A Lesson In Knighthood

• Neha De Alwis, Grade 12, Nossal High School - Monash University Campus
• Short Story
• 2020

Excellence Award in the 'The Inside Story 2020' competition

Two small, chubby, still-in-training knights, stand shaking their plum-sized fists at the fat black clouds in the sky that keep their queen captor. They scream as loud as knights can possibly scream, louder than the squabbling birds, louder than the wind. And thunder rumbles. For those of you that are not children, allow me to translate: this is, unmistakably, a warcry. The menacing black clouds stare them down. They stare back. The beast has awoken.

An inventory of the childrens’ weapons:
Sticks
Rocks
Mud dried into balls
A set of vocal cords, unforgivably loud
A pair of tongues, slightly prone to stumbles and mispronunciations
And, most importantly, two fierce hearts

They are ready.

And so the battle begins. At first there is rain, a drizzle, then a cat, a dog, and soon the beast is lashing down on them in frigid torrents. The children draw their weapons and hurl them into the sky, fistful after plum-sized fistful.

The beast growls at them. Translation: your attempts are futile, little knights. Who do you think you are?

The knights scream louder than knight can scream. Translation: quiet, beast! We will save her!

Time howls by in terrible gusts. Their hands grow numb. Still they fling their sticks and rocks and mud dried into balls. Their throats feel raw. Still they scream over the birds and over the wind. The beast claws back in blinding bursts of lightning. Little spiders of fear wriggle around in their bellies and throats, but the knights are stronger.

This goes on for a short eternity. And then, a miracle occurs: they win. The clouds have run out of rain and rumbling. The beast’s lightning claws grow weak. It gives one last feeble cry, and slumps down. The knights are exhausted by the end of it, their little bodies battered and frozen. But they look at each other, and, catching the bright spark in each others’ eyes, they grin. Translation: we are tough. Tough as nails. Tough as bears and sharks and lions and snakes. Tough as knights.

The Mothersun, their glorious queen, bursts free from the clouds. The world is bathed in light once more. Translation: thank you, brave souls! You have freed me. For this, I give you my strength and protection. The children look up, and for a moment, despite their muddied, grubby state, they are beautiful. They are mighty and they are beautiful.

The Mothersun washes away the last of their fear-spiders with something warm and golden. Then she takes them into her arms and they fall asleep instantly. There is no translation for this; only a lesson in the glowing reward of valiant knighthood.