by Matt Khourie
A portal...
Chapter 32
Massive knots of corkscrewing shapes slid through the portal. Shiny, rock solid shards interlocked into walls, broad and tall. A grid of black iron appeared next, then five pointed columns, twisting like the contracted fingers of a skeletal hand.
Towers.
The Beast’s jaw dropped past his sinking heart. He knew those towers all too well. He had just fled them. The Nekropolis penetrated the veil between realms, corrupting the fountain’s skyline inch by blackened inch. It was as dark a perversion as the Beast had ever born witness. He pulled back the blanket and to his surprise found the opened eyes of his wounded child. She sputtered a cough, then murmured over a furrowed tongue. “Faday?”
“I’m here, starshine.”
Lia’s eyes drooped closed and the Beast choked down a lump. Was that to be her last word?
He bundled Lia back up and willed strength into his leg numb. Haste was paramount now; the Nekropolis all but dominated the sky. The Beast knew that the black castle provided more than a scare. The Liche Queen would not be denied her prize: she would send all she had.
Halfway to the fountain, the Beast craned his head back. The Nekropolis fully breached the tumultuous portal. It loomed like a vengeful plague, darkening the land beneath. That is, all of the land not occupied by the fountain of starlight. The proud reservoir cut the shadow, cleaving the darkness straight down the center.
The Beast quickly limped his way to the path of light. His wounded leg throbbed with each hurried step, but there was more cause for worry than a broken bone. Voices whispered from the swirling drifts of parted darkness. Sneering, sniveling voices, whispered terrible curses in hushed taunts.
“You are forever alone, Beast of Briarburn...”
“She never loved you...”
The whispers sunk into his skin, deep into his blood like poison. His pace slowed. His mind was suddenly abuzz with stinging contemplation. Was it true? Had Pandora ever truly loved him?
He slowed to a trot. Had he been wrong? Were all the years spent in service of the princess, teaching her to fight, protecting her every step... falling in love with her every breath... a lie?
“Give us the child,” a wraith voice called out, “give her to us and you may return to your grove.”
The empty voice stopped the Beast cold in his tracks. It was vaguely familiar.
“What do you care for the mortals? They care nothing for you. You’re little more than a monster to them, fit to be chained,” the voice hissed.
Cold shivers nipped his hackles. The voice’s words, his voice’s words, echoed in his head. It was a cold, hard truth he struggled to deny. The world of Men had done little to welcome him as friend. Maybe the voices were right. Maybe he should just leave the girl and go home.
He knelt, lowering the bundled child to the ground. Something soft brushed his clawed finger, freezing the Beast in place. Lia’s tiny squeezed closed around the digit. In a flash the voices’ spell was shattered. He remembered the first time those pink, stubby fingers found his own. The Beast growled at the unseen voice.
The Beast drew himself up to full height, eyes locking onto the shining fountain. The path of light widened around his trundling paws. Shadows reeled at the sudden intrusion of hope’s defiance. The voices howled with shrieking rage at their broken deception. They shouted vile obscenities at the Beast’s back as he walked away, leaving them arguing amongst themselves.
Seven steps remained. “Hold on, starshine,” the Beast said, “almost--”
Something fleshy and sharp strangled the words back into the Beast’s throat and jerked him backwards. He fell flat onto his back with an oomph, clutching Lia to his chest. He grabbed at his neck, clawing at his attacker. He rolled Lia to the ground just as he was snatched from the path of light. The Beast twisted to his stomach, searching for his assailant.
Malachai.
The barbs of Malachai’s infernal tail pierced the Beast’s skin, digging deeper into his flesh. Malachai twisted his flank, dragging his flailing prey farther from the fountain. The Beast clawed into the strangling tail, gouging strips of leathery gray flesh. Still Malachai pulled the Beast deeper into the shadows. The Beast wrenched his way to his feet. He grabbed at Malachai’s tail with both hands and pulled. The tug of war lasted only a moment: a jet of pain raced up the Beast’s leg as he dug into the ground for purchase. He grunted and fell to a knee, his grip loosening on the biting tail. He could not win this fight, not with a hobbled leg.
Malachai reared, howling from the shadows. A monstrous yank of his tail hurled the Beast through the air and crashing down onto his chest. The Beast gasped as breath exploded from his lungs. A fresh pain erupted in his side, vying for dominance over his throbbing leg. Halos of green and red blurred his vision. Malachai charged like an enraged bull, head lowered. The Beast absorbed the crushing blow and swung a heavy clubbed fist. He missed wildly, throwing himself off balance. Malachai kicked his rear legs out, catching the Beast in his wounded side, doubling him over.
A mighty swing warded Malachai away from a quick gnash at the Beast’s neck, but only for a moment. Coal black talons raked the Beast’s back driving him to a knee for the second time in the short bout. Malachai circled, mocking him with halfhearted feints. The Beast’s strength waned. His leg burned. His ribs ached. There was little he could do. He couldn’t fight; he could barely stand.
Malachai moved in to claim his victory. He clawed at the Beast’s chest, cleaving deep gashes. A heavy, back handed blow struck the Beast’s jaw, sending him down in a sprawl.
Triple images distorted the Beast’s vision. Warm blood seeped through his fur, rushing to find daylight, staining the mud. He rolled to his side, scrambling to mount a defense. Malachai had no intention of allowing such a thing. He was a monster incapable of mercy. The Liche Queen’s transformative ‘gift’ had only amplified his relentless bloodlust.
Malachi leapt into the air, soaring through the black castle’s shadow, and landed squarely on the Beast’s damaged limb. His hooked talons dug in and squeezed. The Beast howled and thrashed with all he had left. Malachai smashed a palm into the Beast’s snout, then seized his horns. He bashed the Beast’s head into the ground once, then again. The third violent blow saw the Beast spasm. And then go limp.
Malachai released his grasp, savoring his victory. The Beast could only lay in the mud, limp limbed, defeated. His head lolled to one side, finding a blurry bundle of blankets. He reached for Lia, but strength abandoned his arm and the limb flopped to his side with a splash.
Malachai marched over his trophy, stepping a single paw onto the Beast’s chest, pressing him deeper into the mud. Crimson orbs of fire glared into the Beast, burning with a special hatred that only knights of warring kingdoms could understand. The Beast’s paw brushed past his thigh as he awaited passage into the World After, grazing against a hard lump. He fumbled into a hip pocket.
Poogs.
Malachai’s jaws all but unhinged, baring rows of terrible teeth, too many to count. Hot putrid breath festering from the monster’s gullet erupted from the ghastly maw. The Beast dug deep, willing his fist to close around Poogs’s gift. He swung his arm up, closing his eyes in anticipation.
The device ignited on impact. Blinding light exploded between the columns of Malachai’s eyes, clouding his vision with a tapestry of swirling color. He hissed and howled, trying to rub the blindness away with the back of a paw.
The Beast found his feet with a grunt, then pushed himself up. He stumbled to blinded Malachai, fists balled by his sides. He snapped into the first earth shattering blow, driving a fist into Malachai’s side, cracking ribs like twigs. The Beast lunged again, slamming home another crushing blow.
Malachai fell back, limbs flailing. His tail fired like a scorpion’s stinger, searching for the Beast’s face. The Beast anticipated the attack, sidestepping to his right. He seized the prehensile limb, t
hen clamped his jaws down hard. His fangs sliced through Malachai’s leathery flesh until the barbed tip tore free with an awful ripping sound. The Beast flung the gored mass away and smashed Malachai’s skull with a vicious head-butt. The glowing eyes flickered, but the champion of the Nekropolis was not yet defeated. Malachai staggered, dazed but enraged. He reared high and strong, then surged forward, maw splayed and hungry.
The Beast braced on his good leg. He caught Malachai by the open mandibles, sliding back a few feet in the mud. The pair was matched bulk for brawn. Muscle twitched and trembled. Malachai wrenched his head, but the Beast refused to let go. Claws slashed thin air, finding nothing. The Beast dodged each swipe, keeping precarious balance by a hair’s width.
A second strength surged through the Beast. Primal urge took hold, driving his instincts. In a blur, the Beast muscled an arm around Malachai’s neck and clamped tighter than a rusty bear trap. He threw himself to his knees, wrestling Malachai face first to the ground. Malachai’s glossy eyes widened as the air rushed free of his crushed windpipe. The Beast reached for the hinge of Malachai’s wicked jaw...
A terrible ripping stilled the forest, stifling the shadow’s whispering voices. The silence reigned for but a moment...
Malachai wailed and bucked. His eyes darted in all directions. Oily blood poured from the grotesque wound, cascading into a pool between his forelimbs. He collapsed with a splash into the sludge. The Beast roared his victory into the shadows, proudly displaying his bloody trophy to the Nekropolis.
He carried the detached mandible back to its former owner. An arm’s length away, the Beast snapped the fang filled jawbone over his knee and flung half aside. He pointed the bony shard at Malachai and spoke words backed by the fury of thunder. “I warned you on the Road...”
Malachai gaped in horror. The bone climbed to the heavens, then flashed down. It was the final image he carried into the World After.
Chapter 33
Malachai’s jaw slipped from the Beast’s grasp and plopped into the mud. The rest of the monster’s broken form lay in a quivering heap. The Nekropolis hovered overhead, but its domineering shadow was visibly diminished. With a final snarl, the Beast left Malachai to answer the Blight’s decaying call. His body ached all over. Pain reclaimed territory annexed by the invigorating fury of battle. He wanted to drop to the ground. Just for a quick rest... Only for a moment...
His knees wobbled as he dragged himself down the path of light, his fractured leg now merely the oldest on a wizard’s scroll of injuries. The Beast’s chest bled into his fur, staining the gold into an iron scented mahogany. He clutched his side. Every breath tore at his insides.
The Beast willed himself on. He reached Lia and scooped her into his arms. The fountain’s glorious shine called out to him, whispering encouragement. It penetrated the overpowering shadow of the black castle like a beacon in stormy seas, brightening his bleary eyes.
“Stop!” The Liche Queen boomed from her hovering palace. “The child belongs to me! She is of the Blight, it is her destiny to rule by my side.”
A humming sound charged the air. The Nekropolis began to glow with a pale indigo sheen. Twisted shards of petrified wood broke free and fell. The castle fragments exploded into the earth, quickly dissolving. From steaming ash the Wakeful emerged, weapons readied.
The Beast regarded the army of obsidian steel, then his beloved daughter. A powerful, savage voice told him to put the child down and destroy each of them, one by one. He paid that voice as little mind as he had the taunting voices in the shadows. His duty was to his family. Lia shivered and shook in the Beast’s arms. She needed her father. The Beast stepped over the fountain’s side, climbing into liquid light of stars. He lowered the swaddled child to the fountain’s cooling kiss, praying that it was not too late. It had to work...
The dracoliche screeched down from the Nekropolis like a diving falcon. The Beast had just enough time to drop Lia to safety on the fountain’s side before being snatched by the undead dragon’s deathly claws. The earth fell away while the Beast struggled to free himself, shocked the dracoliche yet lived. The splintered mast of the Reaper’s Song still skewered the flying nightmare through its bony breast. The faintest hint of emerald fire flickered behind the shield of bone. The dracoliche stopped abruptly among the clouds.
And then the Beast was falling.
Wind whistled by as he plummeted towards the waiting earth. For all hi suffering, for all his sacrifice... to end like this? The Beast was filled by a melancholy calm. Maybe Polaris had been wrong and Lia wouldn’t need the medallion. Maybe just being close to the fountain of starlight was enough. He opened his palms and let his arms drift from his sides.
A rippling mix of snow and mud exploded from the impact. He lay there, broken and forgotten as any abandoned marionette. With his last bit of strength he reached for the fountain’s warmth. A lone claw scraped the ivory side, scratching down as strength left him.
The World After was calling.
The Beast drifted in and out of a hazy dream space, vaguely remembering the army at his back and the task at hand. He wanted only to sleep. His eye lids grew heavier and heavier. Sleep... Peace, that was all he needed.
A streak of indigo burst from the Nekropolis’s highest tower and then cracked to the earth like forked lightning. The bolt scorched the ground, instantly vitrifying the cold mud. The Liche Queen emerged from a cloud of silver steam. “It seems to me that we too often meet this way: you, flat on your back, clinging to your wretched existence by a thread.”
The Liche Queen crossed the snowy plain with a tidal wave of shadow at her back and the Nekropolis high above her shoulder. Demonic faces twisted and sneered from the dark, rolling wall. Gauntlets of dark fire consumed her hands, but could not burn away the porcelain illusion of perfection. “Beast of Briarburn, Donovan, whomever you are... you are indeed very brave. But I’m afraid being brave is not enough. The world’s currency is power not courage. Look at you, lying in the mud. Bloodied. Beaten.” The Liche Queen’s eyes burned with flames of the purest hatred. A wraith like hand erupted from the ground and crushed the Beast’s body, squeezing free a groan.
“Powerless.”
Something warm caught the Beast’s flailing claw and held on tight. A smack splashed near his head: a pitter patter squishing in the mud.
Blankets fell away as Lia gathered the Breath to her. A surge of golden light quickly passed from her hand to her father’s, banishing the wraith’s claws back to the abyss. Lia’s amber eyes blazed, as she glared at the closing wall of shadows.
The Liche Queen touched a hand to the spot on her chest were her heart should have been. “Well, well, aren’t we just darling. Daughter or not, I grow weary of this game.” Her shrill worlds echoed through the trees, loosing snow from branches.
“Bring me the child... And his head.”
The dracoliche touched down a league away, kicking up a tempest of snow with its skeletal wings. It sounded the charge to the Wakeful ranks with a terrible wail. They closed formations and marched for the fountain. Marched for victory.
Lia raised her hand to the sky, instantly summoning a magnificent column of spiraling white light. In his haze the Beast could only vaguely recall the image of the same magic pulled Cedrik’s spirit back from the World After. He remembered the toll it took on Lia’s then healthy body. He struggled to stop her.
“No starshine! Don’t!” The Beast cried.
Lia kissed her father’s paw. “It’s my turn, faday. My turn to protect you.” She released the claw and raised a second hand to the light, instantly doubling the intensity of the spiraling pillar.
The black army was less than a field away and closing. The dracoliche howled again and the Wakeful readied their spears. Twin tears of glittering crystal gently rolled down Lia’s face, falling between the Beast’s own misty eyes of amber.
“I love you, Beastly.”
The Beast gasped as t
he tears restored his battered bones. “Lia--”
The little girl, no more than a speck on the horizon, stepped between her father and the advancing army. The light followed closely behind, like a pet obediently following a beloved master. A few steps from the fountain, Lia halted. A wall of dazzling chain erupted from the tempest behind Lia’s shoulders. Interlocking links of gold shot across the field and climbed towards the clouds.
“It cannot be,” the Liche Queen muttered. She raised a shielding hand, buffering her eyes from the light of Lia’s barricade. “Foolish girl. The Breath’s pitiful influence is nothing to the Blight.” She swung her arm, unleashing a wave of concentrated Blight magic into the golden chains. The jet of souls condemned by the Blight hammered into the shield, dissipating upon impact.
Lia opened an inviting hand to the souls, offering salvation. One by one the apparitions darted into Lia’s palm. The pillar in the sky pulsed as each soul took its rightful place. “No, matar. The Blight is beautiful, just like the Breath. They are sisters. A family. What you’ve done is wrong. I won’t let you hurt them anymore.
The Liche Queen screeched pure fury. “Destroy them! Destroy it all!!”
The dracoliche roared at Lia’s brash action and the Wakeful clapped their blades against their breast plates as they rushed for the fountain. It mattered not. The child had drawn her line. Lia channeled the pillar’s lambent radiance into her hands and pulled at the sky with a single tug. The Breath fizzled from Lia’s hands and she slipped away into a dream.
The Nekropolis groaned and shook, trying desperately to resist Lia’s powerful magic. The groaning boomed into a deafening thunder. A mighty crack cleaved the Nekropolis down the center and the massive fortress twisted.