Beastly (8 page)

Lia couldn’t believe it.
How couldn’t I have known? Why did he keep it a secret?

The blindness fell from
Cedrik’s
eyes like a masquerade mask. He searched for Lia. He had to see her face one last time. He found her standing by Jack’s side, safely bound at the shoulders by the brawny hands of his closest friend. Cedrik beamed and mouthed the word ‘remember’. In a final act of defiance, Cedrik turned his back on the Wakeful and the tyranny of their queen.

And resumed his song.

“Take him,” Malachai commanded.

“No!” Lia screamed as loud as her lungs would allow. She tried to wrestle free from Jack’s grasp.

The Wakeful blades flashed like black lightning, cutting through cloak and flesh. Cedrik gasped and fell to his knees. He looked around the village that he had called home for the last seven years.
The hut that he had once used to deliver newborns. The wharf, where he had mastered the craft of Sensheeri’s trade. A coldness not born of winter settled into his bones and Cedrik shivered. He saw Sensheeri’s lone tavern. Memories of celebration dissolved like lighted shadows. The world grayed. He stared at the child he loved above all, grateful to take Lia’s vibrance into the World After. She was the divine symphony a world deafened by oppression cried out for.

Cedrik cradled his lute and crumpled over.

Malachai pointed his blade at Cedrik and then turned to the stunned crowd. Hateful mocking tinged his drone. “Such is the price for your
blasph--”

A lone chord twanged beautifully, rippling through Lia’s heart before sailing across the still lake waters.
Cedrik’s body quaked and his hand readied another bit of lullaby. Malachai’s sword flashed with emerald flame. The Wakeful captain drove the inferno through Cedrik’s chest, pinning the old man to the snow. He withdrew, making a proud display of his bloodied trophy.

The blackness returned to
Cedrik’s eyes. And then the music was gone.

Chapter 9

The portal sealed with a sucking sound of mud. The Beast rested his paws on his knees, willing his stomach to peace. “Never again.”

A wailing scream split the morning. In an instant, the birdsong of nearby snow doves was hushed. Even the wind, long entitled to whistling over the lake’s tides, found
itself silenced. It was the wail of an innocent robbed by a cruel twist of fate.
A child tormented by a terrible evil.

The Beast took cover behind the twin cairns marking Sensheeri’s boundary. Crouching, he was half as tall as the monolith. Not the best of cover, barely wide enough to conceal his girth. But it would have to do. He poked half of his horned head around the stone.

The townsfolk were assembled beneath a bell tower. No one spoke. No one moved.
Did they yet breathe?
At the crowd’s heart were six men in black armor. The Wakeful. The Beast’s guttural mumble rolled though fangs on a plume of steam. “Wakeful filth. I should have known.”

A somber air blanketed the town, sadness plainly written on the sullen faces of men and women alike. He pitied them. Despite his being a cast off
he harbored Sensheeri no ill will. But this was not his battle. Facing the Wakeful on the road would have been in defense of
his
home. He had no such place here. The Beast shouldered his pack. He would leave behind the Wakeful and their grim business.

The cairn beneath his paw vibrated. He stepped away, crouching low.
A familiar voice distorted by the sound of ancient stone whispered to him. “Did I not tell you to go to Sensheeri, Beast of Briarburn? Hmm? Did Urda not say there was someone for you to meet?”

“The Wakeful are not my concern.”

“They are your biggest concern, my boy. They stand between you and what you prize most.” The vibration stopped and Urda’s essence fled the cairn. The Beast’s head drooped as he considered the task at hand. Urda had neglected to name the person he was to
meet, saying only that his path would be brightly lit. He would have to trust her words.

Movement flickered in the paralyzed mass of villagers. A little girl broke free of a muscular man with a bushy moustache. She charged the Wakeful, piercing the crowd like a javelin. The brazen act shocked all. The crowd widened and the soldiers in black readied their weapons. The Beast found his curiosity piqued.
What could stir such raw emotion in a child?

The riders cleared the Beast’s line of sight, falling back to their mounts. The wailing girl knelt over the bloodied body of an old man cradling a broken lute. She wailed into his tattered cloak, muffling the cries and giving the Beast his answer.

Murder.

The muscular man who had been holding her called out.
“Lia!”

For a moment all was still. And then Lia finally lifted her head. The Beast’s eyes twitched wide. Hovering over the deceased was the child from Urda’s sky sketch. There was no mistaking it. Every detail of her
round face had been etched into his mind the night before. It was the amber reflection of her eyes that drew his stare above all else. Instead of the rage he expected, rage that would’ve claimed him like an angry storm, there was stillness. Where there should have been hot painful tears, there were none.

Something very foreign stared at Malachai and his men. Something beautiful and painfully absent from the world he knew.
Innocence
. The Beast was suddenly very ashamed for his near departure. Lia’s eyes were free of fear, narrowed and focused. They were the calm gaze of a spirit perfectly centered. He was fascinated by the spectacle, thinking it impossible to be so steady in the face of such brutality.

Lia brushed the snowy hair from the man’s eyes and kissed his forehead. The big man lumbered over and dropped to his knees. His beefy arms tried pulling her into a bear hug. Lia resisted with the push of a tiny hand and whispered into the breeze.

Eyes widened throughout the village. Lia’s delicate hands
glowed a delicate white shine. She chanted ancient words and the speechless wind answered with a mighty gust. The light spread, wrapping her like a luminous shroud. Linens blew from lines and hats from heads. Adults stumbled and children were blown into muddy snow. The light intensified and with a final chant, Lia lowered her hands to the dead man’s chest.

The enchantment spread from Lia’s hands to the deceased. Wind ripped through the village, rattling shutters and bumping rows of
Sensheeri’s boats against docks with wooden clunks. The lake’s tide surged, threatening to reclaim the wharfs. Malachai roared a challenge to the wind and ordered his men around the emerald flame. The Wakeful raised a cathedral of swords over the fire, edges clanging against the tempest.

The green flame raised the Beast’s hackles. This magic was different than Urda’s. The unholy blaze hinted at a greater, darker evil. It was unnatural. It did not belong in this world. The Beast abandoned the safety of the cairn and rushed to the village. A shock wave blasted from the pyre in a bubble of shimmering energy. The Beast was knocked down hard. His ears rang with a high pitched whine. The ground felt like it had melted into a rolling sea.

Sensheeri fared little better. A smoldering pit three acres wide steamed with the ashes of the blast. The village shops were no more than immolated skeletons of glowing ember. Screams and groans filled the acrid air. Panic stricken survivors scrambled in all directions, searching for sanctuary. Men scooped up wives, who scooped up children, and fled for the safety of the trees.

Only Lia’s light remained unshaken. Her face was the same mask of tranquility.

Malachai’s fist crushed his sword’s hilt. The burn of his crimson eyes flickered in tune with the embers at his feet. “Seize the girl.”

A Wakeful sheathed his jagged sword and sprinted like a wolf running
down prey. Lia’s hands crossed in waving patterns, working the enchantment to its pinnacle. The Wakeful closed, drawing a twisted dagger. The Beast hurdled the child in a blur of billowing cloak, barreling a bone-crushing blow into the Wakeful a pace from Lia’s side. The collision smashed a tangle of fur and steel through Sensheeri’s well.

The Beast climbed from the stony wreckage and towered over the fallen soldier. He seized the Wakeful’s faceplate, hoisting him to eye level. Snarling, he squeezed. Malachai ordered the attack and the rest of his men charged. The grating screech of metal being crushed quickly halted the advance. The Beast held his trophy high and then casually tossed the drone aside.

He threw his massive shoulders back, bared every last fang and growled, daring them to come.

The Wakeful split apart, circling the Beast. One charged, slashing high. The Beast caught a gleam in the blade, paused a breath,
then
ducked. A Wakeful to his rear careened in and rolled over his shoulder. The Beast channeled the momentum and flung him into Wakeful at his front. He clamored over the pile of black armor, rushing for the green fire. Malachai and company plunged their swords into the pyre of emerald, siphoning power into their blades. The fire burst, spewing embers into the snow. The discarded embers sizzled and the ground began to shake.

The Beast danced awkwardly for a moment and then dropped to four paws. The Wakeful withdrew their swords and the quake died. Their
obsidian blades pulsed with borrowed power.

They took aim with the charged weapons and loosed jets of green flame. The Beast rolled away. Ravenous tendrils singed his cloak and burned patches of black glass into the land. They lined up for a second volley, but he was ready. He snatched up two heavy pieces of broken well and heaved them like a catapult. The missiles connected with a boom, blasting two Wakeful into Lake
Tamahl’s freezing grip.

Malachai threw a whirling sword that wedged into the ground a pace before the Beast.

The Beast snorted. “Not even
close, Wakeful filth.”

Malachai droned a chortling sound.
“Hardly.”

The Beast’s wild ears twitched at a faint whistling sound. He dove aside, narrowly escaping a screaming meteorite. A second, then third orb of malachite fell, birthing quakes
of their own. The Beast evaded, dodging storms of debris, with a flurry of dashes and dives.

Lia cried out. “Jack!”

The Beast rolled to his feet, head snapping to the cry. Malachai was dragging Lia to his waiting mount. She dug her heels in and wrestled her captor’s grip, but the ground was too muddy and Malachai much too strong. Lia clawed for the big body lying in the snow. The Beast gave chase, running hard for the Wakeful captain. A flurry of green meteorites blotted the morning sun,
then pounded the earth, trapping him behind a wall of undying flame. He sprung back, watching helplessly as Malachai
took his mount and slung Lia across his lap. The dark horse wheeled in place, then bolted for the cairn.

In two blinks they were gone, disappeared down the road. Faint groans interrupted his pursuit.

“Lia
..”

The Beast knelt by Jack’s side. The burly man was badly burned. Clothing and hair were singed to flakey ash. The Beast was no
medicus. He knew Jack’s moments were fleeting. His tongue fumbled, lacking the comforting words of a cleric’s offering. He silently chided himself for not acting sooner. A voice from the forgotten part of the Beast’s heart told him to take Jack’s hand.

Sensheeri’s dying sheriff’s eyes glossed with tears. Burned fingers tugged at the Beast’s cloak. Jack shook as the World After beckoned. His eyes widened and with the last of his strength he pulled the mammoth figure closer.

“You must find her.”

Chapter 10

The Beast closed Jack’s eyelids with a gentle paw. He was no stranger to the cruel bond of death and desperation. The grim scene had been played out for his benefit many times over. In the wild, Death hunted with any number of masterful techniques: exposure, starvation, combat. Survival was, at its core, merely a struggle to delay the inevitable.

Sensheeri burned all around; a doomed village beyond saving. Most of the villagers had fled the terror. Some lingered about, skulking through rubble, salvaging what they may. Their ash covered faces mirrored Jack’s grim mask. The Beast knew as they did: winter was young and yet had long to reign.

A woman carrying an infant scurried to
Cedrik’s body. Trembling sobs and prayers parted her lips. The Beast gestured for her to pay her last respects. He stepped back, affording her a measure of privacy. The woman’s eyes pulsed wide. She pulled the baby closer and fled for the safety of her neighbors.

The Beast of Briarburn was unsurprised by the woman’s fear. His earliest memories conjured angry mobs and sleepless nights. The villages were seldom a place for a being such as
he. On the Great Road, he had found sanctuary and lived amongst others chased from hearth and home. Such men were happy to have an intimidating companion.
It was then the chains found him.

The woman ambled up a gangplank and disappeared onto a waiting barge. Several such boats remained, singed but spared by the Wakeful fire. Their crews shouted instructions at the growing crowd of refugees lining the wharf. By twos they ordered aboard, carrying the salvaged pieces of their world. Moments later, the last of the boats slipped between the lake’s mists and vanished. The Beast pitied the refugees, knowing they left behind more than burnt buildings. They sailed away from festivals and autumn harvests.
And from the camaraderie of drunken brawls and friendships renewed in their tavern. The bell tower snapped and collapsed, falling with a splat and a clang.
How many weddings and births had the bell chimed?
In the span of a single morning, the whole world had burned.