The Beast Is an Animal

by Peternelle van Arsdale

  But Delwyn should have been dead, or he should have been fifteen. There was no in between. And this boy was still a child. But he was also Delwyn. And he was smiling at her now, and crooking his little index finger at her and bidding her come.

  Alys stood rooted in the snow.

  Then the white-haired boy who was Delwyn, but couldn’t be, but was, came toward her. And she saw why he was so fast, because this boy barely touched the ground when he walked.

  He floated.

  And now he was closer.

  Alys shook her head, clapped her hands to her ears, scrambled backward, ran and tripped her way to the caravan.

  She climbed in and buried herself under the blankets, boots and all.

  And she listened on, although she didn’t want to. She didn’t think she ever wanted to hear anything again. She wanted the world to go silent for her, forever, so she’d never ever have to hear that singing. It pierced the darkness, tickled her ears, scratched at her temples, crawled under her skin.

  Alysssssssss

  She didn’t breathe.

  Come heeeeeeeere

  She didn’t move.

  I missss you Alyssssssssss

  Alys reached into the darkness in front of her, blindly, and she felt skin. Warm skin. Warmer than she thought anything could be. Her fingers on Cian’s throat, her palm at the base of his throat where it met his chest. She felt his heartbeat. Then his hand on her hand.

  “Is one of them singing to you, Alys?”

  “Yes,” she said. Barely a whisper. She wanted to tell Cian that it was Delwyn, her friend. That an orphan child of Gwenith was now a creature that ate souls. She wanted to say that she knew too well how such a thing could happen. How a heart could turn bitter and hateful. But the words turned to ash in her mouth.

  Cian placed his other hand on the side of Alys’s head, over her ear. “Don’t listen,” he said. “Pretend it’s the wind.”

  So she did. She pretended it was the wind, and she kept her hand where it was, on the base of Cian’s throat. And she thought again that never in her life had she felt such warmth.

  And then he kissed her, sudden and warm and soft, yet not. She tasted sweetness but also sadness, and she wasn’t sure if it was hers or his. And then he kissed her again.

  TWENTY-NINE

  No one spoke much the next morning. Pawl looked sheepish, Beti confused. Alys felt embarrassed and unsettled, and she wasn’t at all sure what to make of Cian. For his part, he busied himself with making tea. She tried not to think about the taste and feel of his lips on hers. She failed.

  Once on the road, Alys sensed an odd stillness in the woods around them. There were no birds. Nothing scurrying. Only the friction of their wagon wheels. The snuffles and clops of their horses. The sounds of melt. The weather was warming fast, this long winter releasing its hold over the land crackle by drip. The tree trunks were wet and black, and snow dropped from branches in soft plops.

  Perhaps two hours along the road to Pysgod, as the sun was arching toward late morning, the silence was broken by a new sound—muffled but rhythmic and urgent. Horse hooves. A single horse, ridden fast, coming from behind them. And the only source of a rider on the road behind them could be Defaid.

  Ahead of Cian and Alys, Pawl turned to look behind him and nodded to Cian. Both pulled up on their reins, slowing the wagons to a stop. Pawl hopped down and trotted back to them. “Alys m’love, get inside the caravan and hide yourself.”

  Alys did as she was told, but kept an ear pressed close to the front of the wagon where Cian and Pawl waited for the rider. Minutes passed, or seconds that felt like minutes, Alys’s heart beating hard and sharp in her chest.

  “Hey oh,” Pawl called out.

  “Ay,” came the rider’s voice. Panting, his horse slowing to a halt. “Ay, brother, can’t stop. Can’t. Have to keep going.”

  “Well now,” said Pawl. “We won’t keep you. But where you coming from in such a tear? And where you going to?”

  “From Defaid. What’s left of it. Going to Pysgod.”

  What’s left of it . . .

  “What’s happened?” Cian’s voice.

  “The Gate’s been burned down.” His voice was familiar to Alys. It was one of the High Elder’s sons—Rhys’s older brother, the one who’d ridden out with the blacksmith. Alec.

  “It can’t be true.” Beti. She must have climbed down from the wagon, too curious to stay where she was.

  “Ay, ’tis. Middle of the night. Fire tore through it like it was a pile of leaves. And then the soul eaters came.”

  “Soul eaters,” Pawl said. “Did you see ’em?”

  “Heard ’em, more like,” Alec said. “Singing all weird like, whispery and coaxing. I seen men and women just walk off into the fforest, gone before we could stop them or hold them back. And them Gwenither kids that should have been guarding the Gate, they just up and left us. Couldn’t be bothered to stay and help, not even after all we done for them.”

  Pawl made listening noises while Alec spoke. Then he said, “Wandered off, you say? All of them?”

  “Ay. And while the rest of us were busy trying to put out the flames, keep it from spreading to the village. See now, I must go. I have to make it to Pysgod, ask them to send wagons for the folks who can’t ride, so we can take shelter behind their Gate.”

  “Well wait just a minute. You’ll faint if you don’t drink something.” Beti, urging tea on him no doubt.

  “The fire,” Cian said. “How’d it start?”

  “A witch named Alys did it. She’s one of them Gwenith kids. Only turns out she was a soul eater, just that none of us knew it until she went after one of the girls in the village. So we locked her up and she was supposed to have been burned to death but she got away before we could do it.”

  “And then she came back and burned down the Gate, did she? Well that’s a story, isn’t it.” Cian. Voice flat, tone inscrutable.

  “Did the witch have any kin?” Beti.

  “Just the man and woman that raised her, none other than them. The woman is dead. The witch poisoned her. And the man’s the one who set the witch free. We caught him carting his wife’s body outside the town. High Elder thinks he had some unholy purpose in mind.”

  Alys sank her teeth into the flesh of her thumb, forced herself to remain quiet.

  Alec paused for a moment as if waiting for the next question. When Beti, Pawl, and Cian remained silent he filled in the answer himself. “We stoned him,” he said. “That was before the fire.”

  Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no.

  “So the witch burned down the town because you killed her father.” Cian.

  “Witches are vengeful creatures,” Alec said.

  “No doubt,” Pawl said. “Well, we mustn’t keep you longer. Thank you kindly for the news.”

  When Alys heard the last fading of Alec’s horse’s hooves, she emerged from the caravan and sat in the wagon next to Cian. They all looked at her. She felt their eyes rather than saw them. She kept her own eyes focused on her knees.

  “It’s terrible what they done to your father,” Beti said.

  “Ay and they call us savages,” Pawl said.

  Cian reached for her hand, held it. She squeezed his so hard it should have caused him pain, but still he held on.

  “He’s dead because of me,” Alys said.

  “Nonsense,” Pawl said.

  “He wouldn’t be dead if it weren’t for me. They killed him for what I did. And for freeing me.”

  Beti patted Alys’s knee and made soft clucking noises. “There, child. Nothing of the sort.”

  “I should’ve made him come with me. Or I should’ve helped him bury Mother. I shouldn’t have left him.”

  “Child,” Pawl said, “I didn’t know your father well, but I know you weren’t going to make him do anything he didn’t want to do. And he wanted to bury his wife and to keep you safe. And you are safe. And we aim to keep you that way.”

  “But what about the other Gwe
nith children? What’s to become of them now? I should go back and find them. If they’re wandering in the fforest . . .” Alys trailed off, thinking about Delwyn floating, calling to her. The world swam around Alys, and she forced it to stop and be still. Where would Enid and Madog go? “Pysgod,” Alys said aloud. “That’s where they’re headed. That’s where Enid told me to go when I left Defaid. We can still go to Pysgod and wait for them there.”

  “Well it pains me to say it,” Pawl said, scratching his chin, shaking his head, “but there’s no safety for you in Pysgod now. Matters not that we know you didn’t burn down the Gate, Alys. That rider thinks you done it. He knows you by sight, I’m guessing?”

  “Ay,” Alys said. “He does.”

  “There’s something else,” Cian said. “If the Defaiders think the Gwenith children abandoned them, it won’t be safe for them in Pysgod either. They’ll accuse the whole lot of you of being witches.”

  “Well there’s nothing for it then,” Beti said. “On to Tarren then?”

  “No, I think not,” Pawl said. “It’s only a matter of time before word reaches them, and we can’t know how soon. One fast rider is all it would take. Or if no riders are brave enough to make the journey, then some traveler could carry the news, not knowing any different. No, we must take Alys back to the Lakes with us. It’s the only place she’ll be safe. Them Defaiders won’t be making their way there. Be hard pressed to know which scares a Defaider more, a soul eater or a Laker.” He chuckled. Beti scowled back at him.

  Alys had let them talk, let all this happen around her, and she had to make it stop. “No, no, I can’t go with you. I have to find Enid and Madog and the others. I must. Please take me to Pysgod.”

  Pawl shook his head, clucked.

  Beti said, “Oh dear no, child. It’s not safe. They’d burn you before you could lay an eye on Enid and Madog.”

  “I’m begging you,” Alys said. “Leave me at their Gate and I’ll look for them myself. Anyway, you can’t stop me. I’ll get out here and walk.”

  “Alys,” Cian said, his voice even, his tone no different than if he were pointing out a bird in a tree. “You won’t do the others any favors by looking for them yourself. The Pysgoders will know who you are and if you ask after your friends you’ll only cast more suspicion on them. They’ll end up stoning the lot of you.”

  Like Father. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no.

  Everywhere she went, death followed. It clung to her, refusing to let her go, to let her take a clean, full breath of air. Alys’s shoulders sank, her heart turned to dust in her chest. She could taste it in her mouth, dry and bitter.

  “Ah, child, you’re breaking my heart just looking at you,” Beti said. “Pawl, you and I will go to Pysgod. We’ll ask after the other Gwenith children. See what more we can find out. Cian and Alys can take the caravan a ways past the village and wait for us there till nightfall. Till we’ve seen what’s what.”

  “I should go instead of you, Beti,” Cian said.

  Pawl shook his head. “Yer daft, boy. Brown as you are, think you’ll be able to just wend your way around that village? They’re already scared out of their wits no doubt. Now don’t get me wrong, boy, I can see how you’re looking at me. It’s not them I’m thinking of, it’s you. Something could happen to you. They could decide you’ve got the mark of The Beast on you because you’re not white as snow. No, Beti’s right. She and I will go, and you and Alys wait for us. Just keep on riding when we get to Pysgod. Beti and I will turn toward town and you keep on. Go a good two miles more, I’d say. To the old burned-out tree. You know the one, son. Struck by lightning last year. That’s where we’ll meet you.”

  “Ay,” Cian said. He picked up the reins.

  Pawl started to turn away, then came back and grasped Cian by the arm. “If we’re not back by nightfall, you go on to the Lakes without us, you hear me? Don’t come looking for us. Just go.” He nodded once, twice. Then withdrew his hand and walked to his wagon.

  Alys wanted to call after him. Wanted to say something that would be right. But by the time she thought of what to say, he was already climbing in next to Beti, picking up his reins, clucking the horses forward. She looked at Cian. “He’s a good man,” she said.

  “Ay,” Cian said. “He is.”

  Alys and Cian sat several feet apart at first. Then as the sun faded and the afternoon chilled, they grew nearer to each other. Cian built a fire, and they both stared into its flames. Alys could feel Cian’s warmth through her clothes, even though they weren’t touching. Then he reached for her hand and held it. She moved still closer to him and put her head on his shoulder. She wondered at this, it was so strange a thing to be doing. Yet it also seemed like something she should always have been doing. She felt that no matter where she was, even with her eyes closed shut, she’d know if he was nearby. She would know him in her skin and her bones, and this baffled her. There was no sense in it. There was no making sense of it. She wondered how she could have such a sudden need for this boy.

  Alys wanted to be happy in this moment, but she found herself instead regretting their meeting. This need for him, this place in her heart that he was filling, brought with it a kind of pain, a feeling of loss even before she had lost anything. It was a sort of terror, a dread. She breathed deeply, tried to focus on the salt smell of his skin, the clean animal scent of his hair.

  The sun was setting when she heard the sound of wheels on snow. She looked up at Cian and felt such hope that she thought she might cry out. Instead she got to her feet and hid herself in the caravan.

  She heard a knock on the side of the wagon. “It’s them. You can come out,” Cian said.

  The wagon pulled up and Pawl hopped down first, then went around and helped Beti down. Their faces were empty of smiles. Like faces that had never smiled. Beti put her arms around Alys, pulled her into a rough, too-hard hug. Beti’s ragged strands of hair scratched Alys’s face and Alys felt uncomfortably conscious of the outlines of Beti’s body, all that flesh, under all those layers of wool. But she didn’t pull away, not as much as she wanted to.

  “Oh, child,” Beti said. “Your friends aren’t there.”

  No, of course they weren’t there. They wouldn’t be. Not yet. But they might make it to Pysgod by tomorrow, by following the river the way Enid had told Alys to do. And yet Beti and Pawl looked hopeless. Alys looked back and forth between them, waiting for them to articulate some plan by which they’d find the Gwenith children so they could all be together again.

  “We made it through the Gate,” Pawl said. “Just barely.” He sat down, held his hands in front of the fire. His cheeks seemed to have fallen an inch since morning, like some measure of life had been extracted from him over the course of the day.

  “I thought them Pysgoders was a better sort than them Defaiders, but no such thing,” Beti said, sitting down next to him. “They’re not lifting a finger to help. Not a finger. Not even the children. The poor children.” She looked up at Cian. “Can you imagine?”

  “Ay,” Cian said. “I can. They’re afraid.”

  “I don’t care if they’re scared shitless,” Pawl said. “To leave them children out there with no protection. Ay, it’ll be Pysgod’s Gate that burns next and who will take them in then? Tarren? Like as not. And to think them villagers are always looking down on us Lakers. The things they say about us.” He looked at Alys and she couldn’t help reddening. “Ay, we know what they say. But we’d never be so cold, so heartless, so evil as them. And evil it is. For all their talk of The Beast, they’re the beastly ones.” And then he stopped, as if all out of words for his disgust.

  Cian handed him tea. “Are they looking for Alys?”

  “They’re on guard for her. And no girl her age who doesn’t live there is going to enter those Gates. No girl her age should get anywhere near. And in the meantime they’re doing what all villagers do. They’re kicking out the travelers and closing themselves up tight. They threw us out and the rider from Defaid, too. Can you
imagine that? Poor sod. Lass, I’m sorry to say, but if . . .” He paused, caught himself. “When Madog and Enid and the others reach Pysgod there will be nothing for them there. They’ll have to move on. Meantime, we mustn’t keep you here. They’ll kill you if they should lay eyes on you, lass. I’m sure of it.”

  They were quiet then, all four of them, and for once Alys felt no eyes on her. She wanted to argue for staying, for looking, but the will to fight had gone out of her.

  Cian rested his hand on her shoulder. “Alys, it would make sense for Enid and Madog and the other Gwenith children to go to the Lakes. When they can’t stay in Pysgod, Madog and Enid will think of Pawl. They’ll know to find him, that they’ll be welcome there.”

  Pawl brightened a bit. “Ay, lass. Ay. The boy’s right. And it’s warming. There’s more light all the time. They’ll turn up. Meanwhile they’ve got each other.”

  They did, didn’t they? Alys tried to reassure herself with that. They had each other. They weren’t alone. Then she looked into the fforest. She thought of Angelica and Benedicta. Of little Delwyn singing to her, scratching at the edges of her mind, of her soul. Digging in with his thin fingers.

  None of them was alone.

  Cian’s hand had traveled to her hair, she felt the weight of it. Wanted to be comforted by it.

  Pawl kept nodding even though nothing more had been said. “We’ll go home to the Lakes. We won’t have to find your dear ones. They’ll find us. And then all will be right as rain.”

  Pawl, Alys observed, was a terrible liar.

  . . . and they would never, never be hungry.

  The flames rose but the soul eaters felt no heat. They watched as it sucked and gasped and swallowed. They felt nothing.

  The people fled and the soul eaters embraced them. The soul eaters tasted fear, they drank it up, but it did not satisfy. It burned.

  It was then Angelica realized. The burning was in them. We are the fire, she said to her sister and the boy. And they would burn and they would burn and they would burn. Burn until there was nothing left to burn.