Beastly (4 page)

A huntsman slammed his stein down on the bar, bringing the story to a halt. Vildar’s head was covered in a mat of rough stubble. A harness of
throwing knives buckled over his chest gleamed in the fire light. His leathery face tightened into a scornful mask. “Go on, tell him the rest.”

Sweat beaded on Hamish’s brow and he stammered. He found his tongue after choking on a second gulp.

“Right. The silver fire, you see, it disappeared after a moment and all’s was left behind was a wolf. A grey wolf. Massive.” Hamish gestured wildly, stretching his arm span. “So the lady near passes out, but manages to escape to the manor. Next morning, she awakes and finds his Lordship in the bed beside her, bare as the day he was born, he was. They don’t speak--”

Vildar’s jaw clenched, his scowl reducing his eyes to slits.

“Tell him how that filthy dog killed my brother. Tell him how Marrock stalked our camp and tore out Ugmar’s throat as he slept.”

Vildar snatched the “wanted” notice from the bar and tore it to shreds. He tossed the confetti up than spat at the pieces. He threw a final glance at the Beast.

“Don’t even consider it. Marrock’s hide is mine. I am going to flay his carcass bare, then mount his head right on this wall.” Vildar’s bold claim earned a round of cheers. He liberated
a foaming ale from hunter’s hand and hoisted it high.

“Ugmar was
my
brother. And he was ten times the hunter than the likes of you.” Vildar measured the Beast. “Whatever you are.”

“To Ugmar!” Vildar drained the stein and flung it into the hearth. Jagged shards tumbled free, glowing like hot coals. He wiped his mouth with a dirty sleeve.

Vildar’s company jumped to their feet, knocking over chairs and dousing the floor with ale. Up and down the table, the huntsmen clapped swords and punched at the air. They chanted Ugmar’s name and stomped the floor, rattling a chorus from dancing cutlery. Startled patrons looked up from drinks. Some made for the door.

The Beast remained anchored to the bar, shoulders rigid, squeezing the bucket-stein. He snorted like a bull contemplating a charge.
This man must be a fool of the highest order
, the Beast thought.
I could be done with you without even setting this cup down, little man
. The idea simmered just long enough for him to abandon. It would take more than a slight from a drunken fool.
But every man has his line
.

Hamish burst through the kitchen door, arms laden with trays of blackened meat, anxious to disrupt the escalating tension.

“Any of you blokes fancy another round of mutton? On the house, it is.”

He offered the tray to Vildar, who snatched a blackened piece of meat. He bit a large hunk from the bone, then spit it immediately back at the bar keep. Hamish’s eyes widened and he stepped back, ready to use the tray as a shield.

“That was the vilest mouthful I’ve ever tasted.” Vildar snatched the rag from Hamish’s shoulder and wiped his tongue.

“I doubt that.” The Beast’s tree trunk arms hung from his sides, paws clenched into mace-heads. If these men insisted on acting like savages they would be treated as such.

The huntsmen scrambled to readiness. Vildar stood front and center, chest puffed out. The Beast was not so easily intimidated. He spotted the false bravado in the shaking swords and flop sweat.

Quick thinking patrons elbowed their way into the snowy night. Silence reigned inside the Troll’s Breath. The Beast took a single step forward, repelling the wall of blades. A metallic twang shattered the standoff. The Beast’s paw shot up from his side, plucking the mysterious sound from the air.

A crossbow bolt.

He squeezed the bolt, grinding it to pulp. The iron head clunked onto the grimy floor. The Beast flexed his knees, drawing energy like a cobra. Vildar would be first.

The hearth exploded, covering the tavern in dancing oranges and yellows. The company of huntsmen gasped and flung themselves to the floor. Their screams combined in terrible symphony. The Beast shielded his face with a forearm. He peered between his claws.

Only Madame Urda remained seated, hunched over her table.
In the middle of the flames.
Unshaken. There was at first confusion, but then cause and effect were clear. The Beast’s cloak was unsinged. The clothing of the huntsmen was unsinged as well. The Troll’s Breath, consumed by flame, did not burn.

An amused snicker rolled over the bar.

“Gets me every time, it does.” Hamish beamed. He waved to Urda who returned an animated wave of her own.

Remaining skeptical, the Beast passed his paws through the ‘fire’ while stepping over the writhing huntsmen.
No heat
.
An illusion for interrupting fools
.

Madame Urda blew a kiss at the Beast. A cool breeze accompanied the gesture, extinguishing the false flame. Vildar’s company scrambled to their feet, patting themselves down and searching for burns. Vildar started to speak, but Urda cut him off with her best headmaster’s voice.

“Don’t bother with idle threats. Take your brutes and leave us, lest you look even more foolish.”

Vildar considered Urda’s words, still inspecting for scorched skin. Satisfied, he sheathed his sword and ordered his men out. The huntsmen hurried to retrieve scattered weapons,
then filed out of the Troll’s Breath. None dared to glance back.

Vildar paused at the door. “We’ll see you soon, savage. On the road, in the wood, it matters not. Sleep with one eye open--”

The Beast snorted.
“As Ugmar should have?”

Vildar ground yellow teeth. He fingered the hilt of a throwing knife and just as quickly thought better of it. He stepped out into the blustery night, slamming the door behind him.

Madame Urda gestured for the Beast to join her. “Come, sit. Enjoy the fire.” She sipped from her mug.
“And the peace.”

The Beast obliged her, glad to be rid of Vildar and his din. He closed his eyes, letting the fire warm the fur on his snout.

Urda smiled, understanding too well the familiar look of a weary traveler.

“I know you have traveled a long road, Beast of Briarburn. But we have much to talk about.”

Chapter 4

Hamish pushed the tavern’s doors wide open, retiring for the evening the coupled reek of pipe smoke and ripe bodies. With a grunt and a fat foot, he jammed home a moldy wooden doorstop. Frosty air, charged with the welcome scent of pine, cut the room like a biting blade. He stood the mop against the bar, yawned and feigned a low bow.

“It’s late Madam, will there be anything else?”

Urda dismissed the bald barkeep with a wave. She eyed her guest and the messy handiwork on his plate.
And beside the plate. And on the floor.

“No, no I think we’ve had enough, have we not?”

The Beast chewed through a thick cut of meat, nodding contently. The flavor of charred beef goaded him into comically oversized bites. Juices exploded from the corners of his mouth spattering down his snout and onto his chest. A large plate piled high with bones, picked clean, caught the pink runoff.

He could hardly remember such a banquet. The forest never failed to provide, but there was always the low rumble of hunger. He washed down the final bite with a gulp of ale, patting his sated belly. He unleashed a long belch. He regarded Urda, prompted by a sudden rush of embarrassment.

“Sorry. Good meat.”

Urda chuckled like a doting grandmother. She rested her elbows on the table, drumming her fingers together. The trio of crystals circled her head like a floating crown, slowly bobbing. Firelight caught their dancing facets and scattered a prismatic spray.

The Beast squinted at the shimmering stones. He found no rhyme or reason to their motion, but suspected otherwise. After a moment of study he found his own head bobbing along with them. He shuddered, breaking the spell, and drew a second chuckle from his host.

“They intrigue you? Frighten you, perhaps?”

The Beast’s words were a reflex. “I fear nothing.” In the wild, fear could kill in any number of ways. “Magic and I don’t see eye to eye.”

The shimmering rhythm of the crystals accelerated.

Urda grinned. “No, I suppose you do not. It has been since long before you were born that Man and Magic existed in harmony.
Since before the days of Adella’s reign. And even then the balance between Blight and Breath were already strained.”

The Beast furrowed a brow.
Adella? Blight and Breath?
In the forest everything drew breath and everything blighted. Animals, birds, even the very trees constantly took in deep breaths. Hearing them was merely a question of how closely one listened. And in the end, everything passed over to the World After, leaving behind sustenance to renew the cycle.

“Those names are unknown to me.” The Beast’s broad shoulders
sunk. “As is my own.”

“Well I would have hardly that your name was as absurd as ‘Beast of Briarburn’, Beast of Briarburn.”

The Beast stared at the plate of bones, fidgeting with its edge. No one could know what it felt like to be bereft of name.
To exist but to be less than real.

Madam Urda reached over the table and placed a wrinkled hand on the Beast’s paw, stilling the nervous tic. She leaned further still until they were nearly nose to nose. The cloudy whites of her eyes flashed in the firelight.

“A name is only a name, my friend.
Nothing more.
It is our action, or indeed our inaction, that defines who we are...
Defines our legacy. Instead of chasing a name you seem to have misplaced, why not pursue a name you have earned?”

“I do not believe--”

“Of course you do not believe! And why should you? You’ve believed in nothing since the day you awakened in the wood alone and unable to find your way back to a home you cannot remember.”

“How did you...” The Beast shrugged a defeated shoulder. It was true. One learned quickly in the wild to rely on no one and believe in less.

Urda extended an empty palm. A crystal’s tint turned pinkish and glided to her hand. The orb hovered, awaiting the unspoken. Urda’s voice fell to less than a whisper.

“There are many magicks in the world, my boy. Seeing in the crystals is
amongst the eldest of disciplines, as old as Star Seeing
.”

So delicate was Urda’s whisper that the Beast did not realize he was perched nearly halfway over the table. His hackles jumped at an unsettling combination of nagging intrigue and apprehension. A little voice in the back of his mind chanted a familiar mantra:
Cursed was magic no matter its name.

“The crystals share with those so privileged the stories of the past and promises of the future. They are both written record and guiding
cartograph. They... can pull back the veil.”

The Beast hesitated, but only for a moment. His curiosity was unrelenting.

“Veil?”

“The veil of memory,” Urda replied with a coy smile. “You need only have the courage to let them look within.”

The Beast’s head tilted slightly and a furry eyebrow was snagged up by an invisible hook.

“Yes, yes, I know. You fear nothing. My boy, it’s been this old hag’s experience that those who claim to fear nothing tend to fear deeply something very real. I wonder if you are that sort.”

The Beast’s eyebrow fell back into place and his jaw squared.
“Only one way to find out.”

“Ah, splendid then!” Urda tapped the floating crystal up and clapped her hands like an excited child receiving a gift. “Let’s have a look.”

The crystal sauntered to the Beast’s nose and began to spin. Its shining facets churned through the spectrum before finally selecting a shade matching the Beast’s amber eyes. Satisfied, the crystal moved into orbit around the Beast’s head. It moved slowly, taking a full minute to complete each turn.

“This is ridiculous,” the Beast grumbled under his breath.

“Patience, my boy, patience. Any magic quick to impress is almost certainly an illusion.”

“Fine, but my patience is already worn thinner than my cloak.”

Urda chuckled and waved her hand towards the Beast. The remaining crystals shot across the table, joining their yellowish sibling, adopting shades of identical amber. The crystals crisscrossed paths as they accelerated, forging three golden halos that crowned a feral prince.

The Beast’s stomach churned and threatened revolt.

“Worry not. That feeling will pass. Always happens the first time.” Urda snickered, remembering her own first trial with the crystalline halo.

“There won’t be a second,” the Beast groaned.

The room joined the crystals in a wobbling spin of its own. The Beast’s vision grayed at the edges. Across the table, Urda’s smile held fast.
Had the old woman tricked me?
His stomach lurched and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He fell through the floor and into the blackness of his mind.

As suddenly as it started, the spinning stopped. The dingy Troll’s
Breath reformed before his eyes and his stomach no longer begged for mercy. The Beast gingerly panned around. Urda was gone. Hamish too. All appeared as it had before the crystals’ dance.