Beastly (9 page)

Scorched by one man’s brutality.

Those unable to book passage, slogged away in a trundling caravan of charred ox carts. The Beast pitied them even more, understanding the dire straits of the perilous journey ahead: able bodied fighters numbered few, their armaments little better than rusty hand tools, and
winter’s own biting unpredictability. It was unlikely they would reach any destination save for ruin.

The Beast considered burying the dead men, but a scrape at the icy ground denied such sentiment. He recalled that it was sometimes the way of men to set their departed ablaze, allowing the wind to carry souls to the World After. He cobbled a makeshift pyre and placed the frost covered
bodies shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped over hearts. He closed the old man’s fingers around the song worn lute. The Beast was unsure if the ritual called for words. Truth be told, he was glad no one was around to hear his fumbling attempt.

“Be at peace amongst the stars.”

He struck the pyre’s base stone with a claw. A trail of fire spread swiftly around the wooden rings, then consumed waiting men. He hoped the two friends would meet the afterlife together. Taking solace in the sentiment, the Beast started for the cairns.

“That was a very courageous thing you did,” a man’s voice said softly.

The Beast spun and greeted a silvery silhouette stepping down from the pyre. The ghostly figure clapped Jack’s shoulder and bowed. It raised the lute and forced a breath over the blackened instrument. Charred scales fell away, leaving behind only earthy brown wood.
“Ah, much better. Though I shall miss playing it. Do you play, stranger?”

The Beast had witnessed much of the bizarre since re-awakening. Nothing had prepared him for such an encounter. He scanned for a weapon, settling on a length of splintered wood that burned of emerald. The fire’s emanations settled in his stomach like a lead weight. The spectre gestured for the Beast’s calm. “I assure you that won’t be necessary. I am Cedrik, and I mean you no harm.”

The Beast was not convinced. Common knowledge dictated fire would
repel the undead. He hoped that rule included the evil magical type of flame in his possession.

“I mean to thank you for the kindness you’ve extended. You could have just as easily turned a blind eye.”

Cedrik’s words coaxed the Beast’s guard down. He felt a familiarity in them. The old man reminded him of Urda. And someone else. Someone he could not quite recall. “Old man-”

“Cedrik.”

“Apologies.
It was the least I could do.” The Beast dropped the torch. Wisps of steam twisted around his ankle. He shrugged and gathered his pack.

“Wait!” Cedrik shouted. The ethereal vapor of his legs melted away and the spectre rushed forward, clamping a hand onto the Beast’s shoulder.

A cold chill swept over his chest. He gasped and fell to a knee. Cedrik gingerly lifted the Beast back to his feet.

“I am truly sorry. That was... unexpected.”

The Beast pawed at his chest, thankful the chilling grip had fled.

“There was a little girl, Lia. By my side she was, when I... She brought me back, stopped me before I could reach the World After.”

“Gone. Taken by the Wakeful. By Malachai.” The words haunted him. There was no telling to what dark end the black rider with the burning eyes carried her off to. The Beast thought the apparition’s heart would beat once more simply to burst. “I am truly sorry for what the Wakeful have done here.” He reached for the firestone.
Her eyes, gleaming amber orbs...

“That amulet, I’ve seen it before. How
came you by it?” Cedrik asked, drifting closer.

The Beast closed his fist around the medallion. “I don’t know. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.” The Beast’s pulse quickened.

“You know what this is? Can you translate the words? Please, you must help me.”

Cedrik’s ghostly fire shimmered. “I know it well. I was there when the firestone was set to its golden cradle. It belonged to a loving, loyal friend who said the pieces came from the stars themselves.”

The Beast’s ears perked and he felt a prickle at his chest. His imagination reeled.
Maybe it was enchanted after all. Maybe it could send me home
. A dark thought crept into his head. What of the little boy in the dark dungeon?
Should I want to go back
?

“I raised Lia as my own,” Cedrik hesitated, as if nervous to reveal more, “but her blood is of noble birth. The touch of the Breath is ever upon her lips. The very starlight swaddled her like a warm blanket.”

The Beast cocked an eye brow. What did he care for noble blood and starlight?

Cedrik rambled on, hands fluttering into smears of bluish-grey. “Lia is the key to the end of the Wakeful and their accursed mistress.
The last of a forgotten magic flows through her.” Cedrik buried his face in his hands.
“It’s my fault she’s been taken. I knew the price of defiance and didn’t think anyone else would have to pay my share.”

The Beast’s pitied the sobbing spirit. Tears ran down the ghost’s cheeks in rivulets of smoke and dust. Powerful indeed the man’s love must have been to have crossed the void between the realms. It seemed perverse to abandon Cedrik to his sorrow. The Beast squat onto
a rubble pile and swept an inviting arm. Cedrik flashed an appreciative grin and melted into the ground. He spiraled up in a funnel of ethereal smoke by the Beast’s side sitting cross legged, hovering a foot from the ground. The ghost cradled the lute in his lap, absentmindedly fingering the strings.

The Beast groaned. Was there no one left in the world who did not act magically out of sorts at every opportunity? “Could you just not sit like a normal person?”

“No more than you can, I’m afraid.”

Cedrik’s translucent fingers hovered above the strings. The Beast expected a few chords, but the ghost remained still, frozen by a cold he could not feel.

“You went through the trouble of reclaiming it from the fire’s bite and now refuse to play?”

“Sadly no.” Cedrik’s chest shimmered and heaved. “Music is written in chords of love and light. Its essence may only be captured by a beating heart gripped of intense passion or pain.” Cedrik stroked the lute’s long neck. “Those exist now only in memory. And memory is no more real and passionate than I am.”

“Tell me more of your friend and the child,” the Beast said.

“She is more important than you know.
To everything. And to you especially.”
Cedrik recounted the frightful history of Lia’s abductor, damning the Liche Queen and her black fortress, the Nekropolis.

The Beast was eager to gauge his would-be foes.
“And the Wakeful? What of them?”

Cedrik sneered. “Mercenaries twisted by the Liche Queen’s curses.
Cowards in life, seduced into an eternity of sleepless servitude.” Cedrik’s aura darkened.

“It was the Wakeful who razed my queen’s palace, sending me into exile.”

The Beast let the story settle. He sensed Cedrik was obscuring details about the warring queens and the abducted child. Once more it seemed he needed to resist the instinct to distrust. Could it be mere coincidence? Urda had all but delivered the child from her ‘vision’ and a spirit to corroborate her importance. If rescuing the child would aid his quest than he would pursue the Wakeful to the end.

“I will hunt Malachai no matter where he flees. I will see your Lia to safety. But I have no defense for the sorcery you speak of.”

“Not to worry, my savage friend,” Cedrik replied, “You will be safe as long as Lia is near.”

The Beast’s face twisted. Did the old man think he meant to cower
behind a child? He let the perceived sleight pass. “How will I find them? Malachai has taken to mount and has a half-day’s lead.”

“Malachai’s power stems from the Blight. It’s an ancient strain of magic that leaves an indelible trace. And he rides east at speed to deliver his prize to the Nekropolis.”

The Beast rose from his throne of rubble. “Will you join me?”

“My friend, you’ve done this old man more kindness than he thought remained in this wicked world. And I thank you for it. But I cannot come with you. Already I hear the siren of the World
After beckoning. Perhaps another time I shall join you.”

The Beast buried his disappointment with a huff. An ally that could pass through solid earth would have proven useful. “Your Lia called upon a white light after you passed. Could she always do such a thing?”

The old ghost smiled, his flicker quickened. “I have known her to be quite adept at handling the magical energies of our world but...”

“But what?”

Cedrik faded into the faint outline. “But I’ve never known her, or anyone else for that matter, to recall a soul to this world. Farewell and good luck.”

The Beast spun around, looking for a trace of the ghost. “Wait! Can she reverse magicks lesser than Death’s embrace? Please! I must know!”

Cedrik’s voice echoed faintly against the tide’s gentle lapping.

“My friend, if anyone in the world can help you...”

Chapter 11

The Great Road shook beneath the magnificent black stallion with the lifeless eyes. Sinewy muscle strained under heavy armor. The war horse had been crafted by the Liche Queen’s own hand; a gift from mistress to champion. It maintained a feverish pace, its eyes shrouded by an unkempt mane of coal.

The horse landed a jump over a fallen log, jolting Lia back to consciousness. She shivered against the leather saddle, fighting the urge to be sick. Her magical efforts had taken their toll. She had never before asked so much of the Breath and feared the magic had vanished for good. She needed a bearing, but feared any movement would draw Malachai’s wrath. Lia squeezed her eyes, willing courage to find her. She tilted her head, only an inch and still flutters grew in her stomach.

Lia found the sun directly overhead.
Half a day since they came.
Suddenly, she thought of Jack. A flicker of hope glinted at the thought. She quickly bottled the sentiment, burying it away, safely hiding it. She refused to allow Malachai to take any more than he already had.

The sun speared the forest’s dense canopy with splinters of light that reminded Lia of another man she wished to see. Emboldened, she twisted in the saddle. She immediately regretted the decision. Malachai’s horrid red eyes stole a shriek from the child. Fear trapped her in a net of icy tendrils. The creaking barbs and blades of Malachai’s armor glared as well,
taunting her to come closer. She cringed deeper into the saddle’s nook, desperate to escape the nightmare. Cedrik would have insisted she be brave, but she felt smaller than the smallest firefly.

The war horse trampled a broad puddle of slush. Droplets of water took to a gusting wind, rustling alongside the galloping animal. The drops swirled by its flanks, growing into a pearlescent periwinkle gleam.

“I will find you soon,
starshine.”

Lia’s head snapped
around, convinced her mind was playing tricks. A woman’s voice calling her ’starshine’?
Only Cedrik called her that
.

“Please, don’t leave,” Lia cried out.

But the mysterious whisperer had vanished. Malachai clapped a spiked gauntlet against the armored saddle, missing Lia by inches.
“Silence, little abomination.”

Lia obeyed, looking to the blur of cobblestone.
There must be a way to escape,
she thought. She searched the trees and snow drifts for hidden opportunity.
Maybe there was somewhere to hide.
She was rewarded solely by despair. Escape, unlikely as it was, was not even desirable. She was lost, far from a destroyed home and surrounded by an empty road rife with hidden dangers.

She had nowhere to go.

Malachai’s furious flight lasted into the afternoon, ending by the bank of a narrow stream. He hoisted Lia singlehanded from the saddle, let her dangle for a moment,
then dumped her into the snow. He commanded her to drink. “You are little use to me dead.”

The Liche Queen’s soulless champion was clear on the penalty for failure. And the penalty for failure on the magnitude of letting the little brat die would be...

Lia needed no further instruction. Her parched throat would not permit resistance. The stream’s chilly water dripped from a cup of tingling fingers. Lia felt the cool fluid flush through her chest, draining into her stomach. Her belly rumbled and she realized her last meal had come yesterday.

“I’m hungry,” she said quietly before another scoop of water.

Malachai dismounted and unhooked a crossbow from his saddlebag. The battle worn weapon was a mess of blades, strung with barbed wire. It was as foul a device as Lia had ever seen. He gestured for her to follow and started for the tree line. She obliged, afraid to be left alone with the ghastly mount and peered back, making certain the wicked creature was not at her heels. A step beyond the trees and Lia smacked face first into Malachai’s outstretched palm.

Lia flailed at the pale hand, certain she was fighting for dear life. Malachai grabbed her by the wrist, lifting her straight into his cold gaze. He did not speak. He merely shushed the girl with his free hand and dropped her rump first to the ground. Malachai pointed through the brush into a tight clearing. A stag with trophy worthy antlers rooted a patch of moss no more than ten yards away. Malachai deliberately readied
his weapon.

Lia banished the rumble in her belly, pleading instead for the animal’s life. “Don’t kill it. It’s done you no harm and I’m not even hungry. Honest!”