The Knights of Sheba, Ep. 17: "Into the Belly of the Beast" B

The Knights of Sheba 117 B…Start

 

            Claude’s vision spins and blurs, settling only as he blinks and squints in the light.  He is on his back, staring up at a thick canopy of browned and yellowed leaves.  Each movement produces an after-imagine, and he has to keep blinking to wash them away.  His stomach churns and, finally, with a cough and a lurch, he vomits to the side and curls into a ball.

            “Oh, you’re awake!”  Geneva comes to his side, kneeling beside him.  She sees the vomit and looks away, covering her mouth.  “Uh, you okay?”

            Claude shifts.  His head rings.  With effort, he forces himself up and, once his stomach settles, says, “How long have I been like this?”

            “A few hours, I think,” she says.  “The sun has moved some.  I tried to wake you up and, when I couldn’t, I dragged you away from the gate tree and into the cover of some bushes.  So, what happened?”

            Claude rubs his face, wipes his mouth.  In the distance he can see the black bark of the gate tree, swallowing the light and shimmering as a result.  Looking at it makes him feel sick, but so does breathing.  He stares into his hands.  “I’ve lost it.”

            “Lost it?”

            “My connection,” he says.  “When we were in-between, I didn’t know it, but I could still feel it.  It was muted, so much so that I thought it wasn’t there, but now I really know what it’s like, and it’s gone.”  He sighs.  “Like shouting into the dark and not even getting an echo in return.  There’s no reply.”  Now, he looks at her, skin pale, tears in his eyes, “It’s gone.”

            “Claude, I’m…”

            He shakes his head and plants his hands into the soft earth.  “No, it’s fine.  It’s something I can worry about later.  For now, we need to think about Shirley.”  When he pushes his arms shake, and when he tries to stand instead he stumbles.  Geneva rushes to his side but can’t catch him before falls into the dirt.

            “Crap!  Are you okay?”

            “I’m—I don’t know how much help I’ll be.  I don’t even know if I can walk.”

            “Okay.”  Geneva takes a deep breath and shoulders her pack, then she goes to his side and helps him stand.  He uses a nearby tree for support while she fixes his pack around his shoulders.  Then, taking one of his arms, she smiles.  “Well, if you can’t walk, then I guess I’ll just have to carry you all the way.”

            Claude stares at her, and he works hard to keep pace when she starts walking.  “Thank you,” he says quietly, and he watches his feet to make sure they are still moving.  It feels like sandbags are tied to them but each step is easier than the last.

            “No need to thank me,” she says.  “I’m a knight now, I guess.  So, I’m supposed to be saving the girl.”

            “But that’s not why you’re doing it,” he says.  “You’re just doing it.”

            “Okay, don’t get all mushy, and don’t worry about why I’m doing it.  Oh yeah, in fact!”  Geneva comes to a stop and leans him into a tree, and she digs into her bag and produces a wadded cloth.  When opened it reveals a polished, pink ring, which she holds out to him.  “You may have lost your connection, but I have this to help you.  If you want, that is.”

            “A ring. Like yours.”  Claude stares at it thoughtfully and reaches out for something.  Nothing responds.  He shakes his head.  “No.  I mean, thanks, but I don’t want it.  Not yet.  When I get back, maybe it’ll fix itself, but the ring might mess it up.”  He meets her gaze.  “I hope you understand.”

            “I do,” she says, and she pockets the ring again.  “Or, I do, but I don’t.  Besides, it’s probably best to be cautious.  Once you put it on, you can’t take it off.”

            “Really?”

            “Really,” Geneva says, “Anyway, we should probably get going.  Your lady friend is waiting.”  Geneva takes his arm again, but he stands from the tree on his own.

            “I can do it,” he says.

            “Okay, but if you start feeling all jelly-legged, just shout.  Or whisper or tap my shoulder.  Something discreet like that would probably be better.”

            Claude nods.  “Right.  I’ll make sure you know.”

            “Right.”  Geneva turns ahead again, hands on her hips.  “Then, onward, into the belly of the beast!”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The forest fades into the distance behind them.  Claude keeps pace with Geneva, though she walks more slowly to allow it.  As they leave the tree, line they find a large, rolling plain stretching out before them.  The grass here is tall and pale, dancing in the hot, humid wind.  The sweet smell of it catches, swallows them.  In the distance, they can see thin roads, partly overgrown, crisscrossing like scars cut into the earth.  Black clouds gather on the horizon, flashing and groaning at irregular intervals.

            Geneva stares out at the expansive plains and remembers her own surprise at seeing the city so small from the hilltop overlooking it.  Now, she isn’t just far away from home.  She is literally in another world, and the information is so strange to her that it hardly seems to register.

            They check the map and find that they are on the edge of the forest, just inside what Geneva understands to be the lands of Duke Andromalius.  Their target, the lands of Duke Dantalion, is to the far north east and will require them to pass through other lands on the way.

            She sighs.  “Really, it can’t be, like, just outside of the forest.  Like, she is just right over there,” she points to a spot of bare, black earth, “Just there, waiting for us.  And we pick her up and carry her away, all heroic and stuff.”

            Claude regards the map with a frown.  “I don’t think anything is that easy.”  He still looks pale, and his vision blurs from time-to-time, but he is standing under his own power and considers that victory enough. “So, we just need to keep going north?”

            “I’m no geographer, but yeah.  We’ll cut through the edge of Seere’s lands, whoever that is, and that will take us to,” she squints at the map, “The Walled City of House Dantalion.”  She looks at Claude.  “That sounds safe, right?”

            “It does not inspire hope.”

            “Yeah, especially since you’re all magic-sick or whatever.”  She looks at him.  “Sorry, didn’t mean to—Know what, let’s just get going?”

            Claude offers agreement and rolls up the map.  He stows it away inside of his backpack and then follows her into the plains.  They walk together, their lower bodies swallowed by the swaying grass.  The smell of it is stronger here, almost suffocating, but not entirely unpleasant.  It isn’t anything like Geneva is familiar with and leaves her nose feeling itchy.

            Geneva removes her coat and stuffs it into her backpack as they walk, and she keeps a close eye on Claude.  However he may feel about his own powers or about the signets, she knows better than to trust in him now.  He might be walking, but he is slowed, and she isn’t sure that even with a signet he would be of much use.  Saving Shirley, she realizes, will be entirely on her, and it is not something that inspires hope.

            The topography of the plains rolls gently and, as they walk, dark, spindly trees appear around them, widely spaced, and green with moss.  They avoid the roads out of habit by this point, afraid of running into demons or, worse yet, stray elves who had somehow managed to find their way there.  Geneva knows it is unlikely, but so is everything else in her life.

            “You know,” Geneva says, rubbing her nose.  Her eyes are beginning to feel a bit puffy and wet.  “Ms. Oak gave me all of those books, and they kept talking about the realms, and the demons, and all of that, and I just expected it to be different somehow.  I mean, with how they talk about this place, you’d expect everything to be blood-stained and bodies to be decaying in ditches, and after running into that one guy—the, uh, noble, I guess—I was ready to believe every word of it.”

            Claude, walking beside her with his hands in his pockets, takes it all in.  He is shivering, from time-to-time, and his body is covered in a thin, cool sweat.  After a deep breath, he says, “Yeah?”

            “Yeah, but it’s not that bad.  I mean, it’s, like, not settled, from the looks of it, but that’s not bad.  Makes me wonder what the demons are really like.  Like, are they really so evil or,” Geneva looks at him, “You don’t really care, do you?”

            “What?”  Claude shakes his head.  “No, I—Sorry, my head is killing me.”

            “I get you.”  She grabs the strap of her backpack and holds it tight, and she watches the grass collapse under her feet.  They leave small footprints behind them that, as she moves forward, disappear from view.  “It’s just weird for me, I guess.  I mean, you’ve known your entire life that you were special.  That you were a hero.  But me?  I’m not a hero.  I’m not a soldier, and the more I am tested.”  She shrugs.  “The more I think I’m not cut out for fighting their wars.”

            Claude laughs weakly.  “Trust me, you’re a hero, and you’re cut out for it.”

            “Sorry, what?”

            “Listen, when things got tough and Shirley was taken, you didn’t even hesitate.  You were there, ready to throw yourself into danger, not for their cause, not because you were ordered to, but just because you wanted to help.”  Claude pauses, looks at the ground, too.  “Whenever someone is in danger, you never seem to hesitate.  You just help them.”

            Now, Geneva laughs.  “Oh, please, I hesitate plenty.”

            “Not from what I’ve seen.”

            “Okay.  Well, that’s not even heroic.  That’s just stupid.”

            “You really think that?”

            She looks up, watches him watching her for a moment.  Then, she looks at her feet again.  They’re easier to maintain eye contact with.  “No.  I—It’s not heroic, though.  It’s just normal.  People need help, and I can help them.  Simple as that.”

            “Sounds just like a hero to me.”

            “Okay, enough about that.  Making a girl blush.”  She flashes a grin at him, and he chuckles in turn.  “Good to see you’re lightening up, though.”

            “It’s because I trust you to see us through,” he says.  “I trust you to save Shirley.”

            “Oh, wow, don’t put any pressure on me or anything.”  Geneva looks forward and stops short.  She takes Claude by the arm and pulls him down to kneeling in the grass.

            “What,” his words die behind her hand.

            “Something’s ahead,” she says, “Something big.”

            Geneva lifts herself slowly to peek over the grass.  In the distance, crossing the road, is a large, sturdy four-legged creature.  Its limbs are thick and strong, its skin green like a demon’s.  It has a long, broad snout beset with enormous grey tusks.  Patches of red hair line its chest and back, and a thin, vestigial tail snaps as it runs.

            It leaps to a stop onto the road, and two more appear from the grass, joining it as it snarls.  They howl and snap, sharing a smaller creature between them.  From how it is now, flesh rent and insides exposed and shining, it is hard to tell how it once was.  As they tear, its flesh splits down the middle.  Fresh blood spreads across the dusty road.

            They scramble to devour these sections before fighting each other, half-heartedly, for the remains.  Geneva sinks down into the grass and covers her mouth.  “Oh, gross.”  She can feel her stomach twisting up.

            Claude, who had joined her, keeps the grass parted with his hands.  “Must be demonic wildlife.”

            “Must be disgusting.”  She shudders.

            “Whatever else they are, they don’t seem friendly.”

            “Starting to think nothing here is.”  She sits up and watches the creatures pick the bones clean.  “They’re huge.  Think the demons keep those things as pet.”

            “Don’t want to think about it at all.  Let’s just stay down until they leave.”

            Geneva nods.  Even with her armor, she doesn’t want to chance fighting one of those.  They settle together and listen to the creatures snarl and howl.  A few seconds pass, and then they grow quiet.  Geneva is just about to stand when the ground shakes beneath her.  Something like cannon fire fills the air.

            At first, Geneva believes it is thunder, but she can feel each one shake the earth under her feat.  She looks at Claude, who is setting back on his hands and staring back at her.  A shadow passes over them and, even from kneeling, they can see its origin.  A living mountain passes them by, flesh grey as stone and charging with its enormous black horns down.  A large eye at its center stares ahead while drool leaks from its mouth.

            It stampedes toward the three creatures, who make efforts to escape.  The first disappears into the grass while the other two struggle to keep pace.  One of them stumbles briefly and is caught in the charge, its body crush by one enormous, furry foot.  Its bloody carcass remains after as the larger beast hurries passed it.

            Geneva and Claude wait, breaths held, until they feel the creature’s departure.  Then, standing, Geneva checks to make sure they are alone.  After, she helps Claude up, and she stares out at the landscape.  Suddenly, it no longer seems so harmless to her.

            She takes a deep breath and wipes her hands on her pants.  Then, looking at Claude, she laughs quietly and without humor.  “So, uh, circle of life, huh?”

            “We should hurry.”

            She nods and follows his lead.  They cut across the road and into the grass, and on the way they pass the small, broken creature, still clawing absently at the dirt, already dead.  Geneva holds her mouth to keep from vomiting and they both stare as they pass.

            After that, they keep their eyes fixed firmly ahead.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The sky darkens as clouds advance over the mountain tops and eclipse the sun.  Fingers of lightning jump between the charcoal clouds, flashing brilliantly and burning the sky.  The remaining skyline is a bruised purple with a smear of bloody red leading the charge.

            They arrive at the walled city in the evening, just before all of the light is squeezed from the day.  It is both more than Geneva expected and also less than she imagined.  The wall is tall, grey, and possessed of enormous holes that expose the insides like a fresh wound.

            Houses spill from the wounds, growing around the wall exterior.  Even then, as they approach, they see demons of all sorts sitting in the darkness, perched against molded exterior walls or against the great wall itself.  They are all different, unique to themselves, save for one universal trait—each is gaunt with hunger and pale with disease.

            Claude examines the map and uses it to guide them in from the west.  Here the wall has crumbled, as it has in other areas.  On the way into the city, they steal cloaks left in the mud and pass themselves off as demons.  Geneva can’t see how they might stand out at all, save for the ease of their movements.  Everyone here seems too sick to carry themselves.

            As they pass through the streets, Geneva sees the true face of the demons, and it is worse than the lies spread about them. She sees the yellow eyes sunken into dark eye sockets, the way their bones protrude against their green skin.  She sees that hunger has devolved into wasteful lethargy, and that into empty hopelessness.

            Even the guards they pass on the street are nothing impressive.  While tall and perhaps in slightly better health, Geneva can still see their struggle.  Their skin is as pale as any other demon here, and their muscles like bunched fruits molding inside of a sack of flesh.  They wear armor that is a patch work of broken metal bits and leftover fabrics.  The halberds they carry are mostly dull.  Those that aren’t are rusted over.

            On the other side of the city is the keep, secured by a more stalwart, well-attended wall that is guarded by larger demons of better stock.  It is built into a mountain side of glossy black stone.  As they approach, Geneva can smell the sea through the haze of filth and decay that permeates the city streets.  Geneva stops to point and whispers to Claude, “I’m pretty sure that’s where we’re going.”

            “It does seem secure.”

            Geneva flashes him a tired grin.  “Then all we have to do is sneak our way through a city full of blood thirsty monsters, scale a giant wall, fight our way through a castle of blood thirstier monsters, and then do the entire sequence in reverse once we have her.  Easy, right?”

            “Easy or not, we’re doing it.”

            “Never said we weren’t. Got to save the princess.”  Geneva sighs and wipes her foehead.  She looks ahead at the cliff-face which they will soon be climbing.  A few months ago, she wouldn’t have been able to make the walk here.  Now, she is absolutely certain that she can do it.  Despite everything, she is beginning to feel some appreciation for Ms. Olivia’s training.

            “Let’s go,” Claude says, and he starts forward once again.

            “Right,” Geneva says, and she follows him close.  “Can’t leave her waiting forever.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The deeper they go, the more decay they find.  The city is a wreck throughout.  The streets are darkened mud and the buildings collapsing within themselves.  Most of the citizens live out in the filth or with enormous holes in their roofs.  They gather around fires in the evening to share what little food they have or else starve with company.

            The night grows warmer and lightning flashes overhead.  Geneva’s clothes stick tight to her skin and the hood of her cloak sticks to her face.  It smells of bile and death.  Periodically, she peeks out to eye the castle wall, which they use as a guiding star.

            “This is nothing like what I imagined,” Geneva says as they find an abandoned street to walk.  This one looks to her as if someone tried to lay stone across it at one time and gave up.  What work that was done is composed of mismatched, bulky stones wedged haphazardly into place.  They seem to be sinking slowly, swallowed by the black muck beneath them.

            “The city?”

            “The monsters in it.  When they attacked downtown—the ones I fought at least—they were strong.  Lean but strong.”

            “You think these guys aren’t strong?”

            “They’re starving.”

            Claude glances around a corner before entering a narrow alleyway.  The building to their right looks like it is about to fall into the building on their left.  “They are.”

            “Ms. O said the one we fought was a noble or a lord or something like that.”  They step out into another street that threatens to swallows their shoes as they enter.  More demons sit, half-asleep or half-dead, along the street side.  “They must not share their wealth, those nobles.”

            They reach the steep cliff side where the castle sets.  Black stones eclipse the sky and shine like hollow beads.  Just beyond them, Geneva can see the grey castle walls reaching for the sky, the towers jutting from them like spires.

            Claude puts his hands on his hips.  “Okay, now what?”

            Geneva points at the tower.  “There’s a crack there.  We climb up that, and then we climb the tower to get over the wall.”

            “Climb?”  Claude rubs his chin.  “We could, but where do you get these sorts of ideas?”

            Geneva grins.  “Video games,” she says.  “You always have to be ready to solve an impromptu puzzle at the end of each dungeon.”

            Claude sighs.  “Video games, of course.”  He looks up the cliff face.  “Well, let’s do it.”

            The climb was steep but easier than Geneva expected.  Claude has some trouble, still feeling tired from whatever sickness afflicts him, but the uneven surface of the wall allowed for regular breaks.  No one seemed to notice their ascent.  Most demons seemed distracted by the ground, which they stared despondently at.  Those that didn’t made a point to never look toward the keep.

            After they cleared the rocks, the wall was next.  The workmanship was shoddy and left many footholds in it.  Now closer, Geneva could imagine that the wall had  collapsed and been rebuilt multiple times, and each time was more rushed.  Now, it looked like toy blocks stacked by a child.  She leads Claude up and, at the top, conjures her armor to take them down on the other side.

            They land safely on the grass.  Geneva uses her wings to break their fall.  She is struck by the lush grass they find here and the flowers in bloom.  The castle’s courtyard is a stark opposite of the city below.  Everything is vibrant and full.  In the distance she can see a medium sized garden that looks well-kept.

            Armor can be heard banging inside the castle wall, so they take refuge behind a large bush.  A single demon appears, rounding the wall.  He is large, well-fed, but wearing the same patchy armor of those seen in the city.  He carries a dull-looking sword unsheathed and resting across his shoulder as he walks.  In Geneva’s opinion, he looks a bit bored.

            “You wait here,” Geneva says.

            “But…”

            “Trust me, I’ve got this.”  She rises from the bush and sprints at the demon in full force.  He hears her just before she reaches him, and he swings wide. She catches his arm and spins him around, throwing him face-first into the castle wall.  He drops the sword and slides to the ground before she picks him up and turns him around.  Blood gushes from his nose and cheek, and he stares dizzily at her.

            “What—Who…”

            “Hey there, nice to meet you,” Geneva says, pinning him to the wall with one arm while drawing her wand with the other.  She presses the sharpened point of the blade to his chin.  “I’m Geneva, and I’ll be interrogating you today.  To make this process painless for both of us, I suggest you speak only when spoken to and otherwise don’t try to struggle.  Thank you, and I appreciate your cooperation.”

            The demon gulps and stares down the shining, ivory surface of her weapon.  Then, he looks her in the eyes.  “You’re here.  The warrior.”

            “I am, and you’re breaking the rules.  Consider this a warning.  Next time, I’m cutting bits off, and I warn you, I’m no surgeon.  It may take a few tries to get the bits I’m going for. Understand?”

            The demon nods.

            “Good boy.  Now, you’ve got one of my friends—human girl, about so tall, pretty, basically born to be someone’s grandma.  Where is she?”

            “The human is inside of the castle.”  Geneva moves her blade, leaves a small cut across his chin, and his voice cracks.  “She’s in the back, near the observatory.  The master wanted her close.  He—He is waiting for you.”

            “Well, isn’t that sweet of him.  Though, I get the feeling I may not enjoy his sort of hospitality.  Now, how do I get to the observatory again?”

            “It is in the very back of the castle, built into the mountains.  He watches the stars there, the master, says they can show him the future,” he sees her moving again and moves as well, trying hard to retreat from her and into the wall.  When he can’t, he quickly adds, “The only way to get there is through the tower walkways on the second floor.  The passageway through the main hall has collapsed.”

            “Anything else I should know?”  Geneva shows him the blood on her wand.  “And be honest now.”

            “Master expected you and told us all to be on watch.  He didn’t think you would make it through the outer wall, but he is frightened still.  All of his best fighters are there with him.  You’ll never survive.”  He grins nervously down at her blade.  “I mean, you probably won’t.”

            “Nice save.  And it’s been fun.  Good night.” Geneva rears back and hits the demon across the face with the hilt of her wand.  He falls to his hands and braces there, blood running from his mouth.  She kicks him for good measure, knocking him unconscious.

            Claude approaches as she sheathes her wand.  “She’s in the back,” she says.  “We need to climb one of those towers to get there.” She looks up.  “See any walkways?  Anyway, they should lead us back.”

            “Can we trust his information?”

            Geneva shrugs.  “More than we can trust our own.  Besides, they’re waiting for us.  Shirley’s bait.  Wherever they have her, that’s where they want us to go.”

            Claude breathes through a scowl.  “Fine.  Then, kill him and we can go.”

            “No,” she says, and Claude, who had turned, stops to glare at her.  “What? I’m not killing him.  We shared life stories.  He’s a painter.  Backpacked in Europe for a semester.  Dated a girl named Bianca and, though it didn’t work out, he likes to think that they will always care for each other in a way that is more than friendship.  She got married recently.  He saw photos of it online, and he was genuinely happy for her, and he trusts that someday, he’ll find his own Antonio—that was the guy she married—too.”

            “Geneva, he’ll just wake up and try to kill us later.”  The demon groans and starts to rise.

            Geneva kicks him a second time and takes Claude’s hand, dragging him away.  “He’s not getting up for a while, and if he does, then we will deal with it then.  But whatever happens, we’re here to save lives, not take them.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 117…End

The Knights of Sheba, Ep. 17: "Into the Belly of the Beast" A

Episode Seventeen: Into the Belly of the Beast

 

            Tree-trunk sized roots stretch overhead, touching the sky and covering it entirely.  The ground is soft and wet.  Thick, green grass grows, dew-damp and knee high.  Their foot falls squelch as the mud tries desperately to swallow their shoes.

            The crossing is exhausting, sapping both energy and will from them for a time.  Upon arrival, Geneva bends at the waist to catch her breath and to keep from falling forward.  The world, a hazy, indistinct blur of light, sways dizzyingly around her.  She can’t see the sun, only infinite darkness folded into the series of endlessly braided roots

            In the darkness she can see things taking shape, familiar things made unfamiliar by her imagination.

            Claude, who is similarly doubled over beside her, pushes himself up.  A thin layer of sweat cools against his skin.  “You okay,” he asks between heavy pants.

            “Fine,” Geneva says, sinking into the wet grass and feeling the damp seep into her pants. “Or sick.”  She leans back onto her hands and stares up at the sky. “Feels like I ran a freaking marathon.”

            “Yeah.”  Claude puts his hands on his hips and surveys everything before them.  “Must be a side effect of moving between worlds or something.”  He looks back, stares into the darkness.  “Uh, Geneva, don’t you remember a forest behind us when we left?”

            “Yeah, why do you,” Geneva looks back, “…Ask.”

            The area immediately behind them is very much like everything surrounding them—endless darkness bordered only by roots, enormous roots that grow larger every time she sees them.  Those immediately before her shimmer faintly in the darkness, looking more like skyscrapers than tree trunks now.

            Geneva stands and turns slowly, wiping her wet hands on her equally wet rear.  “There, uh, was a forest here.  I’m not crazy.  Right?”

            Claude shakes his head and sighs.  “This whole thing is crazy.”  Gathering himself, he pulls his satchel around and draws a map from it.  “Okay, now that we’ve caught our breath, let’s see where we are, and where Shirley is.”

            “Right.”  Geneva moves in close and looks at the map alongside Claude, who holds it stretched carefully between his two hands and is mindful not to let it tear.  He squints at it while she points at what looks like a tangle of roots.  “Think that’s where we are?”

            Claude looks at where they came from, or where he thinks they came from at least, and then back at the map.  “Probably.  Suppose it’s our way back?”

            Geneva appraises the roots now.   “Sure.  It looks kind of...Earthy.”

            “Okay, so if that’s our landmark.”  He draws a trail across the map with his eyes.  “Then we need to go that way,” he says, looking left.  “Let’s call it West, I guess.”

            “West-I-Guess, got it,” she says, covering her eyes and squinting into the distance.  “You know what’s weird?  It’s like I can see and not see.  Like I’m wearing 3D glasses that cover everything in shadows.”  She looks at Claude, who shrugs.

            “Whatever it is, we can ask them about it later, when we come back with Shirley.”

            “Good point,” Geneva says, and she follows Claude away from the root, down a very light slope and deeper into the darkness.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            They walk for hours in the darkness, and Geneva is surprised by the warmth of the air and the smell of it, too.  It is as if she is walking through a field of flowers, wet from a fresh spring rain.  There is no sunlight, but she can feel its warmth on her skin and in her lungs as she breaths.

            As she walks, she watches the sky and sees small, pinpricks of light nestled among the canopy of roots.  She squints at them and counts them and does anything to keep herself from considering where they—Claude and herself—are and where they are going.  So far, she hasn’t felt afraid of their daunting task, but she figures that’s mostly because she’s still in shock.

            Claude leads the way, stopping to check the map every few minutes.  He has a silent focus that leaves little room for conversation.  That silence is just something else putting Geneva on edge.

            Another hour passes and Claude brings them to a stop.  He kneels down in the grass and creeps forward, and Geneva mimics him.  Ahead there are voices and, walking in a cleared path cut through the grass, are a group of soldiers, clad in green and black uniforms and carrying with them what looks like an oil lantern.  There are three in total, each with a rifle.

            Claude sits in the grass, letting it swallow him to the shoulders.  Geneva sits beside him, quiet.  When the voices pass, Claude looks at her.  “Elves.”

            “Looks like.”

            “We should be careful.”  Claude unfolds the map and squints at it.  Even in the darkness they can see.  Things here, Geneva realizes, somehow produce their own light.   A lantern would be unnecessary, but Geneva can see why the elves have it.  Even though she can see just fine, her eyes seem to doubt the information they are receiving.

            “We’ll avoid the roads,” Claude says.  He points to a place on the map.  “I figure we’re about here, though there’s no real way to bring it all to scale.”  He rolls up the map and peeks over the grass.  When he is sure it is clear, he stands and turns.  “We’ll cut across this way and hopefully won’t run into any more patrols.”

            “Sounds good to me,” Geneva says, standing alongside him and patting her damp rear with a frown.  “Anything to keep from making this harder than it has to be.”

            They move quietly through the grass, half-bent to hide from view.  Again, they walk for what feels like empty hours, though Geneva is beginning to doubt her perception of time.  The sky doesn’t change, though she can a change around her.  The air grows wetter as they travel, and she can see a light up ahead, can smell fresh, clear water.

            Claude brings them to a stop again and surveys the map.  His frown is telling, as is the stiffness of his posture.  They are lost.  Geneva doesn’t say anything.  She just stands there, hands behind her back, and waits for him to announce it.  Even when he does, she doesn’t have advice to offer.

            They stand in the tall grass, staring out at the darkness together, their energy dwindling.  Geneva still feels tired from passing through the gate tree, but she doesn’t want to say anything.  Somewhere, Shirley is waiting, captured or worse.  They both know it, and Geneva knows that it is all Claude is thinking about.

            She asks to see the map and looks it over.  It is crudely drawn and deeply wrinkled.  She traces her fingers along it while surveying the area around them.  A light in the distance catches her eye, makes it harder to see.  Like the gate trees, it seems to siphon the light of its surroundings.  Geneva turns her back from it, hoping to see more clearly that way.

            Holding the map up, she compares it to the landscape around her.  The problem she is facing is that there are no directions, no latitude or longitudes, just vague figures and foreign symbols.  Her ring bestows her with the knowledge of language but not with artistic interpretation.  Even the root that they found earlier on the map can just barely be called a root.

            After a few minutes, she purses her lips and hands the map back to Claude.  “Okay, I got nothing.”

            “Yeah, thanks for that.”  Claude jerks the map open and starts doing his own search for landmarks.

            “Hey, you got that magic-knowing thing, don’t you?  So, why don’t you use it and just know where to go?”

            “It’s not magic.  It’s intuition.”

            “Then be intuitive.”

            Claude sighs and holds the map up in his hands, resuming his search.

            Geneva waits, too, and she watches him while doing it.  She starts tapping her foot.  “You can, uh, do it whenever you like.”

            “No, I can’t,” Claude says, eyes fixed on landscape.

            “And why not?”

            “Because my gifts don’t work here.”

            “Oh, of course they don’t.”

            Claude slouches, lowering the map and staring at the damp grass.  Watching him, Geneva realizes that Shirley is the only thing keeping him standing, like he is failing himself as much as he is failing her.  “I didn’t know,” he whispers.  “It wasn’t until the elves appeared. I tried to use my gifts, to make an illusion around us and,” he sighs, looks at her, “It’s not there.”

            “Oh.  Well, what happened?”

            He shrugs.  “I think I lost my connection,” he says.  “My powers, my gifts, they come from my connection to the world.  I can feel the current and, for brief periods, direct it.  I can’t feel it anymore.”

            “Well.  Crap.”

            Claude takes a deep breath.  “And that’s why I can’t just use my intuition.”  He lifts the map again and examines it.  “This map is the only hope we have of finding the demon realm and finding Shirley.”

            “No, it’s not,” Geneva says, a smile blooming on her face.  “We know where the demon realm was before, right?  Why not just start walking in that direction again?  It should take us right there.”  Geneva turns and turns again.  “It’s, uh, somewhere, right?”

            “That won’t work either,” Claude says.  “This map is sketchy, at best.  It uses no form of measurement, and we don’t know what scale it was drawn to, if there is even a formal scale.  So, there’s no way to know if we’ve passed it or even where we are now.”

            “Okay, then we go back to the road.  Follow it.”

            “Can’t,” Claude says.  “The elves are walking the road.  They might see us, and that will only complicate things.”

            Geneva takes a deep breath and holds it.  She releases her frustration as she exhales and then hurries to his side.  “Landmarks it is, then.  So, you pick one and I pick one.”  She points at the map.  “Like this. I’ll look for this here, what?  Honeycomb?”

            “Honeycomb?”  Claude frowns at the map, tilts it sideways.  “I don’t know.  I don’t think—that’s definitely not a honeycomb.”

            “Sure it is, and if you think it looks weird, imagine the bees that come from it.”

            Geneva turns her back on him and resumes staring into the darkness.  Claude, still frowning, lowers the map and stares ahead, looking for nothing in particular.  While Geneva wanders away, he sees something in the distance and his breath catches.  He takes a few steps, squinting to see through the haze of light to his right, and he says, “Geneva, I think it’s a city.”

            “City?  Like, an elven city?”  Geneva turns and starts squinting at his side.  Hanging from the underside of the roots, built into the bark and winding wood, is a withered city populated only by shadows.  “No way those are elven.”

            “Maybe not but,” Claude checks the map, smiles.  “They’re a landmark.”

            “That they are,” Geneva says, shielding her eyes now with her hands.  Beyond the short, squat building she can see something else.  A set of eyes, each the size of a mountain, watching her as she watches them

Geneva pats Claude’s arm.  “And I think maybe we should get going.”

            “Huh? You okay?”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, tearing her eyes away.  “Just, Shirley’s waiting, right?”

            “Right.”

            “So, where to next?”

            Claude pulls up the map again and finds the honeycombs.  He traces his finger between the area Nina had circled and then turns his body accordingly.  “I think we can go this way.  We’ll have to cross a road, but if we’re careful, I think we can avoid detection.  And, if our estimations are right, then we’re not that far off.”

            “Good,” Geneva says, turning to glance back at the city and finding the eyes still there.  “Then, let’s go.  There are heroics to be had.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The air outside is cool and wet, and though the sun is shining, Seere can see storm clouds gathering in the distance.  Thunder’s roar precedes them.  He watches their slow approach through his chamber window, parchments scattered and forgotten on the desks behind him.

            A map of the kingdoms lies stretched beneath the parchments, held in place by four knives wedged deeply into the wood.  Markings written in ink are scratched into the map’s ancient face, noting battles fought long ago and marking boundaries lines still standing

            Yima enters through his open chamber door.  She is wearing her muddy, tattered travel cloak and, a rarity these days, her own face.  He turns and meets her with a smile, and she returns with a tired, haughty stare.  Without asking, she crosses the room and pours herself a glass of fresh water, and she drinks it swiftly before pouring another.

            “Thirsty,” Seere asks, pulling his shutters closed and returning to his table.

            She turns to him, glaring while holding the second glass to her lips.  She drinks it fast and then slams the glass down.  Then, she joins him at the table.

            “You seem in a mood.”

            “They failed.”  She pulls her hood back and fishes out her long, dark braid.  While unknotting her cloak, “The fools failed!”

            Seere’s expression sobers.  He fans his long, thin fingers out and pressed them onto the table.  “Oh?”

            “They grabbed the wrong girl,” she says, tossing her cloak onto the floor.  She leans forward onto the table, resting on her balled fists.  Deep, old scars mark her toned arms, running up the sides of them and melding into the ones hidden on her back.  “I explained everything to them, everything!  And they grabbed the wrong girl.”

            Seere smiles now and chuckles quietly.  He stops when he hears Yima’s growl and he feels her glare on him.  “Yes, yes, it is all very serious,” he says, lifting his hands in defense.  “But still, you must see the humor in it.”

            “No, I really, really don’t.”

            “A knight’s duty, if my memory serves, is to protect all humans,” Seere says.  “And this girl they took.  Is she in anyway connected to our knight?”

            Yima waves her hand, huffs.  “Vaguely.  She knows someone close to her or something of the like.  At most, they’ve spoken on occasion.”

            “Then it may still work.”  Seere gathers his papers and starts sorting them carefully into piles by battle.  “So long as the girl knows, then it will be sure to draw her out.”  Seere shrugs.  “And even if it doesn’t, then it is just greater leverage we have.”

            Yima pushes up from the table, crosses her arms, and maintains her glare.  Her jaw is tight, but her tone stays civil.  “You never fight your own battles.”

            “I am a lord,” Seere says, folding his parchment and binding it carefully before returning it to the proper shelves.  “And like any proper demon lord, I have soldiers who fight for me.”

            “But they don’t fight for you, either.”

            Seere pauses, nods, and resumes his work.  “Well, why waste good soldiers when I can have someone else die instead?”

            “And what if they don’t die?  What if Dantalion succeeds, kills the knight, and it makes him bold? Or what if the knight wins, and it makes the elves bold, and they begin to come and go as they please, bringing greater trouble to our doorstep?”

            “Then we prove them wrong before it can,” Seere says.  “If the knight succeeds then we lose Dantalion.  If the knight fails, then she is dead.  If either means to bring trouble to us, intentional or otherwise, then we kill them ourselves.”

            “This is foolish.  Even should she hear of the girl’s kidnapping, she won’t go through all of this for a mere stranger.”

            “If your reports are to be believed, then she will.  Besides, humans are idealistic and live in a world where that doesn’t kill them.”  He smiles.  “It must be nice.”

            “Nice?” Yima sneers.

            “Oh.  And the maps?”

            “They have them.  The fools didn’t mess that up, at least.”

            “Good,” Seere says.  “Then all we have to do is sit back and see how our schemes twist.”

            “Right.”  Yima takes a deep breath and gathers her cloak.  She fastens it around her neck again and pours herself one last glass of water.  After drinking it, she wipes her mouth and goes to the door.  “Then, I should be on my way.”

            “Yes, you should.  See that whatever happens, happens in our favor.”

            Yima grunts and sees her way out of the room.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “I think we’ll be there soon,” Claude says.  He stands now atop a hill.  His estimations are still vague but the landmarks are helping.  The landscape itself varies little, but they can feel a significant change in the atmosphere.  This area is colder and perhaps somewhat darker.  They can still see, but everything seems ill-defined and edged by deeper shadows.

            Geneva watches the sky as they walk.  The sparkling lights are faded but the city remains ever in the distance, immobile.  She can’t see the eyes anymore, though she isn’t sure that they aren’t still watching her.  Up, high above, she can hear scratching and, the longer she stares, she is sure the shadows are moving, winding between the roots.

            They keep going until they find snow.  The grass is frozen into blades that crunch under their feet.  The path leads them to a great root, ten-bodies-wide, that is covered in hoarfrost.  Their breath steams as they stand nearby and regard it.

            Geneva points at it.  “Claude, I think that’s it.  I think that’s the gate.”

            He looks at her, then at the root, and scratches his chin.  “You think?”  He checks the map.  “Could be, I guess.  What makes you think that, though?”

            “I don’t know, I just—there was a giant root like this when we left our world.”  Geneva eyes the icy root.  It is thawing, slowly, and she can see the water softening the soil beneath it.  Following the root up, she can see where it coils into the other roots high above.  The wood looks soft and discolored, like it is bruised or sick. She swallows.  “It’s definitely here.”

            Claude takes a deep breath.  He looks at her, at the signet shining on her finger, and then rolls up the map.  “I see.  Well, then, here we go.  Come on.”

            He takes a step forward, and Geneva stops him.  “Wait.  Are you feeling better?”

            “Better?”  Claude puts his hands in his pockets, shivers.

            “Your ma—your gifts?”

            “No,” he says.  “Not really.”

            “Will you be okay?  I can do this alone if you...”

            “I’m saving her,” he says, and he closes distance to the tree.  He stops in front of it, shivering in the cold.  There is snow here, up to his ankles.

            Geneva follows him, coming to a stop beside him.  “Wonder why it’s so cold here,” she says, gazing at the frosty grass and frozen flowers.  The ice looks thicker on the root, like liquid glass with air bubbles frozen into the surface.  “So, how do we?”

            Claude shrugs, and she does, too.

            “You know,” she says, “Feels like mission control kind of halfed it, doesn’t it?”

            “They gave us the map, and that was a big help.  This, we’ll have to figure out.”  Claude eyes the root, stares into the grooves within the bark that spread like veins.  He follows them up into the darkness until he cannot see them anymore.  Experimentally, he touches the ice, and a cold bite parts his skin.  He pulls back to find blood smeared across his palm and curls his fingers over the damaged flesh.  “Okay, didn’t work.”

            Beside him, Geneva stands silent and still, and she stares at the bark until she doesn’t even see it.  There is a woman in front of her, hazy like a dream, with dark hair and bronze skin.  She is wearing a suit of white armor, and she is bleeding against the gate.  Ice grows around it, around her, climbing the tree faster than a person ever could.  It surrounds the tree like a shell, like a prison.

            Geneva blinks away the apparition, she reaches forward.  “It didn’t because you touch the wrong spot,” she says, placing her hand flat on the bark.  The world around her blurs into a singularity and then into darkness.  She is dragged through things, each part of her separated at a quantum level.  When she reappears the cold is gone, replaced by stifling humidity.

            She falls forward, landing on her chest.  Wet earth breaks her fall and thunder growls in the distance.  Trees, large, black-barked trees with leaves in colors and shades she can hardly describe, stand tall around her.  She sees swaths of yellow and brown mingling with bloody reds in the foliage.

            Her legs are weak, and she is breathless.  It takes effort to stand and time to keep from vomiting.  When she can, she looks back to find a tree.  It is enormously tall, its branches brushing the sky, perhaps even reaching through it.  Claude is there, too, with her, stumbling from the tree just in time for her to catch him.

            They fall together.

            Geneva holds him while he coughs, and she pats his back.  “I think we made it,” she says, and she helps him stand.  Claude steadies against her.  He is pale and sweating, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t catch his breath. 

            Geneva wipes her forehead.  Her entire body is broken out into a cold sweat, but the air around her is damp and warm. She tugs her blouse and fans herself.  “Maybe we should take a break real fast.”

            “No,” Claude says, stumbling forward.  “There’s no time.  We have to save her.  We have to…”  He gets that far and three steps away, and he...

            He sees a blue dot, surrounded by vast darkness.  It is a marble, a speck, a tiny thing small enough to balance on a single finger.  He towers over it, floats it between his hands, and despite its miniscule size he can feel within it infinite power and importance.  He can feel warmth and life, and it glows in the darkness, in his palms.

            Swirls of white and smears of green can be seen, set into the surface of it.  Looking closer, he can see shifting waves and stalwart stone.  He can see surging clouds and people, the size of molecules, moving and living.  The dot spins in his palm, and the people spin with it, held there by inertia and by something else infinitely more powerful.  Claude can feel them breathing, thinking, living, and he can feel the world around them doing the same.

            It shrinks, condensing into a pin-prick, fading into something less.  Then, it is nothing at all.  Only the light remains, and soon that is gone, too.  Now, he is alone in the dark, cold and empty, without breath.  He reaches out, tries to seize something, anything, but there is nothing left for him there.

            Cold creeps into him and holds him there.  It drags him into the shadows, which swallow first his legs and then his arms, pulls him in by the limbs and engulfs his torso.  He tries to scream but there is no sound.  Shadows fill his mouth, his nostrils, his lungs.  He suffocates, and he, too, fades away.

            Then, he is gone.

 

The Knights of Sheba 117 A…End