Knight Casefiles Book 1: Revelations

Revelations [Chapter 5]

Chapter 5

A Knight and his Guardian going on vacation – even for a few days – turned out to be much more of a hassle than I’d anticipated. There was a lot of ground to cover in the few hours Sigrun and I had before our plane was due to take off. While most Knights led nomadic lives to avoid the logistics of finding a stable source of income while defending humanity in secret, I was one of the few who’d chosen to stay in one place, effectively making me a stationary target, which is the both the best and worst kind of target there is depending on who’s hunting who.

Of course, having an ancient sword that could apparently slice through incorporeal spirits gave me a measure of respect elsewhere, but most of my powerbase in the supernatural community lay in the Big Apple. I wasn’t technically an active Knight yet since Sigrun was still around babysitting me (the only other Knight I’ve ever met - Claude, the Knight of Joyeuse, was even running from his Guardian), but even as a Knight-in-Training, I’d made quite a few alliances with New York supernaturals. Simply put: I’ve got enough street cred to call in a few favors.

A few quick calls to two vampires in the upper eastside, a pack of werewolves downtown, a troll under Brooklyn Bridge, a bartending witch, and a few of the Fae in Central Park later, and the town was as temporarily protected as it could be in my absence.

“Sorry about earlier,” I said to Sigrun when we were finally in our seats, the plane just beginning to take off. We hadn’t spoken since that evening. She’d simply gone on the plane by herself, fully expecting me to follow. I wasn’t sure if it was good that she trusted me like that or bad that she thought I was that much of a pushover. 

“Think nothing of it,” she assured me, idly toying with the controls on her seat. “I’m used to dealing with children. Now, why don’t you get some sleep?”

I ignored her first comment and went straight to the “get some sleep” part. The sun was already rising and I hadn’t slept all night. Snuggled u p in first class, I allowed myself to drift off, thoughts of a nice long vacation from fighting monsters dancing in my head. Sigrun woke me up at some point when we were getting off the plane but it looked like I was more tired than I thought. My Guardian hadn’t been kidding when she said Gram could drain me like a  Hummer on double A’s. I was half-asleep through the entire process of checking out and immediately collapsed again as soon as we got on the car Amelia had rented for us. A growing boy needs his sleep and it was a great way to put off having to get through jet lag.

I dimly remember being jostled awake when we drove into a gas station as Sigrun got out.

“It might be a long drive up, and I’d rather we didn’t get stranded midway,” Sigrun told me when she saw me stirring, before turning to the gas station employee. and speaking in a completely different language.

“Glurgh pleurgh gah,” I responded.

“What was that?” she asked, peering through the window.

“I thought we were playing who can sound the most like a ghoul,” I said. “Your turn. I’m winning, by the way.”

Sigrun stared at me, unamused. “Chris, that was Polish. You just insulted an entire culture.”

I snorted. “I’d like to think I’m insulting to all cultures.”

My Guardian opened her mouth to argue, thought better of it, and just shook her head. You know what they say - it’s better to get in an argument with a drunk than with someone who’d just woken up. Unless you’re both, in which case, rethink your life. I started fumbling with the door.

It took a few tries, but I managed to stumble outside, snow crunching underneath my feet. I huddled into my jacket, shuddering. Squinting against the foreign sunlight, which was somehow brighter than what I was used to, I noted the brightly colored streamers that were strung around the gas station and felt doubtful of the place’s fire safety. It brought a few memories of the various festivals my parents would bring me and my sister to, only to leave us with whichever maid/manservant they brought along to indulge whatever business they came to coddle. 

No, I shook my head. Vacation mode, Chris. Now. I desperately looked for something else to hold my attention. To my surprise, it wasn’t that hard. Living in New York for most of my life, I was used to series of buildings that looked exactly the same, the architects being too lazy to be creative when their work would most likely get vandalized the first day anyway. 

Here, the buildings weren’t as tall, weren’t as grand, but they were, well, colorful was the best way to put it. One building that resembled a common brownstone was a bright shade of lime green with a brown, tiled roof. Next to it was a completely differently designed building the color of hot pink with a green roof. Then yellow, then magenta, then a color I couldn’t even name. Against the snow, the colors were even starker. It was like how a preschooler would do a coloring book - bright and imaginative, with no regard for color coordination. It made the festive streamers look almost redundant.

I swiveled my head around and found tents and kiosks standing here and there, each selling a certain local good. There were fruits and vegetables, surprising given the weather. Pastries and meat products - the sausages were particularly pungent, the spices drifting from meters away, tingling my nostrils. What caught my eyes the most were the woodcrafts of not just furniture, but people and animals, that most of the people were flocking to.

“What’s going on here?” I asked out loud. “Is there a festival or something?”

Behind me, Sigrun repeated my question to the gas station attendant in Polish.

“The Topienie Marzanny,” Sigrun called to me.

"It's all so clear now," I muttered. My brows furrowed as I tried to translate. “Uhh, melting? I don’t know what Marzanny is supposed to be though.”

“Close. It’s the drowning,” Sigrun said with a note of surprise. “You speak Polish?”

“My sister took a class in Russian. I decided to take Polish,” I said.

“Ah. When you still idolized her?”

I said nothing, watching as several kids ran past, happy smiles on their faces, with rag dolls that were patched with so many vibrant colors, I had to wonder if their makers were on LSD or some other hallucinogen. 

“Marzanna,” Sigrun said, suddenly beside me. “The Drowning of Marzanna. It’s an old Polish custom where locals would burn and drown an effigy of the goddess, Marzanna, to welcome the coming of spring. It looks like this town turned it into a profitable festival.”

“You don’t sound pleased,” I noted.

As we looked on. a kid in that adorable age between a toddler and a child, threw his doll in a puddle of melted snow. Giggling, he started jumping on it.

Sigrun made a disgusted sound. “I can appreciate the symbology. I don’t have to like it.” 

“I doubt Marzanna does either,” I said, watching as the kid’s father went over and hoisted him on his shoulders. The kid giggled some more, gleefully drumming on his dad’s head. I pretended to be intensely interested on a stray thread on my shirt. “Is she real?”

“We’re all real in one sense or another, Chris,” Sigrun said in a bare whisper. “Marzanna is said to be a goddess of death and winter. So no, she would not enjoy such treatment.”

A cold wind blew, causing me to draw my jacket closer. “Good thing we brought Gram them. Hey, how did you get that thing through airport security?”

Sigrun arched a severe eyebrow. “Chris, please.”

“Right, Valkyrie juju.” I waggled my fingers at her. She just rolled her eyes, walking back to the car. I spared a glance at the kid again. He and his father had joined what must have been his mother and sister. They bore steaming styrofoam cups that the two graciously accepted, the parents flashing each other smiles that were both weary and satisfied.

I pulled my jacket even closer and followed Sigrun.