Fifthwind (61 page)

I
came to stand beside Elyse and the beast. It tried to pull away, but
she grimaced and kept the creature locked to her. She managed a
tormented smile, but I could tell it was already too late; it had
taken too much. I knew that by killing the beast, I would be killing
her. Their lives were entwined. A cry of anguish erupted from my
core; the blade in my murderous hand might as well be intended for
her. But, how could I allow such an abomination to exist? How could
I let her sacrifice be in vain?

Elyse
reached out and took my hand into hers. Without words, she met my
eyes. In them I saw torment and pain, but more than that, I saw pride
and determination and... love.

I
saw that she understood.

Anger
and grief flooded my heart, but I needed to be strong. Every passing
moment meant more agony for the poor child. Without hesitation, I
pushed aside my self-pity and swung my knife with all of my strength,
burying the blade deep between the creature's ribs. It snorted in
surprise, then reared up on its hind legs and unleashed a deafening
squeal like a thousand dying pigs.

It
flailed its hooves and stumbled forward onto its knees, jostling in
the grass and kicking outward, endangering Elyse. Its spell on her
now broken, she collapsed and clawed at the ground to get away from
the dying fiend. I could hear her crying as she inched farther away
from the enraged animal, her soul broken, her innocence stolen.

All
of the energy that the creature had taken from the forest was
released in its dying moments. Its hide returned to the nasty-gray
weave stretched over a corpse-like frame that it once was. The
shining and erect spiral horn that the creature had acquired was
relinquished in exchange for the crooked, darkened bone protrusion.
The beast of legend kicked out in irregular spasms before finally
going limp. A small ribbon of smoke plumed from the burnt-out cavity
in its chest where my knife had found its heart.

The
clouds pulled back and the forest was bathed in the warmth of a
late-summer sun. I rushed to Elyse's side, slid to my knees and held
her gently to my chest. Her hair was white and she was cold. Her
hand again found mine but she was weak and her breathing was shallow.
Her blind eyes looked blankly up at me and she managed a last, tiny
whisper. One might expect that the story of her life should end with
an insightful message of grand importance, but it pains me to say
that I could not make out her final words. I would like to think that
her last thoughts were of her loving father.

Though
she was gone, I stayed with her for the rest of the day. She had
given everything to protect the ones that she loved. She deserved so
much more than to be left alone.

The
clouds receded. The cold was gone. Warmth and light returned. And as
I looked down at the horned beast, slain by my own hand, I
understood...

Years
have passed, and under the grace of the King, I have since found a
home for myself and my precious fragments of folklore. I have
displayed many paintings and tapestries, but I have never allowed the
image of that horned creature of myth to befoul my hall. What others
have long seen as a symbol of majestic beauty, I will forever feel as
a cold scar upon my heart. Never again will I allow anyone to be
deceived by The Foulness.

Stuart
Geithe
Archivist
of Mythology and Folklore
His
Majesty's Library, Arden City

A NOTE TO READERS

If you enjoyed this book, please remember to recommend it to
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—Thank You

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ken Kiser grew up in Southern Louisiana. He spent much of his youth lost in daydreams as he explored the untamed forests and swamps that sprawled for miles around. It wasn’t all that unusual to find him slogging knee-deep through the swamps, half-expecting to encounter some terrible bog-monster that would undoubtedly devour him and leave his bones piled up in the corner of a muddy lair. It was a great place for a young man with an active imagination to grow up.

He spent many years in the USAF where he was fortunate enough to see unimaginable wonders in far away places spanning from Asia to Europe. Many of his experiences live on in his writing, where culture and folklore breathe life into the world he has created.

He now lives in Las Vegas with his wife and two cats.