by Matt Khourie
“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!”
Malachai raised his weapon and took aim, his target oblivious to the stalking peril. “Foolish girl, I’ve heard your pathetic grumblings for miles. I grow weary of them.”
The barbed wire twanged and the quarrel slammed into the stag’s throat. Malachai slung the crossbow over his shoulder and stalked his kill with a serrated dagger. The dying stag struggled through a death rattle with Malachai looming over, blade readied. Lia’s stomach churned. He was going to watch it die...
Malachai had no right to claim the stag’s life as prize. Though weakened from her attempt to save Cedrik, she would not disappoint her pafaa. And that meant acting brave when you really felt small. The Breath sighed through Lia’s body and fresh strength took hold. She would give all she had. Lia bowed her head, whispering an ancient secret she didn’t realize she knew to a lonely wind. Malachai raised the dagger, then slashed with savage fury.
Lia thrust her hands forward, pushing away at an invisible weight. A ripple of golden light erupted from her finger tips, shielding the wounded stag within a wrought dome of energy. Malachai tried to avert his strike but was too late. The dagger collided with the barrier, exploding into a flurry of golden snow. The blast sent Malachai reeling, smashing a pair of stout trees to kindling.
A veil of silence smothered the forest. Lia stood motionless. She dared not move, lest Malachai recover and cut her down. The wounded stag struggled to its feet, nodded in gratitude and bound off for the deep woods.
A droning growl rumbled behind her.
Malachai’s crimson eyes narrowed to slits. Lia scrambled back, pressing into a tree. She turned her cheek, flinching, expecting the worst. The gauntlet’s plated fingers clinked as he seized sword from scabbard. He admired the wicked blade’s edge, scraping a thumb down its length, letting the vision settle into Lia’s heart. Her instincts screamed ‘run’, but her feet were stone weights. She silently pleaded with them but the glaring orbs locked her in place. She wanted to cry.
She wanted her pafaa.
The whisperer returned. “Be not afraid. He cannot harm you. I shall soon be by your side.” The soft words rang with the chiming notes of a lullaby. The voice was Lia’s only remaining shield.
Lia closed her eyes, clinging to the promise. Malachai closed the gap to a step... With a wild roar he summoned the emerald flame back to his trusted blade. The sword fell with all of the captain’s darkness driving it. Lia flinched.
The blade cleaved reality’s fabric, leaving a gooey purplish gash in the air by her head. Malachai grabbed the frightened child and shoved her through the portal. Strange magic enveloped the frightened girl, twisting her into shadowy distortions. Her ears popped. The forest was not the forest anymore. The trees and the snow and the sun were all there. And so was Malachai. But everything was wrong. Flawed somehow. A nervousness crept over her skin.
“I think you’ll find your petty Breath has abandoned you here. In this place, I am King.” Malachai’s eyes no longer burned with crimson fury. The spectrum of the world was gone, drained away to drab greys. The sky, the stream, her hands. Everything.
Lia stared at the stream, hoping the murk would wash away. She crashed in knee deep and began to scrub. She rubbed frantically at her hands to no avail. It took a moment, but she realized the water was as tepid as day old bath water despite winter’s touch. Malachai sheathed his weapon and strolled towards his mount like a nobleman on a pleasure walk. He cradled the dragon helm under an arm, revealing a face untwisted by the Liche Queen’s Wakeful Curse. He stretched his angled jaw and rubbed his eyes. He passed Lia by and to her surprise dropped to a knee in the stream.
Malachai tugged a spiked gauntlet free and splashed grey water onto his face. Smiling, he stripped away the second gauntlet and doused his newly restored black hair. He pushed it back and whistled through a mouth no longer twisted to a slit. Lia clenched her fists and wept into the stream. She hated this place. It was unnatural, false. Its emptiness left her longing for a home she could never return to. Mostly, she hated Malachai for being able to enjoy such horrible oblivion.
Malachai offered a vindictive smirk. “Does the little abomination have something to say?”
Lia’s eyebrow twitched. Malachai’s voice was changed as well. Gone was the hollow Wakeful drone. In its place was the knavish voice of a common thug.
“I thought not.”
In the forgotten ether of the Gloom, a lost realm remembered by legend only, Malachai was safe. Sworn to secrecy by his Lord, Malachai could only pierce the Gloom’s veil as a last resort. Lia’s outburst had more than qualified.
Lia stomped out of the stream and flung herself to the ground. She picked at the rubbery stones by the brook’s edge. “I hate this place.” She whispered to the Breath, hoping for reply. None came. Malachai had been telling the truth...
The black rider continued his ritual cleanse, stripping away pieces of armor, massaging murky water onto his skin.
“Why? Why did you ruin everything? Why did you kill Cedrik?
Malachai ignored the question. He extravagantly splashed another armful of water onto his face, enjoying Lia’s torment.
Anger flushed Lia’s face. “Tell me!” She flung the biggest stone she could find, striking between Malachai’s shoulders. The petty stone bounced harmlessly from the plated armor, plunking into the muck. Malachai stood without turning and gave the only response worse than silence.
Laughter.
Terrible, evil laughter that rolled over the smudged tree tops.
“Was that the old fool’s name?”
Lia screamed and charged, certain Malachai’s smug face would find mud. Malachai spun away and Lia crashed face first into the water. Again came the laugh. This time louder. “Pitiful.”
Lia quickly scrambled to her feet, covered in grey sludge. She saw only red and charged again. Malachai casually side stepped. His sword flashed and slapped Lia across the rump. Malachai sheathed his weapon.
“Finished?”
Lia puffed an exasperated sigh and wiped away the disgusting sludge. The muted to
nes of the forest snickered, cheering Malachai’s victory. “This is a secret place, little abomination,” Malachai chided, “Few living beings know of it.” He pinched Lia under the chin.
“And no one of this world knows of its entrance.”
His words punched savagely at Lia’s resolve. Had it not been for the whisperer’s assurances she would have collapsed, resigned to her fate. Instead, her posture softened as she took comfort in the promise.
Malachai released the child’s face and grabbed the horse’s reigns, quickly taking to saddle. “We ride for the Nekropolis. Home of my Queen, mistress of Blight.” Malachai scooped Lia onto the saddle. He leaned down, brushing his helmet’s jaw against Lia’s ear.
“Your new home, little abomination.”
Chapter 12
The Great Road stretched for thousands of miles across the sprawling continent. Its cobbled stonework, once renowned for masterfully crafted intricacies, was now little more than a broken trail of crumbling gravel. In Queen Adella’s absence the realm’s magnificent works had fallen to disrepair. The once proud highway fared worst of all, remembered only by the rogues who plundered it.
The stones blurred into streaking slates as the Beast ran. Malachai’s lead was substantial, but the Beast was confident he would catch him by nightfall. The road reeked of the Wakeful’s evil and left a trail fit for the most inexperienced ranger. The Beast felt it simmering in his breast like a shadowy twin pulse, beating alongside his own. He slowed to a trot. The trail’s pulse intensified to a fervor. Silence reigned, forcing bird and beast into hiding, trapped by Malachai’s echo. The Beast’s ears perked and he readied for the inevitable ambush. A jumble of foot prints danced beside a stream ten paces ahead.
The Beast studied the tracks, mentally measuring spacing and depth. Tracking and stalking were traits acquired of necessity in his lonely world. One could not survive relying on the charity of a world fearful of appearances. Hunger was an unrelenting demon that had forced selection of a number of regrettable paths, the last of which provided fodder for nightmares of chain. The Beast dropped to all fours, sniffing at the prints. A large impression marked the trail’s origin. Deeper than the others. Someone small, dumped from a mount.