Beastly (19 page)

He rested his broad back against the wall and found the familiar lump of his pack was missing. His hands flew hopefully to his neck.
The medallion was gone.
His hackles jumped to attention, newly fired blood pumped hard. Nausea melted away, forced out by a thirst for vengeance. He would find a way out. He would tear the blasted ship apart plank by plank if need be. Experience dictated that escape was always possible.
Patience and discipline
... The sunrise provided ample light, pouring in from portholes dotting the walls. There were no other chains, no other bars to be found.
This was no prison cell
, he thought. He looked at the bindings on the wall and floor.
Freshly bored
. This was no prison at all.

An advantage to him.

That blasted Poogs had probably collected quite the windfall at my expense.
The Beast seethed at his foolishness. Of course the chains had caught up with him. He had been played for a fool once more by a would-be ally. He swore a silent oath that he would turn his back on the mortal realm forever.

After I mangle the pirate of course
.

The Beast reigned himself in from the vengeful fantasy, coaxing the gears to turn. Escape was never a foregone conclusion. It was only a matter of divination.
First, the chains. Then the door. Then...

The manacles dug through fur, biting into flesh. Their touch was more than he could stand. Chained too long and the sensation would spread driving him to madness. Suddenly the hold’s lone door opened, flooding the planked stairs with daybreak. The Beast retreated, allowing the chains to slacken. Surprise and maneuverability were his only allies. He regarded the portholes, cursing their spears of light. Darkness would have proven a valuable asset.

Armored boots stomped into the hold, sounding a menacing tone the Wakeful Captain was notorious for. Malachai took the last step, grinding to a halt. He gestured an invitation back up into the morning. Lia crept down the steep stairs, one at a time, lowering each foot in turn. The Beast’s head tilted.
Did Malachai’s arrogance know no limits?
He drew himself tall, until his horns scraped the ceiling and then took a pair of measured steps into the pool of daybreak.

Malachai clutched Lia’s shoulder and stroked the girl’s hair. Her wide eyes pleaded to the massive stranger. The Beast’s jaw clenched. He stormed forward, stopped by chains snapping taut.

“Release her, and I may decide against crushing you into dust.”

The Wakeful’s broken laugh fell from the slit of his mouth. He grabbed a handful of Lia’s hair.
“An interesting proposition. Unfortunately, Her Majesty yet has need for the little abomination.

Malachai wrenched his handful, twisting until Lia yelped. The gnashing sting snatched at the girl’s tears, pulling them from the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks. Her amber eyes flashed, meeting the Beast’s as she openly wailed. Her cry pierced his heart like a barbed lance. The frustrating shrouds concealing his memory melted away. He was not sure how, but he remembered.

He remembered that cry.

It had once been the most beautiful sound in his world. A challenge had been issued by the Breath. On that day, as the midwife placed the tiny
bundle in his arms, he knew there was no limit to how far he would go, no danger he would not face, no fire he would not brave. All to protect her, to spare her any harm. The newborn wrapped her pink fingers around his. It was the smallest of gestures with the most magnificent of meanings.

The Beast peered down at his clawed paws, slowly turning them over. The long obsidian talons and brown fur did not fit the memory. They were cruel deceptions, punishment for a crime he could not recall. He looked again to the sobbing child in Malachai’s grasp, struggling to understand the word slowly forming in his mind. He remembered her amber orbs reflecting in his own like-colored eyes.

There was no doubt. The word settled onto his heart where it had always belonged.

Daughter
.

Wells of forgotten strength, primal and unyielding, surged. He tore at the chains, shearing the manacles free. Severed steel clanged into a pile. Malachai released his grip, stunned. He pushed the girl into the stairs and swept his arm, summoning a wall of emerald magic. The enchantment rolled into teaming bars shaped like wrought iron. Green fire slammed into the floor like a portcullis just in time to cut off the Beast’s furious advance.

The Beast’s claws flailed through the bars. Malachai’s mouth twisted into a sneer. Satisfied, Malachai turned to reach for another handful of
Lia’s hair. A crackling sound grew behind his back. Malachai spun to the Beast. What little remained of his mortal heart froze in his breast.

The Beast seized the bars, light intensifying where flesh met magic. Smoke poured from his paws as the magical flames burned. He grimaced at the searing pain, but refused to let go. The corded muscles in his forearms tensed, bolstered by his massive barrel chest. He squeezed tighter and then pulled at the bars blocking his way. Malachai reached a cautious hand to his sword. The bars were holding fast, but the Wakeful’s arrogance had abandoned him.

The Beast’s jaw tensed and he pulled harder. The bars’ unholy magic burned brighter, gathering more dark power from Malachai’s enchantment. The emerald light began to test the limits of his strength. Pain burned through his paws,
then gnawed at his wrists. He looked to Lia, to his daughter.
All those years stolen
. He had missed their entire life together but now, someone would pay. Growling, he yanked harder at the bars, twisting their enchantment nearer their breaking point.

Malachai waved his hand, tapping his magical reserves. The emerald bars flashed with new life and pulled against the Beast’s crushing grip. The bars resisted, little by little bending back to their original shape. Smoke filled the cargo hold joined by the growing reek of singed fur. The green fire seared through the thick pads of the Beast’s palms. Pain surged past his elbows. His knees weakened.

The Beast’s lips curled back over grinding teeth. Sweat traced through
deep creases around his eyes. His right knee buckled and gave way. He fought to maintain his grasp, but his strength was ebbing.

“Pitiful creature. What good is your brawn against Her Majesty’s will? By nightfall the little abomination will be gracing the Nekropolis.”

“Never...” The Beast’s chin snapped up, will resolved in full. He rent the bars in
a frenzy and with a mighty roar the Beast tore the enchanted portcullis down.

Malachai shoved Lia aside and retreated to the stairs. Something caught his ankle and dragged him crashing down. He snapped his head around. A length of chain was wrapped tightly around his boot, snagged by its bladed edges. He followed the chain back into the cargo hold. The crimson energy of his eyes wavered.

The Beast held the chain’s end.

Salivating
.

Chapter 22

Poogs brought the Reaper’s Song to port at the island’s eastern end. The private landmass belonged to a venerable family of merchants whose influence maintained a powerful grasp on Meridian’s politics. Poogs himself was no stranger to their sphere of influence. They had, from time to time, solicited his services in moving ‘parcels of interest’ beyond notice of the meddlesome City Watch.

And they always paid well.

Taking Malachai’s bounty on the Beast of Briarburn was all he had intended. Truth be told, Poogs hated the Wakeful and their accursed queen. The Liche Queen’s quest to rid the world of magical effects had indeed placed his career as smuggler in perilous waters. He was inclined to rebuke Malachai’s request for the use of his ship, but granting the Wakeful his berth had saved an innocent life in Castiel and that was worth the cost.

Poogs manned the helm, watching the crew offload a freshly re-shackled Beast of Briarburn. The massive brute required two shots from the blunderbuss to put down and two coils of anchor chain to subdue. He regretted use of the painful weapon, but it appeared his only option. There was no doubt in that moment the Beast would have torn Malachai limb from limb. The price of which would have been a never ending
supply of black armored thugs in his wake.

The pirate fidgeted with the coral charm on his necklace, remembering the beach he had found it on long ago. He had been a different man then: lost, frightened and alone. He rolled the star shaped piece between his fingers. As captain, he had always placed his faith in the simple totem. If he wanted to be rid of Malachai he would have to trust in it now. It was trust easily placed, for the North Star had yet to forsake him.

***

The island’s interior was a dense blanket of tropical trees with fronds heavy of dew. Like Meridian, the island had been provided the gifts necessary to maintain perpetual summer. The dull buzzing sound of insects droned constant in the humid air. Malachai, flanked by two dozen mercenaries supplied by the island’s owner, lead the Beast over the beach’s soft sand and into the trees. Lia followed at Malachai’s heels, sneaking frequent glances at the hulking prisoner with the familiar eyes.

On the Reaper’s Song Lia had shared in the connection. Her heart swore they were bonded despite never having met. Though the Beast’s savage strength nearly tore the cargo hold apart, Lia had remained unafraid. She knew the Beast would never hurt her. She just knew.

Lia wished she was back on the Reaper’s Song. The corsair had vanished into the mists as soon as the landing party had crossed the
beach. She thought of Castiel falling from his chair and dared to smile. She stumbled over a log, falling to her knees with a splat. Malachai glared at her, but said nothing. Lia brushed off a bit of mud and pressed on. Poogs had assured her with a wink that he would look after Castiel. Lia liked the handsome pirate. She saw good in him, lurking just beneath the surface. She hoped to see him again.

Branches jabbed at Malachai’s company like greedy, skeletal fingers. The Wakeful tirelessly lead the way, hacking at the netting of leathery vines with his serrated blade. Hours later, a break in the fading path appeared. An enormous crater bored into the surface just beyond the tree line’s constant insectoid buzz. Malachai droned a command and the Beast
was prodded by a phalanx of spear tips to the crater’s side. A trio of mercenaries stalked behind them at the rim, crossbows notched and ready. There would be no second escape.

Malachai grabbed Lia by the scruff and half-lead, half-dragged her up the jagged incline of a stout crag guarding the crater. He kept a strenuous pace and it wasn’t long before her legs burned of soreness.

“Where are we going?” Lia dared to ask, quickly tiring at the exertion. Drawing upon the Breath to heal Castiel had left her drained. She hoped the magic came back soon. She had a feeling that the Beast would need her help.

Malachai offered no reply, save for the flash of hellfire in his eyes. He reached down and hoisted Lia up to the crowning steppe that leveled into
a sand covered plateau presiding over the island. The view stole Lia’s breath. It was like nothing she had ever imagined. A sprawling lake of waving green tree tops was framed all around by an edge of blue-grey sea. Carrion birds circled the crater’s mouth; foul scavengers biding time.

An old tale of
Cedrik’s popped into her mind about just such a crater, one that had been carved when the first falling star crashed down from the heavens.
How terrible
, she thought,
that stars could fall. How wrong that they could be denied their rightful place shining in the night sky.

The ground suddenly shook, throwing Lia to her backside. Fine fissures spider webbed like shattered glass beneath the trembling ground. She struggled for footing as the ground jostled her from foot to foot. Then, the rumbling stopped as abruptly as it had begun. She looked to Malachai, hoping for an explanation, but he merely nodded to the edge. She hesitated, but curiosity won the moment. She crawled to the plateau’s edge, certain she would dislike what she found.

A rising cloud of brownish dust lifted from the crater, glimmering in the morning sun. Lia watched for a moment, then two. She rubbed at her eyes.
The crater was expanding.

And getting closer.

Lia stepped away, expecting the hole to swallow her up. A frightful heartbeat passed. Not eaten, Lia inched daringly close and peered over. A dusty cyclone rushed around the crater’s wide perimeter, magnifying the scene underneath like a stormy looking glass. The surreal image made Lia
feel as though she were standing at the bottom of the crater herself. She glanced at Malachai, finally understanding: He had brought her along to bear witness...

She watched as the Beast teetered his way down the crater’s rocky face, freeing an avalanche of small stones. The rocks clattered their way to the bottom, finally clacking to a stop against a tall stalagmite. An ear-splitting shriek pierced the morning. Lia clapped her hands tightly over her ears. “What is that?”

Malachai toed the ledge. “Those, little abomination, are my pets.”

The taunt stung her like a swarm of bees. The Beast was trundling downward.
Towards the awful sound.
He looked close enough to touch. Lia’s hand twitched by her side. She wanted to reach out and touch the illusion, but was intent on denying Malachai the pleasure of seeing her do so.

A wall of readied spears glistened at the crater’s lip. The cabal of hired thugs remained silhouetted against the cloudless sky. A spear-man centering the phalanx gruffly called out for the Beast to keep moving. Lia read fear on their faces.
Malachai must have mentioned his pets.