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Chapter Twenty-Six

Writer's picture: Paige ReganPaige Regan

Knight did not belong in this world. He felt it in the confused glances of X members when they saw him working in the lab. In the whispers that carried down the hall of the rumored charity case picked up by the poisoner. It lingered in his weakened bones and the heavy cough that persisted in his throat. An ever present sense of isolation in both mind and body. The knowledge that he was different. He was other.


Knight watched Norma and Sav work around him, conversing quietly so as not to disturb him. On better days, he would be working alongside them, testing new tinctures and secretly giving the spiders extra treats behind their backs. On his best days, he and Sav would even leave the tunnels of X for an ice cream or fresh air.


The phantom pressure of Charien's fingers around his throat lingered. Knight hadn't even been able to defend himself. 


He flexed his hands weakly underneath the blankets. Knight didn't want to be as strong as Charien or as blunt as Spade. He simply wanted his body to work, or for the world to be more accommodating when it didn't.


"I'm going to acquire us some lunch," Norma said, and it took a moment for Knight to register that she was addressing him. "There's a lovely pub in town I'd like to try. Is there anything you want me to bring back for you?"


I want to go.


"Anything's fine," Knight said. Norma nodded, and she and Sav left the lab, aprons hung up and equipment put away. 


Taking a deep breath, Knight hoisted himself from the cot, dragging his blanket with him as he approached the kettle on the other side of the room. He prepared a cup of hot tea and settled onto the floor by the bookshelf.


Knight loved the lab. In these quiet moments alone, he pretended it was his; that the vast collection of tubes, and beakers, and experiments were his own, made and discovered through years of hard effort. He dreamed of a lab like this, built in the years he was never meant to have.


He shuddered a sigh and sipped his tea. Even if he did manage to accomplish the impossible, there were few he could share it with. Coren never understood the fascination with science, Spade was too idiotic to understand. Sav and Norma would enjoy it, surely, but their niches weren't always aligned. 


Sav loved science from a culinary perspective. Norma was a toxicologist at heart–although she preferred to cause pain rather than seek ailments. And Knight…


He loved nature. The plants, the animals, the arachnids and insects that Norma kept for their toxicity–Knight loved it all. He wanted to know everything about the natural world and how it worked. Why it worked. 


The children at the orphanage often thought him strange for it. They had other priorities–ones more focused on survival–but for a boy stuck in his cot more often than not, Knight would do anything to explore the outdoors. They didn't understand. Knight started to doubt that anyone would.


He took another sip of his tea, cradling the warm mug close. The lab was a safe place, but it could not entirely shield him from the alienation that consumed him. No one knew him. Not really.


Knight brushed his fingers over the mug, staring at the slight, unnatural bend to his right ring finger. Spade never noticed it, and Knight was glad to keep it to himself. 


It had been sunny the day he tried to jump off of Hells Gate. Coren had accompanied him to search for shells along the beach, but somehow Knight had ended up on top of the ancient stone wall while Coren flirted with a girl by the shore. 


He didn't remember jumping in. Knight would tell himself that the wind picked him up–that he'd been too close to the ledge and gravity had done its job. He knew that was a lie.


For a moment, he was weightless. Then an ice cold sea enveloped him, dragging him through its current like a paper doll. His finger smashed against one of the sharp rocks and Knight made the foolish error of screaming. Water filled his lungs, burning with salt and ire as his frail body crashed between wave and stone.


He woke up on the beach. There was shouting–his name, panicked–and then nausea. Knight flopped over and threw up violently, salt water and seaweed and every other ghastly thing the ocean poured into his body spilling out into an acidic mess in the sand.


It was not Coren who'd saved him, although he was the one shouting. Knight would later be told by his friend that it had been a tall man with long, black hair that had seen him fall in. Coren didn't catch the name, and the man was gone before Knight could ask.


He'd made Coren promise not to tell Spade what happened. Insisted it was an accident and that he didn't want to worry his brother. Coren was skeptical, but didn't put up a fight. Knight appreciated that about Coren–he knew not to get between the twins and their drama.


I miss him, Knight realized with a pang. It had always been the three of them for so long–but Coren had moved on to the guard, according to his brother. And now, Spade was a professional killer. Where did that leave him?


Knight plucked a few books from the shelf, needing a distraction. The ones on the bottom had a thin layer of dust on top; relics from the past that had gone unread for too long. Well, Knight would be happy to remedy that.


He started with a thin book with a crimson hardcover. It was nondescript with a simple title: "Collected Poetry and Myths from Ancient Marq, Vol. III". As Knight flipped through the pages, he noticed most of the poems were religious in nature, crossing between Erestellian and Arothian worship without a clear bias toward either. 


Weird, Knight thought. Usually the author took one stance or another, but this was purely… factual. The stories and poems were written as is, with estimated dates and footnotes at the bottom to explain the context for certain verses. 


One in particular caught his eye: The Tragedy of Theophilus. 


Return again, Aroth

O mighty Aroth, return again!

Headless for a day and returned to his faithful

In this den of hunger we crave

For our master to bring us joy again!


Knight skimmed through the poem, recognizing bits of stanzas from other books he'd read. It followed a familiar story–one of Aroth's reincarnations to the mortal world, every three hundred years or so, before Evonry would hunt him down and behead him, returning him back to his underworld of desire and depravity.


This one, however, started after he'd been returned. It wasn't entirely new, per say, but Knight often found more stories about the god being beheaded than not. He skipped ahead, another stanza catching his eye.


O behold, the deity Aroth of all desire and passion

Lover incarnate and master of pleasure in every formidable way

Reduced to a tragedy in the name of Theophilus

Cursed to suffer

No hope, no love

No passion to stir his own

Fore his power is great and ambition mighty

And be it the goddess of justice's will

That he suffer a lonesome fate


The Tragedy of Theophilus. Knight had never heard the name before. Yet, the story was familiar–perhaps he knew of a retelling? Knight started the poem again from the beginning.


Return again, Aroth


A painful pulse throbbed behind his left eye.


O mighty Aroth, return again!

Headless for a day and returned to–


Knight gritted his teeth as the pulse turned into an outright stabbing sensation. He closed his eyes, gripping the book tightly in his hands as he fought against the oncoming migraine.


Not now, he thought miserably. Not now.


But even as he tried to read, the words blurred on the page, too painful to focus on. He squeezed his eyes shut, his skull pounding as if his brain wanted to break through. Knight breathed in and out shakily, nausea building in his throat.


Shit. Shit, shitshit–


He retched. His heart sunk as he looked at the book, its pages drenched and ruined.


"No," he whispered hoarsely, his headache easing. "No, no, no–"


"We're back." Sav nearly slammed the door open, dropping bags of food onto the metal table. She glanced at the empty cot, confused. Then, she spotted Knight on the floor. "Oh fuck, you look like shit. You okay?"


"I'm fine." Knight held up a hand to stop her as she moved forward to help him. Norma came in a moment later and moved to do the same, but Knight shook his head, shakily moving to his feet. "I'm fine, really. I'm… I drank my tea too fast. I'm so sorry, Norma. I'll–I'll pay you back for the book–"


"I don't care about the book." Norma waved it off, snapping on a pair of latex gloves to toss the ruined novel in the waste bin. "That bottom shelf is just collecting dust anyway. Are you okay?"


"Yeah," he said, using a set of napkins Sav offered to wipe himself off. Neither of the women looked convinced. "Really, I'm fine."


Sav and Norma shared a glance. Knight's heart sunk.


"Let's hold off on the food for now," Norma said, gently nudging her bag away from him. "Why don't you go clean up? I'll take care of things here."


Knight glanced at the blanket, its surface sticky with vomit. "I can clean it–"


"I got it." Norma picked up the blanket before he could refuse. Knight's shoulders slumped as she gestured him out the door. "Clean up, we'll see you when you get back."


Knight didn't say anything as he was ushered away. What could he do? He reeked, and neither of them were going to listen to him. Even if he did feel better and his headache was gone.


Dejected, Knight slunk back to his bedroom to grab some wash supplies and a change of clothes. His mind wandered back to the story, but even the title was no more than a fuzzy sense of loss in his mind.


Maybe I'm not fine, he thought sullenly. Then, he left for the bath.


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