Chapter 21: Cold Reality
****
A few months later, a young woman was on a dirt road walking home from the market. In one hand, she held a basket of food and in the other a small coin-purse containing a few leftover coins from her trip. Thus, when a pair of men stepped in front of her, she paled in terror. She knew their intentions immediately.
“We’ll take your food and your money,” the taller man told her in a low voice, a sleazy smile on his face.
“No,” she said quietly, her eyes jumping around as she plotted an escape route.
“If you want to, we’ll do this the hard way,” the other man growled, leaping at her.
She jumped to the side and began to run away. Her hope was so great that she started to think she might actually escape, but then one of the men caught up to her and yanked her dress backward. With a cry, she jolted to a halt, the basket of food flying out of her arms and landing nearby. She turned and kicked the man in the groin and began to run again, but the second man caught up to her and pinned her arms behind her. She gasped as she saw the glint of a knife. “*No*--”
****
Clarkent guided the galloping Phantom forward as he looked back and forth between his surroundings and the flying James. And then they were *there*, at the part of the path where James had been leading him, and he saw a woman struggling with two men. Without hesitating, he leapt off the horse beside them and rammed his shield into the head of one of the men, knocking him unconscious. The other man turned toward him, eyes widening, and then, having had more time to react than his companion, he stabbed at the vulnerable spot under Clarkent’s arm.
Clarkent jumped backward, the movement a little awkward in the plate armor, but he effectively dodged the knife. Then he drew his arm back and punched the man in the face with a metal gauntlet.
The man stumbled backward, throwing his hand up to his nose as blood seeped out from behind his dirty fingers. Clarkent threw his gaze briefly to the ground, where the woman sat holding her side. Seeing her pain, his indignation surged again, and he stepped forward and hit the man in the head with his shield, causing him to crumple to the ground as his accomplice had.
Clarkent retrieved some rope from Phantom’s saddle--he always made sure to have some with him--and tied up the two men, not wanting them to regain consciousness and cause more problems. When that was done, he rushed over to the woman, his breath catching in his chest as he saw the growing red stain on her dress.
He knelt beside her--she was lying down now--and stared at her with a feeling of helplessness. The blood was spreading quickly, attesting to the serious nature of the wound, and he pressed his hand against her side, trying to staunch the liquid’s flow, knowing even as he did it that there was no point. By the time he found someone to help, she would be dead.
She stared up at him with pain-filled eyes and whispered in amazement, “The Black Knight.”
He stared down at her, hating that he hadn’t reached her sooner. And then, though he always avoided talking to others while in his armor for fear of being recognized, he asked her in a choked voice, “What is your name?”
****
She gave a gentle smile as she heard her savior speak. He sounded so kind.
“Maison,” she told him, knowing as she said her name that it would be the last time she did. The pain in her side grew, and she closed her eyes. “Please, take the food and my purse to my family. My--my little girl needs it especially.”
“Where . . . ” he started to ask, sounding as if it were an effort to talk, “ . . . where do they live?”
As she slowly gave the Black Knight directions to her home, she thought of her little girl’s beautiful face. What the child would look like as a woman, she would never know . . . . And she wished that knowledge didn’t hurt so much.
“I’ll take it to them,” he told her in a whisper. “I promise.”
She smiled at him, and then she surrendered to the painlessness of Death’s arms.
****
Trembling, Clarkent took a quill, a bottle of ink, two small pieces of paper, and another piece of rope from the bag attached to Phantom’s saddle. Laboriously--for he was still not that skilled at reading, much less exercising his penmanship--he wrote “Murderers of Maison” on each piece of paper. Pulling the two men together and putting more rope around them to bind them together, he glanced down at the two men, his teeth pressing down into his lip so hard it bled. Then, taking in a shallow breath, he attached the notes to them.
After replacing the quill and ink to his bag, he attached the basket to the saddle. He detached the coin purse from Maison and placed it inside the basket. Then he gently lifted her.
****
Daniel was inside his house laughing at his little girl’s antics when he heard a quiet but insistent knocking. He set the child down and went to open the door, a smile ready on his face.
His eyes fell to the ground. Maison was lying there, her dress soaked with blood. Somehow, he knew immediately she was dead.
His breath caught in his throat, and his gaze went to the basket sitting beside her as he stood there, trembling.
The noise of hoof beats caught his attention, and he looked up see a knight in black armor riding away. He fell to his knees by Maison, noticing for the first time a note that had been placed beside her. With shaky hands, he picked it up. The note had just one sentence on it: “I am sorry I could not save her.”
Daniel dropped his head down into his hands and began to cry.
****
Numb, Clarkent rode away from the home of Maison’s family; James had left him at some point, but he wasn’t sure when. His head was too full to concentrate on the world around him. All he could think about was death.
Death had always seemed so far away, but now . . . he had seen it up close. It had filled his eyes, clawed at his heart, whispered in his ears, and shaken his limbs like leaves in the wind. Death was one enemy he could never defeat.
He couldn’t help but feel responsible for the young woman’s death. If only he had gotten there a little sooner . . .
Phantom abruptly stopped as someone stepped into their path. It was Peri, and James was perched on his shoulder. The bird must have gone to get him.
“Clarkent,” the magician said softly. “James told me what happened.”
“I was too late, Peri,” Clarkent rasped, tightly clenching the reins in his hands as his eyes began to blur. “I wasn’t able to save her. I don’t--I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”
The wizard gave him a hard stare. “When I was first learning magic,” he said casually, “I did something my master told me not to do. I enchanted a bunch of broomsticks--and I lost control over them. When my master finally came and set everything right, I was so embarrassed I never wanted to cast a spell again.” He sighed. “But when my master finally got over his anger and heard that I intended to quit, he told me that once you set your mind to something, you have to stick with it, no matter what.”
Clarkent shook his head vehemently. “This is different, Peri,” he said in a low voice. “I wasn’t able to save someone from dying. My failure was a matter of life and death.”
“Clarkent,” Peri said firmly, “you are giving the people hope. Don’t lose sight of that. You will never be able to save everyone--and you have to accept that. No matter how many times you help, you’re going to fail every now and then.”
“I can’t live like that,” Clarkent whispered. “I can’t live this life knowing that--knowing . . . ” Knowing there would be people he couldn’t save. That was too pessimistic--it was like giving up.
“But you have to,” Peri returned in a quiet voice. “If you aren’t the people’s protector, then who do they have? They need your help--no matter how much it hurts. If you give them everything you have, then that’s enough.”
Closing his eyes, Clarkent gave a short bob of his head. Perhaps Peri was speaking words of wisdom . . . but it was so hard for his heart to listen.
Still, he had to keep helping people--even if some of them . . . died. Even if a part of him would die with them.
Peri was right. The people needed someone to give them hope. Even if he wasn’t the ideal person for the job, he was all they had.
****
A few months later, Princess Loisette and her lady-in-waiting came into the stable to ride. Clarkent stared as the princess stepped in. There was a glow in her cheeks and a confidence in her steps that had not been there when he had first met her all those years ago. She was really growing up. Soon, she would be a woman--and there was something frightening in that thought, though he knew not what.
“Your Highness,” he said with a bow. “And Lady Catherine.”
The princess nodded at him and smiled. “Clarkent.” She glanced over at the horses. “We would like to ride High Flyer and Agides, please.”
Clarkent dipped his head. “All right.” He got out the horses’ tack and began readying them. As he prepared High Flyer, Princess Loisette stood beside him and watched.
She sighed, and he looked to her. She had lifted a hand and was touching the royal logo on the horse’s bridle. “I still wish I had a pegasus. If I had one . . . I could fly wherever I wanted.” She smiled at herself, shaking her head. “That’s silly, I guess.”
“No, it’s not,” Clarkent murmured. He felt sadness bubble up in his chest--he wished he could get her a pegasus. He wished suddenly and fervently that he could make all her dreams come true. But he couldn’t. He was just a stableboy. He had nothing to give her. Nothing she wanted.
As he finished up High Flyer and moved to work on Agides, he tried not to think about how the princess smelled of wildflowers.
****
Loisette encouraged High Flyer to go faster, and she laughed as she looked over at her lady-in-waiting. “Come on, Catherine! Where’s your competitive streak?” She frowned as she caught the expression on the other girl’s face. Catherine had been brooding all day, though Loisette wasn’t sure why.
The lady-in-waiting quickly masked her somber mood with a smile and said, “Oh, I just wanted to ensure you had a good enough head start, Your Highness. You have that whole disadvantage of being royalty to weigh you down, so I knew you needed it!”
Sticking her tongue out, Loisette flicked her whip and kicked with her foot, causing High Flyer to surge forward. “I’ll show you disadvantaged!”
Catherine just laughed and guided Agides after her.
****
The two girls had a lot of fun that day. They skipped meeting with their tutors and simply spent the afternoon doing whatever they wanted. Every now and then, however, Loisette would look over to her friend and see a troubled look on her face. When asked what was wrong, Catherine never gave a straight answer. Finally, night was upon them, and they were forced to change to indoor endeavors. When they at last went to Loisette’s room, she was exhausted, and she collapsed on her bed in an exaggerated fashion, splaying out her arms.
When Catherine didn’t make any comment, Loisette sat up with a frown. “Catherine . . . are you going to tell me what is wrong?”
Her friend’s back was to her, but at last the lady-in-waiting turned with tears in her eyes. “I . . . I have to leave tomorrow.”
“What?” Loisette asked in confusion. “What do you mean?”
Catherine wrung her hands. “It’s my own fault. I have no one to blame but myself.”
Loisette stood up, her hands clenched at her sides. “Are you in trouble?” If her friend *was* in trouble, she would fight to help her!
Catherine gave her a sad smile. “This isn’t the kind of trouble you can save me from, Princess.” She closed her eyes and whispered, “I just wish my heart wasn’t broken.”
“What do you mean, Catherine?” Loisette asked quietly, moving closer to her friend.
“I--I did something with Sir Klaud that . . . that I shouldn’t have.”
“What did you do, Catherine?” Loisette asked slowly. She felt she already knew the answer--but she hoped she was wrong.
Catherine broke out into sobs, and Loisette embraced her tightly. “Princess,” the lady-in-waiting said in between her tears, “I have to be sent away. I have to hide from everyone. I--I’m going to . . . to . . . ” She choked on the words, her body wracked by emotion, yet she finally managed, “I’m going to have a baby.”
Loisette’s grip on her friend tightened as she felt her own eyes becoming misty. “It’s . . . it’s Sir Klaud’s?”
“Yes,” Catherine confirmed shakily. “But he won’t--he won’t . . . he won’t m-marry me. He . . . he says the baby isn’t . . . isn’t his.”
Two very different emotions surged within Loisette at that moment. One of those emotions was sorrow--she mourned the fact that something like this had happened to her friend . . . and that she would never see Catherine again.
But the other emotion was white-hot anger. She was mad--utterly furious.
Catherine would be forced to leave behind all that she knew and loved. She would be shrouded in shame . . . just because she was the woman.
But as the man, Sir Klaud would remain unaffected.
It was a double standard--the mark of woman’s shame was easily seen and readily denounced. But a man had simply to deny his involvement in a scandal, and he would be absolved of all blame. A knight’s vows of honor and chivalry could be smashed to pieces--but if it was his word against a “weak” woman’s, then his would be believed. The laws of government and rules of propriety were made by men, and Loisette hated it.
What had begun with frustration years ago at society’s need for her to ride sidesaddle rather than astride had now transformed to anger and resolve. She suddenly wanted to be queen--she wanted to have the power to enact changes in society.
Loisette felt tears stream down her face. She was going to lose someone else who was important to her. But Catherine was going to lose *everything*.
****
The next morning, the two girls shared a tear-filled goodbye. Loisette never saw Catherine again. But she never forgot her.
