Trail of Bones: A Young Adult Fantasy Novel (11 page)

Where are you, Kelor?
he questioned.
There you are!
he thought as he saw another cub on the far side of the mother.
But from this distance he wasn’t sure if it was Keon or the dreaded Kelor.

He slid the broken wooden handle of a shovel into the eyelet where the lock had once been. It wasn’t strong enough the hold the giant cats for long, but it would have to do. Getting into a tangle with one of the panthers was painful enough, but to fight them all at once… he’d have no chance. None.

The growl was unmistakable. It was low, and slow. A warning of an impending attack… and it was coming from outside the cage. It was Kelor, it had to be.

Dox grabbed the only thing he could to defend himself, the cleaver he used to hack the corgan meat. It was large and not too sharp, plus it was weighted toward the end of the thick blade that made chopping easier, but not slashing or parrying. Still, it was that or nothing, and Dox knew his life depended on it. Orders from the Warden or not, he was not about to go down without a fight.

Minotaur were an interesting race, a rare combination of opposing emotions. They lived and traveled in large tribes, or herds, in the Western plains of Southern Illyia. While the females were generally docile, males were tornados of rage, bravado, and ironically, fear. Much like their distant cousins, the corgan or cow, they were easily startled and paranoid when traveling isolated from the herd. Learning to overcome the strong and pronounced “flight” instinct, the goal of every male Minotaur and served as part of the maturation process. In order for a male to remain with his herd, he had to face and embrace “the fear within”. Like many cultures, it was a journey required to be taken alone, and only after returning with a trophy of victory could the male Minotaur be fully accepted. Failure meant being shunned or expelled from the herd. For the very weak, horns and reproductive organs were removed, and they were relegated to a life of service more akin to slavery.

While fear was a very natural emotion for most sentient beings, it was how the Minotaur overcame the fear that made them unique. Instead of pursuing reason or exercising their intellect, they embraced the “fight within”. Through years of discipline, battles, and even self inflicted wounds, they learned to isolate the emotions of rage and anger to channel it into a torrent of strength, power, and energy. This made the Minotaur one of the most feared races on the battlefields of Illyia. As combatants of the arenas, the beast-men were also among the most challenging opponents with the best odds of a victory and monetary success …if they lived long enough to collect it.

There was, however, a dangerous side effect of this rapid increase of adrenaline, strength, and anger. Loosely translated from the Minotaur’s native tongue, the phenomenon was known as the Blood Dream. As the chemicals washed over the brain, the effect was often catastrophic. The ability to tell friend from foe or to discern danger, say from a burning inferno disappeared. Just as corgans would stampede to avoid a threat, the Minotaur would charge into death without a second thought even when better recourse was available.

The War of Shattered Horns, as the Minotaur referred to it, was one such occasion. Two tribes had rallied to fight an incursion of Giant Serpents to the Southwest of their grazing fields. Several calves had fallen victim to the stealthy predators, and in response, the tribes had assembled an army to eradicate the threat. The battle with the serpents was brief and decisive, with few Minotaur casualties. The real “war”, however, ignited over a disagreement of how to best divide the spoils of the victory among the beast-men. The ensuing conflict nearly decimated both tribes as the Blood Dream took hold of the herds’ leaders and they slaughtered each other. Dox had been part of that terrible event, and his lost horn was just part of the shame he felt every single day since.

The Warden had saved his life and though there were many times he wished he had perished with many of his herd, he was indebted. As demeaning as many of his required tasks were, he dutifully performed as instructed so that one day he could earn his freedom and rejoin his race. The War of Shattered Horns was also the last time he had given in to the Blood Dream, something he fought very hard to banish from his heart and mind.

This panther, however, brought back the maddening emotions, and Dox was fearful of what that might mean… for the panther, for his master… for himself.

CHAPTER 9

Dox squinted as he tried to locate the source of the growls. The tent was awash in a crimson tint as the sun pounded on the maroon canvas. While his eyes were keen to movement, he struggled to make out shapes through the stark contrasts of light and dark. Columns of light streamed in from several vents cut into the top of the canvas. Even though the sun outside was directly overhead, the large tent was filled with shadows and plenty of places to hide.

Kelor watched from his perch on one of the stacks of boxes. The young cat’s eyes were capable of sharp and detailed vision in all degrees and intensities of light.

He should have seen me by now,
he thought as he let out another growl.

The beast-man spun his large butcher-style blade still in his hand. As his head turned, it was obvious he still did not know where Kelor was hiding.

The panther couldn’t help it, he laughed out loud. “What’s the matter, Dox? Lose something?”

“You should have run when you had the chance, Kelor,” the Minotaur responded as he continued his search. “Master will not be pleased.”

“I think it’s you who should be running,” answered the panther as he crouched, ready to pounce.

In spite of the “fun”, Kelor experienced in these first moments of freedom, his thoughts were only of his mother and brothers, not of escaping. The flaps to the entrance of the holding tent buckled in the breeze, and yet they were of no temptation to the cat. His focus remained on Dox and removing the beast-man as an obstacle to freeing his family.

“Come on!” yelled the Minotaur in frustration.

Kelor’s eye’s narrowed and his shoulder muscles tightened.
You’re in my way, Dox, nothing more,
thought the cat as he leaped down on his unsuspecting target.

Dox could not hear the attack coming, but his other senses sent an alarm through his nervous system. The thick, coarse hairs on his back raised as the cat’s claws and fangs approached. He whirled around, a beat too late. The beast-man attempted a defensive swing, but Kelor’s front paws struck his left shoulder and drove the Minotaur to the ground.

This was not the first time Dox had been in this position, and he had learned from his previous failures. As he slid on his back, he pushed up with his feet, and his hooves hit Kelor’s underbelly. The Minotaur extended his powerful thighs and projected his attacker over his body and crashing into a stack of wooden crates. He spun onto one knee, and he retrieved his weapon.

Kelor crawled from the broken containers, his coat stained with a number of unknown liquids from the crates’ contents. He shook his head and then his body to rid himself of the contaminants. He sneered as he circled his caretaker, keeping his head and frame low to the ground.

“Get back in your cage, Kelor. This is your last chance or…” Dox began to explain.

“Let my mother and brothers go. This is your last chance, Dox, or I’ll kill everyone in this camp if I must.”

“If that is what you wish, then you must unleash the beast. Let go of the fear within and embrace your nature. Do that or you will fail,” the beast-man answered.

The panther was perplexed by the Minotaur’s comment. Kelor was young and still trying to understand the range of emotions he felt. One thing was certain, though, he could easily feel the need to fight, and now was the time.

“Get out of my way!” Kelor roared as he lunged forward.

Dox dropped the blade and rushed forward, succumbing to the Blood Dream. The beast-man’s senses heightened as his thoughts turned to pure hate and rage. He could not even remember the cat’s name; all he could see was “enemy”. His muscles rippled with the familiar surge of power and energy.

The cat and the Minotaur collided in a wreck of fur, fangs, muscles and horn. Dox pounded with his club-like fists as Kelor responded with swipes from his dagger-sharp claws.

The two opponents traded blows, attacks, and counters. Neither gaining an advantage.

Finally, Kelor landed a decisive blow. He slammed the beast-man with his shoulder and sent Dox spiraling against the steel cage. The bars bent inward from the force of the impact. The panther roared with satisfaction but only for a moment. The blow should have incapacitated the caretaker or slowed his advance, but Dox shook off the collision as if he felt no pain.

The cat was unsure of what to do. Kelor had been born with an abundance of confidence, almost a feeling of invincibility. But now he experienced a different emotion ... doubt.

Dox stood up and stamped the ground with one of his powerful hooves. He lowered his head and charged straight at Kelor.

The panther’s first instinct was to attack, but with the horn of the Minotaur aimed at him, Kelor opted to jump out of the way. To his surprise, Dox’s bulky arms reached up and ripped Kelor from the air, slamming him to the ground, followed by the crushing weight of the beast-man himself.

The two tossed and turned, tumbled and spun throughout the tent destroying boxes, tables, pots, and every manner of object as the fight continued.

Roars, followed by yells and bellows, growls and screams filled the tent as if a thousand beasts battled for survival.

The melee of horns and hair crashed into a rack of oil lanterns. Canisters cracked, spilling and spraying the flammable contents on the tent walls and Dox’s arm and shoulder. The beast-man swung wildly, flailing in all directions. His fist bashed metal racks and spears, showering the ground with sparks that ignited the oil, and a flame spread across the floor of the tent, leaped up onto the canvas wall, and licked the top of the structure. Before Dox could distance himself from the fire, his oil-soaked shoulder caught an errant flame.

Kelor recoiled as the fire spread. He had seen fire, but only from a distance and then it was contained within glass lanterns and lamps. The inferno grew like a magical creature, lusting for fuel and destruction. Both mesmerized and terrified, the cat was not sure how to avoid this foreign threat.

Meanwhile, Dox zeroed in on his enemy, completely ignoring his burning flesh. The Minotaur tackled the panther and the two bowled out of the tent and into the center clearing of the temporary city.

Now Kelor and Dox were eye to eye. The cat looked into the Minotaur’s dark brown eyes and found nothing.
Nothing! What kind of crazy creature is this?
Kelor thought as he stared into his attacker’s gaze and then to the flames scorching the beast-man’s thick hide. It was as if life had vanished from Dox’s eyes and been replaced with a glazed and hollow look of a mindless predator.

What Dox saw in Kelor’s eyes, however, was much different. He saw fear in the panther’s eyes, something never before seen in the youngster. Normally, such an expression would have evoked some sympathy, but Dox was so deep in the Blood Dream that it barely registered, if at all.

The cat scrambled to escape the Minotaur’s grasp and the flames that crawled down his caretaker’s left arm. Fear overtook Kelor, and his only instinct was to escape. His claws sliced through the Dox’s flesh, yet the beast-man would not yield.

The Minotaur landed several crushing blows to Kelor’s throat and the side of his skull. Dazed and foggy, the cat slumped to the ground as the beast-man straddled the large panther.

Dox grabbed a tent spike lying nearby and raised his makeshift weapon high above his head.

“Dox! Dox!” came a nearby shout. The Minotaur heard the words and understood their meaning.

“Stop!” the voice commanded. But his predetermined attack could not be halted now.

The beast-man was about to thrust down, but the blunt head of a war-hammer slammed into his exposed rib cage, shattering bones in the process. Several more blows from the heavy weapon struck him again and again, until he finally dropped the spike. Dox fell to his side, gasping for air that had been knocked out of his torso.

The Warden stood over his wounded servant as he looked over the injured panther. He was about to finish off the troublesome Minotaur with another blow from the hammer when Kelor jumped.

The cat pinned the unsuspecting captor with one quick and powerful motion. The hammer fell to the ground as Kelor slammed his paw into the Warden’s shoulders, pressing the human to the ground. Kelor lowered his head, his powerful jaws and fangs only a hand away from the Warden’s nose.

“Go ahead, Cat, end me. Do that and your family’s best chance to avoid the afterlife go with me.”

Kelor looked up; the tent was ablaze, and he realized his mother and brothers were still inside the cage.