Beastly (5 page)

Notices were still pinned to the stairs. The plate of bones still dominated the table. The Beast knew the tavern was somehow changed, but could not say how. He continued to inspect the empty space. And then he finally realized.

The door.

The front door was closed tight. He clearly remembered Hamish propping it open to freshen the rancid tavern air. He pushed his chair back and made for the entrance. His paws and ears tingled. The Beast’s nostrils flared as he tried to pick up the scent of hidden danger.

Nothing.

Even his keen ears failed him.
Ears that he relied upon in the wild, ears that could pick up the cracking of twigs miles away. Now, they heard nothing. Nothing at all.

The Beast reached for the door’s latch. Urda’s fiery illusion popped into his head. He shuddered at the thought of a real magical flame exploding through the door. He snapped his paw back, considering his options. There was standing there like a fool, waiting to see if Urda returned. Or he could try the door. That was all. In the wild, those who kept moving were those who survived. Those who remained
stagnant, fell behind...

Urda’s previous illusion had done no harm. She had played the role of generous host thus far, and the Beast could find no reason to distrust the old woman despite his pessimistic nature. He tapped the iron ring anyway, checking for traces of magic hotter than Urda’s fire.

Cold as death.

Relieved, the Beast chuckled. How ironic that he of all people was grateful for the cold kiss of iron?

The chains were the coldest
...

“Enough already.” The Beast’s words echoed in the vacant tavern. He yanked the door open and stepped through.

Chapter 5

A deafening crash of unseen waterfalls, boomed through the doorway, pounding a throb into the Beast’s skull. A blinding flash of white light followed. He threw up a thick forearm, pressing fur and muscle into his grimacing face. Blinding slivers penetrated, burning purple spots through his eyelids.
How much longer would it burn?
He turned against the light, fumbling for the door’s latch.

The burning vanished with the click of a door. The torturous explosion had lasted only as long as a door closing and yet felt like an eternity. A darkened expanse of grayish brick walls splotched by mold replaced the tavern’s mounted trophies. Streaks of pale moonlight filtered through an unseen canopy, painting watery shapes at his feet. The emptiness tugged at an ever present scar. It had been two long years since the chains.

He would never go back
.

A tiny voice called to him. The Beast lowered his head, ears straining. His
heart thumped steadily in his temples. He dropped to all fours, squishing cool wet sand between his toes. The voice beckoned again.

He stalked his way through columns of dusty light, stifling dry coughs into his cloak. Twenty paces ahead, glimmering droplets of moonlight fell in reverse, climbing from floor to ceiling. The Beast halted his advance, unnerved by the bizarre scene.
More of Urda’s magic
?

Urda’s whisper danced in the shadows. “You know this place, Beast of Briarburn, no?”

The Beast’s head swiveled to the gypsy’s voice but found nothing.

“You are indeed alone, my boy, but fear not! Urda is watching. Now think. Force those rusty works of yours.”

The Beast wracked his mind, willing memory to come crashing back and fill in the blanks.
A forest... Stars... cobblestone...
Nothing before his awakening on the Great Road.
He shook his head, unable to conceal the disappointment in his voice. “Never in my life have I seen this pit.”

“Ah, as truthful a reply as there ever was,” Urda chuckled. “But have you considered that perhaps you’ve had more than one?”

The Beast relaxed to his haunches.
“One what?”

“One life, Beast of Briarburn.”

More than one life? Had the old woman gone mad? The Beast knew full well that a being lived and died only once.
You were only dealt one hand.
The Beast exploded to full height and rumbled through clenched teeth. “I grow tired of riddle speak and parlor tricks.”

“Ah, patience, my boy, patience. We have come to a forgotten place. How deep is for you alone to decide. I have merely forced a stubborn door.” Urda’s jovial tone became grim. “From here, you journey alone. Beware, you may not like all you discover. Some memories are best left behind.” The gypsy’s words trailed off. The Beast fancied not the prospect of searching for answers in a dungeon. Let alone an illusion forged by his fragmented mind.

A weak sob echoed. The Beast leaned toward the muffled sound, reluctant to charge ahead. In the wild, many a wily predator used calls and cries to bait their prey. The cry echoed again.
Familiar
, he thought. His eyes narrowed against the near pitch, studying the walls. And there it was: The faint outline of an egress. The cry had to have come from within.

The Beast took a step and the moonlight poured into the sand, collecting in a buckler sized puddle. The liquid filled the passage’s mouth, swirling like a whirlpool. He clenched his massive fists, hoping the gesture would prove unnecessary. He stalked the puddle, drawing long even breaths of the stale air. The swirling light rose like a storm funnel, undulating like a cobra. It darted forward, probing the intruder.

Just as I thought.

Despite the ominous dance he remained unafraid. He was hesitant to trust in Urda’s illusion, but she had delivered much with little effort. He would dare to believe. The serpentine
light lashed
out like a whip. But the Beast was quicker and dropped his heavy fist like a mace, shattering the light into crystalline shards. He stepped over the puddle and cast a wary eye at the dissolving fragments.

The low stone ceiling forced him to hunch and the tunnel narrowed with each step. Halfway through, the suffocating passage smeared slimy mold onto his cloaked shoulders and scraped at his curved horns. The coffin-like tunnel spilled into a round chamber of shining obsidian walls.
Several crackling braziers dotted the room’s periphery. The Beast traced a smooth wall with a clawed digit. Overhead, an oculus of ruby and onyx blocked an unseen sky.

A boy of no more than five winters sat by a brazier. His knees were tucked under his chin and waves of stringy hair caked with grime clung to tear stains. A filthy tunic did little to hide welted limbs. His eyes darted to the menace of dancing shadows and widened when the Beast’s giant form filled the entrance. The Beast awkwardly gestured for calm, thinking himself the cause of the child’s fright. “Be not afraid.”

The boy shivered into his knees and leveled a finger. His raw lower lip quivered. The Beast extended an outstretched palm. “I will not harm you.” He struggled for a re-assuring tone
and crept
closer, fully expecting a shriek sure to shatter the oculus. The boy remained still, as though carved from stone. The Beast realized then the power of Urda’s enchantment. He was indeed merely a visitor.

The Beast was waving a paw before the boy’s eyes when a faint clicking sound ebbed into the chamber. His skin crawled at the awful noise. He snapped to the narrow tunnel, finding nothing in the deep dark. He rushed to the boy and scooped him onto his back. He tore the closest brazier free and hurled the burning
sculpture
overhead... A rainfall of shattered glass tossed glints of fire over the walls of obsidian mirror. The Beast spun around, shielding the boy. “Hold tightly, boy.”

The Beast mustered his strength and leapt into the newly ventilated
ceiling. He found his mark and clamped down hard. His brawny legs dangled, building momentum. His grip slipped and he slid back. He gouged the stone and pulled. A moment later, he pulled himself through. The Beast rolled to his back and gasped for breath.
The boy.

His stomach somersaulted and he crawled to the ring of broken glass.

The boy was back beside the brazier, knees to chest, finger leveled. The Beast blinked, checking against his disbelief. He shouted for the boy to hide. Still, the boy remained motionless.

The sea of clicks drowned out his calls. And then it arrived. A rust tinged wave swept through the tunnel, rolling against the chamber’s walls. The Beast told himself that he had done all he could, but a foul pit in his stomach dissented.

The reddish brown flow filled the room, climbing the walls, dousing the braziers. A writhing swarm of spiders and scorpions clicked and crawled, snapping at him as it continued to climb. The Beast backed away from the oculus and scanned for an escape route. A cover of grainy darkness stretched into forever. There was only one option.

Run.

He sprinted down the dome, looking back only once. He instantly regretted the decision. The swarm of stingers and fangs had crested the breach and spilled over, surging like a poisonous tide. The dome’s edge raced closer. The Beast leapt and sailed through the grayish murk of his forgotten memory. Crashing sounds of waterfalls and a piercing white
light suddenly surrounded him. His head throbbed between his paws. He squeezed them into his ears, trying to silence the deafening roar. His vision cleared.

And his heart sank.

He sat surrounded by burning braziers in a round room with shimmering black walls. Overhead, an intricate stained glass oculus reflected the fire light. The Beast was quick to his feet. He lifted an arm to brush
himself off, but was thwarted by the sight of a child-sized, human hand.
His child-sized, human hand.
He gasped at his reflection and traced the round features of a fleshy face. He ran his hands through grimy hair, stopping where his horns were supposed to be.

It couldn’t be
...

He fell back to the safety of a brazier’s warmth. A faint clicking squelched his astonishment. The swarm was coming and there was no chance of repeating the escape. His human legs lacked the strength. Thankfully, his wit remained intact. He tore off a greasy piece of tunic and wrapped it around a scrap of loose wood plucked from a brazier. The clicking built to a sinister roar. He ignited the torch and barreled into the passage.

Dancing torch light cast an amber glow over the sea of carapaces as the Beast-child’s spindly arms swept the torch in wild circles. Arachnids sizzled and scorched into black dust. He skidded into the memory-scape’s first chamber, driving the swarm into full retreat. The clicking mass piled
against the Troll’s Breath’s door. A shaft of silvery moon painted the latch. He need only put the swarm to the torch and be done with it.

A ghostly light rose from the floor and drew the swarm’s burnt remnants to its luminous center. When the last scorched carcass was consumed, a flash ignited the room. The shock wave blasted the Beast-child into a jagged crack in the wall. His vision cleared in time for the memory to morph into a nightmare.

For something horrible crawled out from the glob of pulsating light.

The Beast-child’s chilled blood slogged through his quaking body. He bit down hard on his lip, desperate to silence his chattering teeth. He tried desperately to push deeper into the crack. The creature’s name eluded him in his fright, but he remembered well the terrifying visage. Its eyes numbered eight and glowered with pale fire. A mottled humanoid torso sprouted grotesquely from a giant spider’s body carried by skittish, bluish-black legs. A muscular left arm ended in a wicked serrated pincer.

The Beast-child clamped his mouth. He was sure his heart would freeze any moment. And then the monster spoke with the chilling midnight wind of a cemetery.

“Say it. Say my name.”

Icy rails pierced the Beast-child’s heart. He choked down a parade of gasps, clinging to fleeing breath. The demon beckoned with its human hand and smiled a hideous mouthful of hooked fangs. “You’ll never be free of Arak-jai.”

A shrill scream shattered his consciousness and the Beast-child lapsed into darkness.

Chapter 6

Without warning, he was back. He clutched the table’s sides, tension building in his forearms. The Beast slumped in his chair, vaguely aware of the fire’s warmth upon his face. Never in his life had he felt such exhaustion. Urda summoned the crystals back to her side. They flashed home, hovering beside the carved headrest of the high back chair. She probed the hearth with a poker.

The old gypsy smiled in the dancing light. She had indeed delivered a rare gift. The Beast now possessed a kernel of truth. His origin had long been an elusive dream. Now it was as certain as the dawn. The image of his childish hands was imprinted upon his mind.
Human
...

“I remember...” The words fought through his throat. “I remember the dark. I remember when he first came.” A shiver climbed the Beast’s spine. He remembered the stinging, the biting. He remembered hiding from the horrible eyes.

“Ah yes. The Prince of Stingers, the Arachnomancer himself,” Urda said, slipping back into her chair.

The Beast uttered the once forgotten name scorched forever on his tongue.
“Arak-jai.” He wondered why the brutal memory was the first to reveal itself.

“Because it was he who ignited the burning desire within you. The desire to fight. The desire to live free of fear.”

The Beast sprung upright, unnerved by the intrusion into his private thoughts. He started to issue a complaint but Urda found words first.

“Peace, Beast of Briarburn. Yours was an obvious question. In fact, it was the most obvious question. Everyone who travels inside questions why they see what they see.”