The Forever Knight: A Novel of the Bronze Knight (Books of the Bronze Knight) (16 page)

W
hen I finally awoke the next morning, it was Cricket who was standing guard.

My sleep had been so deep, so complete, that I couldn’t even remember dreaming. Though I’d struggled to stay awake, I had finally succumbed at some point in the night, opening my eye to the sight of Cricket beside our readied horses. She’d already packed our things and doused the fire I’d built in the road. She stood with her back toward me, looking southward and considering the sky. The Sword of Angels lay at my side, but all my other belongings had been strapped to Zephyr. I looked at the sun and realized it was hours past dawn.

“You should have woken me,” I grumbled. I wobbled to my feet then remembered the night before. “You all right?”

Cricket nodded but didn’t smile. “My head hurts a little. I let you sleep because you needed it.”

I looked around, toward the hills and up and down the barren road. “See anything?”

“It’s been quiet.” Cricket came toward me, picking my sheathed sword from the ground and handing it to me. “Here. We should go. It’s at least a full day to the valley.”

“You mean the tomb?”

“That’s where we’re going, aren’t we?”

“We are.”

She thrust the sword at me. “Then we should go. You can eat on the road.”

I took the sword and began belting it around my waist. Cricket walked toward her pony. I watched her movements, looking for a trace of dizziness, any hint of a concussion. She was arrow-straight as she walked. Even her mood seemed fine. Maybe a little icy but nothing like the night before.

“Good that you rested,” I said. “You seem better.”

“Better?” She turned to look at me. “Better than what?”

“Than yesterday,” I said. “Than last night.”

“What happened last night?”

I was about to laugh until I realized she wasn’t joking. The bruise on her head suddenly looked a lot bigger. “You fell off your horse. We were arguing. Don’t you remember? You said your head hurt.”

She probed her forehead, wincing when she touched it. “I do remember falling . . . kind of. Last night, we talked about going to the tomb. Malator was there.”

“That’s right.” I went to her and studied her bruise in the sunlight, taking her chin in my hand. “Do you remember what you said to me?”

“I was angry?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Just parts,” she answered. She bit her lip. “Oh, my memory’s getting worse!”

“You remember where we are, don’t you? Do you remember Diriel’s—”

I stopped myself. Cricket blinked at me. “What?”

Had she forgotten? I was afraid to ask. Part of me hoped the trauma of the castle had been wiped away, pushed out of her mind like the memories of her childhood. “We were in Akyre,” I said.

She nodded. “I know.” Then, blankness. I could almost see it, like a curtain coming down. “We should go, Lukien,” she said in a hurry. “We’re too out in the open here. I don’t like it.” She spun back toward her pony. “Let’s make it to the river at least. We can follow it till it’s dark. We’ll get to the valley by tomorrow noon that way.”

She mounted her horse, waiting for me to do the same. Zephyr looked perfect. She’d even brushed him.

“You don’t mind going to the tomb?” I asked.

“I’m your squire, Lukien,” she answered. “It’s not my decision, it’s yours. I’m not afraid. I know you’ll protect me.”

I smiled at her. My squire. She’d cleaned the horses and the camp but hadn’t even brushed her hair. She had no idea how strange she looked sitting there on her pony, oblivious, her face still smudged with ash. She broke my heart.

“Good,” I said, faking confidence. I got on my horse and told her to lead the way south. “We should sing something,” I said as we trotted off. “Anything. No one’ll hear us. Just any song you can remember.”

*   *   *

We camped that night by the river, near a stand of withered olive trees strangled with vines. With Akyre behind us and the thought of Anton’s palace ahead, we relaxed beside the burbling water, passing the time by finding pictures in the stars. All that day, Cricket had said nothing more about Diriel’s castle or her strange behavior, occasionally falling into long silences while we rode. The day had been a good one, and I was happy to have Cricket acting herself again. I pointed out all the constellations I could recall from my life in Liiria, remembering how Akeela had taught them to me when we were boys. Cricket leaned against me, sharing the tree trunk and staring up through its bare branches.

“That one is called Kolervas,” I said. “The sculptor. He lived a long, long time ago in old Liiria.” I traced the star pattern with my outstretched finger. “He’s chiseling. If you look closely you can tell.”

Cricket tried very hard. “I don’t see it,” she sighed. “None of them really look like anything.”

“You have to use your imagination,” I told her. We’d kept our campfire small so we could see the stars. “There . . . there’s a good one.” I moved my finger west and down toward the horizon. “See that big star? That’s Adreana. That’s her head.”

“Who’s Adreana?”

“The Chained Lady.” I smiled when I said it. “She was a princess. She was captured by King Lekara. When she refused to marry him, Lekara chained Adreana to an olive tree. Like these olive trees.”

“Why?”

“To feed her to a giant raven.”

“What?” Cricket sat up. “So, what happened?”

“The raven came and broke her chains and carried her back to her homeland. After that Lekara’s country went to war with Adreana’s. Those stories are called ‘The Tales of the Reecian Wars.’ I read about them when I was young. Mostly just legends. Fun, though.”

“No giant ravens?”

“I don’t think so.” I leaned back and stared at the constellation. “Cassandra told me that story about Adreana. Akeela taught me all the other constellations, but Cassandra showed me Adreana. She told me she felt like Adreana, chained to the tree. Being here with these olive trees reminds me of her.”

Cricket leaned back next to me. “She felt like a prisoner?”

“She was a prisoner. Akeela kept her in his castle for years. No one was allowed to look at her, not even Akeela himself.”

“Because of the amulet?”

“That’s right. The Eye of God that Gilwyn wears now. It kept Cassandra alive. She had a cancer.”

Cricket listened, wanting me to go on. My past was still mostly a mystery to her. “You don’t talk about Cassandra much since we left Jador,” she remarked. “I like when you talk about her.” She grinned. “It’s a love story.”

“I did love her,” I sighed. “I still do. She’s still out there, waiting for me. I just have to die to be with her.”

“You promised Gilwyn you wouldn’t.”

“What? Let myself die?” I shook my head. “Not yet. Someday, though. I told Cassandra that in the Story Garden. She told me it wasn’t my time yet to be with her but one day I will. One day when I’ve done enough. I’ve got a lot of bad things to make right.”

“Is that why you’re helping me?” Cricket asked.

Something about the starlight gave me a burst of honesty. “I guess it is,” I admitted. “I couldn’t save Cassandra. Once I looked at her again, I broke the amulet’s spell. The cancer killed her instantly. But I always believed she was alive somewhere. I could feel her. Minikin used to tell me that nobody ever really dies, so I knew all I had to do was find her. Then I found the Story Garden.” The memory chilled me. “She was alive. Just like Minikin said.”

Cricket’s eyes got big. She was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. She put her head against me sleepily. “That’s how I feel sometimes. Like Cassandra. Like a prisoner.”

“Because you can’t remember?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

She felt warm against me. Not a lover’s warmth, but a child’s. I put my arm around her. “Do you remember what I told you when we started out?” I said. “Your memories are here. Somewhere. Just like me finding Cassandra. I knew she was there, so I kept looking. That’s what we’re going to do—keep looking. We’ll find them.”

“I thought so too at first. But now . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“We will,” I said confidently.

“We only have a week.”

“No,” I said in a hush. “Plenty of time. You’re young, and I’ve got all the time in the world.”

She didn’t laugh at my dark joke. She just rested in the crux of my arm. I laid there against the tree, unmoving, studying the constellations until she fell asleep.

*   *   *

All the next morning we followed the river. The sunlight had broken our melancholy moods, and we stopped for a time to watch fish jumping in the chop. It was a remarkably beautiful day for the Bitter Kingdoms, the first one I could remember since laying eyes on Isowon. Once again the landscape was changing, shifting from the bleakness of Akyre to southern greenery. We were less than a full day’s ride to Fallon’s palace, and only an hour or so from the dell where the tomb lay. The river meandered toward the valley where we’d first encountered the monster.

When we saw the valley, each of us fell silent.

It was Cricket who first sniffed the air. Once, then again, deeper. I did the same, but couldn’t catch a whiff of the pile of bones and flesh that had greeted us last time. Cricket, who’d already seen her share of horrors, braced for another. This time, though, we’d prepared ourselves. My mind touched Malator as he stretched out over the dell, looking for the creature. Through his eyes I saw him racing through the trees and around the rocky enclaves, like a wild bird set loose from a cage. This time, we were determined to find the monster first.

It’s nowhere
, said Malator. His frustration grew.
I don’t sense it anywhere
.

“It’s daytime,” I said. “It must be here.”

Just because it kills at night doesn’t mean it won’t move about in the day. It’s a spirit, Lukien, not an owl.

“Check the tomb,” I said as I continued riding toward it. “Do you see it?”

It’s just ahead. But I don’t feel the monster. I would if it were here.

Perplexed, I turned to Cricket. “It’s not here,” I said. “Malator can’t sense it.”

“He’s sure?” she asked.

“Seems to be.”

I am
, Malator replied.
It was unmistakable last time
.

“Then where is it?”

“Maybe eating,” suggested Cricket. “We saw all those bones last time. Like they were licked clean.”

“Malator, do demons eat?”

Maybe. If they get hungry.

“Quit joking,” I snapped.

I’m not. This creature isn’t like me, Lukien. It’s here in your realm as flesh. It shouldn’t be, but it is. Maybe it gets hungry, cold . . .

“Lonely?” I scoffed. “Maybe we should sing to it.”

Malator suddenly flashed out of my mind. The next second he was standing in front of me, glaring and frightening my horse.

“Are you an expert on the realms of the dead?” he asked. He folded his arms over his shimmering self. “We’re here to learn about this creature, aren’t we?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

Malator glowered at Cricket. “You?”

Cricket just looked overwhelmed to see him. “Uh-huh.”

“Then do as I say. Get down from your horses. We’ll go on foot from here.”

I was uncomfortable but trusted Malator. The two of us dismounted, then reined the animals to a nearby tree. We were at the edge of the dell, but coming at it from the north this time. I could see the river cutting across the valley, disappearing in places amongst the evergreens. We walked downhill, skidding over loose rocks until we came to the river again, moving sluggishly toward a hillside where it disappeared into a cave.

“That’s the tomb,” said Malator, pointing toward it.

The way the river cut through the hill surprised me. The cave was open to anyone who dared enter. I supposed the river came out the other side somewhere.

“It’ll be dark in there,” said Cricket. “The sun won’t help much.”

“Leave that to me,” said Malator. “Stay close.”

We were in his hands now, so we did as he asked, following him toward the mouth of the cave, the rocks like teeth rimming a jaw. Cricket walked rigidly beside him, determined not to bolt. I still didn’t know if the knock on her head had helped or harmed her. Her eyes were steely and alert. Malator paused right at the edge of the cave, his feet disappearing into the water without disturbing the river at all. He peered inside in an oddly human way, as he himself didn’t trust his Akari instincts. Then he let out a breath.

“All right,” he said. “It’s clear. I’m sure of it.”

I unsheathed my sword anyway. “Go.”

Once the darkness touched him, Malator’s body began to glow. His figure was like a torch inside the cave, shedding its soft light on the damp walls and gravel. He turned up his palm and lit a flame in it with his mind, the way I’d seen him do before. Then he turned to Cricket.

“Take this,” he told her.

Cricket took the flame without hesitation, marveling as it flared in her hand. “It’s not hot,” she remarked. “Almost cool.”

I remembered the sensation myself. Malator was full of tricks these days. But I didn’t want a flame of my own, just my sword. I pointed ahead with it. “Look.”

Through the gloom I saw the river rounding a bend in the cavern. Where it turned was a gash in the wall of the cave, like a doorway. Slabs of rock had been moved away from the opening, discarded into the river.

“Fallon,” I whispered. “He must have used horses to move the slabs.”

Cricket leaned forward with a squint. “That opening is barely wide enough for a person. How’d the monster get out?”

I wondered about that myself. “Somehow it squeezed itself into those bones,” I remembered. “It changes itself, maybe.”

“We can get through,” said Malator. “Me first.”

He floated over the river where the slabs lay like tombstones, then slipped easily through the crack. His iridescent body appeared on the other side, lighting up a vast chamber beyond.

“Lukien, Cricket.” He turned and smiled at us through the portal. “You have to see this.”

Cricket stomped anxiously through the river. She barely had to turn sidewise to make it through the opening. When she did, she gasped.

“Whoa!”