Beastly (12 page)

“Indeed. It is as the Prince of Stingers promised.” The old general’s eyes narrowed. “The spun web shows no lies.”

The intricate detail of the spiders’ tapestry was undoubtedly infallible. The detail, from individual trees to the subtle shifts in elevation had been spun between the dowels. Her excitement peaked, leaving her breathless. The anger over Malachai’s insolence melted away. Anticipation gripped at her, twisting barbs of pleasure through her body.

The fountain had finally been found.

***

Followed. Hunted.

How could he have been so foolish? Of course someone would come for the girl.

Malachai swung a bladed gauntlet, cleaving a wrist-thick branch free in a storm of splinters. Slipping into the Gloom had been a choice born of necessity. The little abomination’s power required limits. What better way than to bring her to a place where her magic simply could not follow? No matter, arrangements would be made to ensure his success.

The Gloom was his oasis, long providing precious safe haven from his telepathic link to the Liche Queen and her constant nagging. He was
grateful the Dark Lord had permitted him access to the realm between realms.

Here in the Gloom, Malachai reigned.

Here in the Gloom, Malachai was free.

Chapter 14

Lia startled from a fragile slumber. The Gloom’s grey replaced a burning nightmare of Sensheeri’s final moments. She wasn’t immediately sure which was worse.

“Back to sleep little abomination. When I wake we ride without rest to her Majesty’s throne.”

Lia sensed a rare note of resignation in her captor’s voice. She watched the black rider slump against a savaged tree trunk and
fall instantly asleep. His words hung overhead like a dark cloud. Weariness was etched around Malachai’s slumbering eyes, pained testimony of his eternal servitude. Those same eyes would soon blaze to life, consumed by the Liche Queen’s Blight. Yes, she quite pitied the Wakeful captain.

Pitied him, but was no fool.

Memory of the whispering voice warmed Lia and encouraged her first movement since waking. She crept from the campsite, holding her breath in a deep gulp as
she tip toed by Malachai’s sleeping mount. She looked over her shoulder and then slipped away into a veil of ashy trees. Soon after wicked Malachai was lost far behind a dense wall of forest. Lia ran,
arms pumping, blissfully ignorant of the scratching twigs. The daring escape was aided by an unseen draw that willed her little legs faster through the snow.

Far from Malachai’s grasp, Lia tumbled into the snow. She rolled
about, giggling at nothing in particular. She rolled onto her back and carved a jubilant angel into the Gloom’s lurid snow.

A lonely star’s persistent gleam caught her eye. She wrinkled her nose.
Well, hello there.
She did not remember seeing any stars upon her arrival. Lia pushed herself onto her elbows. She giggled again, happy to have a friend.

“I don’t belong here, you know,” Lia said matter-of-factly, the way a person would chat with an old friend.

The star’s sapphire shine flashed its agreement. “No, star-shine, you do not.”

Lia sprang up, eyes widened. The star was speaking to her!
To her!
Her excitement piqued. Cedrik had spoken often of the Aether and magic and how they were born of starlight. His fairy tales had teased her to sleep all her life. Her face flushed as she desperately clung to the memory of his soft voice.

“Please, I want to go home.” The words barely squeezed by the lump in her throat. Deep sadness washed away her briefly re-kindled joy and settled around her heart. Even if she could escape the Gloom, where would she go? There could be no home without her
pafaa
.

Lia dropped to her knees, pressing a sucking sound from the oily snow. Tears filled her eyes, but she shed them not. A promise reminded her to be brave. In her heart of hearts she wept anyway. She had escaped nothing but Malachai’s torment. Slipping free of the Gloom would see her
banished to a different prison. One without gates, built by Malachai’s dark deeds. She would languish alone there. Branded.

Orphan
.

The star brightened and the ashen forest cringed in the lambent glory.
“Never alone, starshine.”

The words were faint and, for a crushing moment, Lia thought the voice had sped off to wherever stars came from. How she wished she was a star herself that she may fly away too. The star
pulsed a ghostly blue, quickening with each kiss upon the earth. With every rhythmic beat the star stretched and grew... Lia’s mouth fell open. The surging star was bigger than any moon or sun in memory. The light warmed her skin, soothing away the gooseflesh.

The starlight demanded a retreat from the greasy snow. Inch by inch, a widening circle of grey grass sprouted between her feet. A fierce wind gushed from the giant star, battering back the lifeless trees with rippling energy. Lia remained upright, unaffected by the pulsing energy.

A woman, beautiful and slender, descended from the sky-filling star. She waved with a delicate twist of her wrist and the puzzled child returned a
mittened wave of her own. The star poured like wine from a carafe into the woman’s outstretched palm. She smiled at the cupped starlight; a cherished gift. She knelt in front of the awestruck child, taking in the familiar eyes she feared lost long ago. She brushed the chocolate locks from Lia’s dirty face with a translucent hand. To her surprise, the child made no attempt to shy away.

Lia was grinning daybreak. “You are Polaris, the North Star.”

Polaris’s eyes
twinkled
her namesake. She pinched the child’s chin. “And you are most wise, star-shine. And pretty besides.”

Lia’s lips pursed, still baffled by the use of the private name. “How do you know my name is star-shine?” Her heart dropped through the forest floor. “Only Cedrik called me that.”

Polaris countered with a flashing wink of stardust. “Who do you suppose taught Cedrik that name?”

Confused tears streamed down Lia’s face. She hid behind dirty mittens.

“Cry not little one,” Polaris said gently, “your tears pain the very stars watching over you.”

Lia blurted through her mitten shield. “But it’s
all my fault. My fault Malachai came. My fault Cedrik...
pafaa
...”

Polaris pulled Lia tight to her breast, banishing the red-eyed demon who had destroyed their worlds from her thoughts. “No, the fault is my own.” She combed her fingers through Lia’s hair, determined to absorb the child’s guilt.

“Were it in my power I would spare you all of this ugliness.”

Lia dabbed at her eyes. The North Star’s warm embrace was comforting, but she could bear not a moment more in the Gloom’s terrible malaise. “Please take me with you. I don’t want to stay here anymore.”

Polaris shook her head. “The Gloom is a funny place. If brought here as prisoner, one can only leave as prisoner. Ahriman declared it so when he forged the realm from the pitch of midnight. Such was his hatred for magic’s potential in the hands of mortals that he constructed this ugly place.
A perverted reflection of the vibrant beauty of the Mortal Realm where their magic was forbidden.”

Lia had heard the name ‘Ahriman’ before, in another of
Cedrik’s stories. Her head tilted to one side and Polaris continued.

“Ahriman longed to steal magic from the hearts of mortals but possessed no enchantment powerful enough. After centuries of trying, he created this empty place and drained it of Breath and Blight. If he could not forcefully remove magic from the mortals, he would remove the mortals themselves and imprison them here.”

The story flowed like a dream. Lia snuggled deeper into Polaris’s star warmed chest, feeling the celestial heart beating softly like a distant drum.

“We Guardians struggled, but Ahriman’s dark power was vast. His forces swept through the Mortal Realm, razing entire kingdoms to oblivion. Hope was all but forgotten. Many honorable friends were lost.” Polaris paused reverently before beginning again. “It was decided that in order to save the realm, magic itself needed limitation. The realms’ patron guardians each sacrificed a piece of their immortal soul-shines and combined them into the most powerful enchantment ever conjured.”

The North
Star sighed
. She hadn’t the heart to continue and further burden the child with such sorrow. Polaris hugged her tighter, closing Lia off in a moment both wished would last forever. A shimmering veil of violet mist spiraled around them as a bond lost was remade. A blissful eternity later, Lia stirred. She was confused by the tale’s ending. How could magic be so most powerful in the hands of fragile mortals? Polaris had only just shrunk a star down into a waiting palm!

“But magic has no limit!” Lia cried, fearful that Cedrik was lost for always. Polaris immediately plucked Lia’s fear away.

“Star-shine, beautiful star-shine, magic’s bounds are indeed finite. But restricted only to the single enchantment Ahriman needed.” Polaris hesitated for a breath.
“ ‘Wish’...” Lia sensed the gravity of Polaris’s shifting tone. That ‘Wish’ granted dominion over reality’s book of magical laws was known by every lonely soul who sought shooting stars. It was a leap of faith near to Lia’s own heart. Not a single star had ever raced by without finding her eyes squeezed tight.

The eyes of Lia’s new found guardian welled with tears of glittery moisture, sparkling of twilight. It was the saddest, most beautiful sight Lia had ever known. “Your friends banished ‘Wish’ didn’t they? So Ahriman couldn’t take everyone away.” Her words rang of the beautiful innocence that only children spoke.

A pair of starlit tears fell from Polaris’s eyes. “The Mortal Realm was mine to protect above the others. I alone cast the enchantment.” Guilt for banishing magic’s most splendid wonder crushed the North Star under an
avalanche.

Lia dabbed a delicate fingertip, drying Polaris’s tears. “Oh, it’s not your fault. It was Ahriman! It’s not fair for you to be sad. People needed
you, you had to be bra--”. The lesson had finally set in. The same lesson Cedrik had taught at bed times and summer picnics. The one he had given his life for. The same basic truth was woven in Polaris’s sorrowful tale.

Lia’s intonation was a perfect mimic of her beloved
pafaa
, words brimming with proud defiance. “Sometimes you must be brave, especially when you’re most afraid.” Polaris’s heart swelled. Such bravery in one so small. If only all mortals could be counted upon for such valor. Things would have been much different. Lia fidgeted with the front of her coat. “Are wishes gone forever then, Polaris?”

“Of course not, little one. Echoes of ‘Wish’ are the heart of every good deed. It is the single most powerful bond between us. Every kind word and every noble sacrifice is part of its promise.”

Lia climbed free of Polaris’s lap. She did not know it then, but that small ember deep within her began to glow... She took a few play skips, watching the grey snow flee. She varied her path, trying to catch the snow off guard. Each time the muck managed to escape her feet like a repelled magnet.

She retreated to Polaris’s protective aura. The ash colored snow quickly swallowed the patch of exposed grey grass. “The Gloom is afraid of us,” Lia stated flatly
,“ it hates us.”

Polaris levitated to a nearby tree, reaching for its brittle bark. The tree groaned in protest and leaned away from the glowing sapphire finger tips. The Gloom’s eerie response was not unexpected. It behaved exactly as Ahriman’s blue print had called for. Still, the North Star was saddened to see any being so frightened of starlight.

“It is a sad watch-dog, fearful of disappointing its master,” Polaris countered
,“ but one that can yet learn new tricks.”

Polaris beckoned for Lia to join her by the cowering tree, now bent at a ridiculous angle. Lia moved quickly, wondering why the snow had not feared her upon her arrival. Polaris motioned for Lia to place her hands on the twisting tree trunk. Lia reached tentatively, saddened that it continued to struggle.

“You must first remove your gloves.”

Lia tossed her mittens aside as instructed and laid her bare hands on the brittle surface. The tree lurched,
then froze in place, paralyzed by Lia’s touch. Lia furled her brow, not understanding. Polaris glided to a spot behind her, hovering inches above the ground. The North Star covered Lia’s hands with her own, pressing them deeper into the tree. She hummed a melody of enchanting notes. To her surprise, Lia picked up the melody after only a few bars.

“Cedrik used to play this on his lute when I couldn’t fall asleep,” Lia said with a smile.

Polaris smiled and encouraged Lia to join the melody. The notes
sounded a haunting stir of echoes as the pair worked the enchantment. Carefully, they weaved the musical fibers through the grimness of the Gloom. Small ripples of energy distorted the air by the platinum locks dressing Polaris’s bare shoulders. The power surged down her pale arms and through Lia’s hands.

The anguishing tree vibrated against the magical current, and then shot straight up from its painful
crooking, shaking loose what snow remained on its spindly branches. A tempest of bright light burst from the tree’s top into the starless sky and then swirled down to the roots. The howling winds rattled the surrounding trees, leaving them trembling in panic.

Polaris pulled Lia’s hands free, allowing the enchantment to run its course. Lia shielded her eyes against the bright light, but Polaris’s firm hand on her shoulder insisted she watch. Lia obeyed, immediately glad for doing so.