Children of the Knight (85 page)

A
ROUND
City Hall, chaos ruled the night. Police and paramedic lights flashed haphazardly amidst the seething throng of children and local citizens who packed the surrounding streets. Arthur’s kids shuffled and milled about aimlessly, uncertainly, almost shell-shocked.

The mayor and council members, along with Chief Murphy and some of his officers, stood near the bottom of the steps vainly attempting to direct the multitude back away from the wounded Lance, but their efforts fell short with so many people. It seemed as though the entire city was out tonight, jostling and crowding in for a better view.

Helen and the other TV reporters urged their camera people to capture every riveting moment. Helen had gotten close enough to see the bleeding boy, still being cradled by Jack and Reyna. Her hard-edged journalist’s heart broke at the sight, and she had to forcibly blink back tears.

Two paramedics squatted beside Lance, checking his vital signs. One was very young, while the other looked to be middle-aged.

The crowd surrounding the scene suddenly parted, and Arthur appeared.

Everything seemed to stop, as though time itself stood still. Every gaze fixed on the man as Arthur dropped down from Llamrei, and Jenny alighted beside him. She saw Lance now, for the first time, and gasped.

Arthur stepped toward his boy. One paramedic had a hand on the boy’s heart, while the other listened to his breathing through a stethoscope. The older paramedic, the one with his hand on Lance’s heart, attempted to make eye contact with Arthur. The king sensed something vaguely familiar in the man’s eyes, but was too distraught to give it any attention. Instead, his gaze fixed on the rapidly growing pool of blood spreading out from beneath his son, his throat went dry, and his chest pulled tightly around his wildly beating heart.

The paramedic vehicle flashed its ugly red light over the scene, giving it a ghoulish quality. Helen’s cameraman tilted the camera toward Arthur as he slowly approached, a distraught Jenny trailing a few steps behind.

Standing around the wounded boy, gazing down at him in various stages of shock were Esteban, Darnell, Lavern, Luis, Enrique, Tai, Duc, Justin, and his dad. Gibson had one arm around his son’s broad shoulders as though afraid to let go.

As Arthur knelt beside Lance, he met Ryan’s gaze. Ryan shook his head sadly, patted Arthur gently on the shoulder, and stood to get out of the way.

The younger paramedic removed the stethoscope and turned to Arthur. His face revealed the same report. Standing, both paramedics stepped back so allow Arthur time to say good-bye.

Reyna leaned down and kissed Lance lightly on the cheek, her tears washing some of the drying blood from around his lips. Then she stood and desperately grabbed Esteban by the hand, squeezing so hard the boy grimaced, even as a tear slowly worked its way down his normally stoic face.

Jack gazed at Arthur, tears streaming down his bruised cheeks, his handsome young features riddled with remorse. “I promised I would save him,” he whispered haltingly. “I failed, Arthur!”

Arthur placed a comforting hand on Jack’s trembling shoulder and gazed sorrowfully at the boy. But there was no accusation in that gaze. Only love and gratitude.

Arthur removed his hand, and Jack bent down to Lance, resting his face up against the younger boy’s, delicate beard stubble pressed against smooth, unblemished skin.

Lance flickered open his eyes and gazed uncertainly up at Jack.

Jack raised his head and met those questioning eyes with his own. He hesitated a moment, suddenly little-boy timid and awkward and scared.

“I… I love you, Lance,” he quietly confessed through his tears, eyes awash with anguish. “I couldn’t
not
tell you.”

Lance inched his hand toward Jack’s. The older boy gently took hold of it, lightly entwining their fingers. “Love you too, buff man.” He paused, caught his breath a moment, and added softly, “Come closer, Jacky….”

He looked expectant, almost eager.

Jack leaned his face down to the boy, so close they could have almost kissed, so close it was almost painful not to.

Lance gave a nervous little smile and whispered so faintly that only Jack could hear, “It
was
the Fourth of July….” The smile turned tentative and self-conscious.

Jack raised his head, breath hitching in his throat, and he choked back a startled sob, his eyes wide with comprehension. His tears spilled onto Lance’s pale cheek, and he tenderly wiped them away with his thumb.

Lance continued to eye him uncertainly, as though fearful of having said the wrong thing.

Jack struggled to pull from the depths of his sorrow that cockeyed grin he knew Lance loved so much, gently lifted the boy’s hand and placed it against his pounding heart, and nodded.

“For me, too,” he whispered back, yielding to the truth—despite Mark, or maybe
because
of him, that kiss had melted his heart even more than his first. He squeezed the boy’s fingers ever so softly, drawing from Lance that amazingly radiant, angelic, and engaging smile that for one, brief, shining moment had thawed the entire world.

Feeling as though he were letting go the best part of himself, Jack reluctantly released Lance’s hand and allowed Arthur to gently take the boy’s head in his lap.

Chris tearfully kissed Lance on the cheek. “I’ll never forget you, Lance!”

Lance grinned weakly, brushing the little boy’s damp face with his fingertips. “Thanks, little brother. You’re the best.”

And then Jack swept the weeping child into his arms and stood back to give Arthur and Lance their final moments together.

Lance finally turned his gaze upon the man who had transformed his life, as Arthur lovingly cradled the boy’s head. Immeasurable sadness filled Arthur’s eyes as Lance looked up at him weakly.

“Lady Jenny… all right?” Lance’s asked, his voice shallow and hoarse.

Arthur nodded.

“Did you see my jump?” Lance croaked, grinning against the pain. “Worth a gold, huh?”

Tears burned the backs of his eyes as Arthur began to stroke the boy’s hair lovingly. “Ye doth be worth thy weight in gold, my Lance.”

“Methinks I didst fail you,” whispered Lance sadly. “Almost got you killed.”

“Nay, my Lance, ’twas I who didst fail thee, for I neglected the needs of thy heart.”

Now Lance began to cry, softly and despairingly. “I’m sorry, Arthur…. I was selfish… wanted you all for myself… made a lousy First Knight….”

Arthur fought against his tears, his heart torn asunder. “No, never selfish. Thou hast given thy life for thy king, Sir Lance. There canst be no greater sacrifice. Thou art truly my greatest knight.”

Lance tried to smile through his tears. “The needs of the whole….”

Arthur nodded sadly, his heart shattering. “And yet, at this moment now, I would give up everything and everyone to save thee, my Lance. I am the selfish one.”

Lance gazed upward with genuine love and gratitude, as though these words were what he had been waiting his entire life to hear. He struggled to move his hand, and Arthur took it gently in his own.

“Wanted to be like you…,” Lance whispered, the pain making it harder to speak as his lungs slowly filled with blood.

“And you are,” Arthur affirmed. “Did you not get my message on your phone?”

Lance gave a slight shake of the head. “You didn’t get mine?”

Arthur shook his head in sad amazement.

“Ye in this era have found so many ways to communicate ye have forgotten the most important one—face to face. And so, my dear Lance, I sayeth now before all that you are my son and I have more pride in thee than I could ever express. And I say now what I should have said long ago—I love thee, my Lance, with all my heart, more than I have ever loved anyone on this earth.”

The tears flowed freely down Arthur’s cheeks as he could no longer stop them.

But Lance’s tears ceased under Arthur’s declaration, and that beatific smile lit up his face like starlight.
Finally
, what he’d wanted to hear, what he’d
needed
to hear.
Finally,
he was loved.

By Jack.

And by Arthur.

He
was
worthy, after all….

Lance’s smile suddenly vanished as his whole body shuddered. “It hurts, Arthur. Hold me, please. I’m cold….”

Arthur gently pulled the boy up higher and wrapped his arms and cloak around Lance’s chest as life slowly ebbed from the boy’s damaged body. “I shall hold thee forever, my son, in my heart and in my soul.”

At these words, Lance gave a gentle little smile to the man who had become his father.

Jenny knelt beside him now, her own eyes awash with tears, gazing sadly down at this most remarkable of boys whose breathing became shallow and labored.

Lance’s eyelids fluttered with their last efforts to stay open. He tried for one last smile. “Tired,” Lance mumbled. “Gonna sleep now.” And, as those radiant green eyes faded slowly closed, these last words were faintly audible, “Love you… Dad….”

Lance’s head lolled deeper into Arthur’s blood-soaked cloak, and then he lay still in his father’s arms.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

No one moved.

No one even breathed.

“Though loved ones be lost…,” Jenny murmured through her tears.

“…love shall not…,” Arthur whispered, his eyes fixed on the unmoving child in his lap.

“…and death shall have no dominion.” Jenny leaned in and kissed Lance on the forehead.

Arthur gazed in sorrow at the boy in his arms and then looked to Jenny, guilt plastered across his face. “Dear God, Jenny, what have I done?”

Jenny placed a comforting hand on his arm and looked him straight in the eye. “You gave him a life, and now he’s given it back….”

Arthur bowed his head, burying it against Lance’s chest, sobbing quietly and wrenchingly.

There were a few moments of uncertain quiet as the entire city watched the man grieve.

Even Helen was crying, for she too, had come to love that boy for his charm, his beauty, and most of all his gentle goodness. She wasn’t even sure she could go on the air tonight and report his death. And that had never happened in all her years as a journalist.

Jack fought against his own guilt and grief to soothe the devastated Chris, who could not believe his hero, his savior, and best pal, was gone forever. The little boy drenched Jack’s tunic with his anguished sobs.

Despite his best efforts, even Ryan had to swipe away some tears.

Gibson, on the other hand, continued comforting his own shell-shocked son.

Esteban stood with one arm around a sobbing Reyna, wiping away his own tears with the other hand. He hadn’t cried in so many years he couldn’t even remember when the last time was. He’d seen more homies die than he could remember, but this felt
way
different. This was Lance, a boy younger than him whom he respected more than any man he’d ever known. Except for Arthur.

And then Arthur’s words came back to him. Wasn’t there supposed to be more to this crusade than just one boy? Lance was significant, yes, an amazing kid, and an amazing leader. Esteban had seen that for himself, and had willingly accepted it. Hell, without Lance’s help he’d never even have gotten together with Reyna.

But hadn’t they pulled off tonight’s operation without the boy’s leadership? Wasn’t that what Arthur had been saying from the beginning—that no one was indispensable to the cause?

He hesitated to intrude on Arthur’s grief, but he
had
to know the answer. He needed it more than he’d ever needed anything in his life. He placed one hand gently upon the shoulder of his king.

“Arthur…,” he began, his voice shaky with grief. “Be it over? The crusade? The Table? All of us?”

There was no response from Arthur, who continued to cry quietly into Lance’s unmoving chest.

Esteban released Reyna and stepped around so Arthur could see him. “Arthur?”

Finally, Arthur lifted his head and gazed up at Esteban. Their blurred eyes met in silence. Esteban’s cheeks were streaked, the remnants of his own sorrow, but his expression was expectant and uncertain.

Arthur turned away and gently lay Lance down on the pavement, kissing his forehead before stripping off his cloak and covering the boy he loved for what he thought was the final time. Then he stood, his expression one of sorrow and defeat. He gazed once more into Esteban’s questioning brown eyes. He silently looked about him, around and behind him, scanning the faces of his knights, these children who had come from so little to so much.

Chris continued to cry in Jack’s arms, but most of the others had stopped weeping. Even Jack and Reyna had stopped, their tear-streaked faces asking the same question as Esteban—was it over?

In all of their eyes Arthur read uncertainty, sadness, fear, expectancy, and love.
Real
love, for him, for Lance, for each other. There was reflected on every young face a genuine need—the need to know, the need to follow, and the need to be reassured. Just as Jenny had said. They needed adults to guide and mentor them, and Arthur
was
that adult.

Forcing his sorrow down into a small, forever place within his heart, Arthur’s self-doubt and defeat of the previous moment vanished now before the needs of his company. His face once more took on a look of resolve and bitter determination. He shook his head emphatically.

“No, Sir Este,” he announced, his voice loud enough for all to hear. “It doth not be over. It hath barely begun.”

He spun round and spotted the paramedic vehicle and clambered atop its hood, the flashing red light illuminating his determined, tear-drenched features. He unsheathed Excalibur and raised the sword high above his head, the blood from his earlier battle now gleaming bright crimson under the spinning light.

“Hear me, lads and ladies! This night hath delivered unto us both great triumph… and unbearable tragedy. And yet, if the loss of… of Sir Lance—” He paused to choke back a sob. “—is to have meaning, then we
must
go forward. We must continue our crusade until we achieve all our goals and make Lance’s dream a reality. And I….” He turned his gaze three hundred and sixty degrees, revolving atop the hood to take in the sea of anxious young faces. “…I truly love all of thee, just as I loved my Lance, and I shalt care for thee for as long as I breathe.”