Beastly (6 page)

The Beast sensed truth in her words. Inside of that frightened boy a glowing ember had been born. That boy would mature and face his crawling fears in the darkness. The works of his mind turned, creaking slowly as rust fell away. The Beast remembered that boy. He survived, found his way to a new home...
A castle.
He would grow up to be...

The memory faded. It was only a fragment of a fragment. But it was something. It was a start. The Beast studied the lines around Urda’s eyes. The fire in her milky orbs hinted that old age had done little to dampen a strong spirit. There was no trace of dishonesty. He fumbled for the medallion and then lifted it over his head. The firestone gleamed, soaking up the fire’s warmth. With a gentle push it slid across the table, splitting the narrow spaces between bone-filled plates and empty mugs. Urda cupped her hand beneath the table’s edge just as the medallion slipped off.

The medallion spun, dangling from Urda’s bony fingers. She let it dance at the end of its chain,
then traced a thumb over the inscription. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it, my son,” Urda lied. “It is dazzling piece. Certainly there is magic within the stone, that much is obvious to even the thickest dullard. Very old. Originated beyond our realm.”

The exhausted Beast missed the subtle shift in Urda’s tone. Layers of flowery talk about magic and distant realms provided ample concealment.
It was the stuff of children’s fantasies and old maid’s tales
, the Beast thought.
Fantastic tales for hopeless fools.
Then again, he had experienced Urda’s magic firsthand.
Maybe there was something to her claim?
He leaned onto an elbow and extended an open palm. The medallion drifted from Urda’s fingers and settled around his tree trunk neck. The Beast stifled a chuckle. Urda’s mischievous nature was growing on him.

The Beast allowed a minor breach of his guard, dressing his words with a hint of sarcasm. “Parlor tricks are one thing, gypsy, but what real help are you?”

“Yes, yes, faerie fire is one thing. Showing you the nature of true magic is another entirely. Your quest, your very existence is grounded in more magic than you care to admit, Beast of Briarburn. It surrounds you though you deny it, fueled by the brightest stars in our nighttime sky.” Urda’s eyes sparkled with the rising passion in her voice. “Magic is the very life-blood and soul of
all
creation. It stretches beyond the land of the living, binding all of the realms in a delicate master piece.”

The Beast was speechless. He had no rebuttal for Urda’s passionate words. Had he arbitrarily dismissed magic’s importance as the world of Men had so callously dismissed him? He thought of the cold iron shackles
that had bound him after the last time he had trusted in men. Summoning all courage, he stood and bowed his head. He crossed his heart with a wide paw.

“Please, help me.”

“Of course Urda will help you. There is much to learn from your past, yes. But a glimpse into your future will provide guiding star.”

The Beast fell back into his chair, expecting the crystal balls to resume their dance. Urda slapped the table with a freckled hand and laughed.
“Silly boy. One cannot divine the future by scouring the fabric of memory. Come, we must go outside.”

Much preferring the hearth to the freezing wind, the Beast hesitated. “Why is that?”

“The stars, Beast of Briarburn. If there are answers for us to find, surely they will be amongst the stars.”

Urda snapped her fingers and the door leading outside swung open. A second snap dismissed the flickering crystals. Urda offered her arm to the Beast. Again, he hesitated. Urda scoffed and picked up her old bones. “Heaven forbid a gentleman help an old woman from her chair.
Especially when she means to wander into the cold on his behalf.”

The Beast flushed and looked sheepishly at his feet. Urda patted him on the arm and strolled to the door, leaving him to embrace his role as shadow. The sky was a jumble of gray cotton. The moon peeked in and out of sight, but the stars were all but absent. The Beast grumbled, slicing
a paw through a thick fog. “I can barely see my hand let alone the stars.”

Urda ignored the complaint. She pressed her palms together, fingers pointed to the moon. He heard a whisper, thinking at first it was the rustling wind. The whispering lasted a sparrow’s song and then Urda blew a kiss to the heavens. The stars shook their cloudy blanket free, for a moment illuminating the world with light brilliant enough to make the sun envious. The stars’ diamond encrusted mural promised that he was an important thread in a grand masterpiece. Humbled, he bowed his head.

Urda summoned the crystals with a snap,
then threw an imaginary stick at the sky. The crystals shot off in pursuit of their quarry, climbing over snow-covered pines, then scattering in three directions. Positioned to her liking, Urda shouted. “Well then, go on. Show our friend what is to be.”

Beams of scarlet light shot from the crystals, forming a triangle against the starry backdrop. They carved the night, slowly draining away the color within the boundary. First went the cottony clouds. Then went the charcoal sky. The stars themselves faded last, leaving a pale triangle. The Beast’s jaw dropped. He eyed the gypsy, but only for a moment. There was a nagging sensation that her magic was dangerous. But, he had decided to place his trust in it and he would see the decision through.

“No harm shall come to you from the stars. Not ever,” Urda said softly.

The tension eased in his shoulders and the Beast released the breath he
had been holding since the fiery shape appeared. A speck flashed in the triangle’s center. It danced erratically, leaving tracers of light in its wake. The speck raced about, bouncing among the scarlet boundaries, filling in the empty space with a familiar image.

His portrait...

“You’ve out done yourself,” the Beast said, impressed once more by the gypsy’s magic.

The sketch suddenly vibrated. A writhing tail of wicked barbs burst through the triangular frame, knocking the Beast-effigy from his feet. A second whip like appendage wrapped around its throat.

The Beast jabbed a talon at the morbid image.
“Jahana’s blaze!
What was that?”

Urda did not answer, only solemnly nodded upwards, trying to focus the Beast’s attention.

The Beast snarled and looked as commanded. Fanged jaws appeared, snapping and salivating. He watched helplessly as the effigy was flayed by the writing serpents. The jaws stalked forward. With a crunching pop they unhinged to a grotesque angle. He heard a child’s cry from above. Familiar somehow, like an echo. He didn’t know how, but he was certain it was not the scream of the cringing boy.

The image vibrated again. The speck sped about, etching a small figure behind his effigy. Not until the Beast noticed the curly hair did he realize it was a child.

A girl.

The fanged jaws snapped like a bear trap, swallowing the scene. A cruel laugh leaked from the dying portrait. And then there was nothing. The sky breached the crimson triangle like ocean tide through a sand castle.

“No!” The Beast paced a circle around Urda, snow and ice crunching underfoot. “I must know more. Is that to be my end? You said no harm would come of stars. What then is that?” The furious tirade left his muscled chest heaving. He clutched at his medallion, pulling the chain taut.

Urda rested a gentle hand on the Beast’s paw and guided the medallion back to his mane. “Take heart, Beast of Briarburn. Your fate is no more certain than the next man’s. All you carry from this moment, your fears, your strength, and yes even your weakness can protect you from that fate. But only if you recognize which is which.”

The Beast grumbled a minor complaint about Urda’s cryptic words but the old woman hushed him with a wave. She extended her arm and this time the Beast was swift to take it.

“Come. This wind is fit to chill a witch’s heart. Let us find the fire. In the morning, you will visit Sensheeri. An old friend there may be of further service. I yet have a trick that will aid your travels.”

***

A bright sapphire star penetrated the newly settled cloud cover where
the macabre theatre had been drawn. Polaris shined down with increasing intensity. The light filtered down in a spiral, enveloping the Troll’s Breath in its center.

Chapter 7

Sensheeri was founded at the edge of Lake Tamahl, the largest lake in the Once Kingdom. The mammoth body took weeks to traverse under the most accommodating happenstance. At its deepest Tamahl was several times deeper than man’s natural ability to dive. For generations, Sensheeri’s people worked the bountiful waters as fisherman and salvager. The town was raised in circular fashion like the rings of a tree; proud evidence of growth and prosperity. Sensheeri’s domiciles and small shops were also perfect circles, owing to a belief that evil spirits preferred shadowy corners to use as portals.

Daybreak found vendors of bolted wool and cured meats pushing carts through the modest marketplace. Cries of cheap wares and scandalous bargains melded into a continuous buzz. A bakery teased the air with scents of sweet bread, a welcome distraction from the scent of brine. A small armada of fishing boats cinched to a pair of barnacled piers rolled on gentle tides. Icy winter months provided no respite: the lake remained under daily siege by eager crews preparing their vessels for launch. Men bundled in thick coats scurried across the docks, carrying supplies for the long day ahead. Lines were cast off and wives wished for safe returns, their breath dotting the morning air like smoke signals.

Lia knelt in front of Sensheeri’s bakery, watching a pack of children kick a patchwork ball around a muddied stretch of road. Her shoulder
length hair was the color of baker’s chocolate, carelessly cinched with a pale blue ribbon. She wanted nothing more than to join them at play, but knew better than to ask. She was different and they would never let her forget it.

She pressed a tiny twig of a finger into the snow, doodling nothing in particular. The nothing was soon a box. Another scribble and it became a house. Next to the box-house came a family of stick figures. She giggled at the accidental giants beside the tiny home.
How peculiar,
she thought. A wave and a whisper and the canvas of snow became blank once more.

Startled by a sudden chill, Lia looked up from the snow, cautiously looking around.
No one had noticed
. She breathed a sigh of relief. Magic in all forms was expressly forbidden by the queen. Even simple gestures like asking the snow to erase itself. Lia didn’t understand why it were
so. How silly that something as wonderful as painting the sky over Festival with tiny comets was forbidden?

A tall boy noticed Lia off by herself. Philip sneered, carefully lining up his next kick. With a dull thump, the ball sailed over the slush covered road. He took off in hot pursuit, knowing full well where it would land. A growing shadow darkened Lia’s snowy canvas. The dirty ball bumped her knees and spread mud through her work space. Sighing, she looked up and found a most expected Philip grinning down from behind a mask of filth. Lia fought back a gag. Philip smelled of manure and the fishmonger, a wretched stench that could fell a charging bull.

“What are
ya drawing today,
durp
?”

Lia shrugged. She hated the word ‘
durp
’, essentially a slur meaning ‘outcast’. The other children were fast at Philip’s side, loyal minions all.

“Leave me alone, Philip.” Lia’s voice was soft but steady. Sadly, being bullied was a way of life. She took a deep breath. ‘
Don’t give in starshine’,
she heard Cedrik say in her head. Her back stiffened a bit.

“I asked you a question,
durp
!” Philip shrugged his shoulder with more than a little menace.

“Yeah durp, what’s that supposed to be?” Another boy chimed in, emboldened by his boss.

The urge to lash out germinated deep in Lia’s belly, rising steadily into her lungs. She knew she shouldn’t give in. It never ended well and usually supplied them with additional fodder. Instead, her amber eyes darted back and forth, hoping for a nearby elder.

No such luck.

“Maybe it was supposed to be her
matar
,” a fat, pig-faced girl oinked in a nasally voice, “the mother she doesn’t have!”

The band of bullies laughed at Pig-face’s cruel jab. Lia’s eyes watered, but no tears fell. She swore to deny them the pleasure of seeing her cry. She climbed to her feet, deftly dabbing her eyes. Her brave act lit the powder keg inside Philip’s mean streak. The bully’s shove sent Lia reeling through the muddy snow and flopping into a freezing puddle.

“Stay in the gutter where you belong.” Philip trampled the rest of the
clean patch of snow. “No more stupid pictures today,
durp
.”

Lia shivered, looking on in sad disbelief. Not for her pictures, or for Philip’s cruelty. She pitied Philip and the others.
How sad and hurt they must be on the inside.
Philip racked his brain for another insult. The wheels turned then stalled. Frustrated, Philip wound up a kick instead. If he couldn’t hurt Lia with words...

“You little demons leave that girl alone,” called a stern voice. It was instantly soothing to Lia as always and in the air like a woodwind. Cedrik made for the crowd of bullies, walking stick leading the way. A battered lute was strapped to his back, partially obscured by folds of his cloak. He stopped, pinning the stick beneath his arm, and adjusted his blindfold.