn’t been his strong point. There was a brightness about the house now, despite the sadness in the air. The doors were closed but the windows had been flung open. Ashlyn felt as though to let in the sunshine would be to let in hope, and it made her feel so much better having warmth in the house. As she’d cleaned each of the rooms she had looked at the pictures of Pete and Mrs McGee. They were everywhere, concrete evidence of the bond that existed between mother and son. It was sad looking at the pictures though. Mrs McGee had looked so fit and happy before the illness took over, before Ashlyn had even met her.
The kitchen table was set for three, for Ashlyn had not given up hope of Marloynne and Pete’s return. She looked out the window and wished she could find out what was happening. She knew that all she could do now was wait.
Pete and Marloynne walked around the Plains of Obon on their return. They also avoided going to Bandragon, as Pete knew that would not be a quick visit. He told Marloynne all about the town though. The way he had been healed there, the way the people respected and lived with nature instead of destroying it, and the new friends he had made. He left out certain details, naturally, like his monster crush on Tahnee. As they walked Pete also pointed out some of the adventures he had experienced on his quest. He showed Marloynne where he had met Santora. The hole in the road had not been fixed, still a hazard for Santora and his fellow little people.
Marloynne listened to Pete talk on and on. He laughed at Pete’s enthusiasm, at how he seemed grown up in many ways but still a child in others. Although he was interested in what Pete talked about, in many ways his mind was already looking ahead to his reunion with Ashlyn. It had been so long. The image of Ashlyn stabbing herself hadn’t left him. He knew it never would. He decided he would give his heart to Ashlyn for good, he would never leave her, never betray her. He had learnt much about himself on the journey. Marloynne knew that Dazene had been right about certain things: although brainwashed, the personality conjured had been his own, laying deep inside, dormant, waiting to be called to the surface. The real Ashlyn had never seen that side, and he must never let her.
Pete had also seen two sides to Marloynne, and he sure liked this one better. As they walked and talked, Pete began to realise what Ashlyn actually saw in Marloynne. He was a loyal man, and funny, and while he carried himself with dignity and integrity he wasn’t afraid to play. There was an honesty about him too. He was someone Pete would like to have as a friend, and he hoped that it would be so.
Time passed.
Pete had food in his pack, but his supplies were running low. After the last of the food was eaten, there was still half a day’s walk left. Pete’s stomach began to grumble loudly, and h
e wished he had some of Santora’s miracle food to keep him going. They walked past the street trader who had given Pete his first experience of a burger. Pete longed for another, but he had no money, and Marloynne had never had any money. Pete vowed to Marloynne he would one day taste a burger again. The stomach growls got louder and louder as the walk continued. Marloynne laughed and pretended there was a monster growling, coming after them. It was only when his stomach growled even louder than Pete’s that he stopped teasing and blushed a deep red. Pete laughed and slapped Marloynne on the back. They walked on, before Pete suddenly stopped short as his house came into view.
‘There it is. There it is!’ he cried. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
They broke into a run, playfully pulling each other back as they went, both wanting to be the first to arrive. Marloynne got there first, after tripping Pete over in what was surely an illegal move, but there was no umpire to call him on it. He raced up to the door and called out Ashlyn’s name. Pete wasn’t too far behind and he burst through the door blindly, crashing into Marloynne, who had stopped and was staring at Ashlyn. She stood in the kitchen behind the table and laughed in spite of herself, as Pete and Marloynne went crashing to the ground in a tumble of arms and legs. They both got up sheepishly, blaming each other for the fall.
‘Oh, just shut up, both of you.’ Ashlyn started to cry, she couldn’t help it. She ran to Marloynne and buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.
‘I … never … thought I’d … see you again.’
Pete started to head into his mother’s bedroom. Ashlyn noticed too late. She cried out for him to stop but Pete had already gone in. He stood and stared at the empty, neatly made bed. His mother not being in bed could only mean one thing, and Pete knew it wasn’t that she’d made a miraculous recovery. Ashlyn came up behind him and put her arms around him.