“I’ll tell you one thing,” Steven said. “I can see the enemy, and they can sure see me.”
“All those indoctrinated into the struggle perceive each other according to their true natures and not the artifice meant for the rest of the world.” Grey’s eyes narrowed. “In fact, as I am sure you can attest, senses beyond your normal five manifest when the opposition is near.”
“The whole just drank a cup of sulfuric acid thing? Yeah.” Steven’s gaze dropped to his chest. “But that’s not the only thing, is it, Grey? The dragonfly Ruth gave me…”
Grey smiled. “Ah, Amaryllis. I was pleased to see her at your neck when I arrived, though I suppose it should be no surprise Ruth gave her to you. That is no ordinary adornment you wear. Only sixteen like her were ever crafted. The methods and materials required to create such objects are long gone. Even I am unsure how many remain.”
Emilio cleared his throat. “Not to break up your fascinating discussion of insecty fashion accessories, but let’s focus here. What you’re saying is we faced the Black side’s version of you and their Queen, almost got killed by arrows and fire only you could see, and were only able to escape because Scottie beamed us away to some island off the east coast.” He crossed his arms, defiant. “This all makes sense to you?”
“It sounds ridiculous every time I say it too, but here we are.” Steven looked out at the lapping surf, the ambient light fading by the minute.
“So, Steven,” Emilio asked, his eyes on the ground, “what position do I play on this team of yours anyway?”
“I have no idea.” Steven opened the pouch, unleashing a spine-shaking pulse of sound. “Let’s find out.”
A strange fervor flashed briefly in Emilio’s eyes, but then he lowered his head and turned away. “I’m not so sure about this.”
“Emilio, look at me.”
The boy met Steven’s gaze across the pouch. “What?”
“I know this all seems crazy, but as Grey explains it, this Game is happening whether we like it or not. Call it destiny, fate, or whatever makes sense to you, but this isn’t something you can walk away from, no matter how much you’d rather forget you ever met me and Grey.” Steven took a breath. “Now, reach into the pouch and let’s see what you find.”
The low drone of the pouch throbbed as Emilio rested his fingers on the lip of the leather bag’s glowing mouth, the pulsating sound shifting into couplets like the beating of an immense heart. Lena covered her ears to block the deafening sound, but stared unblinking at the light, entranced by the pulsing incandescence.
Emilio cast one last look at Lena and dove his hand into the shimmering white light.
15
Lance
The pouch swallowed Emilio’s arm to the shoulder, its mouth a shining pool of starlight. Steven’s heart raced, the wonder of what he had seen when he reached into the same shimmering light filling his mind. Lena, on the other hand, looked on in fear and awe as her boyfriend endured what appeared an intense seizure.
Long seconds passed before Emilio snapped out of his forced reverie and withdrew his arm from the pouch, his fingers encircling a long cylinder wrapped in white cloth. An image of Julie Andrews pulling an impossibly long coat rack from her paisley carpetbag flashed across Steven’s memory.
Backing away from the pouch’s shimmering mouth, the metallic object continued to come into view, but not fast enough for Emilio. Impatient, he grasped it with both hands and backpedaled away from Steven, gasping as the gleaming tip of a lance no less than twice his height emerged from the mouth of the suddenly silent pouch. The lance, like the Pawn’s shield, appeared crafted of solid platinum, yet the weapon seemed light in Emilio’s hand. The fine white metal was embellished grip to tip with ornate interlocking sigils while the handle was covered in tightly interwoven white silk. The young man held the lance aloft at his side and stared up at his strange prize. Lena gazed upon the weapon as well, her eyes filled with wonder.
“The lance.” Grey’s brow furrowed, his face frozen in a quizzical stare. “The weapon of the Knight. Elegant, and powerful indeed. You must be quite a special young man to pull such a weapon from the Hvitr Kyll.”
“What am I supposed to do with this?” Emilio shot Steven a quizzical look.
“Hey. Remember you’re talking to a guy who totes around an eight-foot pike.”
“I know it’s impossible, but I’ve held this lance before.” Emilio stroked the etched platinum surface of his weapon and smiled. “Is there more?”
“You have summoned the lance,” Grey said. “I can only assume the rest must follow.”
Emilio took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Lena reached out to touch him.
Steven caught her hand. “He’s all right. Let him finish.”
She nodded and backed off.
A minute passed before Emilio opened his eyes, his deliberate gaze focused on something only he could perceive. He muttered a single word.
“Plate.”
No sooner did the word leave Emilio’s mouth than a breastplate of the same ornately decorated platinum materialized on his upper torso. A matching plate appeared along his back, followed by pieces of armor that covered his upper arms, thighs, and groin. His jeans shifted into a pair of white pantaloons similar to those Steven wore as the Pawn, and his battered tennis shoes extended up his leg, transforming into a pair of russet cavalier’s boots.
Emilio looked down upon his new attire and grinned as he whispered another word.
“Shield.”
A long triangular shield blazoned with an image of a white stallion’s head in profile materialized on his left arm, his hands protected by gauntlets fashioned of fine, glistening chain mail. With shield in one hand and lance in the other, Emilio spoke one final word.
“Helm.”
White mist arose from the undulating surf and swam around Emilio’s head, solidifying into a gleaming helmet. Silhouetted in the dying light of day, the lance shimmering against the darkening sky, the boy stood transformed, the last conquistador to walk the earth.
“What do you think?” The smile on Emilio’s face almost erased the trepidation in his eyes. “Not too bad, huh?”
“Wow.” Lena ran her hand down Emilio’s armored chest. “I mean, wow.”
“Starting to feel pretty real, I’m guessing,” Steven said. “I think you’re about ready.”
“Not quite,” Lena said. “Something’s missing. I’m no expert at all of this, but shouldn’t the Knight have a steed?” Revelation dawned upon her face. “The horses…”
“Indeed.” The setting sun glinted off Grey’s gunmetal eyes as he turned to Emilio. “For the time being, you may wish to put your weapons away.”
Emilio focused, dismissing his armor and weapons, before joining the others in a tight circle around the fire. The four of them stared at the dark woodline in silent anticipation. Lena, despite the warmth of Grey’s duster, shivered as the ocean breeze began to pick up. None of them spoke until, after what seemed hours, Grey inclined his head to one side.
“Here they come,” he whispered.
Through the near darkness, the eclectic rhythm of scores of hoofbeats approached from the south. The light of the rising crescent moon allowed the perception of movement along the woodline, but not much else.
Lena let out a squeal of excitement as the staccato hammering of dozens of galloping horses grew louder and louder. The sound continued to crescendo as the front line came into view, the stampeding herd charging the beach-bound intruders at a full sprint.
His heart racing, Steven bolted down the sand perpendicular to the path of oncoming horses. Well down the beach before he realized he was alone, he paused and looked back. Though Grey was nowhere to be seen, he had no trouble finding Lena and Emilio.
Directly in the path of the rushing horses, neither had moved an inch.
As the herd of horses bore down on them, Lena dove behind Emilio, a move Steven guessed was futile at best. A television special he’d seen a couple ye
ars back discussed the injuries incurred by those brave or stupid enough to run with the bulls in Pamplona, and Steven couldn’t help but think at least those people got a head start.
Lena gaped at the rushing horses, her panicked expression just visible in the poor light at fifty paces, while Emilio stood tall and unconcerned, a smile upon his lips. The din of the horses drowned out Steven’s frantic shouts, and before he could take another breath, the rushing herd was upon them. Steven’s face drew up as he prepared to watch his young friends trampled beneath hundreds of charging hooves. What he witnessed instead was, to use a word that was quickly becoming meaningless in his lexicon, unbelievable.
As the front line of horses reached Emilio, the herd split, each half continuing its frenzied charge toward the ocean. Horse after horse charged past him, the young man a boulder amidst the rushing river of equines. Steven watched in wonder, losing count of the stampeding horses at fifty. As the last stallion passed, a pattern emerged. The horses on either side maintained their frantic trajectory until they hit the surf, at which point they peeled off to the right or left, slowed to a canter, and from what little Steven could see, circled back in the direction of the woodline. The procession ended with Lena and Emilio as the focus of an enormous ellipse of horses stretching from the water’s edge to far up the beach. Each horse stood still and expectant, gazing at the two humans at their center. Steven raced up the beach to rejoin Emilio and Lena, feeling almost foolish for running.
“How did you know?” Steven knew the answer before he even finished the question.
Emilio ignored Steven and turned to Lena, his expression exultant. “Can you hear them?”
“Hear what?” Lena asked.
“The horses.” Emilio trembled with excitement.
Steven stepped in. “We all heard them. They’re kind of hard to—”
“No,” Emilio said. “Not the galloping. The whispering. Don’t you hear it?”
Lena closed her eyes and lowered her head to listen. “All I hear are the waves rolling in.”
“Steven,” Emilio said. “Am I going crazy? I can hear these horses talking, sometimes to each other, but mostly to me. Tell me you can hear it.”
Steven listened, but like Lena, only the ebb and flow of the advancing tide and an occasional whinny from up the beach registered to his senses. “I don’t hear anything, but unless I miss my guess, you’re probably the only one who is supposed to hear it. What are they saying?”
“They are petitioning.” Grey appeared at Emilio’s side. “As Lena so astutely pointed out, the Knight must have a steed, and each of these fine creatures has come hoping they will be chosen to fill that role.” Grey clasped Emilio’s shoulder. “Choose wisely, my young friend.”
“But we can barely see,” Lena said.
Grey’s mouth widened in a mischievous grin. “Then let me see if I can shed some light on the subject.” He turned toward the ocean and raised his arms to the sky, time seemingly screeching to a halt as the peculiar figure stood like a statue on the sand.
“Look,” Lena gasped. She pointed up the beach at the line of trees where the darkness was now broken by countless tiny floating points of light. “Are they what I think they are?”
“Nature’s little lamps.” Grey held his arm aloft, rotating his index finger in a tight circle, and scores of fireflies flew in his direction, coalescing above his head in a gyrating cloud of phosphorescence. More and more of the luminescent insects flew into the spinning mass until individual points of light were no longer visible. The miniature sun floated ten feet above the cooling sand, its light not the equivalent of day but more than sufficient for the task at hand.
Emilio approached the nearest horse, a white mare with brown splotches along her hindquarters. As he drew close, the noble beast lowered her head in what resembled a bow. He stroked the mare’s nose and moved on to the next horse in line. Emilio continued with his inspection of the herd and each horse repeated the simple gesture of respect.
Emilio had surveyed over two thirds of the horses when he came upon a medium-sized white stallion with a single brown stocking on his front left foot. This horse did not bow, but rather stared directly into Emilio’s eyes, his equine expression bordering on recognition. Emilio cocked his head to one side as if listening to a quiet voice only he could hear.
The remainder of the herd became restless, whinnying and sputtering nervously. The white stallion paid them no mind as he continued to stare into Emilio’s eyes. Emilio circled the horse only to find Lena standing on the opposite side, stroking the stallion’s neck.
“Lena?” he asked.
“I know this is your call to make, papi, but I keep coming back to this one. I can’t explain it. He just feels right.”
The proud horse touched his nose to Emilio’s hand before finally bowing his head in respect. When the stallion looked up and again caught Emilio’s gaze, the connection between them was palpable.
“He’s the one.” Emilio ran his fingers along the wild horse’s mane. The horse wasn’t the largest or most imposing of the herd, but Steven had no doubt Emilio had chosen well.
“The choice has been made.” Grey ran his hand along the stallion’s muscular flank. “This horse will serve you well.” As if dismissed by some unheard voice, the remainder of the horses cantered back toward the trees. Grey meandered through the fragmented herd toward the advancing surf. Steven followed, leaving Emilio and Lena to get better acquainted with their new friend. He approached Grey from behind, the man’s quiet tones as he muttered to himself just audible above the crash of waves.
“The Pawn is ready. The lance drawn. The steed chosen.”
Steven joined Grey at the water’s edge and for a moment, the two of them stared silently into the starry eastern sky. Breaking the peace, Grey pointed out over the incoming tide, his open sleeve shifting in the ocean breeze.
“Mars, the Warbringer.”
Steven followed Grey’s gaze and found the red planet high on the horizon, brighter than the other stars of the night sky, its light possessing an orange-red hue. “The time of crisis is fast approaching. A torrent of death and destruction will rain down before the Game reaches its resolution this time. Of that, I am certain.”
Steven wasn’t sure how to respond to what two days ago would have sounded like the ramblings of a madman.
“Tomorrow, you seek the next Piece, and unless I miss my guess, you will face your greatest challenge yet.” Grey moved farther down the beach.
Steven jogged to keep up. “What makes you say that?”
“Three times before have I witnessed the gathering of the White. The Pawn is first. The Knight and his Steed second.” Grey turned and locked eyes with Steven. “Tomorrow you seek your Queen, the most powerful Piece on the board. Be warned. You have thwarted our enemy three times already, and Zed is anything but forgiving. I have no doubt the Black Queen has suffered even as you have succeeded. She will not underestimate you again.”
“So it’s only going to get harder from here. Fantastic. They’ve already found me twice in as many days and were about half a second shy of killing Emilio in Baltimore.” Steven’s brow furrowed. “Wait a minute.”
“Yes?” Grey said.
“They’re just playing with us. If this is nothing but a big game of chess, then all they have to do is take out our King and it’s over.” Steven looked out across the dark waves of the Atlantic. “What if they get to him while we’re gathering the others?”
“I suspect your King is safe, at least for the moment. In every iteration of the Game so far, the King has been the last Piece found. As you no doubt recall, you first encountered the Black Queen as I was about to bring you into the Game. The Black’s attempt on Emilio occurred similarly as you were drawing close.” Grey’s eyes narrowed. “I do not fully comprehend the entire picture as yet, but there is clearly some sort of order to our enemy’s attacks, and a clear association with each of your indoctrinations into the White.”
“Anot
her thing.” Steven’s fingers found the leather sack tied to his belt. “If this pouch of yours is the only way to find us, how does Black keeps beating us to the punch? How do they even know who we are or where to find us?”
Grey’s gaze wandered over the moonlit ocean. “Truth be told, Steven, I have been unable to discern how the enemy knows what they know. It has never been this way before. Your pouch and its dark sister are two of only a few artifacts that remain from before the Great Purge, and to my knowledge are the only means by which either side can locate and identify its Pieces. I thought perhaps the enemy was monitoring my movements, but my absence in Baltimore clearly changed nothing.”
“Why haven’t they hit us here?” Steven waved his hand, indicating the deserted stretch of beach. “There’s nowhere to run, that’s for sure.”
“Would that I could tell you.” Grey flung a pebble out into the churning surf. “Only my affinity for the White, not to mentions my own means of transportation, allowed me to locate and join you today.”
“What?” Steven raised an eyebrow. “You call a cab?”
“Something like that.” Grey’s lips curled into a rare smile. “Suffice to say that the pouch is yours now. Until this iteration is over, it shall serve as your conveyance, your guide, and your means of empowering the others. Guard it well.”
“Speaking of the pouch, all my other jaunts left me with a dead battery, but here I felt fine. Ruth and Arthur mentioned something you told them once. About places and power?”
“Their fiftieth anniversary. What a delightful day. Ruth had always dreamed of seeing the Eiffel Tower.” Grey crouched and drew a pair of lines in the sand, forming an X. “As for your question, understand this island rests over a crossing.”
“A crossing?”
“A place of power. Crossings are holes in the sieve that is the universe, places where the fabric of reality is thinner and easier to breach. The farther from a crossing your travels take you, the more the pouch requires from its holder. Still, with the coming correction, the ambient power at virtually any point should provide enough substrate to get you where you need to be.”
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