Rayon knew something of down-and-outers. Not that he hadn’t been born into a rich family, for he had. In fact, his family had been so rich that their horses slept in their own rooms. That’s right, the horses had their own section of the house! No stables for them.
Rayon and his family ate caviar and other rich-sounding food for breakfast, and their servants rode around on prancing horses. Not just outside either, but even when delivering food from the kitchen to the dining area.
Clothes would not be washed. A new outfit would simply be bought once a speck of dirt appeared on the old clothes.
So they were rich. Not filthy rich, because they just kept buying clothes, but they were rich all the same.
Rayon, at age seven, received the opposite in tuition to that of a future knight. He was not sent to work for a lord. He was, in fact, sent to work as a farm boy for one of the poorer families in the district. This was part of his parents’ plan to let him experience all sides of life. They knew that he was seventh in line for the royal throne, and they wanted him to be able to relate not only to the upper class, but also the middle, lower, and lowest-of-the-low classes. That was what they believed would make a great king, and so Rayon was sent off to experience all that being a peasant could offer.
Don’t feel too sorry for him though. From the age of twelve, Rayon was trained by the best archers in the land; from the age of fourteen he received training in, well, basically anything he wanted with the best in that particular field. At the age of sixteen, Rayon was sent off to experience other cultures. He travelled for a year in all, fully paid for by his parents. So along with having to, as many saw it, lower himself to work with peasants, he got to see the good side of life as well.
At twenty-nine, Rayon received notice that King Cyril the Unloved had perished and that he, Rayon, was to become King. This was a shock as, although his parents knew he was in line to become King, they had forgotten to pass on this fairly important information to Rayon. They hadn’t told him why he had been sent off to have all these adventures. They had just said that it would be good experience for when he was older.
He had believed them, and why wouldn’t he? He was actually glad he hadn’t known about the king stuff, because it could have gone to his head. As it was, when the call came he was ready, fully grounded in who he was and confident in his abilities to do anything. Which was lucky, because he had to lead a country as their king!
Rayon sighed and sat on the royal toilet, the news of the day in his hand. He knew he would see sons of noblemen today, but he hoped they had some spark. He hoped there was more to them than the families they had been born into. He also hoped against hope that some of the poorer young men would not be put off by the odds that were against them, and would proudly come forth. With that thought he opened the news of the day, began to read, and began to empty the royal bowels.
From above the ground, if anyone had been there, nothing would have seemed unusual. Everything was as it should be. A cemetery with the usual stuff: headstones, graves, tombs, crows, rats, mice.
From twelve of the graves though, quiet but definitely there, sounds could be heard … if there had been anyone there to hear them. Groans from beings awakened after many centuries. The sound of dirt being displaced.
A tree also fell in the woods, but that’s beside the point.
Suddenly a bony hand thrust its way through the surface, flinching and returning underground at the feel of fresh air after so many years. It slowly resurfaced again, hesitated, and then with dirt flying everywhere rose high above the ground, followed by the entire body of a knight, long dead yet still alive!
Unfortunately, this first zombie knight did things a little too quickly, and in bursting through the surface its body wasn’t able to handle the forces and fell apart, bits flopping left, right and centre.
The head rolled to a stop at the base of the headstone. The zombie knight rolled his eyes in frustration, picked them up, put them back into their sockets, and started to reassemble.
A hand, with arm attached, started to scramble towards a shoulder.
Legs stood up, stretched, and then walked of their own accord over to hips that they attached themselves to.
The head, with some effort, rolled over and joined the neck and shoulders at the end of the mound of dirt that had been home for so long.
The knight stood, rolling his head around to loosen up. He looked down at his body. It wasn’t too bad. Well, you know, one eye was loose in the socket, most of his skin was only staying on him because he had been buried in his armour, he was rotting badly, and his left arm was trying to climb a tree. He sighed and walked over to it, his movements rusty and out of practice. The arm struggled for a bit, holding onto a branch, but being right-handed meant the strength was with the nearly fully-formed knight, and eventually his left arm was attached and he was whole (sort of) again.
The knight stretched his arms high, gently so they stayed attached, and wondered what forces of magic had returned him to a living (sort of) state. He looked around. The visor on his helmet fell down and knocked off his nose. He took the helmet off and bent down to pick up the nose, but in doing so his entire upper body fell off at the hips. He rolled his eyes again, picked them up, and reattached himself to himself. This was going to take some time.
He walked over to the tree his left arm had been so fond of, sat down, leaned back against the trunk and waited. He knew he could not be the only one.
Pete McGee was rapt. Even with the money coming in from Marloynne, Ashlyn and his mum, he knew there wasn’t a fortune to go around. This meant that the presents he received had even more meaning.
From Ashlyn, he got his very own tiger eye crystal. She had handed him her own at the start of his previous quest. It had given him great courage and comfort, and had also been crucial in snapping Marloynne out of the spell he had been under.
From his mum, there was a hug and a new jacket she had made him. His old one had seen better days, and the new one was for him and him alone. It only had one sleeve, so he didn’t need to worry about tucking the spare sleeve away, or having it hang loose for people to stare at.
It also had extra pockets, inside and out, to place his new crystal in, as well as the note from his mum that he carried everywhere. A hood, a zipper, and Pete was rapt! Of course, being a mum, Mrs McGee had also written his name on the label in case he lost his jacket. That was a little bit dorky, but Pete didn’t mind too much.
From Marloynne, fourteen birthday punches.
‘That is the worst birthday present ever,’ Pete said, rubbing his arm. ‘You didn’t even say happy birthday after you did them.’
Marloynne
