The Fate of the Wounded Knight

Only one thing would save him.

Recap: Our narrator is a young maiden, unable to say her own name and cursed to wander the fairy woods until the spell on her is broken. She is followed by a talking fox (also cursed), and they are making their way north, hoping to find a way to break their spells.

I should have been paying attention, but I was dreaming about the Enchanted Lake, the place where Fox and I were headed next.

“Marion,” said Fox. “Guinevere. Theresa. Beatrice. Joan.”

“No,” I said. He was making up names for me, though also it seemed like he wanted to guess my name — which made me a bit glad; but I pushed back against hope, because he would never guess it. That would be the key to breaking my spell.

I didn’t like thinking about it, so I focused on the mystery of the Enchanted Lake, a body of water enshrouded in mist that was said to hold magical properties. I thought a potion-master near there might be able to help both Fox and I break free from our curses.

So I nearly missed it when Fox was almost trampled by a horse.

I can’t tell you what I was thinking when I glimpsed his peril and dove to shield him; we rolled away from the whirling hooves. Like I said, I had been absorbed with the Lake.

I think I surprised Fox as much as I surprised myself.

“Woah! Hey there!” cried the knight on the horse’s back, trying to keep his seat as the horse reared and snorted. He spotted us as the horse calmed down. “Lady, my apologies! I did not expect to meet anyone in these wastelands.”

“Well, we didn’t expect to be in these wastelands, so that’s fair,” I said, brushing myself off. Fox shook out his fur, still staring at me because of what I’d done.

“I am Sir Roscoe, and I’ve just come from a conquest of the beasts of the wild wood, east of here,” said the knight. “And who might you be?”

“Call me Joan of the Lake, and this is the Duke of the Wilder-Lands,” I said, gesturing to Fox. The knight was a handsome man; I had never seen anyone in a full suit of armor. I smiled unconsciously, trying to smooth my tousled hair. That’s when I noticed the dark splotches on his shining uniform.

“Sir, you’re bleeding!” I said. “There, on your arm.” As I looked, I realized that it was a full wound, deep and red, that had been partly obscured by his shoulder plate.

“You ought to see the beasts!” the knight said merrily. “It is no matter. I must carry on, for there are many folk like you that need protecting here in the wastes. Just now I thought I heard a cry from that far set of trees.”

“You are bleeding from all over,” Fox said. We both noticed how he was dripping from all his extremities. What other wounds did his armor cover?

“Sir, you need bandages,” I said, digging through my bag.

“Please, I must be going,” said Sir Roscoe. “Knights do not get wounds. Our enemies do. If I had wounds, I would not be able to protect the people, which is my sworn duty.”

“But if you don’t acknowledge your wounds, you will bleed to death,” I said, “and you will not be able to help anyone.”

“I am not the one who needs protecting, lady,” he replied in a stern voice. “I wouldn’t be a good knight if I allowed myself to get wounded. This is folly. Please, remove yourselves, for I must attend to the cry for help that I heard.”

Fox and I looked at one another; we had not heard anyone crying out. In fact, he had nearly crushed us from not controlling his horse, likely from delirium. I took a strip of fabric from my bag that I’d taken from the old tapestries at Crystal Castle.

“Um, Sir, allow me to tie this around your arm… as a token,” I said, trying to smile. “Surely you would not refuse a lady’s token?”

The knight’s expression softened. “Well, I suppose it’s all right,” he said.

I fastened the fabric gently around the ghastly wound on his arm, glancing at the blood flowing from unseen lacerations.

“I will remember you, Joan of the Lake,” said Sir Roscoe. “Duke.” He tipped his helmet.

With that, he galloped off into the waste. I thought I saw him tug at the fabric; I did not want to look long enough to see him take it off.

“I’ve seen men with wounds like that,” said Fox as we carried on our way. “He’ll die before he can eat his supper.”

I wondered in sadness if my bandage was an exercise in futility; the fate of the wounded knight was nearly decided.

But I had much more to occupy my mind, for Fox and I had just crossed over into the Void.