Knight Rising

by T. Mikita

“That’s a little elitist, isn’t it?” Asher said. “What makes legacies so special?”

  “Legacies are the elite,” his aunt said. “They are the descendants of the original Knights of the Round Table.” She said the words with such conviction that Asher realized trying to get her to see his point would be useless. Of course, most prejudiced people were like that. Closed minded.

  “So…like Arthur and Guinevere?” Asher asked

  “And Gawain and Lancelot, yes. And just last year the council voted to allow the descendants of Mordred. There are others. You will learn all their names, and of their deeds,” his aunt said. “Those who have the gift, even those who never obtain offensive powers can lead good lives, fighting against the evil that killed their families and their loved ones. For many of them that is what they want most anyway.”

  Asher thought of his own vow to find the thing that killed his parents. He understood the need for some sort of justice, and yet Jules had killed the creature. If only he could believe that there was only one. A part of him knew it was not so.

  “Really?” Asher asked shaking his head. “I mean the whole Arthur legend is great, but I think a lot of people would want more out of life than killing demons, even if those things killed Dad…and Sharon.”

  “You don’t even have a glimpse of what your life will be like yet. Or what vengeance really means,” Evelyn said gruffly.

  Asher looked at his aunt’s hard profile. His dad never talked about Asher’s grandparents. He only said that they had died when he was young.

  Had his dad grown up here at Whitehall? Had his grandparents been killed too? Evelyn was older than his dad. Had she seen what had killed their parents, his grandparents? Had his aunt dedicated her life to avenging them as she had implied?

  Evelyn shook her head. “You cannot yet understand.”

  “Why did my Dad leave here, then? If it’s so great?”

  Aunt Evelyn frowned at him. “The reasons are many faceted. After your mother’s death, he could not engage in quite the same way.” She sighed. “He lost his will to fight.”

  Asher didn’t entirely believe that.

  “Or perhaps it was that he fell in love with a mundane human woman,” Aunt Evelyn said.

  “Her name was Sharon,” Asher said. Just the thought of her death, like his dad’s, brought a lump of grief to his throat.

  “Your father grew disenchanted with our way of life.” Aunt Evelyn continued, undaunted. “He was afraid of what he would face. It takes a special kind of bravery to take up Arthur’s sword.”

  Asher felt anger roll within him. “My dad was not afraid of anything,” he said coldly.

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Evelyn said. “Nonetheless, he left. At one time, the Knights were bound by oaths, and then spells to prevent such things.”

  Asher eyes opened wide. “They were coerced?”

  “When men’s oaths lost meaning and were easily broken, there had to be another way to keep the best of our fighters here, where they needed to be. We are so few now. If vast numbers deserted, we would have been overrun by Otherworlders. We had to change with the times.”

  “So, you forced them to stay.” Asher was horrified.

  “There would have been no world,” Evelyn said. “No world as you know it. You don’t know how many times we have averted apocalypse. You cannot possibly understand.”

  “But… to force them.”

  She held up a hand. “It was a long time ago. The world was different then. People chose their life’s work by what their fathers did. There was not a lot of choice for anyone. Things are different now. You are allowed to leave, Asher. You have not yet taken the oaths, but I can assure you that by now the Otherworlders know just who and what you are. They are going to come after you. Subtly at first, they will be afraid of your power, until they realize you are easy prey. Then, they will find the chinks in your armor and you will be lost, running in pure fear and confusion. Michael knew what he was leaving, but he had a notion of how to protect himself.”

  “He still died.”

  “Exactly. If you do not learn what it is that we teach here, you will die as well. Sooner, rather than later.”

  “You seem mighty certain.”

  “I am,” his aunt said firmly. “Men and women are targeted by otherworldly forces every day. Many of them are lured right into the demon’s grasp and killed or worse.”

  Asher smiled bitterly. His aunt sounded like Jules.

  “What could be worse than death?” He muttered.

  Evelyn did not answer. “We find the children. The terrorized children and we give them a home. Often there is no one left to take care of them, and even if there is, you understand we cannot have rumors about an organization that for all intents and purposes is presumed dead and buried… along with all chivalry and bravery.”

  Asher bristled for his generation. “What? You don’t remove their memories?” he asked sarcastically. He splayed his fingers in mockery of a spell.

  “More often we use gas leaks as a ploy.” His aunt replied, with all seriousness. “It covers up the evidence easier than coercive persuasion and is a more sure solution. Fire kills most creatures. We are not the only defense, but we are still not enough. Do you understand any of what I am explaining to you, Asher?” Evelyn asked.

  “I understand,” Asher said. “I just have a lot to think about.” He finished the rest of his dessert and stood. “It was nice meeting you,” he said to the other teachers sitting at the various nearby tables. “I have to unpack,” he told his aunt before he left the room.

  10

  Monsters

  Asher spent most of the evening playing games on his phone until the battery ran low. He tried to text Jules, but the message did not send. It was still fairly early when he went to bed from travel exhaustion as well as sheer boredom, but he didn’t rest easy.

  He had the dream again. Asher turned in his sleep. Nightmares had become a regular occurrence since his parent’s death. Fear gripped him. He was hurrying to get home, the sense of dread seeped into his bones. He was not driving on a clear road, but careening wildly over lawns and fields until he got back to the house. Asher ran inside and was so relieved to see them alive. His father and Sharon were still alive.

  “We have to hurry,” Asher told them. “Bad things are coming.”

  His father turned to him. “We know,” Michael said. “We have always known.” And then the blood started.

  First it was just a little bit around his father’s neck. Michael tried to stop it, wiping it with a handkerchief, and then wrapping his hand around the wound, but it would not stop bleeding. It soaked through the white cloth.

  “Stop. Stop. Stop,” Asher said his voice turning into a sob as his father collapsed.

  Then Sharon was bleeding too and she bent down trying to wipe up the blood on the floor, but it was all too much and Asher was kneeling in it. His jeans were soaked with it. He started to cry. “Please don’t die,” he pleaded with them, trying to find some way to save them, to stop the inevitable, to reverse what had already occurred.

  They were dead and there was nothing he could do to change that, but tonight he entreated his father. “How can I stop it?” He shouted at him. “Dad, tell me! Please!”

  His father only looked at him sadly, his lips moving but no sound came from his pale lips.

  The dream continued in a strange and macabre way. The bedroom mirror, usually so polished and bright, took on a swirling darkness. It seemed to reflect shadows into the room, sucking away the light. Asher stared at it, unable to turn away, and his father appeared at his shoulder reflected in the churning mirror.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you teach me?” He shouted at his father’s reflection. Grief gave way to anger as Asher screamed his frustration. “Why?”

  “I’m sorry Asher,” Michael said. “You cannot stop what is coming. You do not have a sword.”

  His father was still bleeding, dying with his sword held in his hands. Th
e blade shown with an unearthly light, chasing back the swirling shadows within the mirror.

  “Then give me yours,” Asher demanded, but when he reached for it, the darkness overcame his father and the shadowed figure struck, impaling Asher on the blade.

  “Dad!” He shouted.

  Asher woke with a gasp, the pain in his side sharp and immediate. He was drenched in a cold sweat, breathing hard. The stitches in his side, that must have been what woke him, Asher thought. He had turned wrong in his sleep, and the stitches pulled, but when he rubbed his hand over the wound it was nearly healed. Only a thin reddened scar.

  He rose to splash cold water on his face, attempting to chase away the nightmare. The full whole horror of reality fell back upon him. He chalked the nightmare up to grief and an unfamiliar bed, no matter that it was comfortable, Whitehall was still a new place. It was not home. Would anywhere ever feel like home again, Asher wondered? He crawled back into bed trying to calm his still rapidly beating heart, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw the dark mist swirling in the mirror. Asher shuddered. He lay awake for a long while before he fell back asleep.

  After a restless night, Asher was up early the next morning. When he had showered, he opened the door to the closet with thoughts of putting on a pair of jeans. He found several pairs of black dress pants, along with three matching blazer jackets. Asher reached out and fingered one of the jacket’s buttons. It was definitely silver, or at least real metal. Not fake plastic. He thought of the bullet that Jules had shot at the thing that killed his father. His father had silver bullets for his gun. The silver buttons somehow reminded him of how strange the world he had landed in was.

  Sometime during the last twenty-four hours someone had provided him with uniforms. Each blazer had the school insignia on the breast pocket. It was just too much British boarding school, but Asher supposed that the fact that the clothes were hanging in his wardrobe meant that he was supposed to wear them.

  Asher wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that someone was poking around in his room when he wasn’t here. Or while he was sleeping. Maybe the clothes had just appeared in the wardrobe by magic. He wasn’t sure which was more disturbing. He pulled on the trousers and tucked in the white shirt. Surprisingly they both fit pretty well. It took him three tries to get the blasted tie tied properly though. Who wore a tie these days? He surveyed himself in the mirror with distaste.

  The last time he had worn a tie and blazer was at Dad and Sharon’s funeral. The thought brought an unexpected wave of grief. He would have been far more comfortable in his jeans. At least there were several t-shirts and corresponding shorts and sweats, even if they still had the school’s fancy seal on them.

  Once he was dressed, Asher squinted at his schedule which had also miraculously appeared on his desk. It was hand-written in ink rather than typed and there were several acronyms that he didn’t recognize. The more casual clothes must be for the physical education classes, of which there seemed to be a strangely large amount. Asher wondered exactly where he was supposed to go for breakfast when a knock came to his door.

  “Finally,” said a short-exasperated guy at the door. “You must sleep like the dead. I’ve knocked a half-dozen times. Good thing you are up and dressed.”

  “Okay,” Asher said hesitantly.

  “Oh, sorry,” said the lanky curly-haired student. “You are Asher, right?”

  Asher nodded. Who else would he be?

  “I’m Joel Rosen,” the guy said.

  Asher noted that Joel was dressed in the same uniform, but his tie was pulled down to half-mast and the top button of his shirt was unbuttoned. At least that meant they weren’t too strict about the dress code. “We’re in the same year,” Joel continued. “Headmistress Pendragon asked me to be your guide around the school for a while,” he said with a smile. “And make sure you found your way to class this morning, but if I’m unwanted, I can leave. I don’t want to be a pest.”

  “No. I’m glad for some help. Thanks. Come on in,” Asher invited stepping back from the door. “I got sort of lost yesterday. This place is immense.”

  “That it is,” Joel agreed.

  “I’m Asher Pendrick,” Asher said holding out a hand to shake.

  “I gathered,” Joel said taking his hand and shaking it. “So, are you staying here at the school permanently or with your folks?” Joel asked, attempting to make small talk as Asher grabbed his bag.

  “School,” Asher said as he unloosened the button under his tie. He didn’t know that you could live at home when you attended school here. Aunt Evelyn made it seem as if everyone stayed at the boarding school. Not that it would have mattered for him.

  “I don’t really have much choice,” Asher explained shortly. “My parents are dead.” He didn’t want to talk about it, but he knew he would have to say something eventually. It was better to get it out of the way now, before awkward questions.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Joel said with what seemed like genuine sympathy. “Were they both knights then?”

  Asher paused. He wasn’t really sure about his mom, but his dad was a knight, wasn’t he? Professor Stellanovich called him a battle-mage. He had left the Order, but that meant he belonged to it at one time, didn’t it?

  “Not really,” Asher said. He didn’t have a clue how to explain, or if he really wanted to.

  “Oh? I thought you were from one of the original families,” the boy said as if disappointed. “At least that’s the rumor.”

  “Like I’m a pureblood, or something,” Asher said, his voice cool.

  Joel shrugged and gave Asher a grin. “Something like,” he said easily, and the tension broke. His smile was so easy, so genuine Asher had to smile back. “I have to admit I was a little intimidated by you,” Joel said with a shrug. “I mean Arthur lineage and all.” His tone was teasing and he didn’t sound intimidated at all.

  Asher felt himself liking the guy in spite of himself.

  “So is that not true?” Joel asked as Asher finished getting ready for class, throwing items like pens and paper in a bag. He wasn’t sure what he would need. Would they supply quills or swords, he wondered idly?

  Asher thought on Joel’s question. He didn’t want to be rude, but the truth was, his dad really didn’t talk much about the Order or his role in it. Asher was hesitant to answer just to assuage this guy’s curiosity, but Joel seemed pretty chill, and Asher did want to make friends here.

  “My dad was a Knight, I guess,” Asher said at last, opening up slightly. “My mom, well…” He stopped. He really didn’t know anything about his birth mother, Vanessa. Sharon had always been his mother. Vanessa had died when Asher was so young, he barely remembered her at all. He wondered if he should tell Joel that Sharon was…what? A mundane? A muggle? He sighed. “My dad left the school when he married my step-mom.” His throat felt tight saying just that.

  “Hey, I get it,” Joel said holding up a hand to halt any further explanation. He seemed to know that Asher really didn’t want to talk about it, but felt compelled to say something.

  “A lot of us here are in the same boat. Magic is great and all, but…” Joel broke off with a shrug. “A lot of us are orphans here.” He sounded like he spoke from personal experience.

  “You too?” Asher asked gently, his heart softening for the geeky chatterbox boy.

  “Yeah.” Joel replied, his voice hard. He didn’t offer any explanation either, so Asher didn’t push. Joel smiled and changed the subject rather abruptly, obviously attempting to lighten the mood. “Frankly, I’d take technology over magic most days. What about you?”

  “Yeah, but…” Asher sighed pulling his dead phone from his pocket. He actually didn’t know why he took it with him. He supposed he was so used to carrying it. Like a security blanket. “It’s dead.” Asher had tried to get his phone to charge last night, but it had never turned back on. He wondered if he had damaged the thing using it when he wasn’t supposed to like Oliver had warned.

  “Let me see i
f I can help,” Joel said holding out a hand.

  “I know what a dead battery is,” Asher said grumpily, but Joel waggled his fingers at Asher and he complied handing the boy his phone.

  Joel folded both hands over the phone for a moment and closed his eyes. The phone gave a little beep that said it was charging, and in a moment, he handed the phone back to Asher with a grin. Asher accepted it like the gift it was.

  “How did you do that?” Asher asked.

  “I have an affinity with technology.” Joel said with a wink.

  Asher stood staring at the phone. It was on. And fully charged.

  “Come on,” Joel said. “Let’s get going. I hate cold eggs, don’t you?”

  11

  The New Knights

  Asher stuffed the sweats into his bag and pulled on the blazer. He was surprised it fit so well and remarked upon it.

  “Of course, it fits,” Joel said exasperated. “The uniforms are spelled to fit.”

  “Spelled?” Asher said in a state of shock.

  “You do know this is a magical school, right?” Joel lifted his dark eyebrows in a question.

  “I guess,” Asher said gathering his belongings and following Joel out of the room. He knew it, he had just been trying hard not to believe it. “I don’t really know much about magic,” Asher said trying to pick up the conversation again. “My dad never really talked about it. I don’t actually know about my mom. She died when I was a baby. Does it matter?”

  “Not really,” Joel said as they started down the stairs. “Not like all that bloodline trash in some of the European schools. Of course, they have to deal with a lot more fairy hybrids than we do, so I guess that’s understandable in the UK.”

  “There are fairies?”

  “You really are clueless,” Joel said with a chuckle.

  “I’m not,” Asher said, although he probably was. Still, he took issue in having his ignorance pointed out. “I’m Arthur’s line, remember? My dad was the brother of your fancy principal,” Asher offered as they paused on a landing.