Black Knight

by Christopher Pike

  “Wake up Chad and splash some cold water on your face. Try to eat what’s left of the fish. I’ve got to talk to the boys.” I head for the cave entrance but pause and look back at him. “You know, for such a tough guy, you sure can be a gentleman.”

  I’m paying him a compliment but he acts disappointed. “Does that mean we didn’t go all the way?” he asks.

  I laugh. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

  Outside, I quickly lose my smile. Kyle and Sam aren’t just having an argument. They’re in a heated discussion concerning how Pierre and Keb died. The two bodies lie sprawled against a black boulder that pokes from the ground a hundred yards behind the cave opening.

  Below us, in the opposite direction, chained to a pointed rock with ropes of vine, is Jelanda, the head ghost. She’s been watching me since I exited the cave.

  “What the hell happened?” I demand in the glare of the morning light. The sun has just risen above the rim of the sea, but exposed as we are on the side of the volcano, it seems particularly bright. The entire expanse below us—the river, the trees, the cliffs—are bathed in orange light.

  “Pierre and Keb were on guard duty with Sam,” Kyle says, not bothering to hide his bitterness. “They’d been ordered to watch the peak while Sam was supposed to be keeping his eyes on anyone approaching from below.”

  “Damnit, what happened?” I snap.

  I’ve never seen Kyle so uptight. “I don’t know, that’s the problem. I took the first shift and everything was fine. Then Sam relieves me in the middle of the night and I wake up at dawn and all of a sudden my two guys are dead.”

  “Wait a second,” I interrupt. “I was supposed to take the second shift. How come neither of you woke me up?”

  “That was my decision,” Sam says. “You looked exhausted. I wanted you to rest. Besides, I thought Pierre and Keb could help each other stay awake. They only had to keep a lookout in one direction. I was scanning ninety percent of the island.”

  “Funny how you didn’t see anyone sneak up on them,” Kyle says.

  Sam shoves him in the chest. “Stop that shit right now! No one in this group killed them. It had to be either Nordra or Viper, or one of the ghosts.”

  “You didn’t hear anything?” I ask Sam.

  He looks miserable. “I could hear them talking, up until about an hour ago, but I wasn’t listening to what they were saying. Then they got real quiet. I didn’t think much of it. It was only when it got light that I went to check on them.”

  “You couldn’t see them from here?” I asked.

  “No,” Sam says. “I moved their bodies to where they are now so we can keep an eye on them. But when I first checked on them, they were around that bend you see there. I stationed them there so they’d have a clear view of the peak, and anyone coming at us from the north. I—”

  “You had no right to station them anywhere without asking my permission,” Kyle interrupts.

  Sam snorts. “Like you owned them.”

  “They were my boys! They were in my group!” Kyle cries, very upset. “I was responsible for them!”

  I move between them. “Keep your voices down! We don’t have to tell every enemy we’ve got exactly where we’re camping out.” I pause and speak to Sam in a gentle tone. “So it got light and you went to check on them. What did you find?”

  Sam shrugs. “They were just lying there, dead.”

  “You must have examined them. How did they die?”

  “They have bruises on their necks. Both their Adam’s apples look like they’ve been crushed.” Sam pauses, fidgeting. “They were probably smothered.”

  Cleo’s words come back to haunt me.

  “Sam was arrested last year in connection with the murder of his longtime boyfriend, Michael Edwards. Michael was found strangled to death in a workroom at Parsons, where they were both students. Sam was arrested because he had motive and opportunity.”

  “The person who attacked—was he strong?” I ask.

  Sam nods. “He or she was definitely a witch.”

  The coincidence is disturbing, to say the least. Yet it’s also very convenient—if someone is trying to set Sam up for Pierre’s and Keb’s murders. But who would know about Sam’s past? I know because I have access to Cleo, who has almost unlimited resources. Does Kyle have an equivalent source?

  Yet even if Kyle did know, how did he manage to exit the cave without Sam seeing him and murder the guys? It doesn’t seem feasible, which means either Sam did kill them or one of our foes managed to sneak into our camp without Sam hearing or seeing a thing. Sam, with his supersensitive eyes and ears . . .

  “Look, we can talk about this until we’re blue in the face,” Sam says. “We’re not going to figure out what happened. We’re on a clock here. It might look like we’re over halfway to the top but it’s deceptive. The higher we go, the steeper it gets and the thinner the air is. We’re going to need the whole day to reach the cave and the wall. We should gather our stuff and just go.”

  “No. I want to bury them,” Kyle says.

  “Didn’t you hear what I just said?” Sam asks.

  Kyle’s furious, hurt. “We had time to bury Ora, Billy, and Mary! How come Pierre and Keb are worth less? Because they came here with me?”

  Sam goes to yell a reply but in the end they both turn to me. He might be the greatest actor on earth but I could swear Kyle’s pain is the real deal. I feel like crying with him. It’s difficult to say no to his demand, yet I have to think of the greater good.

  “Marc’s sick and injured and Li’s not at full strength,” I say. “And Sam’s right—it’s going to get harder to hike the higher we go. We’ll move Pierre and Keb into the cave and have a brief service. But we’re going to have to forgo digging graves.”

  “I’ll move them,” Kyle snaps, bitter. “Funny how you picked this morning to start making the tough decisions. I wonder what your choice would have been if it’d been Marc or Chad who died.”

  Kyle stalks off and Sam pats me on the back.

  “Don’t let him get to you,” he says.

  I shake my head. “No, he’s right. I doubt I would have made the same decision if it had been my friends. I suppose that makes me a shitty leader.”

  “It makes you human,” Sam says.

  We’re underway twenty minutes later. Unfortunately, Marc doesn’t last long on his feet. Whatever Viper coated her knife with, it not only added fire to his blood, it interrupted the healing process. None of my witch powers has much effect on it and I’m forced to shred the remainder of my shirt sleeves to construct a bandage that applies steady pressure to the wound. I can’t believe he’s still bleeding.

  Marc complains that he won’t be treated like a baby, but there’s no punch to his fight and in the end I have to insist on carrying him. He knows he’s slowing us down and finally lets me lift him onto my back. The extra weight is taxing but there’s no way I’m leaving him behind.

  Kyle has his own weight to deal with—Jelanda, the ghost queen. He uses a combination of vines and strips of cloth from Pierre’s and Keb’s uniforms—he removed them before he laid his guys to rest—to keep her tied, but his main tool is the spear he presses to her back. Even though battered, Jelanda appears less weary than the rest of us.

  I hate the bitch, she gives me the creeps. Whenever I glance in her direction, she gives me a twisted smile, like she’s waiting—just waiting for us to die.

  Chad walks beside Marc and me. He gathers from our talk that we’re seeing each other in witch world and wants to know why I haven’t tried to contact his twin.

  “You live on the other side of the country,” I say.

  “You could at least call,” Chad says.

  “And tell you what?” I ask.

  Chad considers. “Right. I don’t suppose a complete stranger raving about being my friend in another dimension wo
uld go over too well with my other self.”

  “Chad,” Marc mutters behind my head. “Get a clue. Jessie’s not calling you because you’re not hot like me. Why, you wouldn’t believe what the two of us are doing in witch—ouch!”

  I had just pinched his leg. “Considering the fact that you’re nothing but deadweight in this world, I’d stop bragging about how hot you are.” I add, “Besides, brains are a lot more sexy to me than swagger.”

  “It’s only called swagger if you can’t deliver,” Marc says. “And you of all girls know otherwise. . . . Ouch!”

  I pinch him again. “Quiet.”

  Chad laughs. “I hope we get out of here alive. I know we’ve had it rough but, for me, this has been the only real excitement I’ve had in my life. I keep thinking what a great bedtime story my time here would make if I ever had grandchildren. I’d give each of us hero names. Ora the Warrior. Shira the Brave. Chad the Wise. Li the Healer. Jessie the Powerful. Marc the . . . Hmm, what’s so special about Marc? I can’t think of anything.”

  When Marc doesn’t reply, I say, “Marc the Survivor.”

  “That makes me sound like a coward,” Marc complains.

  “It makes you sound lucky,” Chad corrects him. “I’m going to use that name. My grandkids will love it.”

  “I’m sure they’ll love you,” I say.

  A pity they both hear the note of sorrow in my voice.

  Yesterday we had to deal with two types of terrain: the loose gravel, which was worse than walking through sand; and the flat sheets of frozen lava, which were so sleek we were constantly slipping, skating. Today we have a third type—row after row of giant rocks. Because they’re usually separated by large gaps, we keep having to make treacherous leaps from one to the other.

  Whatever psychological breakdown Li suffered when she failed to heal Kyle’s people, it’s made her a much more timid hiker. As a result Sam is frequently forced to carry her while we navigate the maze of black boulders. They’re all made of the same ancient lava belched out the top of the volcano, but some are so huge, I’d swear they look like something the cinder cone once choked on.

  Choked. Strangled. Murdered.

  It disturbs me how much I’ve begun to doubt Sam. Cleo’s information about his past isn’t easy to ignore. But it’s not just how it connects to Pierre’s and Keb’s deaths that disturbs me. Kendor and Syn’s mysterious warnings haunt me as much if not more. Kyle, too—I find I can’t look at either of them the same way I did before.

  It strikes me then how insidious the rules of the Field are, and it makes me wonder who created them and what they were thinking—if the old tales Cleo told me are true, if the Field ultimately has the high purpose of choosing the perfect leader. The more I dwell on the questionable morality of the people behind the contest, the more I wonder if they are even human. Or witches.

  Something about the Field makes no sense.

  The hike wears on, harder and more painful with every step we take. Veering south, at Sam’s direction, we begin to follow the river up the side of the volcano. The closer we stay to the water, Sam explains, the less we have to deal with the loose gravel and the intimidating boulders.

  Naturally, since we’re approaching its source, the river has shrunk in size and strength, but its roar still fills the air, making it all but impossible to listen for the approach of an invisible foe.

  Carrying Marc makes me vulnerable. I don’t have instant access to my arms and hands. And his heavy breathing, and occasional groans, cloud my hearing as much as the river.

  Yet I feel Viper near, as clearly as I sense Nordra has already gone ahead and waits for us at the peak. And the ghosts—they follow a mile behind, scarcely bothering to hide their trail. Sam sees them first but soon I spot them as well, darting across the side of the volcano, flashes of their white skin peeking over the edges of the black rock.

  Kyle tries driving them back by stabbing his spear deeper into Jelanda’s spine, but she can’t cry out in pain because she can’t talk; and besides, for all we know, her suffering calls her comrades to come closer. Her only response to Kyle’s torture is to look at me and grin.

  “None of you will survive.”

  I wish Kyle would just let her go, or else kill her; I don’t see the point in keeping her around.

  Syn and Kendor’s warnings have infected me in the same way Viper’s poison has infected Marc. The main reason I feel vulnerable is I feel Sam or Kyle, or both, are just waiting to kill me.

  “How was I?” Marc whispers to me through a haze of pain and fever. The heat of his skin against mine is hotter than the rays of the naked sun pouring over my head.

  “I told you, you couldn’t get it up,” I tease.

  I feel him smile. “I can get it up right now and I’m about to die. Come on, tell the truth, how many times did we do it?”

  “It depends what you mean by ‘do it.’”

  I feel his smile widen. “So you’re the naughty sort?”

  “You couldn’t tell?”

  “I was hoping. Who came more times, me or you?”

  “Me, of course. A girl can come all night.”

  “So it was great. I was great.”

  “Nah. I told you, you couldn’t get it up. I had to get my vibrator out of my bag just to keep the night from being a total disaster.”

  He kisses the side of my head through my sweaty hair.

  “The next time you see Jimmy tell him I’m sorry. I know that once you’ve had a guy like me nothing else will ever satisfy you.”

  “Keep dreaming, Marc. That’s what you’re good at.”

  He begins to black out from the pain. “As long as you’re there in my dreams,” he mumbles.

  At last we reach the base of the cinder cone, which crowns the top of the volcano proper like a brown clown’s hat topped with a flickering red light. The crimson glow of the boiling magma is constant but its light wavers with the shifting clouds of steam and smoke. Talk about fire and brimstone. There are moments when the fumes are almost suffocating. But then the wind will suddenly shift direction and I’m able to breathe easily.

  The size and force of the river has suddenly shrunk to a tenth of what it previously was. Sam kneels at its edge to take a drink.

  “It’s time we crossed to the other side,” Sam says.

  “Why?” Kyle demands, suspicious. I’m not the only one suffering from paranoia. Since the loss of Pierre and Keb, Kyle doesn’t even pretend to trust Sam.

  Sam goes to speak but first has to cough. “Isn’t it obvious? If we stay in the path of these fumes we won’t make it to the top.”

  I scan the face of the cinder cone. The incline is a minimum of forty-five degrees, even steeper closer to the crown. Its surface is made of deep fluffy ash, which will be a demon to wade through.

  “I don’t see any sign of the cave,” I say.

  “Me neither,” Kyle adds.

  Sam gestures. “It’s around the left side. We’ll reach it before we come to the wall. But we’ve got to start circling around now, before we climb any higher.”

  “That will lengthen our hike,” Kyle says. Technically he’s right. Circling the base of the cinder cone will require us to walk farther than if we were to circle it closer to the top.

  Sam shakes his head in disgust. “Try hiking straight up if you want. I won’t stop you. But a small thing called ‘lack of oxygen’ will.”

  Kyle is unsure. “The wind keeps shifting. Who’s to say the south side will be clear?”

  “I’m not a bloody weatherman!” Sam shouts. “I can’t tell which way the wind’s going to keep blowing. All I know is the last time I was up here, I made it to the top by hiking up the south face. And if that isn’t good enough for you, then climb up here, get yourself gassed, I don’t give a damn.”

  Chad speaks. “I have to agree with Sam. The direction of
the wind has shifted a dozen times since we came to this island. But it’s always come back to an easterly direction, down toward the sea. Also, a few of you might have noticed how the trees all lean slightly toward the ocean—another sign of the direction the wind favors. The south and west sides of the cinder cone should be more breathable.”

  “I’m sold,” I say, studying the sun as it moves closer to the top lip of the volcano. “But we’ve only got another two hours of light left and we’ve still got at least four miles to go. We’ve got to increase our pace.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Sam asks.

  “Cut Jelanda loose. That way Kyle can carry Li while you, Sam, carry Chad. We’re witches. It’s our job to help out the others.”

  “Says who?” Kyle mutters.

  I step in front of him. “You’re the one who pushed me to lead this group. Now you don’t like my orders? What’s your problem?”

  Kyle glances at Sam before answering me. “You have the gall to ask what my problem is? How about I’m scared shitless? You didn’t know Pierre and Keb, I did. They were mates of mine and someone killed them. Sam says he’s innocent and you want me to believe him. All right, for the sake of argument, let’s say I do. Then who killed my friends?”

  “It could have been the ghosts,” Chad says.

  “We know they’re in the area,” Sam says.

  “Because you keep torturing their leader,” Chad adds.

  Kyle wipes at his eyes, his voice choking from something other than fumes. “That’s good, that’s great, put Pierre’s and Keb’s deaths on me. Why not? I’m the asshole in the group. But if it is my fault I got my mates killed, then I’ll be damned if I’m going to surrender the one thing I stole from the ghosts that made them kill Pierre and Keb.”

  His words shake me because they explain so much that should have been obvious—why Kyle’s refused to let Jelanda go, or kill her for that matter. It’s clear he feels he’s paid too high a price to catch her.

  “She’s slowing us down,” I tell him. “Either way, she’s got to go.”

  Kyle shakes his head. “I’m stronger than I look. I can drag her along and carry Li at the same time. I swear, I’ll keep up. We can’t let the White Queen go.”