Black Knight Read online

  The hike to the hot spring takes time. It’s two miles away and we frequently run into sudden sharp drops that force us to circle around and find another way down. If I were alone I’d jump—I can easily leap off a five-story building—but I don’t want to startle Ora.

  Yet there’s something almost mystical about the guy. Of all the people in the group, I suspect he’d be the first to grasp what I am. Now that we’ve spent more time together, I’m virtually certain he’s a latent witch, who only needs to be awakened. Unfortunately, because it takes an initiatory death rite to bring about the change, I’m not anxious to test my theory.

  The biggest obstacle to “connecting” a potential witch to his unique genetic code is not knowing whether or not the person in question possesses the healing gene. The power to heal is first and foremost a power to heal oneself. Those who have it usually survive the initiation rite. Those who don’t often die. That’s why Jimmy—in the real world, in Las Vegas—died while gambling to come to our aid in witch world.

  If only he hadn’t injected himself with an overdose of opiates behind my back! I’m far from a master healer but chances are, if I’d been with him, I could have kept him alive. Of course I never would have let him take the risk in the first place, and that’s why he didn’t tell me what he was doing. Until it was too late.

  The guilt I feel over his sacrifice never leaves me. Never.

  Ora brims with abnormal strength and I’ve no doubt that, besides being a latent witch, he has the crucial gene for speed and strength. His endurance is phenomenal; I can see why he wanted to go alone. We don’t walk toward the spring, we jog; and yet I see his surprise at how easily I keep up with him.

  “You remind me of Ariena,” he says.

  “Your sister—that’s kind of you. How old is Ariena?”

  “Fifteen. But she’s strong, very strong. She walks ten kilometers every day to the well, and back again with a large jug of water on her shoulder.”

  Ten kilometers is six point two miles. That means his sister walks over twelve miles a day in the heat, and here I bitch about having to get up and feed Lara during the night. No matter how tough I like to think I am, hanging out with Ora is turning out to be a humbling experience.

  The odor of rotten eggs hits us half a mile from the hot springs and grows almost overpowering as we plow through the steam toward its source. From high-school chemistry I know the smell is the result of sulfur mixing with the hydrogen in the water. Not that I care—it stinks and it irritates my eyes. But Ora is quick to point out that such hot springs are good for the health.

  “In my country they are highly prized. People travel many kilometers to find one. There’s a spring near my village. Take a bath in it and all the scars from spider and snake bites melt away as if by magic. The water also makes a barren woman fertile and old men virile.”

  I give him a look. “I’m sure everything you say is absolutely true. Just as long as you understand I already took a bath back at the stream, and that I’m not about to take another one.”

  Ora lets loose a hearty laugh. “You’re a special girl, Jessie. One day you will make a lucky man a wonderful wife.”

  “I don’t know how to break it to you, Ora. But in my country us girls aspire to do more than make a man happy.” I’d been pinching my nose during the last portion of our hike but I suddenly stop and lower my hand. I sniff the stinky air. “Hey, I think I smell tar.”

  Ora is pleased. “Good, we have to find it. Be careful where you put your feet. There may be boiling puddles hidden in these trees.”

  “Do you know the name of these trees?” I ask as we creep through the steam-filled jungle. “I’m surprised they can survive hot stinking steam.”

  Ora frowns. “I am also surprised. I’ve never seen such trees.”

  “They sure as hell don’t grow in my neighborhood,” I say, studying the trees more closely. They have thick trunks; the dark brown bark looks as if it could be used for armor. The leaves, also, are unusual—red instead of green, and shaped like spiraling vines.

  We locate a supply of tar a minute later. Unfortunately, it’s not gathered into a convenient pit but is thinly spread around the rim of a steaming pool. Ora doesn’t mind. He squats and quickly begins to wrap the dry reeds around the end of one of his staffs, tying them tight. I kneel by his side.

  “Let me help,” I say, trying not to cough but not having much luck.

  “No. The gas bothers you more than me. You should wait away from the boiling pools.”

  “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “I’ll be all right. I don’t need long. Once I wrap all the reeds around the sticks, I can soak up the tar. You’ll see, it’ll burn for hours.”

  “I believe you. But remember the plaque. We may not have seen anyone else yet, but this island is supposed to be swarming with others who were probably shown a similar plaque. If I were them, I’d assume the only way to get off this island is to kill the rest of us.”

  Ora stops working and stares at me through the sweltering steam. The whites of his eyes are red from the irksome gas, but there’s genuine concern in the depths of his gaze. He’s hardly spoken about the plaque.

  “Do you believe it?” he asks.

  “I’m afraid I do.”

  “You think we’re here to protect the righteous and to destroy the wicked?”

  “I’m not sure about that line, although I won’t be surprised if we run into some pretty nasty characters. But I’m confident this is a trial of some kind.”

  Like Marc that morning, Ora senses something amiss.

  “You don’t question the instructions like the rest of us. You seem to accept them.” Ora stops. “Tell me, did someone warn you this was going to happen to us?”

  I find it difficult to lie to such trusting eyes.

  Plus there’s a logic in confiding in him.

  It will help me gauge how the others will react.

  Maybe. Hopefully. Yet Ora is unique. . . .

  “I wasn’t warned that we’d be thrust together as a group. But yes, I was told by a very wise woman that I’d soon be facing a trial of some kind. Most likely a trial of life and death.”

  He returns to wrapping the reeds atop the sticks. Yet he’s not done with me yet. “Who is this wise woman? Why did she choose to tell you this secret?”

  I hesitate. “Ora, what I’m about to tell you next will sound crazy. You’ll have trouble believing it. In fact, you won’t believe it if I don’t prove it to you.” I pause. “Drop what you are doing and stand.”

  Unlike your average American boy, he instantly obeys. I step directly in front of him. “Try knocking me over,” I say.

  “I might hurt you.”

  “Trust me, you can’t. Do it.”

  He reaches up and gently shoves me in the chest. I instantly grab his wrists, and he tries to break free, and boy do his eyes widen in shock when he realizes he can’t. He fights harder, using all his strength, until I casually throw him down on his butt. He stares up at me in wonder.

  “Who are you?” he whispers.

  I kneel by his side. “It’s a long story, one I’ll tell you soon when we’re alone and away from these stinking pools. But to put it bluntly, I’m a witch. I have special powers. I was born with these powers but I only discovered what I am a month ago. I’m stronger than a dozen men put together. I can move faster than your eye could follow, and can change the way I look whenever I wish.” I pause, thinking of how long it took for me to convince Jimmy. “Do you believe me?”

  He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  “I’m glad. For now, it’s important that you keep this secret. The others aren’t like you, they won’t understand. They may even think I’ve been planted here to kill them. But I promise you, Ora, my only goal now is to protect the rest of you from harm.”

  “I trust you. I promise to k
eep your secret.”

  I’m curious. “Why do you trust me?”

  He continues to gaze at me. “I can feel your heart, Jessie. You’re kind and good. I knew it the moment you first spoke.”

  “You’re able to sense whether people are good or bad?”

  “Yes.”

  I stand. “That’s an amazing gift to have. I want to hike down to the main river, check it out. But I still should be able to keep an eye on you. Even if I’m a couple of miles away, I’ll see if anyone else tries to sneak up on this spot.”

  “Another witch?”

  “It’s possible. I suspect there are witches in the other groups. But if anyone outside our gang comes after you, I’ll head them off.” I offer my hand. “Here, let me help you up.”

  I effortlessly pull him off the ground.

  “You’re going to the river to look for fish,” he says.

  “Yep. We have to eat something and I haven’t seen much in the way of fruit trees.”

  “Li needs to eat soon.”

  “Did she speak to you?”

  “She doesn’t have to tell me, I know she’s sick.” He pauses. “Can you tell me what the problem is?”

  I hesitate. “She asked me to keep her secret but I know I can trust you with it. She has diabetes. She’s used to taking medication each day. Her condition isn’t serious, not yet, but it will get serious if she doesn’t raise her blood sugar. Protein is what she needs, and fish would be perfect.”

  “Do you need me to teach you how to catch them? Or can you use your . . . powers?”

  I smile at the reverence with which he says the word. “I should be able to snare any that swim by, and I have my pack to store them in. Plus it looks like you’ll be able to build us a fire to cook them with so hopefully we’ll be all set.”

  “We have to be careful where we light a fire,” Ora warns. “At night it can be seen from far away.”

  “How about during the day? Are you worried about the smoke?”

  “The torches I’m making shouldn’t give off much smoke. But if we build a fire in the cave to cook with, it might make it hard to breathe.” He pauses. “It might be better if we eat the fish raw.”

  An idea strikes me. “Let’s worry about that when I get back. For all I know, the river is as empty as the trees.” I turn toward the river, adding, “Work as fast as you can.”

  Once free of the foul-smelling steam, I survey the landscape, searching for any sign of movement. The stretch of land from the base of the volcano to the sea is at least ten miles, maybe more, and for all I know the island is more than twice that in diameter.

  On the far side of the river is a dense forest area, and behind it stands a rocky cliff that even I’d find challenging to scale. It’s possible the other five groups could be hiding in those trees, or in caves buried in the cliff.

  But only if the island is on the small side. That’s what frustrates me most. I have no sense of the land—its shape, its proportions. A map of it would be every bit as valuable as one of Shira’s army rifles.

  Like Chad, I wish I’d studied more geology and geography during my long hours at the library. Yet common sense would dictate that the volcano that dominates my view has probably gone through active and quiet phases over time, and was undoubtedly responsible for the creation of the island. Given that, the chances are that it’s sitting—roughly—at the center of the island; and if that’s the case our respective groups have been given a huge field to do battle in.

  There’s no way around it, I decide. At some point I’m going to have to climb the volcano and see all the island at once. Then I’ll be able to create my own map. But it’s a task I’ll have to save for later. Even with my witch-enhanced strength and speed, I’m not looking forward to hiking to the top of that cinder cone.

  The land between where I stand and the central river is an open field. If I switch to high gear I can cover the mile and a half in less than a minute. Unfortunately, if any witches happen to be watching, I’ll be exposing that I possess one of my main abilities. Knowledge is power and I hate to give away any secrets.

  Yet I fear to leave Ora alone for long. For that matter, I’m worried about the four I left behind at the cave. They’ve read the plaque; they’re properly spooked. But do they really comprehend the extent of the threat? I doubt it. How can they when they don’t even know that witches exist. . . .

  What to do? Fly like a witch on a broom and let every other witch know who I am? Or hike to the river like a normal eighteen-year-old girl?

  I stand undecided, the passing time eating at me.

  But it’s because of the pressure of each passing second that I come to the decision I do. At some point, without consciously realizing it, I’ve begun to feel very protective of my group. It might have come over me when I spoke to Ora a few minutes ago. It doesn’t matter, I suddenly realize I have to get back to the others as fast as possible.

  I take off like a bat out of hell.

  Gasping for air, I reach the river in way under a minute.

  I’m greeted by a pleasant surprise. The water is full of fish. My entire education on fish rests with what I’ve seen spread out on ice at the local grocery stores I’ve visited over the years. I know what salmon, tuna, swordfish, and halibut look like—my favorite four fish—but that’s about all. These fish are different somehow, but close enough to my favorites that I don’t hesitate to jump in at the edge of the river and start grabbing whatever swims by.

  The poor fish. They’ve never met a hungry witch before. I’m way worse than a grizzly. Still relying upon my speed gene, I fill my pack in no time. Indeed, the fish are still alive and kicking as I race back to Ora. I feel kind of guilty about that. I should have smacked their heads on a stone before I stuffed them in my pack. Next time.

  Ora is still at work when I return, but I’m surprised how many torches he’s assembled. He has a half dozen sticks topped with tar-soaked reeds stuck in the ground. Since he insists on making a few more, I grab one of his torches, a bundle of his smaller sticks, and two sharp pieces of volcanic stone.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “I’m going to cook the fish here,” I reply.

  Ora’s quick; he understands in an instant. Using the shelter of the steam, I can cook all the fish I want without attracting attention. I leave him behind again for a spot far enough from the stinking pools that I don’t pass out, but still close enough to the cloud of steam to hide the smoke of my campfire.

  Earlier, Ora had explained that he’d been collecting the slender volcanic rocks to fashion them into knives. But they serve another purpose. When I chip them together above the tar-soaked reeds, they quickly ignite my torch, which I in turn use to light my hastily assembled pile of wood. However, I don’t use the torch itself to cook the fish. I worry its black fumes might contaminate the meat.

  Ora’s already sharpened one of the narrow stones and I’m able to remove the scales, cut off the fish heads, slice open the sides, and pluck out the bones without much fuss. Still, I wish I had a pan, but the tip of a particularly hard stick appears to be all but fire retardant and I use it to roast a half dozen fish at once. I am, after all, cooking for six.

  Ah, the aroma of the roasting fish drives me mad! I can hardly wait to dig in. Indeed, the rude bitch that I am, I don’t bother waiting for Ora to join me. I scarf down twice as much fish as I’ve ever eaten in all my life. Tasting like a cross between swordfish and tuna, it’s absolutely delicious.

  Ora soon appears and insists we head back to the cave. He eats as we walk and I’m glad that at the last minute I cooked an extra two fish because he eats three. The other fish I’ve wrapped in the torn sleeves of my shirt, which is the best I could muster, and stored them in my backpack.

  On the return hike I give Ora a condensed version of what happened to me in Las Vegas. He listens spellbound—often he
forgets to chew his food. Unlike Jimmy when he was told the tale of my witch-world connection, Ora doesn’t interrupt me once, and when I’m finished he doesn’t ask any questions. I’m left hanging.

  “Well, what do you think?” I finally ask.

  He looks over at me with his big brown eyes. “You’ve been blessed,” he says.

  “Now, none of that religious fanaticism,” I tease, poking him in the stomach. “I can’t stand it. I’m just a normal teenage girl with seven abnormal genes.”

  But he grabs my hand. “I’m not a fanatic. I speak the truth. You’ve been blessed.”

  I shake my head. “By God! Ora, I don’t think . . .”

  “I know what I know. You are special.” He adds, “The Field makes more sense to me now.”

  “Good, I’m glad. That’s what matters, that you understand what’s going on here.”

  He shakes his head sadly. “You know it’s not so good. The rest of us, who are not witches, are going to get slaughtered.”

  The truth of his remark is so obvious, I wonder why I refuse to accept it in my own mind. I want to protest, to say I’ll protect him no matter what. But who am I fooling? I can’t defend five people twenty-four/seven against five hostile groups. The only way my team members can truly be safe is to put each of them through the death experience and see who survives.

  Like any of them is going to be fool enough to let me try such an experiment on them. . . .

  I respect Ora too much to give him false hope. I don’t know how to respond to his remark. I just look away.

  A hundred yards short of the cave, a flash of movement catches my eye. It comes from the trees on the far side of the central river. Ora sees it as well; he cups his palms around his eyes to reduce the glare of the sun. His sight is exceptional. To me it’s another sign he’s a witch.

  “What do you see?” I ask, craving a second opinion.

  “Someone short with white hair.”

  “Who the hell could it be?”

  His face darkens. “I’m not sure it’s human.”

  “Of course he’s human. Witches are human beings. We’ve just got a few extra special genes is all. He’s probably an albino.”