The Knights of Sheba, Episode 4: "Everything Has Changed" B

 The Knights of Sheba 104 B…Start

 

            “Hey, you!  Ugly…demon…guy…thing…” Geneva pauses, holds her helmeted head.  As soon as she put the ring on, it spread like water across her body and formed into a flexible woven thread that covered her from head-to-toe. Over that, polished, angular white plates appeared, covering her forearms, biceps, shoulders, chest, thighs, and shins.  The helmet appeared last, with open eye sockets protected by a thin, clear glass-like substance.  She approaches from the forest and watches the demon regard her quizzically.  “Whatever you are, let the guy go.”

            The demon grunts, looks at the boy, and then releases him.  It steps away from the car while the boy crawls out the other side.  His arm is bruised, bleeding lightly, but he looks more frightened than hurt.  His girlfriend returns to his side.

            “There we go, that’s a good demon-Martian-thing.  You come over here to play with me, and they,” Geneva looks at them, “Leave!”

            The couple look at her, nod, and run off toward the park.

            Geneva sighs and back-peddles away from the approaching demon.  “Now that we have that taken care of, you,” she points at the demon, “Do I really have to fight you?”

            “What are you,” the demon asks, its tone harsh, its posture tight and predatory.  “Everything here, everyone here is soft, weak, fearful, but you.”  It growls.  “You wear armor.  You are a soldier.  Who do you serve, human?”

            Geneva listens in silent surprise and watches the thing stalk around her. “Honestly, not rightly sure who I serve.  Mostly, I’m just surprised to be talking to you.”  She says this exact thing, but she says it in a language that is composed of barks and growls.

            “You.  You are as much a fool as everyone else.”

            “Now that just isn’t nice.”

            “And you talk too much,” it says, and it stomps toward her.

            Geneva retreats, away from the forest now, toward the car, and puts her hands up.  “Okay, I might be accused of rambling a bit, especially when I’m nervous but…”

            The demon steps in and gives a high, overhead swing of its fist.  Geneva side-steps the punch, but can’t react in enough time to keep the demon from throwing its shoulder into her.  She falls back, onto the ground while the demon stumbles overtop of her.

            She rolls to her knees and holds her stomach.  The armor absorbed the blow, but the fall left her winded.  She sits up just in time to see the demon lunge at her and duck underneath.  She tries to crawl away, back toward the forest where she can find safety and hide, but it grabs her by the leg and drags her back.

            Seizing her by the neck, the demon lifts her from behind and squeezes.  Geneva kicks and flails, and she claws ineffectually at its hands.  Her head grows light, her vision dims.  She can feel the air leaving her.  Each breath is stunted, harder than the last.  She wheezes and, in a last-ditch effort, kicks backward.

            The blow catches the demon in the face.  It staggers back and drops her.  She lands, heavily, on her stomach and struggles for air.  “Come on,” she says between pants, “I put on the armor.  Shouldn’t I be winning?”

            “A weapon is only as good as the soldier who uses it,” the demon says, grabbing by her chest plate from behind.  “And I was wrong—you are no soldier.” It lifts her and throws her at the car.  She lands on the windshield, collapsing it beneath her.   As she sits up, the demon closes distance.

            She tries to slip away, but it leaps at her and lands on top, and it grabs her by the head and slams her against the car hood.  Her head throbs and her world spins.  Everything appears in fragmented moments running together.  She sees the demon lifting its fist as she feels the blow land on her shoulder.  Wounds open on its knuckles, and it roars and continues the assault.

            Something gives.  Her shoulder shifts, and she screams before the pain hits.  Without thinking, she kicks, aimlessly, struggles, and lands a blow on its ribs.  The demon howls again, and steps away from the car, holding its ribs and glaring at her.

            Geneva rolls from the hood.  Her left arm is limp at her side.  A burning ache creeps out from her shoulder and across her body.  She tries to run, but the demon is on her again, pulling her back, throwing her into the car once more.

            She falls, landing on her left arm and crying out in pain.  Rolling, she watches the demon straddle her and strike her helm repeatedly with its bloody knuckles.  Tired, afraid, and breathless, Geneva lays there while her head is throttled.

            The demon laughs from atop her and grabs her by the helm.  “Now, you die.” It squeezes and grins, baring its teeth, a threat.  Then, its chest erupts in three dark, red puffs of mist.  It goes rigid and falls backward into the dirt, and Geneva lies there, staring up at the sky, until Ms. Olivia appears over her.

            “Ms. Oaks?  Is that you?”

            “Yeah.”

            Ms. Olivia kneels.  “Are you?”

            “No.”

            Ms. Olivia pauses.  “What?”

            “I’m not okay, so don’t ask.”  Geneva tries to move, but she can feel the demon’s dead weight on her legs.  “Can you please get this thing off of me?”

            “Of course.” Ms. Olivia tucks her gun away and, with some difficulty, lifts the demon up and tosses it to the side.  She returns to Geneva and helps her stand.  “If I may, what is wrong?  Are you injured?”

            “No, I’m holding my shoulder for fun.  Ow.”  Together, they make it to the car.  Geneva sits on the front bumper.  The pain in her shoulder has died into a dull ache that hurts more with every breath.

            “I see you’ve made your decision.”

            “Now is so not the time.  My arm feels like it’s trying to get up and walk off.” Geneva looks up at Ms. Olivia through the clear, glass sockets of her helm.  One of them has a droplet of blood on it.  “That’s not crazy, is it?”

            “No, it’s an injury.  You will be fine, given you take time to rest and go to see a medical professional.  In fact, we have soldiers who can attend to such injuries.  Let me call my superior and…”

            “Geneva?  Geneva!”

            “Crap! Kit.”

            Ms. Olivia looks up.  “Ms. Wright?”

            “Yeah, we were,” Geneva looks over at the demon.  “If she sees this…”

            Ms. Olivia nods.  “I understand.  Take off your armor and come with me.”  She pulls Geneva to standing again.  “She’s coming from the forest.  We need to meet her there before she reaches us.”

            “Geneva, where are you?”

            “Wait, wait,” Geneva says, yanking herself free from Ms. Olivia’s grip and nearly falling.

            “What?”

            “I don’t know how to,” Geneva runs her right hand along her bloody armor.  “I don’t even know how I got this thing on!”

            “You don’t—Right.”  Ms. Olivia leans forward and examines the armor closely.

            “What,” Geneva says, watching her, “Looking for an off switch?”

            “I’m trying, Ms. Oaks.”

            “You’re not doing anything but making me feel self-conscious about my pooching belly.”

            “Try and stay calm.  Think clearly.  How did you feel when you put on the armor?  Capture that and…Think the opposite?”

            “This is stupid.”

            “Geneva!”

            Ms. Olivia looks off toward the forest.  “She’s getting closer, Ms. Oaks.  We need to do something.”

            Geneva groans.  “Right, right.”  She closes her eyes.  “Take a deep breath and think.  Just, think.”

            “Geneva!”  Kit is closer.

            “Hurry,” Ms. Olivia says from her side.

            “Hey!  This isn’t helping me to be calm.”

            “Of course, yes.  Just, do try.”

            “I am, I am.  I just…”

            Geneva focuses on her breathing, in and out, in and out.  Gradually, the pain in her arm goes out.  She can hear voices but only barely.  More than anything, she can hear her breaths, loud, constant, regular.  She can feel the air inside of her, circulating, and she imagines herself looking in a mirror.  In the mirror, she sees a reflection of her, before the battle, before the demon, before the armor, a safe, normal, human girl.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            They meet Kit halfway up the hill, well out of sight of the demon.  Ms. Olivia is helping Geneva to stand.  Geneva’s left arm is swollen and looks poorly fitted for her body.  Her face is tired, sweaty, and pale.

            Kit looks at the two of them and then runs to them.  “Geneva!  Ms. Olivia?  What’s going on?”

            “I came across Ms. Oaks in the park.  She was being assaulted by a mugger.  My presence seems to have frightened him off, but not before he left her injured.”  Carefully, Ms. Olivia hands Geneva off into Kit’s care.  Geneva falls into Kit’s arms and, despite everything, blushes when she is embraced.  “You might want to take her to a hospital, Ms. Wright.  Her arm will need immediate medical attention.”

            “Right,” Kit says.  She adjusts her hold on Geneva, trying to find a way to cause the least amount of discomfort.  “What will you do?”

            “I will look for the mugger and contact the police.”

            Kit looks at Ms. Olivia, and then at Geneva.  “Uh, okay.  Right, thanks, Ms. Olivia.”

            “Yes.  Now, do hurry.”

            Together, Geneva and Kit make the long walk up the hill at a crawl.  On the way, Geneva gives a quick, thankful glance back at Ms. Olivia, who watches them for a moment longer before returning to the demon.

            The journey back is longer than her flight had been, and the pain in her shoulder returns in full.  Geneva feels tired, jarred.  Her head hurts, and she can still feel the creature’s strong fingers around her throat, holding, squeezing, forcing the life from her.

            She closes her eyes and pushes the thought out.  They reach the car together, and when Kit helps her into the passenger seat, Geneva sighs.  “Kit, I’ll be okay, I don’t need to…”

            “Yes, you do,” Kit says, rounding the car.  She climbs into the driver’s seat and puts the keys into the ignition.  “We’re not talking about this.”

            “Actually, I think we are.”  Kit pulls out and onto the road leading back into the city.  Geneva groans.  She feels heavy, tired.  Through the window she watches the landscape pass by.  Kit is driving faster than usual, she realizes.  “Seriously, I don’t want to trouble anyone.”

            “Genny, you’re hurt.  So, shut up and let me take you to the doctor.”

            “But…”

            Kit glares.  “Not another word.”

            Geneva stops and leans back into the seat.  She watches the city’s approach, grey, steel, and stalwart, and she feels safe, like she is returning to her home, like she is drifting away from the madness that she has found herself in.

            But when she looks down at the smooth, white ring on her finger, she remembers Ms. Olivia’s words, and she knows that there is no escaped.  Not anymore.  She has made her decision, and everything has changed.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Kit speeds Geneva to the hospital and drags her from the parking lot and into the emergency ward.  There, she helps her to fill out a few forms and calls her parents before handing her off to a tall, sleepy-eyed nurse with big, dark curly hair and long legs, who leads her away.

            The nurse—Matilda, Tildy to her friends, few as they were—takes Geneva to a small room, where she places her on a small, green bed with wax paper stretched across it, and there, she prods.  While doing this, she asks Geneva to explain her pain on a number scale, one being a frown and ten being a sob-like scream.  Geneva feels like it might be a nine but says seven each time to keep from sounding dramatic.

            Then she is given painkillers and left to wait until her parents arrive.

            Time passes at a crawl.  Geneva lies back on the wax paper and stares, despondently, at the clock, watching the shortest hand tick off the seconds.  Each tick sounds like a gunshot to her and, every time she closes her eyes, she sees swirls of red mist floating in the light and a green face, distorted in anger and pain and, at the end, death.

            After thirty minutes her mother and father enter the room and swarm her.  Beatrice watches from the door, arms crossed and forcing a smile.  By this point, Geneva feels numb, inside and out.  She credits it to the drugs.

            “Geneva, oh, Geneva honey,” her mother says, smothering her with a hug.  “Honey, you look so awful.  What happened to you?”  Her mother sits her up and examines her arm closely.

            “I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s probably just tired,” her father says.  “Come on, Genie-bear, time to get you home.  Beatrice, help your sister.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Beatrice says.

            With the aid of her father and sister, Geneva manages to make it out of the bed and into the waiting room.  There, Beatrice props her up while their parents file more paperwork.  In this exact moment, Geneva realizes that she is almost as tall as her sister.

            “So,” Beatrice says, “heard you got mugged.”

            Geneva casts a conspiratorial glance around her and whispers, “Don’t tell anyone, but that’s not true.”

            “Oh?”

            “Yeah. It’s a lie.  To protect my secret.  My secret identity.”

            “Your secret identity, huh?”

            Geneva nods vigorously.  “Yup.  I’m a superhero, and I got hurt beating up a monster.  Well, I didn’t really beat it up.  It beat me up, but I fought back.  Or flailed back.  Then my teacher shot it.”

            “Yeah?”

            Geneva nods again, more dizzily, and leans into Beatrice.

            “I know it’s cliché, but I want whatever they gave you, Genie.”

            “Come along, girls,” their mother says, leading them out the front door.  Beatrice follows, guiding Geneva down a cement ramp and toward the parking lot.  By the time they reach the family minivan—faded blue with balding tires—the streetlamps have come on.

            “Hey, Bea, where’s Kit?  She brought me here.”

            “Yeah, we ran into her.  She told mom and dad about the mugger and everything.”  Beatrice leans Geneva against the van and pulls the door open.  “I mean, the monster.”  She helps Geneva inside.

            “Oh.”

            “She seems nice,” Beatrice says, buckling Geneva in.  “Cute.”

            Geneva looks around again, and then whispers, “I kissed her.”

            “Did you now?”

            “Yup.  Then she kissed me back.  And I ran.  And then the monster.”

            “Who beat you up,” Beatrice says.

            “I could’ve done better.  Maybe with a little training.”

            “Right,” Beatrice says, “Watch your legs.”  She closes the door and gets in on the other side.

            Their mother looks back.  “What is she talking about back there?”

            “Nonsense.  She’s just drunk on pain meds,” She looks at Geneva.  “All kinds of crazy coming out of her mouth right now.”

            “Oh, the poor dear.”

            “Please, she’s probably faking it for attention.”

            “Beatrice, don’t be mean.  Your sister went through something traumatic tonight.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Beatrice says, and she leans over to Geneva.  “Whatever the case, Genie, you probably won’t be doing much training, not with your arm in the shape it’s in.”

            “Is it bad, Bea?”

            “Real bad.  Doctors said they might have to take it.”

            “Beatrice!”

            Beatrice glances at her mother in the front.  “Sorry,” she says, and then to Geneva, “It’s just a dislocated shoulder.  It’ll heal, but you’ll be out for at least six weeks.”

            Geneva snorts and looks out the window.  “That’s funny.  Doesn’t hurt much at all.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Back in the park, Nina lays out the body and waits by the car.  The sunset dyes the sky pink and red with a golden trim.  Elves come and work around her, cleaning the blood and keeping humans away.  They do damage control, keep the populace ignorant and complacent.  Erak stands nearby, a cigarette smoldering in his mouth as he glares at her.

            Nina leans against the back of the car with one foot on the bumper, and she cleans her gun while she waits.  The elven medics collect the body by putting it into a dark bag and zipping it up tight.  The three wounds on its chest, perfectly spaced, have already stopped bleeding.

            They carry the body away, stowing it into the back of a black SUV.  Nina watches them from the corner of her eye and replays the events in her head.  She arrived to find a couple retreating.  They told her about the demon and about a strange girl in white armor, and she pretended to be a cop and went on ahead.

            She saw the better part of the battle, and it left a poor impression.  Geneva lacks skill and prowess, but she is brave, and Nina can work with that.  The armor impressed her more than anything.  The demon had Geneva outclassed, and she came out of it with only an injury when she should have died.

            Erak approaches, and Nina holsters her gun.  She stands straight and salutes; he returns it half-heartedly.  His uniform is gone.  For field work he wears human’s clothes, a plain tee-shirt and jeans.  They hang from him.  He draws on his cigarette.

            “Lieutenant.  Babysitting?”                                                                   

            “Supervising.”

            “Unnecessary.  I’m here.  You can go.”

            “Yes, but it was my kill.”

            “We’ll handle it, Lieutenant.  We’ve been taking care of things here for thousands of years before you came along.  The whole operation won’t fall now. You just need to focus on doing your job and stop trying to do ours.”

            “Sir, with all due respect, I came to offer support, as is my role, and my involvement ended the threat and kept it from going public.”

            “That’s why we’ve got a couple of round ears out there who saw everything but the kill.”  Erak takes a drag.  “Funny thing about that. When we questioned them, they mentioned talking to a police officer—you, I assume—and they also mentioned something else.  A girl, wearing white armor.  They asked if she was okay.  That wouldn’t be our knight, would it?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “What is she doing here, then?  Did you bring her along?  Did you disobey my orders to show me up?”

            “She happened along on her own, sir, and chose to get involved of her own free will.”

            “Did she now?” He snorts and shakes his head.  “Doesn’t sound like any human I know.”

            “And how many humans do you know, sir?”  He gives her a glare.  “I apologize, sir. That was out of line.”

            He stares, pointedly, a moment longer, and then turns his back on her.  “Go home, Lieutenant, you aren’t needed here.”

            “But, sir…”

            “That’s an order,” he says.  “You keep to your knights, and we’ll handle the real work.”

            Nina hesitates, and then salutes his back.  “Yes, sir,” she says, and she turns on heel and leaves.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “Beatrice, you’re soft.”

            “Uh, thanks, Genie.  That sweet of you?”

            “And plump. Like a marshmallow.”

            “Okay, less sweet.”

            The two girls stumble through the doorway, and Geneva giggles.  She tries to shake hands with the coatrack and nearly sends it toppling.  Beatrice catches it, and then Geneva, and sighs.

            “What did they give you, girl? LSD?”

            “She’s probably just a little fried after everything that has happened today,” their father says, following them in through the front.  He takes his coat off.  “Do you need help getting her upstairs?”

            “No, I’ve got it,” Beatrice says while leading her sister to the stairway.

            Their mother enters the house, watching fretfully as the two stagger about.  “Are you sure, honey? We can help!”

            “Mom, love you, but you’re going to break her arm the rest of the way if you keep being so clingy.”

            “Beatrice!”

            Geneva laughs. “Silly Bea-Bea, acting all…silly.”  She stops at the base of the stairs and gives them a long, defiant look over.  “Don’t worry guys, I got this,” she says, and she takes one step and falls backward into Beatrice’s waiting arms.

            “Come on, crazy,” Beatrice says, half-leading, half-dragging Geneva up behind her.  “Tell me you’re a freaking superhero but you get taken out by a slight incline.”

            “I’m used to fighting monsters, Bea, not architecture,” Geneva insists.

            They clear the stairway together, and Beatrice leads them down the hall, to Geneva’s bedroom.  With effort they reach the bed just before Geneva collapses, laughing and holding her arm.  The phone rings.

            “Really guys,” Beatrice says on the second ring, and she answers it.  “Hello, Oak’s residence, Beatrice speaking.”

            “Beatrice, pants!”

            “Hello, is Geneva there?”

            “Geneva?”

            “Pants!”

            “Yeah, this is Kit.  Her friend from school.  I met you guys at the hospital, and I just wanted to check on her.”

            “Oh,” Beatrice says, and she watches her sister kick at her.  “Well, she made it home just fine, but she…”

            “Pants,” Geneva says again, with growing insistence.

            Beatrice sighs.  “Give me a second.”  She sets the handset down and drags Geneva, by her legs, to the edge of the bed.  “I’m only doing this because you’re higher than a kite right now, and I want you to know, if you wet yourself, I’m not changing you.”

            Geneva laughs.  “Hey, who’s on the phone?”

            “Your friend, Kit,” Beatrice says, unbuttoning Geneva’s pants and yanking them down.  Using the legs, Beatrice pulls Geneva back onto the bed and drapes a comforter over her.  “She’s calling to check on you.  I’ll tell her everything is—What are you doing?”

            Geneva pulls the handset to her ear and nearly rolls on-top of it.  “Kit? Kit!  Hey, Kit.  Hey.”

            “Genny?  Is that you? Are you okay?”

            “Beatrice says I’m high, and my mom is worried, but she’s always worried, and my dad says I’ll be okay,” she says, “They gave me drugs, Kit.  Good drugs.”

            “I see.  And what about your arm?”

            “Dislocated,” she says.  “My shoulder.”  She yawns.  “But, I’m okay.”

            “Good.  Well, I just wanted to check on you, but I’ll let you rest.  Sounds like you could use it.”

            “Kay,” Geneva whispers, her eyes closing.  “Hey, Kit.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Good night.”

            Kit pauses.  “Good night, Genny.”

            Geneva eyes close, and then she drops the phone.

 

The Knights of Sheba 104…End