The Knights of Sheba Ep. 11: "Wings" A

 Episode Eleven: Wings

            Geneva remembers the halls at summer time, how empty they were, how they echoed her footsteps, but they were nothing compared to this.  The lights are out and the halls are lit only by what pale, winter light the windows let in.  It stabs at the darkness but does not penetrate deep, and she has to take a moment for her eyes to adjust before entering.

            She follows Ms. Olivia through the empty halls.  Their footsteps echo.  The compound never truly welcomed Geneva, but her harsh treatment of Erak has made it worse.  A new place was needed, and so Ms. Olivia decided to use the school until she could find another, more perminent solution.

            With school out the halls are cold and, Geneva finds, unfriendly.  The air feels tense, like there are ghosts around every corner watching them.  She keeps close to Ms. Olivia for fear that a teacher will manifest in the air and reprimand them for being there.

            They reach the gym and flick on the lights.  Geneva rubs her arms, trying to get warmth in them.  Her jacket isn’t thick enough.  “Think we could turn on the heat?”

            “No,” Ms. Olivia says.  “I want our presence here to go unnoticed.  We cannot stay for long, but I assume this is preferable to the compound?”

            “What,” Geneva says, puffing into her hands.  “You saying I’m not welcome there?”

            Ms. Olivia gives a level stare and turns.  She sets a black duffle bag on the bleachers and begins extracting a host of training equipment.  She pulls out a few bottles of water, some bandages, a few empty bottles, and two wooden training swords.  She twirls one absently while turning to speak to Geneva.  “You’ll want your jacket off, I think.  If things go well, you’ll be plenty warm soon enough.”

            “Exercise and all of that.”  Geneva undoes her jacket and sets it aside.  Her arms prickle as soon as they touch the cold air.  She rubs her hands together again, futilely.  “Let’s hurry up then.  How do you want me?” She pauses.  “That sounded better in my head.”

            “Armor first, please.”

            Geneva nods, closes her eyes.  She imagines the switch, the choice, and makes it.  The ring spreads up her hand, up her arm, and across her body.  It slithers and crawls and solidifies.  When Geneva opens her eyes, she finds Ms. Olivia smiling.

            “You’re faster.”

            “I’ve had some free time to practice.  Now what?”

            “Your wand, please.”

            “Swand.”  Geneva reaches down, draws her wand in one smooth motion.  “So, is this review or something, because I think I have all of this mastered.  My problem isn’t dress up.  It’s everything after.”

            “We will be practicing our combat, but I have ideas.  I’ve been doing research on the armors, reviewing what texts we have.  How much do you remember of what I’ve told you?”

            “That there is more than one.”

            Ms. Olivia sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose.  Then, she picks up one of the bottles from the bleachers and steps out onto the gymnasium floor.  “Yes?  And what else?”

            “They have swands, too?”

            Ms. Olivia places the bottle at the center of the gym and stares across at Geneva.  “Ms. Oaks, please, do try and take this seriously.”  Geneva shrugs, and Ms. Olivia shakes her head.  “Each armor has its own special strength, a gift of sorts.  Do you remember yours?”

            Geneva looks her armor over.  “It’s white and blends in with the snow.  Winter soldier style.”

            “Ms. Oaks.”

            “You know, you could just save yourself some time by telling me the answers you want to hear.”

            “Yes, I suppose I could,” Ms. Olivia says, strained.  “Yours is the feather signet.  Supposedly, your armor is gifted with flight, though we won’t be doing that just yet.  Instead, I want to test the capabilities of your wand.”

            Geneva holds the wand up and turns it over in her hands.

            “If you remember, each armor has its gift and also a wand with which to channel that gift.”

            “So, what, my swand can make things fly?”

            Ms. Olivia smirks.  “In a sense, if I understand what I read.  Your armor catches air currents.  In particular, it glides and, if done properly, can do so for extended periods of time.  In the same way, your wand can be swung and release bursts of air.”

            “Right?”  Geneva takes a few steps forward, swings in the direction of the empty bottle.  “Sounds like science.  Don’t know if you’ve seen my grades, but I don’t exactly science well.”

            “Yes, which is why I have an interest in giving you hands-on experience.”  Ms. Olivia steps away from the bottle and points at it.  “Knocks this over, if you will.”

            Geneva stares across the room, her attention now on the bottle.  She looks between it and Ms. Olivia.  “Yeah, I’ll get on that.  How, exactly?”

            “Try swinging your wand.”

            “At what? The air?”

            “Yes,” Ms. Olivia says, and then more certainly, “Yes, try that.”

            “Guess I’ll try anything once.”  Geneva looks at the blade of her wand, eyes the evenly spaced notches across the surface of it.  There are eight in total, each granting access to the hollow interior.  To Geneva, it makes the blade look to her almost like a feather.  She takes a deep breath.  “Okay, time to feel silly.”

            She takes a charge and leaps into the air, spinning her sword and swinging it about like a child with a basket.  Then, skipping and stumbling to a stop, she lunges forward.  A hard roar of air fills the room and knocks a foam pad from its place on the far wall.  The bottle rattles gently on the floor.

            Ms. Olivia looks between the pad and the bottle.  She takes another step back.  “It seems as if you were able to make a current.”

            “You sound surprised.”

            “Try again.”

            “Could’ve said you weren’t to make me feel better.”  Geneva walks back to where she was and turns.  She sets her feet and this time flourishes, twirling the blade around her.  She gives four quick swipes at the air, feeling the momentum building, and then swings down.  Another current of air, a howl of wind, and Ms. Olivia falls flat onto her rear.  “Oh, crap!”

            “No, I am fine.”  Ms. Olivia pushes herself back up.  “I think you were a tad high.”  She eyes Geneva and takes another step away. “And perhaps a bit too far to the right.”

            “Yeah…”

            “Try to aim lower and over.  Also, try the thrust.  It seems to give you more precision.”

            Geneva nods and holds her blade before her.  She lines it up with the can and closes her eyes.  A deep breath, and then she repeats the process.  Again, she takes for quick swipes and then steps forward, thrusting

            The air shifts, spirals forward, and tears the bottle apart while scattering it across the floor.  It comes to a stop, the lid tossed to one side with the body sundered.

            Ms. Olivia claps.  “Quite impressive, Ms. Oaks!”

            “Yeah.  Only took three tries.”  Geneva cheers ruefully.

            Ms. Olivia climbs the stairs to the bleachers and grabs another bottle.  She sets it in the same place.  “Now, let’s see if you can give a repeat performance.”  As she speaks, she makes sure to put distance between herself and the target.

            “No problem, I’ve got this.  In fact, I’ll try something a bit more flashy. Maybe show off a bit.”  Inside of her helm, Geneva sticks her tongue out while lining up her sights.  She takes another deep breath and starts spinning her wand.  Then, she twirls and swings upward, holding her blade like a golf club.

            Air rushes across the floorboards, shifting the dust.  It hits the bottom of the bottle and this time sends it rocketing up toward the ceiling.  Ms. Olivia cheers in the background as the bottle takes a quick, decisive flight into the light directly above it.  Sparks shoot and fly, and the bottle falls, a blackened, smoking chunk on the ground.  Glass gathers around it.

            “Oh, my,” Ms. Olivia says after a brief silence.

            Geneva, cringing, whines out a, “Sorry,” and then whistles nonchalantly.

            Ms. Olivia sighs.  “Yes, well, I suppose that is our cue to move on to something else.  First, let’s change the light, though”

            Geneva slides her wand back into the waist of her armor.  “Right. Yeah. Good idea.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

They change the light together, an act which involves Geneva watching and making half-hearted suggestions while Ms. Olivia does all of the work.  Afterward, they put away the remaining bottles and stand apart in the center of the gym.  Ms. Olivia paces a wide circle around Geneva.

            “So, what are we going to do now,” Geneva asks.  She is happy to find that the cold seems distant to her now.  Ms. Olivia shivers occasionally and hugs herself for warmth, and it reminds Geneva that her armor protects from extremes in temperature..

            “Now, we will test the other properties of your armor.  The wand allows you to channel your armor’s gift, focus it into a point.  It gives you control of air currents, but your armor should be able to glide on its own.  Before it can do that, however, we must conjure your wings.”

            “Wings?’  Geneva looks over her shoulders and, finding nothing, feels along her shoulder blades.  “Yeah, any advice on that?”

            “How do you conjure your armor?”

            “I don’t know.  I just, kind of—It’s like a switch, but it’s more.” She sighs.  “It’s stupid.”

            “I highly doubt that, but whatever it is, it works, Ms. Oaks, and that is what is important.  Try to do the same sort of thing.”

            “Right.  Just imagine a switch.  That makes wings pop out.  Like a switch blade.” Inside of her helmet, Geneva rolls her eyes.

            “Don’t roll your eyes, Ms. Oaks.”

            “How did you even…”

            “Just try it.”

            “Fine.”  Geneva straightens up, closes her eyes, and she breathes, calm and deep.  She imagines the switch in her head, the one that turns her from a girl into a knight.  Then, she imagines another, one that turns her from a knight into something else, something she can’t fathom.  She opens her eyes.  “This is stupid.”

            “Come, Ms. Oaks.  You’ll never get anywhere with your complaints.”

            “Yeah.  Maybe you should pull your gun on me again.”

            “Ms. Oaks.”

            “You’re a real pain today, you know that?”

            “The feeling is mutual, I assure you.”

            Geneva huffs, closes her eyes again.  There are two switches, but one doesn’t work.  It isn’t right.  It isn’t her.  She can hardly see herself as a knight.  Flight seems so much like fantasy and, after the battle, she knows that none of this is fantasy.  It is real, and harsh, and hard, and her nose still aches, and so does her body.

            Instead of the switches, she clears her mind.  She imagines, instead, wings and feathers, pure and white like snow.  She imagines her armor, extending, stretching, growing into them.  They are fictional but distinct, and they are there.  They aren’t her, but she can feel through them, feel them swaying, folding, fanning.

            “Ms. Oaks?”  

            “I’m trying to focus.”  The image is lost.  She opens her eyes, glares.  “What do you want?”

            “I was just making sure you were okay.  You’ve been quiet for some time.”

            “I was,” Geneva sighs and runs her hands along the helm.  “Know what? Never mind.  This isn’t happening today.”

            “Fair enough.”  Ms. Olivia pulls her sleeve up, checks her watch.  “It is almost noon.  Let’s retire for the day.”  She tosses Geneva her jacket.  “Come, get out of your armor.  I will drive you home.”

            “Wait, we’re done today? We haven’t even trained with swords.”

            “Ms. Oaks, not to be confrontational, but you clearly need a break.  So, we should quit for the day.”

            Geneva holds the glare.  Her armor slips away, compressing back into the ring, but the glare stays.  She jerks her arms into the jacket and zips it up.  “Fine. Let’s go then.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The sun appears at noon, bleeding through the clouds and touching the snow drifts with its warm fingers.  They melt, slowly, great streams of water pooling in the streets, filling the drains.  That night they will freeze, only to thaw and refreeze in the days to come.

            Claude watches from the window, still isolated and increasingly irritated by his situation.  Shirley is at home with him, having lunch.  She sits on the mattress with a plate on her lap and tears small bits from her sandwich before eating them.

            “You should get out of here for a while, get some fresh air,” she says.

            “Nothing to do out there.”

            “More to do than there is in here,” she says.  “Go to that sporting equipment store we saw.  You could look at the bows, see how much a new one would cost.”

            “It’d cost a lot.”  He turns and leans against the wall while biting, almost bitterly, into his sandwich.

            “When you get back to work, we’ll be fine.”  She smiles.  “Don’t worry so much.”

            Claude sets his plate to the side and scratches at his cast.  “I can’t wait until this thing is off.”

            “Me either.”

            “You just want me out of the apartment.”

            “Maybe a little.”  She stands and takes her plate to the sink while he glowers, and then she blows him a raspberry.  “I’m just kidding.  But you are getting little cranky.  Go out for a walk, at least.  It’s sunny out, and you don’t know how long that will last here.”

            Claude glances back out the window.  “Probably only a few hours.”  He sighs.  “Maybe I will.”

            Shirley crosses the room, takes his plate and puts it in the sink with hers.  She runs water over both of them before going to Claude and hugging him about the waist.  Then, she smiles up at him.  “I think you should.  It might cheer you up.”

            He smiles back at her and relaxes into her grip.  Sometimes when she is away, it startles him to realize that they are living together, as a couple, even sharing a bed, but when they are together, it is like they were never anything else.

            They stand together, swaying, and kiss.  “Okay, if you insist.  I’ll go.”

            “Good.”  They part.  “Maybe you could buy something nice for your date.”

            “I really wish you would stop calling that.  It’s weird enough that we’re meeting at all.”

            “Oh,” she slaps his chest before grabbing her purse from the bed.  “You’re over-thinking it.  She’s just a girl who needs help, and you’re the one who can help her.  It’s sweet.”

            “I have no qualifications for this sort of thing.”

            “You’re a hero, aren’t you?”  She gives him that look, the one she always wears when she says something like this.  It is her way of saying that she knows what he is and that he better know, too.

            “I guess.  Just wish it was a little more impersonal, you know?”

            “It’ll be fine.”  She goes to the door and stands with it open.  “I’ll see you tonight.”

            “Yup.”  He waves, and she blows him a kiss.  Though embarrassed, he returns it.

            “Also,” she says, peeking back inside, “Go for that walk!”

            “I will, I will,” he says, and he smiles as she closes the door.  Then, he turns to the window and watches the people on the street, watches the snow melt again.  Soon, Shirley is out there, looking both ways before crossing to the parking lot.

            When she is gone, he has nothing to distract him, and he starts thinking about tomorrow.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “You know, you could always use the house phone.”  Geneva holds her cell to her ear while crossing the room to lock her door.  Once the door is locked, she returns to her bed.  “I’m weird, but even I don’t walk around my room and talk to myself.  My parents are paranoid enough without me having to hide a cell phone from them.”

            “Tell them it is from your teacher.”

            Geneva shakes her head.  “Listen, that isn’t really the best excuse in the world, and it would definitely start more fires than it would put out.”

            “Well, we can’t risk anyone listening in, so this is the safest option.  Erak is already upset that Mr. Sylvain is involved.”

            “Yeah, yeah, wouldn’t want to put my family in danger, secret identity, yadda-yadda.  I know.”  She falls back onto her bed and stares up at her ceiling, traces a small spiral leading in toward her ceiling light with her gaze.  After wincing in the light, she follows the spiral back out.  “So, what do you want now?”

            “I had considered surprising you, but I think it is better to give you warning ahead of time.  Tomorrow, your training will be different.”

            “What, are we taking a class trip to the nearest mountain so I can try jumping off?  Because, I don’t really think that will help me much with the whole sprouting wings thing.”

            “No, Ms. Oaks, but we will not be training at the gym.  Instead, I would like for you to meet with Mr. Sylvain.”

            “Mr. Sylvain?  Oh, that Claude guy?”  Geneva furrows her brow.  “What for?”

            “Now is the time to build connections, Ms. Oaks.”

            “But I thought Erak hated him.”

            “He does.”

            Geneva waits, shrugs.  “Okay, fine, whatever.  I’ll meet with him. I guess.”

            Ms. Olivia is quiet for a moment, perhaps apprehensive.  “Really?”

            “Yup.  You say jump, and I say, ‘I’m tired,’ and do it anyway.”

            “I see.  I suppose that will work.  So, I will pick you up at our usual time then.”

            “Yeah, yeah, and I’ll go build some connections.”

            “Yes,” Ms. Olivia says, briefly, sounding somewhat surprised.  “Well, then, I will see you tomorrow.”

            “Ah-huh.”  Geneva hangs up and goes to her jacket.  She stuffs the phone inside.  Then, she goes back to her desk and sits.  She stares at the wall but doesn’t see it. Instead, she sees a young adult, a man, with dark hair and dark eyes and a serious expression on his face.  He fires an arrow that explodes on contact, moves with precision, with meaning, and perhaps this works against him.

            She sees a beast towering over them.  It attacks the man, snaps his bow, snaps him limb.  She sees bone through flesh and blood in the snow, and then she sees fatigue and smells burnt flesh and, over that, fresh blood. The bruises across her body, now healed, ache in remembrance.

            Looking at her ring, the material polished and shining, she wonders what sort of battles the knights fought, wonders what sort of person Belquis was behind the legend.  Having fought demons, she finds it hard to see someone so different from her, someone larger than life, and she thinks how experience seems to make the mythic mundane.

            She wonders if Belquis was there, fighting the big demon, would Claude have gotten hurt, or would Belquis have gotten hurt, but she knows there are no answers to those questions.  She knows, also, that they are pointless, that Belquis is gone and dead, and she is there.  She is wearing the armor, the armor without wings, the armor that can fly but won’t for her.

            It reminds her that, whatever she is wearing, she isn’t really a soldier, or a knight, but a scared young girl crying herself to sleep in the dark.

            The phone rings, the house phone, and Geneva jerks into awareness.  She waits for someone to answer and, after three rings, sighs.  “Oaks residence, Geneva speaking.”

            “Hey, just who I was looking for,” Kit says from the other end.

            “Oh. Hey.”

            There is a short pause.  “So, how are you?”

            “Good.  I guess.”  Geneva shifts in her seat, drums her fingers on the desk.

            “Me, too,” Kit says quietly.  “You busy?”
            “No more than usual.  Why?”

            “Wondering if you wanted to go out tonight, maybe catch a movie.”

            “Oh.”  Geneva looks around her room, leans back in her chair.  She stares at the ceiling and tries to come up with an excuse, but her thoughts never go where she wants them to anymore.  “Can’t tonight.  Sorry.”

            “Oh. School stuff?”

            “Always,” Geneva says, and she worries that the lie is getting too easy for her.  Sometimes, she worries that she is even beginning to believe it, but then she always thinks that Kit is just being patient with her.  The latter options always hurts worst.  “Sorry.”

            “It’s fine.  What about tomorrow?”

            Geneva thinks about Claude again, about blood in the snow.  “Can’t, either.”

            Kit sighs on the other end, not angry but disappointed.  “That’s fine. Rain check?”

            “Yeah.  Sometime.  When I’m not so busy.”

            “Of course.”  Another pause, more silence.  “I’ll let you get back to it, then.”

            “Thanks, Kit.”  She hangs up without waiting for response.

            Off the phone, Geneva pulls open her drawer and finds the journal inside.  She eyes it and then shoves the draw closed.  Instead of reading, she crawls into bed and curls up, and she hugs a pillow tight to her chest and tries hard not to think about anything at all.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The sky is dark, bleak, and the air so cold that it chokes.  Icy winds blow, tossing snowflakes, twisting them across the sky.  There is no light to speak of, but everything shines in the darkness.  A creature glides through the air, shaking in the earth with the movement of its leathery wings.

            A woman, tall, blonde, and shapely, is pursued by figures that glow.  They follow her close as she retreats, but she never turns her back to face them.  She isn’t running; she never runs.  They surround her, holding blades that gleam in the non-light.  The woman staggers and stumbles, landing on her back.

            A tower looms in the distance, watching without a care.  The beast sweeps by it again, going unnoticed.  Whatever it is, it is enormous, and its scales gleam white in the dark, pure like the snow.

            The woman is surrounded by light but doesn’t seem afraid.  Instead, she looks furious, stands up and stands her ground, fists balled, jaw set.  She is wearing a dress and a crown and looks to be a princess of some sort.  The lights ready their blades and close rank.

            The beast drops and lands amidst them, the size of a house and its scales shining.  Talons cut the earth, leave deep gashes as its feet settle.  Its body, long and serpentine, curls around the princess while its wings fold in, and it snaps at the light, roars like a maelstrom.

            The wind shifts, fast and hard, and the light is carried away, and he stands in the center of it, hair tossing, blinded and deafened by the wind.  He hears voices calling out to him, and then…

            Claude wakes up, stares at the ceiling.  The room is dark, but the first blades of sunlight drift in.  He sits up and stares, at first, at the wall, and then rubs his face.  He is sweating.

            Shirley peeks out of the bathroom with a toothbrush in her mouth. “You okay, sweetie?”

            “Yeah, I just,” he looks at her, “Strange dream.”

            “Dream or dream?”  He looks away, and she joins him on the bed.  “One of those, huh?  You sure you’re okay?”

            He nods.  “Nothing bad, just confusing.”

            “Should we cancel your date?”

            “No.  And stop calling it that.”

            She giggles and stands, spits and rinses before going to the clean laundry and digging around until she finds socks.  Then, she slips them on while looking around their tiny apartment.  “We really need a dresser.”

            “We need a lot of things.”  He leans back, supporting his weight with his good arm while Shirley closes in and kisses him on the lips.  He smiles up at her while she stands and poses.

            “How do I look?”

            “Good.”

            “As always.”  She flips her hair and laughs.  “Guess I should head out.  I’ll get something for lunch today, if that’s fine with you.”

            “It’s fine, but why not come home?”

            She grins.  “You might need some privacy.”

            “You are really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

            The grin spreads, and she goes to the door.  “Just have fun, okay?”

            “Yeah, yeah, you too.”

            “Love you, Claude.”  She pauses at the door, leans against it and waits.  “Always have.”

            He smirks.  “I love you, too.”

            “I know,” she says, and she saunters out the door.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina picks Geneva up shortly before noon and drives her downtown.  The ride there is quiet, with Geneva slouching in her seat and staring, absently, out the window.  She has her arms crossed and her feet up on the dashboard.

            As they enter downtown, they slow to a stop at a traffic light.  The streets are long and narrow, clogged with lunchtime traffic.  People walk brusquely in the sunny cold, passing the cars by.  Geneva shifts in her seat.

            “This isn’t some weird child prostitution thing, right?”

            Nina gives a befuddled glance.  “Excuse me?”

            “This visit.  I mean, you weren’t clear on the details.  So, I’m just asking, it’s not a child prostitution thing, right?  You’re not selling him my body or anything, are you?”

            “No.  Ms. Oaks, I would never!”

            The car inches forward, and Geneva tugs on her seatbelt and shrugs. “Now that I think about it, and I mean really think, I guess it wouldn’t be so bad. If it was child prostitution, I mean. So long as I got a cut.” Geneva pauses, thoughtfully. “Though, I don’t know if you can still count me as a child. I’m a bit too old for childhood. So, it’d be teenage prostitution, I guess. Is that even a thing?”

            “Ms. Oaks, this is in no way any form of prostitution. I simply feel we should reach out to Mr. Sylvain and make connections.” Nina takes a right, stops suddenly and waits for the other cars to start moving again. “He was quite helpful during the battle with the demon lord, was he not?”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, distantly, sinking further into her seat. “Wouldn’t have won without him.”

            Nina glances again before pulling forward. They turn down another long, narrow street, this time going north. The buildings in this area of town are tall and old. Though it is late morning, they block much of the sunlight and cast everything in deep shadows.

            “Hey, Ms. Olivia, can I ask you a question?”

            “Of course.” Nina eyes the numbers on the buildings as they pass.

            “It’s about Belquis. Or the Queen of Sheba. Or whatever she’s called.”

            Nina slows the car and they make brief eye contact. “And what would you like to know about her?”

            “Well, I was reading, and it said she betrayed the elves. Froze an entire world shut, and I was wondering, well, how did she do that?”

            Nina goes quiet, pulls into a parking space across from a squat, brick building. With the car parked, she keeps gripping the steering wheel and stares ahead, as if considering her words.  Finally, she says, “In truth, Ms. Oaks, I am uncertain. No one really knows, and so few people—elves, mostly—are willing to ask the question. If there ever was an answer, it has long since been lost to the revised and re-revised history of the knights.”

            “It all just sounds like magic.” Geneva stares across the street, too, unclips her seatbelt. “This is the place, I assume.”

            “Yes.”

            “Okay. Well, guess I should go inside. Make connections.”  he grabs hold of the door handle. “Though, I don’t think I’m the best of representatives.”

            “You will do fine.” Nina watches Geneva open the door and then grabs her by the shoulder. They make eye contact again, and Nina pulls her hand back quickly.  “Ms. Oaks, call me if you need anything.”

            Geneva quirks her brow. “I’m going to need a ride home.”

            “Yes, of course, I simply meant—I will be waiting on word from you.”

            “Sure,” Geneva says, and she climbs from the car and shuts the door behind her. After a half wave and a shiver, she crosses the street. Nina watches Geneva to the doorway, where Claude greets her and shows her in.

The Knights of Sheba 111 A…End