Black Knight

by Christopher Pike

  “We should and we will,” Cleo says softly. “But we have to move very carefully.”

  I nod. “Go on.”

  “The Lapras have an old tradition. It’s barbaric, childish even, but it’s a tradition that’s governed many societies since man first came down from the trees. To sum it up—‘He who kills the king is first in line to be the new king.’” Cleo pauses. “Since you were responsible for Syn’s death, that would be you.”

  “Whip killed her, not me,” I quip.

  “You were responsible for her death,” Cleo says.

  I laugh nervously. “You’re kidding about this king/queen business, right?”

  “We’re not. It’s why we called you here,” my father says.

  I feel so much nervous energy I have to stand. “Gimme a break! The Lapras would never accept me as a leader. I’m Tar—I’m a good witch, not a bad witch. These legions of Lapras you talk about must be looking for some super-evil witch or bitch to emerge and take control. I hardly see how I fit the bill.”

  My father smiles. “Who knows? Once they see how stubborn you can be, they might be dying to make you their new queen.”

  “Very funny,” I snap. “What about what I saw today? We don’t even know if Syn and Kendor are really dead. Hatsu and I are assuming the two I saw must be some kind of clones. They didn’t look like they could get around without help from the Alchemist. But that’s just speculation. For all we know, they’re still alive.”

  “They’re dead,” Cleo says. “They died in witch world and it was in witch world that we buried their bodies. I know because I had their remains exhumed last week.”

  I stop, stunned. “Why did you do that? I only saw them this afternoon.”

  “I’ve been aware of their presence for ten days,” Cleo says.

  “How?”

  Cleo looks up at me. “I took the note you were sent after your trip to Las Vegas seriously. The Alchemist sent you that note and he’s not known for playing pranks. I had you followed in case he was following you.”

  I feel annoyed. “Without my permission?”

  “For your protection,” my father replies for Cleo.

  I remember that note, every word. It had read:

  Dear Jessie,

  I pray this note finds you well.

  You put on a wonderful show in the desert.

  One day soon we’ll have to meet.

  Yours, the Alchemist

  P.S. Syn sends her greetings.

  I feel suddenly overwhelmed and have to sit back down. “Someone help me out. I’m lost. Syn and Kendor are definitely dead but they’ve been walking around for over a week since they died. How exactly does that work?”

  “Perhaps I can help clear up this mystery,” Cleo says. “But first let me ask a couple of questions. I know you and Kendor spoke alone and at length. Did he ever mention the times he met the Alchemist?”

  “Kendor told me about two encounters. One was the night he became a witch. It was thousands of years ago in ­England. He was fishing on a frozen lake in the middle of winter, trying to feed his family, when he accidentally fell through the ice. He came close to drowning but the ­Alchemist pulled him out of the water. Actually, Kendor believed he did drown and the Alchemist yanked him out only after he’d been dead for a few minutes. That’s when Kendor became aware he was a witch.”

  “What was the other time?” Cleo asked.

  “Fifty-two BC—when he was fighting with Julius Caesar and the Roman army against the Gallic tribes in the Battle of Alesia. The Romans were heavily outnumbered and about to be overrun when the Alchemist suddenly showed up with the secret of gunpowder. He taught Kendor how to make tons of the stuff.” I pause. “But when the battle was won, he demanded the heads of a hundred thousand captives. Caesar told the Alchemist to go to hell and Kendor tried to kill the bastard.”

  “Kendor swore he did kill him,” Cleo says.

  “He swore the same thing to me. But I could hear the doubt in his voice.” I shake my head. “After this afternoon, I don’t think there’s much doubt the guy got away.”

  Cleo leans closer to me. “Did Kendor mention any other time he saw the Alchemist?”

  I hesitate. “He was only sure of the two times. But he did say something odd when we spoke in the sewers beneath Vegas. When he was with Syn, the two of them used to dream about the Alchemist at the same time. The dreams were vivid, like the guy was actually in the room. They were also weird. Kendor spoke of seeing bright lights, objects in the sky, and hearing loud noises. But everything he saw was new to him—he recognized none of it.”

  “Go on,” Cleo says.

  “He said the strangest thing was that whenever they had these dreams, he and Syn seemed to lose time. Days, weeks—he wasn’t sure.” I stop. “Wait a second. I just remembered. He told me he told you about this.”

  Cleo nods. “He did, once. It was long ago.”

  “Were the dreams important?” Hatsu asks.

  “They might very well hold the answer to this riddle,” Cleo says. “There are ten witch genes that we know of. Each bestows a specific power, although the powers often vary in the manner in which they manifest—or in how they combine with other witch genes that a person has. The rarest of all these genes is called the alpha-omega gene.”

  “Never heard of it. What does it control?” I ask.

  “Time,” Cleo says.

  “Time? How can someone control time?” I ask.

  Cleo considers. “It’s been said that when the gene begins to develop, the witch who has it can accelerate and slow down time. It’s rumored that one who’s fully mastered the gene can even cause time to flow forward and backward—at will.”

  I gasp. “You’re talking about time travel!”

  “Essentially,” Cleo agrees.

  It takes a moment for the full implication of her words to hit me. “Wait a second! Are you saying that the Syn and Kendor I saw this afternoon are from the past?” I ask.

  Cleo nods. “For a long time I suspected the Alchemist had this ability. Examine closely how Kendor described his dreams. He spoke of seeing bright lights and hearing loud noises. Just two hundred and fifty years ago, before the Industrial Revolution, the only way to illuminate a room at night was to build a fire or light a candle. Also, the early years of mankind were extraordinarily quiet. Imagine a time when there were no cars, no TVs, no stereos. All of us here, except you, Jessica, remember when the world was virtually silent. To us it was natural. Now imagine how loud today’s world would appear to a person who was suddenly plucked from the Middle Ages. He’d jump every time someone slammed a door or hit their car brakes and caused their wheels to squeal.”

  “What about the objects Kendor saw in the sky?” I ask.

  “Those must have been planes,” Cleo says.

  I hold up a hand. “Slow down, would ya? Are you saying that every time Syn and Kendor dreamed of the Alchemist and lost track of what day it was, they were transported to this time?”

  “Transported in time,” Cleo says. “But not necessarily to this time.”

  “That’s crazy!” I cry.

  Cleo nods slowly. “Perhaps. But isn’t it more crazy to say Syn and Kendor are not dead when you saw them die?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. This idea of time travel—it’s too weird.”

  Cleo presses the point. “You were the one who stressed how dazed they were. Consider: If they’d only been here in our time for a few days, can you imagine how new—and yes, frightening—everything would appear to them? Especially in a crowded mall? It makes sense they’d behave like children.”

  I want to protest but suddenly recall something that struck me as odd. “The ice cream!” I cry. “They dug into it like it was the greatest thing in the world. Like they’d never tasted anything so wonderful.”

  Cleo nods. “
Because the Syn and Kendor you saw had never tasted ice cream before. They didn’t even know what it was.”

  I hesitate. “This is still crazy.”

  My father speaks. “I’ve confirmed through DNA testing that Syn and Kendor are still in their graves. And I doubt anyone here believes that the Alchemist has the power to bring the dead back to life.”

  “May I ask a personal question?” I ask Cleo.

  “You want to know if I possess this gene. I don’t.” Cleo pauses. “But you do, and so does Lara.”

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  Cleo stares at me. She doesn’t need to speak to tell me that she just knows.

  “I assume the ability takes time to emerge,” I tease her. The pun is intended. Yet Cleo replies seriously.

  “I only heard rumors of the power when I was young,” Cleo says. “My mentor told me it could take thousands of years before the ability came to fruition.”

  “A pity,” I say. “I would have liked to have gone back in time and welcomed Columbus to America.”

  “He landed in the West Indies,” my father corrects me.

  “I was joking,” I say.

  “Who knows,” Cleo remarks. “You might see Columbus sooner than you think.”

  “Huh?”

  Cleo ignores me. “The Alchemist said you were unprepared. He repeated that remark twice. Then, when you asked about Syn and Kendor, he said they were there to prepare you.”

  “I think he was just messing with me,” I say.

  “The man’s older than history. He doesn’t waste words. If I were you, I’d take what he said at face value.”

  Cleo’s words hang in the air and I’m not sure what they mean. Or perhaps I don’t want to admit what she’s trying to tell me. I reply in a quiet but defiant tone.

  “I don’t give a damn what he said. I’ve had enough of the Lapras, and I’ve got my own life to live. Like I told you, let the Lapras kill each other, it’s not my problem.”

  “That might not be for you to decide,” Cleo says gently.

  I snort. “That’s the sort of line you tried to feed me in Las Vegas. And we all saw how that turned out.”

  “Yes, we did see,” Cleo replies. “You got Lara back alive, and you escaped with your life.”

  I shake my head. “Whatever you’re suggesting, I’m not interested.”

  Cleo reaches over and touches my arm. “You’re a strong-willed young woman, Jessica. The courage you showed in Las Vegas last month was remarkable. You’re clever and fearless and that makes you a formidable opponent for anyone seeking to take over the Lapras. But you lack humility, wisdom—you don’t know when to stop and listen.” She pauses. “If you’re not careful, it may be the death of you and your daughter.”

  I feel a flash of anger and again want to snap at her. But I stop and struggle to calm myself. Because I have the genetic gift of intuition, and can hear the truth in her words.

  “Speak. I’m listening,” I say softly.

  Cleo nods. “If what the Alchemist says is true then it means Syn and Kendor are here to prepare you, which can only mean they are here to help you fight off others who wish to take control of the Lapras.”

  “But I’ve already told you—and I’ll be happy to tell them—I don’t want to take control of the Lapras! And I can’t believe that fact doesn’t matter to them! For chrissakes! I’m about to start college at UCLA and look at the classes I’m signed up to take. Inorganic and organic chemistry. Biology and microbiology. Physics and calculus. My schedule’s solid premed. I want to be a doctor like my dad and help save lives, not practice how better to kill people. So when it comes to preparing to be the next Wicked Witch of the West—shit, I’ll tell the Alchemist myself the next time I see him that someone else can have the job.”

  The room falls silent for a long time. Hatsu lowers his head while Cleo stares out the window at the dark watery bay and the lights illuminating the magnificent Golden Gate Bridge. My father stands and steps behind my chair, putting his hands on my shoulders. It’s a casual gesture but it means a lot to me just to feel his touch. All the years he wasn’t in my life, I missed his touch.

  “Jessica,” he says gently. “I’m afraid what Cleo’s trying to tell you is that you probably don’t have a choice in the matter.”

  My throat feels thick. “Why not?” I whisper.

  Cleo squeezes my arm and answers. “We know little of the Alchemist—when and where he was born, what his abilities are, whether he’s on our side or the side of the Lapras. You assume, from what Kendor told you, that he’s a monster, and perhaps he is, I don’t know. Yet he took Syn and Kendor to the mall today on purpose, that much is clear, and he says they’re here to prepare you. We have to assume they’re here to prepare you for a trial of some kind. And since the man can travel through time, we have to accept he already knows that this trial is going to take place, whether you want it to or not.”

  My father continues to rub my shoulders. Yet I feel as if a heavy weight from far above has descended over me. It was only a month ago in Las Vegas that my whole world was turned upside down and I was almost killed. I had been hoping for a period of peace: to raise my daughter; to love Jimmy; to go to school like a normal girl. Now I find myself struggling just to breathe, to shake off a feeling of impending doom.

  “What you just said—it’s quite a mouthful,” I tell Cleo.

  “I know.”

  “It’s not fair,” I say.

  “Life seldom is,” Cleo replies, before adding. “I should have warned you earlier. I knew when you had Syn killed that the majority of the Lapras would see you as a viable candidate to rule their organization. It’s in their blood.”

  “They believe in survival of the fittest,” Hatsu says.

  “Promotion through assassination,” I mutter, although technically it was Whip who had killed her.

  “They’re a brutal race,” Cleo agrees.

  “It still makes no sense,” I complain. “Why nominate me—a recent high-school graduate who felt bad about dissecting a frog in biology class—to rule over a violent organization bent on world domination? Wouldn’t they prefer someone with more blood on her hands?”

  Cleo speaks. “I’ve already answered that question. To the Lapras what matters most is that you defeated Syn. That proves to them how powerful you are. And as far as your youth is concerned—they might see that as an advantage.” Cleo suddenly stops. “Or he might.”

  “The Alchemist?” I ask.

  Cleo nods. “Since you’re only eighteen, he might see you as someone he can mold as he pleases. You recall that he was Syn’s mentor before she took over the Lapras.”

  “I didn’t know Kendor confided that in you,” I say.

  “I figured it out on my own,” Cleo says.

  I sigh, or groan—it’s hard to separate the two sounds and feelings in my head. “I’m still confused. On one hand you keep talking about what the Lapras want. On the other hand you act like the Alchemist is in control. Tell me clearly—who’s calling the shots?”

  Cleo considers. “It’s true the Alchemist hasn’t chosen the Lapras’ leader recently. However, in the distant past, long before any of you were born, there were good and bad witches just as there are good and bad witches today. And in those days, the Alchemist did have a say on who ruled the evil witches.”

  “What about who ruled the good witches?” my father asks, as curious as the rest of us. This is obviously new information to everyone except Cleo. She shakes her head.

  “He never came near us,” she says.

  “Just my luck he’s decided to get politically active again,” I mutter.

  My father acts as if inspiration’s struck. “Is it possible Lara’s the reason the Alchemist is interested in elevating Jessica to head of the Lapras? Let’s not forget how obsessed Syn was with the child’s ten witch genes. C
ould the Alchemist be trying to get to Lara through Jessica? We know Syn tried a similar approach.”

  “That sounds logical,” Hatsu says.

  “Yes,” Cleo says. “But I don’t think he’s interested in Lara. Not at this point.”

  “How can you be sure?” I ask.

  “If the Alchemist wanted Lara, he would have taken her,” Cleo replies. “It’s as simple as that.”

  “And you wouldn’t have been able to stop him?” I ask, not happy we’re even discussing this possibility. Cleo gives me no comfort.

  “Doubtful,” she says.

  “Do you know the nature of the trial I’ll have to go through if I decide to take over the Lapras?” I ask; and I’m sure no one in the room misses my emphasis on the IF word. Cleo takes a long time to answer my question.

  “We’ll just have to wait and see,” she says.

  For perhaps the first time since I met her, I feel she is lying to me. The thought disturbs me deeply. Plus it’s hard to sit so near her powerful gaze. Once again I stand and pace around the living room. Cleo’s made a convincing argument for why I must obey her, but I still feel far from satisfied with her explanations and the control she wants to take over my life.

  “One thing makes no sense to me,” I say. “Why would the Alchemist bring Syn and Kendor from the past to help prepare me to fight to take over the Lapras? He must know I’d never listen to a word that witch-bitch has to say.”

  “The Syn you knew was a bitch,” Cleo says. “The person Kendor met and married was a lovely woman. And a powerful witch.”

  “My God, I didn’t think of that,” I say. It takes a moment for the implications of what Cleo is suggesting to sink in; and when they do they are so staggering, I fear even to speak them aloud. There’s no need, though—I know Hatsu and my father grasp them the same instant I do.

  Nevertheless, Hatsu does give voice to what we all fear.