Beastly

by Matt Khourie

  And charged.

  Chapter 29

  The collision was spectacular. The Beast’s ram-like horns struck the runic arbour just shy of its waist. A bluish glyph immediately darkened, its energy annihilated on impact. A chunk of stone larger than a wild boar fell free, crumbling to dust as it rolled away.

  A serrated blade of obsidian whistled behind his shoulder. The Beast spun, catching the sword’s guiding wrist. He slammed a vicious punch into a spiked chest plate, caving it in. Before the Wakeful countered, the Beast heaved him overhead and hurled him back at his comrades.

  The quick reflex bought precious time. The Beast swung a heavy fist into the arbour, breaking away another chunk of stone. He cocked his tree trunk arm as far back as it would stretch. He would see the whole of the Nekropolis crumble to dust...

  Inches from impact, the familiar sting of Malachai’s tail snared his arm, yanking it away. A brutish weight slammed into his back, sending him stumbling. The second tail snapped like a whip, lashing around the thick muscles of the Beast’s neck. The barbs lanced like wasps’ stingers into his skin, hungry for another taste of blood.

  The Beast pivoted, clamping a vice grip around his noose, freeing some slack. It was his turn to feed. Oily sludge poured through the Beast’s fangs, splattering onto the floor. He wrenched his neck in a million directions, sawing through Malachai’s flesh like the blades of starving saw mill.

  Malachai’s agonizing howl fell on deaf ears. The wicked creature tried pushing away with a swipe of its hooked claws. Snapped. Flailed.

  Failed.

  The wounded tail clung together by a slip of flesh. A final rend severed the appendage free with the grotesque sound of tearing skin. Malachai bellowed at the burning pain and released the twin tail’s grasp on the Beast’s trapped arm. The Beast’s movement blurred. He snatched hold of the surviving tail and yanked its caterwauling owner into a crushing bear hug. He flattened Malachai’s ghastly face with a savage head-butt, then spun the monster around by a leg like a war hammer.

  Malachai crashed into a wave of Wakeful, scattering them like discarded dolls. Metal screeched and grated as the Beast pirouetted with sweeping swings. Scores of Wakeful fell by the wayside and the Beast thought for a moment enough room had been cleared for escape.

  The altar.

  The Beast dug deep his grip, clutching a pair of Malachai’s limp legs. He spun in a tight circle and raised the improvised mace overhead. He swung Malachai downward in a black crescent, determined to return him to whatever hell he had escaped from. Malachai’s battered body broke upon the Liche Queen’s altar like a tsunami breaking landfall. A splintering fissure erupted through the altar’s center, spreading in jagged cracks.

  The altar hummed, rattling the carpet of discarded weapons and armored bodies. The arbour’s runes drained of life, one by one fading into nothing. Dying, the Beast thought. Good. The Beast swung his arms backwards and flexed at the knees. He vaulted high, nearly reaching the hidden entrance above; high enough to destroy the castle’s vulgar heart. The Beast drove his heels down at the first kiss of stone, spearing the dying altar down the center. A swirling blaze of magical energies exploded, painting the cavern in twisted shades of purplish twilight.

  Silence now. The Beast kicked at the rubble, looking up just in time to watch the last rune flicker and die. With grim satisfaction, he stepped down from the steaming pile, hungry for another crack at rending Wakeful bone and steel. Instead, surprise sated him. The Wakeful no longer approached. They no longer did anything. A collection of black suits of armor populated the platform, weapons frozen in place, malachite eyes dimmed to slumber.

  The Beast spared not a moment hurrying by the frozen army, scooped Lia up, and sprinted for the black veil. He felt Lia’s rising temperature piercing through her swaddle. Her hair was a wet mop of tangled mess. Still breathing. Still time.

  The corridor raced by as he plunged headlong into the unknown. His horns nicked and scraped at the low ceiling. The sharp branches of the walls came alive, struggling to snare the fleeing juggernaut. He swat them away, not slowing a step, careful to keep his precious cargo cradled close. Dim light from a lone brazier called from the tunnel’s center. A section of wall coiled away as the Beast reached the pale torchlight revealing a small chamber; a chamber that gave him a niggling feeling of a prison cell.

  “Up, it goes up.” Lia’s voice was less than a whisper.

  The Beast regarded the chamber a second time, hunched his shoulders and squeezed in, certain the wall of branches would seal them in forever. As if reading his mind, the wall twisted itself closed and the floor lurched under his feet. His stomach dropped a foot, realization sinking in soon after.

  Up.

  The chamber of branches carried the fugitives away from the Garrison to the sick sound of snakes slithering through wet leaves. The Beast’s heart pounded and showed little sign of slowing. Surely the Liche Queen had felt the altar’s destruction. Surely there would be troops waiting above.

  The lift opened to the Hollow and the Beast stepped free. A sweeping expanse of shiny dark surfaces and irregular angles greeted him. Spiraling stair cases offered access to a dozen balconies and a tower of upper floors. Musty wind drifted in from the shady spaces between the wall’s crevices. The Beast grunted his frustration. Aided by the medallion, entry had proven much easier. He shifted Lia in his arms and selected a stair case at random. He had no idea which, if any, of the passages would provide an exit. The Reaper’s Song was ‘up’ he reckoned, so ‘up’ he would go.

  The spiral of stairs climbed into the Nekropolis’s vacuous towers, burning soreness into the Beast’s legs with each stride. It was a maddening climb: for every step taken, the landing seemed further away by two more. Impossible.

  “The child is mine!” Three daggers of indigo flame slashed by the Beast’s head, flung from the floor below. The magical blades thunked into the wall behind him, sizzling as they burned out. He peered over the railing. The Liche Queen rode atop a black cloud of surging Blight magic. She would be on top of them in seconds. Three more blades shot through the space with a flick of her wrist.

  The landing wasn’t getting any closer, but the Liche Queen’s daggers were. He cradled Lia tighter, sprung onto the railing and then launched himself through the air, bypassing the endless stretch of stairs. Daggers bit the wall a second later.

  The Beast stuck his landing, aided by a clawful of marble statue. The massive effigy depicted a hideous uni-horned demon with a slit-like nose. The Beast shouldered into the sentry, grinding it closer to the edge. This should slow her down. A final bump and the statue vanished.

  A second later, crashing sounds echoed below. No screams. No more daggers.

  The landing opened into a modest space, better appointed than the Beast assumed the Nekropolis had to offer. Towers of bookcases and lecterns were scattered about, some toppled like leaning dominoes. Thick layers of dust and abandoned cobwebs clung to every corner. Familiar. Further in, a row of marble busts stood apart from the forgotten tomes. The facial features were gouged from most, part of a skull missing from one. The collection had the air of having been abused by a tantrumming child.

  Then it hit him.

  He remembered this place. Or rather, a place like it. The Grand Library of Queen Adella’s palace had been home to many of Cedrik’s lectures. How he would have loved to hear his sagely words now and be free of this horrible place. In Adella’s palace, the library was lit by endless sunlight that flowed through a magnificent cathedral of stained glass and danced over neat rows of silver and ivory bookcases. But here...

  The Beast reached for a marble bust missing an eye.

  “Give her to me now and your death will be slightly less painful.” The Liche Queen emerged from a flash of violet light. Blades of dark flame whirling in tight spirals just beyond her putrid fingertips.

  “She has not been yours since the day you abandoned her,” the Be
ast said, inching closer to the bust. He looked the Liche Queen square in the eye. “Pandora.”

  Rage kissed the Liche Queen’s melting face. She sneered at the sound of her forbidden name and flung a brace of fiery daggers. The Beast grabbed the eyeless bust and returned fire. The daggers barely missed; a timely dodge doing the trick once more. Moonlight poured in from the freshly ventilated wall, covering the library in a silvery ripple. The Liche Queen did not bother ducking from the heavy projectile. The bust disintegrated upon impact with her decaying face.

  “That name is forbidden here,” the Liche Queen wailed, levitating between the towers of dusty books. Gusting swells punished the library, knocking over the row of busts and toppling the book cases. Loose paper and parchment flapped in the tempest like a flock of angry gulls. A memory, banished from her fragmented mind, ebbed home.

  “How dare you! I abandoned no one! My mother had the chance to save my baby. She stood by and did nothing-- nothing, as the World After claimed my.... daughter.” Rage twisted the Liche Queen’s face further. “And her bastard orphan of a father held my hand and smiled all the while.”

  A tower of books exploded into pulp nearby, vaporized by the blur of power sizzling around the Liche Queen’s shoulders. The Beast set his jaw and took a defiant step forward. “You’ve no one to blame but yourself for the deception. You selected a dangerous path long before the child was born. One her father could never allow you to force upon her.”

  “That was a mistake that fool did not live long to regret.” The Liche Queen’s energy pulsed, charged by the Beast’s honesty.

  The Beast held Lia aside, revealing the gleaming medallion at his chest. The firestone split the gloom, adding radiant hues of crimson to the moonlight silver. “Longer than you know... princess.” He pulled the cloak away from Lia’s flushed face. He shifted her in his arms, permitting the Liche Queen a better look.

  “This... is Lia. Your daughter.”

  The library stilled. The whirling storm of forgotten tomes, torn maps, and yellowed scrolls froze in place like a painted snow storm. The Liche Queen touched down from her hover and regarded the Beast with a curious eye. She stepped into a silvery bath.

  The beautiful masking illusion settled over her face. “It cannot be,” Pandora said softly, “Donovan?”

  The Beast nodded.

  “And this, this precious thing,” Pandora said, reaching for the fading child, “Lia, my sweet star--”

  A portion of wall behind the Beast exploded into the library, rocking the Nekropolis as though an earthquake struck. A second deafening boom brought another explosion. The Beast dove to his side, cradling, shielding. The castle vibrated as a third shock wave pummeled the wall into petrified tinder. The Liche Queen’s illusion died away, leaving her true and grim visage. Debris from the wall burned into dust as it neared her. Powerful though she was, the blast stunned her for a moment, drowning her in a hazy netting.

  The Beast rolled to his feet, finding the gaping hole in what used to be the wall. On the other side of the monstrous gouge, fifty feet away, the Reaper’s Song hovered like a wraith in the night. A row of smoking cannons protruded from the ship’s port side. The Beast could not find Poogs amongst the smoke, but Polaris’s cerulean beacon was undeniable. The North Star waved frantically for his attention.

  The chamber rocked like a ship at sea and his back was on fire, slashed and bitten by the petrified shrapnel. Lia remained his only constant thought. The Beast struggled to keep his footing and staggered a few paces. The Beast steadied himself, then sprint across the debris laden floor. He leapt from the jagged opening into the free air. He landed in a crouch on the vessel’s prow and hurried to his only hope.

  “Lia... I am losing her,” the Beast said.

  Polaris took hold of the child, whispering an ancient word under her breath as she pressed a cooling hand into Lia’s brow. “Captain, we must leave. Now.”

  The Reaper’s Song rose majestically from the Nekropolis, pivoting on her center. The grinning, buxom figurehead aimed her outstretched sword at the moon. The timeless vessel stretched a bit, an illusion perceived by all mortal eyes who gazed upon the Harbinger’s own, and then split the night.

  ***

  The Liche Queen’s irate steps melted into the floor, burning deep a permanent reminder of her fury. Straggling remnants of salt and pepper hair threshed like agitated snakes, bolstering the curses she levied against the moon. She wailed into the frigid nothing of the Nekropolis, clinging to the battered fragment of wall. Black spots dotted her vision. Her heart, all but paralyzed by the decay of the Blight coursing through her knotted veins, contracted painfully as the last breath of humanity was flushed away.

  “Take flight, my love. Seek out the intruders who scarred my heart and home. Taste the sweet sorrow of my vengeance.” The Liche Queen’s haunting tone echoed through the Nekropolis’ every corner.

  The dracoliche vibrated. Old magic settled into older bones as the undead dragon lord was summoned back to the land of the living. Bones creaked and ground into empty joints. Mountains of dust fell free, leaving piles of silt beneath the colossal guardian. Wings spanning a corsair’s length unfolded and the great demon leapt into the clouds hanging over the Nekropolis. The ghastly silhouette blotted out the moon, covering the black castle with a blanket of comforting despair.

  The Liche Queen’s fleshless mouth cracked open in mock smile. The dracoliche flew for its beloved Queen. It was a perfect instrument of her will, crafted from the essence of the Blight itself. It would not be bartered with, reasoned with or escaped. She would have her prize.

  Stars and beasts be damned.

  Chapter 30

  An ocean of sky rushed by the Reaper’s Song. Her figurehead grimaced as she slashed through the patchwork of clouds, racing for the fleeing horizon. Poogs’s face mirrored his beloved vessel’s: a grim mask that sensed approaching destiny. The pirate urged the Reaper’s Song to greater speed. Better to meet that destiny sooner than later.

  Lia shivered in Poogs’s wide bed, flanked by a family she had never known. The captain’s quarters were luxuriously appointed. His cloud soft bed was covered with thick quilted blankets and plush pillows stuffed with exotic feathers. A heavy silence crushed the room, broken only by the occasional cough of the dying girl. The Beast paced relentlessly, trying in vain to outrun despair. “Is there nothing you can do?”

  “The Fated Sorrow was Pandora’s special gift. One she had perfected over many years. The fountain is Lia’s only hope. Only there sleeps a magic bountiful enough to breathe wynisahil back into this world.” Polaris lowered herself to the bed. Sitting by Lia’s side was all the magic she had to offer. It would have to be enough. The Beast threw himself into a chair designed for two, wedging between the hand carved arms.

  Poogs shouted from above. “There’s something after us. Something... large!”

  Polaris was the first to the door. The Beast followed fast behind, sparing a breath to caress his daughter’s face. Lia curled into a ball and pressed a feverish cheek into a pillow. The vibrant glow of her skin was gone, wasted into a pallor difficult for him to gaze upon. “Hold on, starshine.”

  It was dark still, the sky colored only by a wash of star-speckled navy blue and purplish black. The Beast scanned the skies. “Where is it?”

  Poogs turned from the helm and pointed. “There.”

  A speck on the horizon’s blade grew at a frightening pace, dipping up and down. The faintest pin prick of emerald centered the bobbing shape as it grew. Squinting, the Beast’s night vision penetrated the dark and locked in, confirming his fear.

  They were being hunted.

  The dracoliche’s broad wings of chipped bone beat back patches of clouds. The Beast watched in horror as each violent thrash of slender bone appeared to cut the buffering distance in half. The dracoliche stretched its bony neck taut and roared a terrible, warbling roar.

  Chills were shared
among the passengers of the Reaper’s Song who gaped at the decayed creature. The Beast wondered what it had looked like before the Blight had staked its claim. He snapped the train of thought with a shake of his head. The nightmare roared again, this time close enough for his sharp eyes to count the monster’s fractured teeth.

  “How positively ghastly,” Poogs said. “Come on then, let’s get a move on.” He did not let on, but the pirate sensed the ship had little left to offer.

  “An amazingly astute observation, captain,” Polaris replied. The North Star drifted a foot above the deck, letting the stern rush closer. Drifting above the ship’s rear railing, she raised her palms to the pursuing demon. Her hands glistened with the sparkle of a diamond sea. She swiped a circle into the air.

  One by one stars fell from the sky. The streaking storm of vermillion slashes rained down from the heavens, battering the dracoliche, driving it off course. The mass of bones roared its chilling roar, gave a mighty thrash of its fleshless wings and darted higher into the cloud cover.

  Poogs grabbed the Beast’s arm and dropped it onto the helm. “Hold this.” The pirate mantled the railing and hit the ground running.

  “You can’t leave me to work this-- this-- thing!” The Beast locked his shoulders and elbows, afraid that his slightest movement would break the helm free of its mount. A million sickening feelings boiled in his belly. “Poogs!”

  The pirate paid the Beast no mind and rushed to a crank mounted on the main mast. The mechanism clicked as Poogs frantically worked the handle. Beneath the deck a fine vibration rumbled. The Reaper’s Song’s gunwale slid open. A row of cannons, seven strong, wheeled into position exposing the sheen of polished, tapered barrels. Heavy chains clicked through a complex gear works. Thuds clunked as the heavy weapons locked into place.

  “There, that should do it.” Poogs dripped with his usual bravado, quite proud of the modification he had made to the ship.