The Azure Knight and The Swamp of Sleep
The Azure Knight was described by different names: saint, immortal legend. Regarded by some to be a thousand years old and theorized by others to be a benevolent spirit. As such, there are many tales of their bravery, like The Lake of a Thousand Tears where they rescued a prince trapped between the siren-made waves. That is not the one that shall be recounted.
Below follows the knight’s last adventure: The Azure Knight and The Swamp of Sleep. The beginning of the story always varies. Some say a witch read the palm of their hand in a rare moment of ungloved vulnerability and read their destiny. Others claim a monarch from a faraway forgotten land requested their assistance. There are even others that say the knight was driven by the very human desire to disappear for a while. I begin the tale thus:
The Azure Knight went to the forest to get lost. Accompanied by the silver dagger with their family name inscribed in its handle and the blue helmet that always covered their face, they stepped into the tree line. Many have wondered why they wanted to get lost. After all, the Knight was, still is, a legend, a God amongst believers, the hero of the people… Could it have been heartache? A quest from some capricious entity which is felt yet never seen?
The leaves fell, as if crying for them. The wind seemed to whisper “Go baaack… Return from hence you cameeee…” while enveloping the Knight like the cold arms of their mother, attempting to push her out. The Azure Knight paid no heed to the pleas, enduring the terrible winds that tried, in vain, to blow her back to a home they were no longer familiar with. The finale shall remain the same. The eyes remain fixed on the road in front of them, determined to reach their destiny: the Swamp of Sleep.
Location: Rujabu’s Valley
Wet earth, trees, and the wind turned into rocks and heavy silence, the blue armor the only color in the dreadful landscape. The gravel moved under the sabatons, the sound echoing through the barren land. The empty terrain morphed into a rocky mountain in a blink of an eye. It was as if it had materialized in that exact moment. The weary knight approaches, inspecting the supernatural formation, reaching the conclusion that, though it resembled a mountain, what had appeared in front of their eyes was more akin to a steep ramp with a winding gravel trail that reached its peak.
Determined to continue the journey and not seeing any way around the gargantuan structure, the Knight resolved to climb the “mountain.” The further they walked, the steeper the path got, eventually becoming a wall which the knight climbed, discarding everything from the heavy suit of armor except for the helm, leaving them clad in a blue shirt and blue riding pants. The rocky protuberances sliced their palms, leaving behind a path in blood and skin like Gretel. Only instead of Hansel, the blue speck in the gray sky had the distant and disinterested voice of their father for company.
Before you pull yourself up, be sure your grasp is firm. If it’s shaking, stop and rest. Now inch yourself up. No, no I cannot help you. You must learn to do it by yourself. That’s it, keep going. Ignore the pain, the skin will grow back.
The top of the ramp was within their reach, and for a moment, the Knight was once more a child, looking up at the outstretched, calloused hand of their father, but in a blink of an eye, it was gone. With much effort, they heaved themselves up to solid ground. Laying on their back, they assessed the damage done to their palms.
“Nothing to worry about,” they murmur.
The figure in blue sits down in front of a cave to rest. They stretch their exhausted legs and look up at the sky, eyes widening when they find a sky full of stars when moments ago it was a dull gray. They search for a familiar constellation, however the sky that they so tenderly looked at often was now a stranger. The stars start to spin like dandelion seeds, a face emerging from the strange cosmic dance; a face with exposed bone and muscle, revealing teeth usually hidden by a cheek. The right eye was milky while the left one was barren. Although disfigured, the face was kind, putting the usually distrustful knight at ease. The voice, warm and smooth like summer wind, seemed to be coming from right beside them.
<What you run from will help you.>
The floor begins to shake, an enormous shadow projecting on the cave’s wall. The Knight stands, left hand resting on the concealed dagger, rising in front of a chest made of rock.
The creature’s bald head grazed the top of the cave. It had sheep’s eyes, a bulbous nose, and feet the size of the Knight.
A troll, thought the knight, keeping a neutral expression.
When planning for their journey, the Azure Knight had naturally assumed they’d see landscapes and monsters that did not belong to the natural world. However, a troll had never crossed their mind for they had never seen one in the flesh, only in pictures in the dusty tomes of their family’s library.
“The sun turns the troll into stone,” their father had told them one day with a monotonous tone, as if already tired of the conversation he had initiated, wrinkly hands grasping an axe. “That’s why if you see a rock formation that looks like it has a big nose, it was once a troll.”
So, this one is already dead. A tangible ghost.
Slowly, they draw the hidden weapon. The creature’s eyes follow the movement.
“Human, do you think that will hurt me? Look at my skin, what knife could kill me?” questions the troll.
The Knight considers the creature’s words. They raise their empty hands.
“Who are you that roams my valley?” Rocks fall from the cave, answering to its voice.
“You may address me as Sol,” the Knight responds.
The creature notes the phrasing of their response. “I am no fairy. Your name serves me no purpose.”
“I promised someone I wouldn’t tell anyone. Promises are serious things. What do I call you?”
“Rujabu”
Their instinct told them that the name the troll gave them was its real name.
“Why are you here, Sol?” The emphasis on the fake name would sound like scorn if its voice wasn’t so neutral.
“I’m just passing through this valley; my destiny does not lie here. I did not know the valley belonged to you. I apologize and humbly request you let me continue my journey.”
“What is your final destination?”
“The Swamp of Sleep.”
Its face betrayed no reaction. “You must give me something that solely belongs to you if you wish to continue your travels through my realm.”
The troll approaches the Knight, laying an enormous hand upon their head.
“Like your hair.”
Sol shook their head. “The hair isn’t mine.”
Rujabu blinked. “Is it not upon your head?”
“Yes.”
“Then it can only be yours.”
The Azure Knight shook their head. “This hair does not belong to me.”
“Then to whom does it belong to?”
“It belongs to my mother. It is her that cuts and braids it. She does what she wants to it, disregarding my opinions. Hence, the hair is not solely mine.”
The giant considered their words. “And the eyes?”
“These I inherited from my grandmother. They belong to the places I have seen and all the people I have loved. They are not mine alone.”
The troll mulled over the answer. It stretches its arm to touch the place where a womb may be, but before he could make contact, its wrist is firmly grasped. Its skin is as cold and rough as the Knight expected.
“Nothing in this body belongs solely to me, least of all what you think is there.”
The stone creature frowns. “Then tell me what you can give.”
The Knight didn’t hesitate. They removed the boots that protected their feet from the hostile ground and presented them to the giant.
“It was I that built these shoes. The leather belonged to me, as well as the tools of the trade. These shoes are the only thing that are solely mine.”
Rujabu pondered the human’s words. They did not stutter or tremble before him like other travelers. The posture of the young person was of someone who, simply put, did not care what might happen to them.
The stone ghost accepted the boots, disappearing inside the cave without another word. What more was there to say?
The Azure Knight looked at the sky. The disfigured face was gone, but they could still feel their presence. They looked back. The cave and its inhabitant were gone.
A tangible ghost.
They continued their journey.
Location: The Bridge in the Forest of Sorrows
With torn socks and bleeding feet, the Azure Knight arrives at her next destination: The Forest of Sorrows. The sunrise makes the morning dew sparkle like crystals on a chandelier. The grass caresses the sore soles of her feet, urging the Knight to stop and sigh. Their ears eagerly await the twittering of birds or the sound of tiny paws scurrying through the lush garden, yet silence permeates the forest.
“When you hunt alone, remember this: if you do not hear the singing of birds or branches breaking, you are in a predator’s territory.” Their bloody hands prevented them from hiding their face from their mother’s fiery eyes, her face covered with the same carnage as their hands. The viscera on the two people were nothing compared to the state of the deer behind their mother.
The Knight hides behind some foliage. Their heart is beating so fast they can’t help but imagine it was stretching the skin on their chest. They grit their teeth.
Inhale one, two, three. Exhale one, two, three.
The thought twirls, jumps and drags through their mind, the same one so often prayed behind a bow and arrow and recited once more when flesh was separated from bone, always under the watchful eye of their mother.
I must not panic. If I do, whatever is hiding here will kill me.
Little by little, they calm down. The Azure Knight remains crouched, the grip on the dagger so firm their last name is tattooed on their injured hand. The open wounds on their palms sting, their eye twitching the only tic that shows they are in pain.
The sun rose, shined, and painted the sky lilac. The morning dew gave way to unbearable heat, the sweat drips on her eyes, the muscles scream in pain; the Knight remains a statue. Their gaze slowly sweeps over the silent clearing.
Whatever hunts these woods cannot be a normal animal. Even a wolf would not be able to quiet the birds or squirrels like this. Whatever it is, I doubt I can negotiate with it like I did with the troll…
They were speculating this when night falls, and an innocuous sound freezes their blood: the ruffling of bushes. They look left with narrowed eyes, body tensing. A scream of pain makes their hands shake, but the Knight remains in their hideout, the taste of copper fills her tongue with the effort to not act. Another scream echoes through the forest before the creature comes out of its hiding place. A tall woman emerges from the foliage, dressed in funeral attire with teary eyes, sharp nails, and vulture wings. The Knight’s heart jumps to their throat.
A banshee.
“Banshees announce when death is near,” their mother tells them while combing their hair. “Although they are not responsible for said death. If you ever encounter one, run.”
Slowly, eyes never straying from the creature, they move toward the edge of the bush, stopping when the monster switches position. The wings seem more agitated. The Knight must get away from it as soon as possible but also knows one wrong move spells their death.
The banshee’s head contorts with a crack, black eyes fixing on the Knight’s hiding place, nostrils flaring. For a few moments, neither move. The heavy silence returns. Sweat pours down the prey’s face, the predator’s eyes following its trail until it drips onto the forest floor. The monster attacks with a deafening screech.
The creature slams into the Knight. The two bodies soar through the air, the grass that not long ago offered some relief now stabbing into the human’s back. The banshee continues screaming while tears run down her face, eyes full of anger and sorrow. Blood drips from the dazed knight’s ears. The monster raises her paw above her face, claws reflecting in the moonlight, exposing her flank and handing the Knight the opportunity to stab it. The unexpected act makes the banshee retreat. The prey gets up and away from the predator. They now stand face to face, covered in each other’s blood, waiting for the other to attack first. The monster smells its own blood, wings raising to appear even larger; the Azure Knight mimics the pose with their arms, backing away slowly. Once they reach the edge of the clearing, they turn and run, an animalistic yell signaling that the beast is after them.
The trees switch positions, affording the Knight only mere seconds to avoid colliding into them. The tree bark scratches against their body, the Azure Knight cursing themselves for leaving a trail of blue fabric. Their lungs burn, but they couldn’t stop. They could feel the beast’s breath on the back of their neck. They dodge a branch, hearing the monster fall for their own trap. Taking advantage of the creature’s carelessness, they Knight firmly plants their right foot on the earth, and using the momentum from their body’s rotation, buries the dagger in the beast’s stomach. The Knight is showered in the monster’s scorching black blood, screaming in tandem with the animal, the blue helmet reflecting in the creature’s bottomless eyes.
The beast retreats to the foliage again. The knight does not waste time celebrating, resuming their desperate run, even though the forest returned to its uncomfortable silence, broken only by their heaving breaths. The human does not know where they are going, blindly guided by adrenaline and instinct.
They spot an opening curtained by rain, and laughs, relief giving them a burst of energy. They are so close they can smell the wet earth and hear the gentle rain drops ricocheting off the puddles. They stretch their hand; the tips of their fingers graze the water.
A body clashes against theirs.
“NO!”
The Knight strikes blindly, sometimes hitting their target, most of the time tearing through empty space. Clothes and skin tear, they kick the creature in its stomach and crawls toward the bridge between the two worlds. Their ankles are grasped, and they are dragged backward, a trail of broken nails and blood carved into the ground. The prey kicks and grabs at anything they can reach, but all their efforts are for naught. The predator drags them to a small clearing of its own making, trees enclosing both in, the skylight the only exit.
“LET GO OF ME, BEAST! LET ME OUT!” screams the Knight, anger taking over their mind.
The creature is hit by the bitter words. Her coal eyes fill with pain, as if it were capable of understanding the words spoken by its prisoner or, at least, the intent behind them. This only fueled the fire burning inside the knight, making them kick the air, keeping the creature away from them.
“You do not have any right to be upset!” the Knight continues. Their voice trembles while their tongue spits unforgiving poison. “You attack me, then have the gall to whine because I defended myself? That sad face makes me sick to my stomach!”
Fury took over the monster, screaming in response to the Knight’s words.
Days and weeks pass until they couldn’t tell one apart from the other. The beast would bring the prisoner food, which initially they refuse to consume. However, hunger and thirst broke their spirit. The guard and the prisoner remain in opposite sides of the wooden cage. The monster would try to approach the prey and the prey would try to escape, both unsuccessful in their attempts, both covered in wounds inflicted by the other. The Azure Knight looks longingly at the falling rain, so close they could still smell petrichor.
One day, while they dreamed, the Knight turned beast was visited by the kind man. With a sweet and gentle smile, he asked:
“Have you so quickly forgotten, Sol?”
“That is not my name.” Their own voice frightened them. Did it always sound like that? They can’t recall.
“It is the only one I know… Unless you wish to tell me your real one?”
Sol pressed their lips together and shook their head. The man’s smile widened, remaining kind.
“Ah, so you have not forgotten your journey and all you have yet to do.”
The Azure Knight swallows their tears. “I cannot escape. I have failed.”
The man extends a greenish hand, the Knight automatically backing away. He stops, and the figure in blue looks down in shame.
“I apologize,” they whispered, tears hidden behind their helmet.
“I should be the one apologizing. I forgot life has not been kind to you. I simply desire to look at your hands.”
“My… my hands?”
“Last time, I did not have a chance to do so. Do they still hurt? Or does anywhere else?”
The Knight falls on their knees, hand clutching their heart. The smile and kind words that they feel they do not deserve were a devastating blow. The man sits next to them, careful not to touch. He whispers a song in a long-forgotten language that puts the Knight’s soul at peace. When the tears stop and their breathing goes back to normal, the man continues speaking.
“The world was also unkind to the woman who torments you.”
“That is not an excuse to hurt me.”
“It is not. Even still, try to offer her the kindness you were not given.”
“She does not deserve it.”
“She does not. Give it to her all the same.”
When they wake up, the Knight knows what to do. They eat with pleasure. They let the banshee approach them. They sit side-by-side in silence. Since it wasn’t attacked, the creature rests her head on the Knight’s shoulder that in turn runs their fingers through her hair and murmurs songs that their mother sang to them.
Days passed in this performative peace. The creature lets the Knight guide her to lie on her lap. She is so relaxed she does not notice when the Knight pulls the dagger from its hidden place. Her eyes open when she feels ruthless silver upon her neck, but it is too late. Her throat is slit with cold efficiency. She does not feel the warm tears that fall on her cheeks; however, she feels the trees that guard them age and turn to dust. The Azure Knight pushes the creature off their lap, heart racing but with an even breath. She delivers a final blow to the skull, creating a macabre Excalibur. The Knight looks down at the hands that committed such treachery; scarred, crooked, calloused hands. Ugly hands to reflect all the atrocities they have committed in their life.
“They were never clean to begin with,” they tell no one.
They exit the cage turned tomb, limping toward the portal, the wounds and fatigue slowing them. In the forest, the singing of birds at long last could be heard. They lock eyes with a trickster fox. The Knight waves at them.
With a sigh, they go through the portal.
Location: The Swamp of Sleep
The rain is a warm blanket. Their battered feet are softly cleansed and treated by the rushing water. Sighing in relief, the Knight carries on their way. Sometimes they step on the roots of countless Nyssa biflora that guide their way. While the trees in the forest are an oppressive presence, the ones in the swamp radiate a soothing energy, the drops that fall from their leaves softly stroking their covered face.
The music from their dream echoes through the setting, increasing in volume the closer the Knight gets to its source: the end of their journey. Outlined against the watercolor sky sits a man with long brown hair intertwined with flowers and moss under a willow tree. The man raises his head, revealing hazel eyes, and though the face is not the same, the Knight knows it’s the same man that always helps them, evident by his soft voice and the kind smile directed at them.
“Welcome, Sol. You made it.”
The Knight trembles before the benevolent being, guilt and shame once more taking ahold of them.
“She would never let me go. She…” The Knight swallows around the lump in their throat, looking away. “I did not have… I do not deserve…”
It was like a hand was strangling them, the words dying between their teeth. Their hands start to shake, their family name drenched in blood that would never dry. They would never be clean.
“Sol,” the voice cuts through the invasive thoughts, “your quest is over. Remove the helmet and sit by my side.”
The Azure Knight hesitates for a few moments, but the man’s gaze was comforting. They could not refuse such a simple request. They remove the helmet, and there, the great Azure Knight stood. The hero of the people. The legend rumored to be a thousand years old. There they stood, bare, with blood running from lips to chin, dark brown eyes underlined by dark eye bags, sweat-matted black hair, and crooked fingers, broken and mended and broken again. The legend, the revered: a young body covered in new and old scars never fully healed. They lower their gaze and sit next to the man, knees touching. The azure helmet that defined them now buried in the mud.
“Why did you take this journey?” the man inquires.
“Where I come from, they tell stories of this place. Of you. The details of the quest are not clear, and the ending is never the same, nor the beginning. Though the entrance remains consistent: a peninsula like forest in a lake inside another forest. The cold wind pushes until you reach the other side, another dimension maybe. Are you a hero or a villain?”
“It is a matter of perspective. To your loved ones, I’ll be a villain.”
“I doubt I have any left.”
A comfortable silence settles between them, the former knight lost in their thoughts, and the man peacefully waiting.
“I made this journey because I’m tired,” they whispered, defeated. “The weight of the crown forcibly placed upon my brow, the duty I never asked for…”
The wounds on their face resemble wrinkles on a time-weathered face, dark eyes like opaque glass.
“I understand.”
A bit of leftover anger bubbles to the surface.
“Do you? Do you understand what it is like not to have known a kind touch? To crave it all the same, yet recoil in fear when offered it? Do you understand what it is like to be put on a pedestal made of sand, to be gazed upon like a distant God or some entity that none are brave enough to approach unless to ask for something? I was not blessed with strength like Hercules or cunning like Odysseus, these were traits I was forced to adopt lest I invoke the anger of my makers, the parents and followers alike… Because love. Love is not something deserved; it was earned through blood and pain, mine or others. Not unconditional, but fickle. And Heaven’s help me if someone saw me stumbling.”
The man is unfazed by the outburst. Instead of reprimanding the person next to him, he holds the self-proclaimed monstrous hands between his own, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb, dropping kisses on them.
A blessing.
“I’m so tired,” they repeat, shoulders drooping.
“Rest your head on my shoulder and rest, child. Rest for as long as you need.”
“What if…” they pause and swallow, “What if I need forever?”
“Then forever you shall stay. I love your company, quiet or talking.”
So, they do. The man is warm, and his voice is a lullaby.
“Are you going to tell me your name?”
“…Sol.”
“Tell me how you got here, Sol.”
“The Azure Knight was described by different names: saint, immortal legend, regarded by some to be a thousand years old and theorized by others to be a benevolent spirit; as such, there are many tales of their bravery, like the Lake of a Thousand Tears where they rescued a prince trapped between the siren-made waves. That is not the one that shall be recounted…”