Beastly (2 page)

“Welcome home, my
dutre
.” Adella’s
words tore at an old scar. She loved her daughter beyond limit but not beyond reason. She could not forgive what Pandora had allowed herself to become.

“Never my home,” Pandora said coldly. “Not since you drove me from it. Not since you left me heartbroken and desperate.”

Pandora’s crystal blue eyes remained fixed on
Adella’s as she casually stepped over the dead men like so much refuse. She lingered over a shivering Donovan, finally shifting her gaze from Adella. She regarded her former protector with nothing more than a vacant stare.

Adella noted the circlet pinning back Pandora’s hair. The fanged skull at its center stared back with glimmering eyes of onyx.
“
The whole of the Once Kingdom stood ready to support you. Our people would’ve given anything to spare you the agony of such a loss. You left our home to pursue a destiny I could not allow.”

“I left because she died!” Pandora yelled, pointing an accusatory finger.
“Because
you
let her die!” Her voice cracked but fast regained its fury. “I left because I couldn’t stand to look at you. Either of you.”

“Star-shine, please...”

“Don’t call me that. Don’t ever call me that. I’ve no more love for stars than I have for you or him.”

Adella reached for her daughter, hoping against the hatred in her eyes. “Please, end this siege. Let us heal our kingdom and our family.”

The creeping cold bored into Donovan’s chest, siphoning his strength. Pandora’s venomous anger threatened extinguish what little remained. He had to try reasoning with her, for their daughter’s sake. Donovan summoned his remaining strength and twisted onto his chest, feebly reaching for Pandora’s hand.

“Princess Pandora, I’m... sorry.” Donovan’s consciousness threatened to fade but he willed his focus true. “I’m sorry I failed you...”

The words drained him. Seeing the princess aligned against his queen, hearing her callous words, thinking of all that had been lost was too great a burden. He shuddered,
then slipped into unconsciousness.

“If Donovan dies all hope for you dies with him,
” Adella
warned.

Pandora silenced her mother with a sharp gesture,
then motioned for her lieutenant. Malachai broke from the pack of soldiers, removing a black helmet shaped like a dragon’s skull. He stood a head taller than his men and possessed the wiry build of something predatory. Each step was a calculated action: cold and efficient. His doll-like eyes were alive with a furious crimson energy that cast streaking trails as he moved.

“Traitor. How dare you show your face here?” Anger surged through Adella’s
naturally calm tone. “I should have known it was you who corrupted her. Always ready to increase your station, so eager to advance. I shall see that justice hunts you down, no matter the hole you hide in.

Malachai sneered before drawing a dagger. The blade pulsed in his hand, craving more carnage than the siege had wrought. “Get him up.”

Pandora’s guards heaved the unconscious Donovan to his feet. His head lolled forward as the soldiers propped him up. Malachai seized a handful of Donovan’s hair, jerking his former commander’s head back. He slowly raised the dagger, taunting Adella with the tip to his victim’s throat.

“That’s quite enough.” Adella was once more calmer than a spring breeze. She glanced at Pandora and with a spry smile tapped a foot. The footfall echoed,
then blasted a dazzling sapphire shock wave. Armored bodies flew away, smashing against the walls. Malachai barreled through Pandora, breaking against a stone pillar. A cacophony of screams and twisting metal evicted the silence of the attempted execution.

Adella caught Donovan’s falling body with an uttered incantation, leaving him hanging like a marionette. She unfastened her necklace and cinched the golden chain around Donovan’s neck. “May the light of the
Aether guide you.” The firestone blazed as it accepted its new bearer. After a few surges of fiery glow, the jewel became still.

Crystalline tears flowed from
Adella’s eyes while a lump swelled in her throat.
There was so much more you needed to know
. She crossed her hands over her chest, centering her focus. The sounds of battle raging elsewhere fell silent. Surviving candles found their flames unable to flicker.

The whole world was still.

Adella’s hands moved in broad strokes, painting an ancient symbol on the air as though the frozen candlelight provided canvas. Magical energy flowed from both floor and ceiling, converging on the glyph. Her hands moved faster, the symbol becoming more vivid as the energies multiplied.

The symbol exploded in a shower of golden sparks and swirling vortex was born.

Adella touched a slender finger to her lips, then pressed it to Donovan’s temple, gifting him the remnants of her power. She hoped the sacrifice would be enough to balm his wound. She hoped it would give him time.

With a wave she sent Donovan’s body into the unknown of the portal. “Good bye, Captain.”

“No! He must pay!” Pandora had shaken off the shock wave’s effects. Her eyes were no longer the crystal blue of her mother’s. They burned with an ugly indigo firestorm that ached with hatred. Pandora jabbed a palm forward, flinging a sizzling green flame at Donovan.

Adella stepped into the bolt, absorbing the brunt of it with her chest. A streak arced from her body, colliding with the portal. The combined magicks of Breath and Blight twisted and pulled at the helpless captain of the guard. His torso collapsed upon
itself, then ballooned. Limbs cracked and twisted. The portal collapsed upon itself leaving no traces, as the opposing energies continued to ply Donovan’s broken form.

Adella shuddered in disbelief. She had expected pain, but there was only warmth washing over her.
Warmth and peace. She suddenly felt a nagging fatigue and longed only for her favorite blanket.

“I shall love you always, star-shine.”
Adella’s body dissipated into a translucent cloud of sapphire fireflies and then faded away.

The Once Kingdom, home of
Adella’s proud palace stood eerily silent, absent any traces of its former family.

Save for a furious Pandora, whose glowering eyes continued to burn.

Chapter 2

The Beast of Briarburn awoke hungry as usual. He rolled from a spongy bed of moss, patting the pangs away. He yawned until something popped, then massaged his smarting jaw with a plate sized paw that ended in coal black claws.

He brushed a blanket of fluffy snow from his shoulders and shook his mane clean. He stood on thickly muscled legs like those of a lion king. A stout pair of ram-like horns added a further foot, ensuring the Beast was taller than any man of the realm. He fastened a dingy pair of breeches over an even dingier loin cloth and arched his back like a rustled feline.
More popping.
The price of sleeping on the ground.

The setting sun bequeathed swathes of mingling oranges and creeping purples. A canopy of snow-laden branches struggled under their added burdens. Despite obstructions of snow and ice, the Beast quickly located a princely tapestry of constellations glistening like diamonds. It was an appreciated comfort. But for the stars and the solitude, there wasn’t much that was comfortable in the Beast’s world. He could not even recall the last time he gazed upon a rising sun.

The Beast waited patiently for families of foxes and rabbits to drift off to slumber before lumbering about. After all, they afforded him the same
courteousy during the day. A badger quipped a goodnight and then disappeared into the hollow of a nearby fir. A moment later, its tiny yellow orbs were swallowed by the darkness. He wished them all a peaceful night, then heeded the second rumble of his hungry belly.

He cinched a hunter green cloak whose faded tattered edges had seen better days. Still, it was all he needed to face winter’s bite. His own coat of chestnut brown fur was ample enough. A walnut sized ruby hung from a preposterously thin necklace of golden spider silk. He pawed at the jewel, vying for a better look. After a curse best reserved for a tavern brawl, he managed to grasp his most treasured and frustrating possession.

In a bath of starlight, he pored over the jewel. By his count it was the millionth such inspection. The Beast grunted his frustration and let the medallion slip through his claws.
Such a delicate bauble for such a crass being. It must have been crafted by a powerful sorcerer,
the Beast reckoned. He often sensed power emanating from within, whispering in the stillest of nights.

The Beast ran a claw over the medallion’s reverse, feeling the familiar grooves of the impeccable inscription etched by a forgotten author. The words were as foreign to him as his own origin. His heart sank a hair as it often did when he tried to force the memory free.

Sometimes he thought the inscription was mocking him. Other times he imagined it was the forgotten incantation of an ancient spell.
Perhaps a spell to remove a curse or to turn water into ale? He cared little for magic or for curses. In truth, the Beast of Briarburn would have given anything for the medallion to merely reveal his name.

Frustrated, he pulled the cloak closed, burying the firestone in his mane. He flipped up the cloak’s cavernous hood. At night, but for his massive build, he would travel unnoticed. That suited him just fine. At the onset of his lonely march, the Beast had tried consorting with the world of Men, but found it more frigid than the bitterest winter. Even within the kindest of company, a cast of worthwhile comrades was rare in the finding.

The Great Road was teacher of a great many lessons. Painful lessons the Beast had little intention of repeating. Lesson number one: Trust No One. It was far better to rely on oneself than to trust in another.
For bread or for blood, there was only a man for himself
.

The Beast was no fool, however. Occasional cooperation was not without merit. But it was meant to be just that, occasional.
And preferably short-lived.
Things may have worked out for the better had that always been so.

Shouldering a worn pack, he contemplated lesson number two. The penalty for forgetting lesson number one was usually a stiff one; such as being chasing by an angry mob wielding rusty farm tools. Or being shackled and caged. The Beast shuddered at that last thought.

There was nothing worse than chains.

He put the memory aside and started for the road, careful to avoid the slumbering critters. Vapor escaped from his snout in large plumes and snow crunched underfoot, while the winter wind whistled through the
trees. The Beast preferred the season. He found it had a unique pace that suited him. In the wild, winter was able to freeze time itself, making things serene.

The Great Road remained where he had left it the night before. Wagon tracks in the knee high snow had been freshly filled by the morning’s storm. He stared down the lonely stretch of cobbled stone. The snow covered road rolled through a serpentine series of gentle curves before disappearing behind a drift horizon of ivory. In the still of the spreading night the strange words returned, dancing amongst his skulking ruminations.
In my heart, I know you’re there...
He knew not from whence the words came. The mysterious voice chanting them in was ever changing, distorted like an echo in a cavern.

With a huff he buried the strange voice and trudged off, leaving behind a trail of prints the size of foxholes. East had been his heading since autumn’s end. Tales from a score of inn keepers and pilgrims had provided countless leads, each one naming a wizard or shaman who may possess the skill to translate the mysterious inscription. The Beast snickered. The intellectual types never could resist the urge to prove how much smarter they were than everyone else.

The moon finally appeared and began its nightly journey. Drifts of snow at the road’s shoulders glistened, mirroring the starry sky. Fox tracks dotted the land in the strange crisscrossing pattern they were notorious for. He would have appreciated the company of foxes tonight. He could
have used one of their famous riddles to help pass the time.
What was that last riddle?
They have not flesh, nor feathers, nor scales, nor bone. Yet they have fingers and thumbs of their own
. The Beast considered it for another moment and then moved on. “Stupid foxes,” he grumbled.

All remained quiet long into the night until the thunder of hooves disturbed the golden silence. The vibration perked his ears up. Riders in the night were almost never a good thing. Madmen and marauders and things much more vile readily preyed on road weary travelers who found themselves caught out in the dark.

No panic crept upon the Beast’s heart, however. The local gangs of rabble knew better than attack the Beast of Briarburn.
His own reputation as something not to be trifled with was a common place story, carried on the wings of ravens, and sung by bards in taverns far and wide.

The Beast had little desire to fight, but had no intention of fleeing. The road was free to travel. And since he had traveled its windy worn out stretches for so long, he had come to consider it home. No, there would be no cowering this night. If the road were to be
all the home he had, than he would not abandon it.

The hooves thundered closer. As a minor concession, the Beast moved a step closer to the shoulder, before resuming his journey. Confrontation would not be necessary unless the horsemen desired it. The Beast did not even bother to turn his cloaked head to the noisy intrusion.