The Age of Knights & Dames Page 22

As Clay watched, the monstrous slug fell onto its side and began to roll. The Watchmaker jumped aside just in time, but so did many dragons. They collided with one another and the Watchmaker slapped onto the ground. He lay there unmoving, blood running from his nose.

  The Dreadnaught scuttled around, snapping at the circling dragons, searching for the Watchmaker.

  Clay stood frozen, watching it all unfold. His wife had been eaten alive. The Watchmaker was seconds away from being smashed or eaten. And he was helpless to save either one.

  What could he do? he thought in a panic. He wanted to be bold, but he could not possibly face the dragons and the Dreadnaught.

  But, he realized with a start, if he would not be brave for his wife and his new friend, what would he be brave for? And what better motivation to hold in his heart to fight this fight?

  Courage of old flooded Clay. He ditched the unwieldy axe, took a run, and leapt onto the Dreadnaught’s spiked tail. Gripping the ridged white skin and spikes, he pulled himself up the monster’s back. Distracted by this new threat, the Dreadnaught reared its head, reaching to bite at Clay. All the while, the dragons circled the Dreadnaught, breathing fire on its back and digging for the fortissium blade.

  Clay climbed until he made it to the sword. Only the green jewel of the hilt was visible, protruding an inch above the Dreadnaught’s skin. Yellow, pungent blood seeped from the wound. Two large dragons scrapped at the gash, digging for their treasure. Clay gave the beasts a hearty, courageous kick, sending them scampering, and reached for the sword. He felt a jolt of electricity from the sword, but he held fast. In his mind, he summoned the thought of Jenn and how, in his youth, he had fought for her.

  He pulled with all his might. The electric shock faded and suddenly, easy as slicing butter, the fortissium blade pulled free from the Dreadnaught’s skin. Its black blade glinted in the rising sun.

  Clay shouted in surprise. A surge of bravery rushed through him. He swung the sword around and sliced into the Dreadnaught’s flesh. The monster screamed and thrashed but couldn’t reach him.

  Dragons swooped in now, breathing fire at Clay. He did not run, duck, or try to hide. He swung at them, slicing them from the sky. The dragons quickly realized this was a lost battle, and they took to the skies, fleeing to a safe distance.

  Clay turned his attention back to the Dreadnaught and drove the sword right into its arched neck. He plunged deep. Yellow blood spurted out, drenching Clay. When he could sink the blade no deeper for fear of losing his hold on it, he shook it side to side.

  The Dreadnaught’s body suddenly tensed. It let out a sharp cry, then its body sagged. Clay pulled the blade free just as the monster began to fall. He turned and ran down the ridged back, jumping free as the Dreadnaught’s body crashed to the ground. Clay spun around, white-knuckling the blade, but the monster remained where it had fallen.

  Lights flashed in Clay’s eyes. Joy rippled through his body. He felt truly young, having conquered the terrible beast. To his benefit, the creature hadn’t fallen on the Watchmaker either. The dragons hovered by the trees, watching Clay with an air of fear and respect.

  Clay’s heart swelled. He had succeeded. And now, for the dame.

  Dragons circling above, Clay ran to the Dreadnaught’s underside and sliced deep with the sword. The moment he punctured the monster’s stomach, it exploded. A flood of decomposing prey and bodies and watches burst from within, the latter flying at Clay like bullets. He was buried in hundreds and thousands and millions of them—and a whole lot of slime. A second later, Jenn came flying out. She crashed beside Clay. They fought through the watches, wrapping one another into a passionate, slime- and blood-covered kiss.

  “Jenn,” Clay breathed. “Jenn, I love you.”

  “I know,” she gasped. “And I love you more. I…”

  There was so much to say but no way to put it into words. Instead, they kissed again, long and hard and true.

  “Oy, you two better not break any of my watches,” called the Watchmaker.

  Clay and Jenn parted. The Watchmaker stood over them, covered in bruises and his face looking squished. Cheeks red, Clay helped Jenn to her feet—she fell into him before catching her balance due to a deep gash in her leg—and introduced her to the Watchmaker.

  “Ah, you’re the lass worth starting a fire for,” the Watchmaker appraised. “Pleasure meeting you. Let’s get that leg cleaned.”

  Clay gave the Watchmaker a double-take.

  “What did you say? A fire?” he murmured.

  The Watchmaker pointed toward the Dreadnaught’s tail. There, just beyond the creature’s corpse and the pile of watches, Clay saw the impossible.

  A stone plinth had punctured the ground. The word gaudium was carved just below a blazing, sparking fire.

  Clay gaped at it. There was no doubt in his mind where the fire had come from, but he still couldn’t believe it.

  “Joy of a pure and brave heart has returned to the kingdom,” the Watchmaker said. “Go, light your torch.”

  As though in a dream, Clay glided to the plinth. He grabbed a broken Dreadnaught spine from the ground and lowered it to the fire. With a flash of sparks, the flame spread to the spine.

  Clay turned back to the Watchmaker and Jenn, holding the spiny torch high. Delight beat strongly in Clay’s heart, a feeling he had long forgotten, but one he would never lose again. He had faced his fears and bested them. He had rediscovered his passion and source of joy in the world.

  Embracing the moment, he crossed the distance to Jenn and planted a kiss on her that made the Watchmaker groan. He was too busy to look at his pocket watch just then, but Clay would have guessed it ticked backward a full hour.

  CHAPTER 38:

  A Rowboat Return

  Meg paddled furiously through the burn in her shoulders and exhaustion of her mind. But she was almost there. She had almost made it back to Dembroch.

  Without magic disguising it, the isles were completely visible. At first glance, they appeared as she’d left them. Ryderwyle was masked in a blizzard. Sir Liliford’s ferry was still tied to the southern docks. But upon closer inspection, the kingdom was a lot worse for wear. The cliff shores were crumbling, and the waves crashed ferociously into its walls. Winds blazed across the ocean, kicking up dust devils across the island. Trees fell sporadically, thinning the forests. It seemed the land itself was under siege from the elements, deteriorating into the sea.

  It’s the last day, Meg realized. By noon, unless they succeeded, the island would fall. Literally.

  She rowed faster.

  “Hold on, Dembroch,” she murmured. “I’m coming.”

  Once through the Bolts of God, much more avoidable when visible, she paddled for the southeast cliffs. There was a narrow inlet between the cliffs and a steep grade by which she could access the Gate Grounds.

  After rowing ashore, she climbed the steep path through the cliffs and returned once more to the Gate Grounds. Though its barren land was only punctuated by geothermal formations and dead trees, she knew there was plenty of danger ahead.

  The castle drew her eye and brought a smile to her face. She never thought she’d be so glad to be back.

  From a nearby fallen tree, she snapped off two dead branches. She held them out, balancing them in her hands so she would feel any movement or pull of an invisible door. Mind set, heart patient, she walked slowly into the Gate Grounds. At least a football field away, encircled by hot springs and a hundred invisible gates, was the magical flame she had started. At the foot of its plinth was her torch.

  The prize was before her if she had the patience to get to it.

  CHAPTER 39:

  Which Watch is the Witch’s

  After cleaning Jenn’s wound—“That’s a deep one, lass,” commented the Watchmaker—and giving the axe back to the Watchmaker—“You’re sure you like the sword more than the axe?” he asked Clay—the three of them started digging through the billions of pocket watches covering the ground. Dragons circled above overhe
ad, cawing and shrieking but not attacking.

  “You’ve impressed them, boy,” the Watchmaker commented when he glanced up at the sky. “They want the sword, but it’s too risky. I’d say they’re yours to command now.”

  Clay chuckled softly. “I’ll test that out later.”

  “Well, eyes down, then. The witch’s watch is down here, not up there.”

  Clay and Jenn did their best to help, though neither really knew what they were looking for. The Watchmaker claimed that, if they had the gift to read a person’s watch, they would spot the witch’s watch the second they saw the gears.

  As they searched, Clay told Jenn about his adventure at Cliffside Tower. He held up the fortissium blade for her to examine.

  “What did you call it again?” she asked. When he told her its name, she screwed up her eyes. “That rings a bell.”

  Clay waited a moment, but Jenn shook her head.

  “I lost it,” she admitted. “What happened after you got the sword?”

  “Fought some dragons. Killed a Dreadnaught. Saved you,” Clay finished. “But, hey! Did you find the Sight?”

  Jenn pulled two eyeballs from her pocket. Their mirrored surfaces reflected the world around them in millions of splintered views.

  “It wasn’t easy,” she said. “The librarian…”

  Clay met her eyes and he saw the truth.

  “I’m sorry,” he said solemnly.

  “I am, too. But he’s still in the catacombs. The witch brought all these dead knights and dames back to life. I got away, but then in the woods, the Dreadnaught found me. And ate me. I don’t even know how I’m still alive.”

  “Four stomachs,” Clay explained. “The Dreadnaught digests its food slowly. You weren’t even close to being digested.”

  “Closer than you think.”

  Jenn showed Clay some of the raw spots on her arms and face.

  “You should probably wash that off,” Clay suggested. “Acid can still burn if you don’t get it off your skin. Is your leg alright?”

  Jenn nodded. Her pant leg was drenched in blood, but the cut was scabbed over.

  “I’ll help you find that watch, then I’ll be on my way. Maybe find some water on the way to the seer’s.”

  Suddenly, the Watchmaker let out a cry of joy. The airborne dragons shrieked in reply. Clay hurried to his side, anxious to see the witch’s watch, but the Watchmaker had found his late wife’s and mother’s timepieces. Eyes welling with tears, the Watchmaker gripped the two tightly and walked off into the woods.

  “He’ll need a minute,” Clay said.

  He met his wife’s eyes and, daring to be brave, told her everything he’d meant to say for the last decade or so.

  “I’ve been lost,” he admitted. “Ever since Seattle, I’ve been stuck at my parent’s shop, and it’s the last place I wanted to be. I couldn’t see a way out. I got jaded. Stagnant. I tried to force it, put up a front, fake it until it came back. But it just got worse. I lost my joy for…everything. I loved you still, and I always will, but I just got…”

  He didn’t know the word, but she did: “Settled.”

  Clay nodded with a grimace.

  “It’s not just you,” Jenn said. “I’m as much to blame. I get so wrapped up in what’s wrong in the world, it’s hard to see the good things. Like you. You’re the one wonderful thing I have going right now. The seer helped me see that.”

  Clay understood this in a way he couldn’t even explain. For the first time in nearly a decade of marriage, he felt like they were really connecting on a level beyond words.

  He pulled her close again, wrapping his hand in hers.

  “With all that I am,” he said, “unless you want to be rid of me and our marriage to implode—” they chuckled together “—I will never again let you forget how much I love you, and I will never let you go again.”

  Jenn blushed. They locked lips. It was the first kiss in a long time, and it was full of passion long forgotten. They seemed locked together, two becoming one. Neither of them saw the torch on Clay’s back flare brightly and one of its sparks enter their bodies.

  A few seconds later—or what felt like a beautiful lifetime to the couple—they parted, but did not fully separate. Clay’s hand kept hold of Jenn’s tightly. He loosened his grip, but still, his hand stuck to hers.

  “Jenn,” he said.

  “Let go,” she replied.

  They started to tug, but their hands were impossibly stuck together like two magnets happily conjoined.

  “What the heck?” Clay gasped.

  He studied their hands. There was no visible adhesive, and he wasn’t squeezing tightly. Somehow, someway, his hand was wrapped lightly but immovably around his wife’s.

  “Hold on,” Jenn said. “What did you say before we kissed?”

  Clay raked his brains. “Uh, that I’d never let you go?”

  Jenn bit her lip. “Oh, no.”

  “What?”

  “Remember what the librarian said?” she said. “‘Curses and promises linger…’ ” She pointed to the flame on his back and the sparks gathering around it. “That’s magic. It just sealed your words into a promise. A magic one. You probably won’t be able to let go of my hand unless you intentionally break the promise you spoke. Go on, try it.”

  Clay wasn’t so sure about breaking a promise sealed in magic, but he gave it a try. He pulled hard as he could, goading his hand to let go of hers. There was a slight give, and he sensed that if he willed it through every fiber of his being, he would be able to let go, but he knew he shouldn’t.

  “Well, I guess it’s you and me,” Clay said.

  “Or else,” Jenn joked gravely.

  Hand in hand, they returned to searching for the witch’s watch. At first, being attached to Jenn was a bit awkward to maneuver and sift through the timepieces, but Clay found he liked it. He hadn’t felt this close to her since…well, since the day they’d been married.

  They turned over hundreds of watches. Clay began to fear he wouldn’t know the witch’s watch if he came across it. Nevertheless, they searched on.

  “Clay…,” Jenn said a few minutes later. “This one is…different.”

  She handed him a watch. It looked like any other and was badly corroded by the monster’s stomach acid, but the spinning gears in the back were badly constructed from the start. Teeth did not align. Deep within, a tiny golden gear did not move.

  He opened it up. The face of the watch read midnight and the glass was shattered.

  “I think this is it,” Clay said. In a louder voice, he called, “Found it!”

  A grunt issued from far away.

  While the Watchmaker walked back, Clay analyzed the watch’s gears, willing himself to see some hidden truth, some secret inscription, or a broken gear that resembled a shape.

  Deep within was a golden gear that didn’t spin and wasn’t connected to any other sprocket. The way it shone, it reminded him of the burning, golden feeling of joy in his heart. Its stunning shine was contrasted by the rest of the gears, which had missing teeth and sharp edges.

  That bottom gear, Clay remembered, was the one the Watchmaker said often represented initial wills and motivations.

  Through some inexplicable, bizarre hunch, Clay thought he grasped what the gear stood for. The witch, he decided, had once had great joy, but something in her life—perhaps whatever the broken gear closest to it symbolized—had removed her from that bliss. The feelings of happiness and joy were now buried deep within, uncultured, untouched, and unfulfilled.

  The Watchmaker returned. He had clipped his late wife’s and mother’s watches to his belt again, strung tighter and closer to him than even the queen’s watch.

  “Sharp eye, Sir Clayton,” he said with a nod. Then, he groaned deeply. “It’s been fouled by the belly of the beast. The acids have eaten away at the gears. See anything obvious?”

  Feeling stupid, Clay described the small golden gear and what he thought it meant.

  “If joy
was her originally driver, what motivates her now?” asked the Watchmaker, looking impressed.

  Clay’s eyes were drawn to the topmost gear, a gnarled piece of metal. Though it was badly tarnished, it seemed to be a master gear, driving the gears that still wanted to move.

  “This one,” Clay said, pointing to the large upper gear.

  “What does it look like?” the Watchmaker goaded on. “If that gear were an emotion, what would you call it?”

  “Hatred,” Clay said, the answer flying to his lips before he understood it. “Corrosive, vengeful hatred.” He looked to the Watchmaker. “But why?”

  “You’ve made it as far as I at first glance,” the Watchmaker revealed. “To know more will take some time considering its wear.”

  He gave Clay and Jenn a once over.

  “Are you two stuck at the hip for the rest of the journey?” he asked with a tone of annoyance.

  “Uh…,” Clay stammered. He held up their magically interlocked hands. “We’re kinda stuck together.”

  Jenn explained Clay’s verbal promise to love her and never let her go, and the resulting handhold.

  “Hmm,” the Watchmaker said. “Cursed is the price for a promise denied twice. Just a saying in Dembroch. So what promise did you make exactly?”

  They strung together the exact words.

  “You’re stuck,” the Watchmaker said simply. “Forever. You hold hands until you die. If either of you let go, your marriage is cursed.”

  Jenn groaned.

  “It’s okay,” Clay said. “We just won’t let go.”

  “Easier said than done,” the Watchmaker said. “Now, come. Your dame must return the seer’s Sight and, if we must be attached to her, we will accompany her while we decipher the gears of the witch’s watch.”

  CHAPTER 40:

  Seeking the Seer

  With dragons still circling above them, Jenn weaved through the trees toward the seer’s cottage. She had a bit of a limb from the giant gash in her leg courtesy of the Dreadnaught, and it felt like the scabbed edges were tearing. Thin strands of warm blood trickled down her leg.