Black Knight

by Christopher Pike

  Ora continues to peer at the distant trees. “Whoever he is, he moves fast.”

  “What color is his uniform? I saw gray.”

  Ora nods but that’s all.

  We walk the rest of the way to the cave in silence.

  To my immense relief—I had not even realized how much I was worrying about them—the group is safe, and they cheer when I unveil the cooked fish. All of them except Li, who sits dozing in the corner. I wake her up while Ora lights one of his torches.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask, worried. Her eyes struggle to stay open.

  “Weak,” she mumbles.

  “Your blood sugar’s low. You need to eat. I’ve brought fresh roasted fish—the perfect food. Eat, come on, force it down if you have to.”

  Li’s too feeble to raise her hands, and I end up breaking off bite-size pieces of fish and feeding her like a child. Her strength returns quickly, though, and ten minutes after her first swallow she is sitting up with clear eyes and holding the fish in both hands. I fetch her a bottle of water and she bows her head in gratitude.

  She sighs. “I haven’t gone so long without food in ages.”

  “When was the last time?” I ask so that only she can hear. The others are focused on their fish and are ignoring us. I can’t say I blame them. None of them has eaten in over two days.

  “In prison, in the North,” Li says, her lower lip quivering at the memory. There’s no question she’s capitalizing the “North” as she speaks.

  “You escaped from North Korea to South Korea?” I ask.

  She hesitates, nods. “Two years ago.”

  “Were you in prison at the time of your escape?”

  “Yes. We . . .” She falters. “It’s not easy to talk about.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t.” But I feel I need to question her, need to understand why she’s been placed in my group. I speak gently, “Who is we? Your parents?”

  “My parents were killed when I was twelve. There was just me and my twin sister, Lula.”

  “Does Lula live with you in Seoul?”

  “She . . . Lula, she died when we were in prison. In North Korea they don’t need a reason to arrest you. Lula died while she was being tortured.” Li pauses. “I was in the room.”

  “Oh God. I’m so sorry.”

  She wipes away a tear. “We were close. We did everything together. It’s been hard without her.”

  “How did you escape from the prison?”

  “A group of us escaped. A guard helped us, he came with us. We headed for the Chinese border. We knew it was dangerous but it was the only way. Sometimes the Chinese send you back and you’re tortured and then shot. Sometimes the Chinese kill you at the border. They always say it’s an accident but we know better.”

  “And sometimes they help you escape to South Korea?”

  Li hesitates. “They helped a few of us. But most of our group—they didn’t make it.”

  “How about the guard who helped you escape?”

  Li shakes her head.

  I have more questions but don’t want to push her too far in her weakened state. In the same way I feel Ora’s unique, I know there’s something unusual about Li. She’s sick, she can hardly fend for herself, but I sense a hidden strength in her. Once more I’m forced to reflect on how easy my life has been.

  Up until the day I was introduced to witch world.

  The gang gathers around Ora and his burning torch. It gives off little smoke and the orange light is somehow soothing in the dark cavern. Yet our situation is anything but. The group quizzes Ora and me about what we saw on our hike, and we tell them the truth, although I leave off the part about running sub-one-minute miles to the river and back.

  We tell them about the figure we saw, the albino racing through the trees. Ora had told me ahead of time that they had to know. Their lives were as much at stake as our own, he insisted. I sense Ora wants me to open up about being a witch but I also know he won’t break his promise to keep my secret.

  Shira starts to pace at the mention of the albino. “Are you sure he was alone?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say firmly.

  “I’m not sure,” Ora adds. “There may have been two.”

  Shira snaps, “Surely you can tell the difference between one or two people.”

  “He moved fast and the sun was in our eyes,” Ora says.

  “It’s unlikely there would be more than one albino on the island,” Chad says.

  “It’s unlikely there would be any,” Marc says. “You said the guy was short. How short?”

  “A meter and a quarter,” Ora replies. “Four feet tall.”

  “Oh Christ,” Marc says. “He can’t be human. You know what? This sounds exactly like that last Predator movie. The one where a bunch of fighters from different countries were transported to another planet and used as wild game.”

  “For godssakes, we’re not on another planet!” I cry.

  “How can you be sure?” Marc demands.

  I snap at him. “Because the sun in the sky is the same sun that’s always been in the sky. Because the plants are identical to plants we’ve always seen. Got it? We’re on planet Earth. . . .”

  Marc interrupts. “You’re the one who pointed out that there’s no insect or bird life on this island. Explain that, Ms. Logical.”

  For some reason all our eyes automatically swing to Chad. He stands peering at the light coming through the low stone rim of the entrance, before turning back to us.

  “The sun’s sinking behind the volcano,” he says. “It’ll be dark in an hour, which means we’re still on a planet with a twenty-four-hour rotational cycle.”

  “Thank you, Chad,” I mutter.

  He raises his hand. “But I agree with Marc on one point. There are mysteries here I can’t explain. Where are the birds and insects? Where are the fruit trees? The river’s loaded with fish and I’m glad, but what kind of fish did we just eat? And who exactly is running around on the other side of the river?”

  “He must be a member of one of the other five groups that’s been put here to kill us,” Shira says. “It’s the only explanation. And it’s the only thing that matters. Yes, I know what the rest of you think of me. That I’m a trigger-happy Israeli who’s trying to export a war that belongs back in her own country. I can see it by the way you look at me. But that plaque was put there for a reason—to warn us. I’m sure the others were given identical plaques and are right now making plans to destroy us. That’s why we have to prepare. We have to make weapons to defend ourselves, and send out scouts to see what the enemy is up to. It’s the only way.”

  “I agree,” Ora says.

  Marc’s annoyed. “Didn’t you just hear Chad? The sun’s about to set. What do you want us to do—go outside and stumble around in the dark until someone puts an arrow through our chest?”

  “The dark might be the safest time,” Shira says.

  “If the overcast evaporates it might not be so dark,” Chad warns. “We were abducted four days shy of a full moon. On a clear night, with no artificial light around, the moon can be pretty bright.”

  “So much the better,” Ora says.

  Marc stands. “Wait a second. Say we do decide to scout the other side of the river. Say we send out a couple of people. How do they protect themselves if they run into a hostile group? The other gang could kill our people or kidnap them. They could even torture the two to tell them where the rest of us are in this cave.”

  Shira sneers. “Would you rather cower here like a frightened child?”

  Marc shrugs. “Probably, yeah.”

  Shira spits on the floor. “Coward!”

  Marc stays cool. He speaks to the rest of us. “Think about it. Why not hide out here a few days and let the other groups go at it? It’s possible they’ll wipe each other out, or at least fight
until just one is left standing. Then we can emerge from our hideout and snuff the bastard.” He adds, “The best offense is a strong defense.”

  “You’ve got the quote backward,” I mutter.

  “Shut up, Ralle,” he says.

  Chad speaks. “What Marc says has merit. Except for one problem.”

  “What?” Marc asks.

  “If Ora and Jessie saw the albino, what are the chances he saw them? The albino was running through shady trees. Ora and Jessie were standing high atop our side of the valley. Worse, they were only a hundred yards away from our hideout.”

  “Damnit, Jessie,” Marc growls. “You should have hiked around the top of the hill and come in the back way.”

  “I was in a hurry and didn’t want your food to get cold,” I say, trying to deflect my blunder. Marc’s right, unfortunately; I was careless. Ora and I both were.

  “Waiting for the enemy to attack is no way to win a battle,” Shira says with conviction. “Someone will come, if not today then tomorrow. They’ll search every cave along this cliff until they root us out. Then we’ll be cornered. And don’t think our escape route will save us. If I were them, the first thing I’d do is check if there was more than one way in and out of this cave.” She stops. “We stay here and we’ll die. It’s that simple. And I don’t intend to die.”

  Shira’s words are powerful because she’s a soldier. She thinks like one, she acts like one. I suspect it’s why she was chosen to be a part of our group. A bitch with fire—we need someone like her. Even Marc appears moved by her speech.

  “We still come back to the issue of weapons,” he mutters.

  Ora speaks. “Several of the rocks I’ve collected can be sharpened into knives by grinding them against a slab of stone. The same with the sticks I gathered—they can be sharpened into spears. But it will take work.”

  “Hard work and time,” Chad warns. “If we plan on sending out a scouting party tonight, we’d better get started now.”

  Shira grins and pulls out a wickedly tipped black stone from her back pocket. “I started the second Jessie and Ora left to catch fish.”

  “Hold on,” Marc complains. “Who’s brave enough or dumb enough to volunteer for this so-called scouting expedition?”

  “I’ll go,” Shira says.

  “I’ll go with her,” Ora says, his eyes seeking me out. He knows they will need my protection.

  “Count me in,” I say.

  “Good,” Shira agrees, slapping me on the back. “Three will go, three will stay. A wise use of our resources. No one will be left alone.”

  Marc and Chad glance at Li, then at each other. I don’t need to be a telepath to know what they’re thinking. They’re worried Li can do nothing to protect them, and that the group’s two warriors—Ora and Shira—are leaving together. Of course, they’d feel worse if they knew what they were losing with my absence.

  “Are we sure we should split up?” Marc says, floating the idea.

  Chad says what no one else wants to, choosing his words carefully. “I can stay with Li and look after the place.”

  Marc doesn’t speak but looks at me. His suspicions haven’t abated—if anything they’ve grown. Yet I can tell he doesn’t want me to leave with Ora and Shira. There’s a fear in his eyes but it’s not for himself. I must be tired; I take a minute to understand.

  He’s worried about me.

  * * *

  We set off four hours after sunset. It’s taken us that long to make a rudimentary set of spears and knives. Even with Ora extorting us to put more muscle into the task of grinding the sticks and stones, the weapons end up crude. My knife, and Ora’s, are the only two sharp enough to slice open a piece of fruit.

  Or an enemy’s belly.

  Our spears are better, naturally; it’s easier to sharpen wood than stone. Yet several of Ora’s sticks are slightly bent and I worry how straight they will fly when thrown. The others may hope to hang on to their spears, but I plan on hurling them with as much force as possible. That’s why I bring half a dozen.

  They’ll be my arrows; my arm will be their bow.

  Marc gives Ora a hard time about not teaching us how to construct bows and arrows, even after Ora explains, several times, how difficult it is to find the materials to make them. The string has to be strong and flexible at the same time, and the bow has to be made out of wood that can bend and not break. In the end Ora tells Marc we’ll be lucky to live long enough to have bows and arrows. That shuts Marc up.

  Marc’s no coward, though. When it’s time to leave, he insists on coming. He jokes that he doesn’t want to be caught dead with the two nerds in the group, but he’s definitely coming to look after me. I don’t object—it’ll give me a chance to cover his back.

  As Chad promised, the moon is two nights shy of being full and the lunar glow blazes across the wide expanse beneath our cave; the river, in particular, sparkles beneath the white light. It’s bright enough that we’re able to hike with our torches unlit.

  The river’s our main obstacle, obviously, and Ora suggests we head west two miles, toward the volcano, which will take us above three separate streams that feed the river.

  “The last few streams make the river strong,” Ora explains as we hike down from our ledge. “The farther upstream we go, the better chance we’ll have of wading across.”

  “Two miles at night is a long detour to take,” Marc says.

  “That would be true if we knew where we were going,” Shira says wisely.

  “I assume we’re searching for the albino pygmies,” Marc says.

  “We’re looking for anybody who wants to kill us,” Shira says.

  Her attitude annoys Marc. “So we shoot first and ask questions later? We’re not willing to talk?” he asks.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Shira says.

  Ora speaks to Marc. “We have to assume anyone we meet on this island wants us dead. They may pretend to be on our side, and offer their hand in friendship. But I believe the plaque—only one will survive.”

  “I’m glad we’re listening to a few crazy lines written on a piece of wood by a total stranger,” Marc says. “You guys treat that plaque as if it were your bible. Don’t you find that strange?”

  Marc’s question is, of course, the most important one of all. It’s surprised me the group hasn’t discussed the proclamations on the plaque at greater length. Myself, I have an excuse. I know the Lapras are in the midst of a power struggle and that the plaque was written in the Alchemist’s handwriting. With the exception of Ora, the others know nothing.

  Yet I understand why my group has largely accepted that they’ll have to fight to survive. The complexity of our abduction, the mystery of the Field, even the haunted wording on the plaque itself has convinced them that they’re dealing with a power bigger than themselves.

  Yet Ora surprises me by putting forth a theory that’s far simpler, and perhaps more accurate.

  “It doesn’t matter whether we believe the plaque or not. All that matters is what the other groups believe. Before this night is over, we’ll know. Talking about it can’t help us.”

  Ora leads us along the foot of our side of the valley, trying to make use of the cliff’s shadows. Essentially we’re hiking uphill toward the volcano, and it haunts our night. Even with the bright moon, the red glow from the smoldering magma flickers through the dense smoke that hugs the cinder cone, creating the illusion of a devil’s ruby crown.

  A devil who watches over the Field and waits.

  Only when we’re two miles closer to the volcano does Ora turn us toward the river. Here, the expanse has narrowed and it’s not long before we’re standing at the edge of the roaring water.

  Marc eyes the river uneasily. “How deep do you think it gets?” he asks me.

  “I’m not sure. But it’s colder than you’d expect,” I reply, remembering my af
ternoon fishing expedition.

  “If it rises above our waists, we’ll have trouble staying on our feet,” Ora warns.

  “You talking about your waist or ours?” Marc asks.

  Ora is the first to plunge in but we don’t let him go far before following. Slick pebbles litter the floor of the river and I struggle not to slip. Because we hold our spears and unlit torches over our heads, our hands and arms are not free. The stone knives and water bottles in our packs add to our weight. Despite my witch-aided strength, I find the crossing difficult and worry about the others. Especially when the water does reach to our waists.

  “We have to go back!” Marc cries as we near the center of the river.

  “Shh! We can’t go back!” Shira snaps.

  “This is as deep as it gets!” Ora calls over the roar.

  “How do you know?” Marc demands.

  “I know,” Ora says.

  He’s right, the worst is over; suddenly the water begins to sink down below our waists. But the cold liquid has left its mark and I shiver at the loss of body heat. Still, the night is warm and once we reach the far side I quickly recover. For several minutes we huddle by the shore, catching our breath, unsure which way to go.

  “We have to hike into the trees, get out of sight,” Shira says.

  Ora nods. “We’re exposed here. But if someone waits for us in the trees, they will have seen us already. Better we hike by the river. If they try to attack, they’ll have to cross the open field and we’ll see them coming.”

  “Ora’s right,” Marc says. “We can’t hike through that jungle without lighting our torches. Fire them up and a blind bat would spot us.”

  Ora wants my opinion. “Jessie?”

  “There’s no good choice, but I feel naked out here with that bright moon. Let’s compromise. Let’s hike to the edge of the trees and turn down toward the ocean.”

  “You want to hike all the way to the beach tonight?” Shira asks.

  I shake my head. “Let’s play it by ear.”

  Whoever is in the trees might let us pass, I think. Or they may try to murder us the first chance they get. The sad truth is I can’t imagine any of the other five groups wanting to talk. Clearly Shira and Ora have infected me with their cynicism.