SHORT FORM FICTION

Arise, Mika!

A KNIGHT IS BORN

Other boys played video games. Other boys play football. Other boys vied with each other to earn their place on local teams. Mika, seven years old, stayed at home. Mika loved to look at books.

‘You should go out to play with the other boys,’ his father would say. ‘Spending so much time with books … it’s not healthy.’

But Mika lived inside his head. Mika had become immersed in a world of grand castles, shadowed forests, and mystic, shimmering lakes.

Ever since a trip to a community library, where he’d found an old book with tales of medieval knights in armour, he’d become obsessed. There were more books and he would ask his mother to read him the stories of Camelot and Excalibur. He could name all the knights of the Round Table. He thrilled at the tales of King Arthur’s bravery, Gawain’s gallantry, and Galahad’s strength. He would imagine himself becoming a knight, being part of their brotherhood, their conversations, their banter. He saw himself riding out on mystical quests or into battle. ‘Excalibur!’ he would cry, over and over as he charged, full gallop towards his opponents. The horses would be magnificent Arab stallions in full, shining armour, manes flowing, wild-eyed, snorting. Fantastical, other-worldly beasts of war.

Mika’s father would shake his head. ‘Mika, my son, these knights you dream of are from faraway lands, long ago times. They are not real … they are not your people. We have nothing in common with them. We are a township … in South Africa. Why can’t you learn, like the other boys, of our own culture, our own heroes? Biko, Mandela … men who spoke for us, men who sacrificed for us.’

‘Papa,’ Mika would say. ‘I know about Biko. I know about Mandela. You have told me so much about them. I know they were very fine men. But, when they were young boys, they must have had dreams too? Just imagine, Papa, being a noble knight in a brotherhood of knights. That would be a very fine thing! Imagine riding a war horse into battle! Imagine Biko or Mandela riding Arab stallions, with all their knights behind them … what a sight that would have been!’

Mika’s father laughed in spite of himself. He placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘I don’t know about that, boy. Well, as I see it, only one thing to do. How would you like to ride a charger right now? Look no further. We have Blossom outside.’

Mika rolled his eyes. ‘Papa, Blossom is a mule. An old mule. No knight would ride a mule.’

His father chuckled. ‘What will we do with you, Mika?’

The days and weeks went by. Mika’s head continued to swirl with notions of ancient lands, knights at Round Tables, and battle cries astride Arab chargers.

One night, as Mika was under his bed covers, reading by flashlight, his father came into his room.

‘Put the torch away, boy. You need your sleep. We are travelling in the morning.’

Mika’s eyes widened. ‘We are, Papa? Where?’

His father just smiled. ‘You’ll see. Now, listen to your Papa and get some sleep.’

Of course, Mika was too excited, but he somehow managed to doze in that place between sleeping and waking, tossing and turning as knights on horseback emerged through swirling mists, brandishing swords. He could hear their battle cries, the screech of the horses. He was one of them. He was leading the charge. ‘Excalibur!’ he cried, holding his sword upwards. The mists closed around him and he was sleeping.

In the morning, they went to the train station. Mika prodded his father every ten minutes to try and find out where they were going, but all his father would say was ‘to the next town’. Finally, his father said, ‘I’m reading this newspaper, boy, be patient, you will see when we get there.’

After an hour or so, they arrived. As they walked out of the station, his father rolled up the newspaper into his back pocket. He appeared a little agitated. He was not familiar with this town or the layout. It had changed since he’d last visited, many years before. Eventually, he stopped to quietly ask directions. Mika strained to listen to what he was saying but it was clear his father didn’t want him to hear. After a while, they were exploring the streets at the back end of the town. They kept turning corners and more corners until they came to it. The object of his father’s quest.

‘What is this?’ Mika asked as they both stood in front of the statue.

‘What does it look like? A horse, my son, a horse … ready to go into battle.’

‘But … how?’

‘I don’t know, my son, the how’s and why’s, not yet, anyway. I just heard that they’d brought the statue here. It may not stay. But … it’s here.’

Mika’s eyes took in every detail of the magnificent, life-size sculpture, a beautiful black horse with saddle and bridle.

‘Is he really a war horse, Papa?’

‘I think so,’ said his father, standing back to take a good, long look. ‘He can be anything you want him to be. See how alert he looks, a true warrior horse, a horse any knight would be proud of.’

Mika reached upwards to stroke the neck of the statue. He reached around to caress the side of the horse’s face before letting his fingertips slide across the length of the reins.

‘Well,’ Mika’s father said, at last. ‘I think you’re ready. On your knees.’

‘What?’

‘Just do as I say, boy.’

Mika grudgingly kneeled to the ground. His father brought out the rolled-up newspaper from his back pocket. ‘Here,’ he said, ceremoniously tapping each shoulder of his son with the paper, ‘I dub thee Sir Mika, a Knight of the Round Table. Arise, Mika!’

Mika, grinning from ear to ear, got back onto his feet.

‘Well, young Sir, what are you waiting for?’

Mika’s father gestured to give his son a boost upwards to the saddle. In one swift move, Mika was sitting on the statue, sitting on the horse.

Mika surveyed all that was around him. He was living his dream. He was a Knight of the Round Table. He was astride a war horse.

‘Papa!’ he cried. ‘Excalibur!’

‘Excalibur, my boy,’ his father said. ‘Excalibur.’

© 2023 Susi Moore. All Rights Reserved.

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