Stars and Graves

by Roberto Calas

  Lokk Lurius stood before it. His sword glistening with the creature’s blood. He swung again. The Beast backed from the blow then howled as every soldier in the formation struck its flanks. All of them drew blood. And the creature’s cries were like a song of victory. The Beast thrashed but it did no drop Jjarnee Kruu. It swept its knurled tail sideways, low and swift, knocking soldiers to the forest floor. Lokk advanced. The creature sprang backward and roared. Sent a flood of dirt and leaves toward the Eridian with its cry. Jjarnee Kruu howled again as the Beast arched its tail and drove a dagger-sized stinger into the Hrethriman. The crossbowman arched his body between the Beast’s two claws. His shriek made Meedryk Bodlyn fall to his knees and clasp hands over ears.

  The soldiers were rising again and forming up with the rampart at their backs. The spearmen on the left lunged. Grae and Hammer ran forward. They swung madly at the creature with swords.

  It’s working!

  The Beast was trapped between the squad and Lokk Lurius. The Eridian pressed the advantage but the creature hurled Jjarnee Kruu at him and scuttled sideways. Lokk ducked beneath the falling Hrethriman and jumped at the Beast. But the creature struck before the Eridian could. The blow came so quickly that Lokk barely saw it. The talons ripped through his breastplate, and the impact launched him backward, again into the darkness.

  Aramaesia sent another arrow at the creature and this one buzzed inches from its head. The Beast hissed. The soldiers lunged again. Spears protecting swordsmen. Grae noted absently how mechanically they struck. How well they executed. But the Beast would allow them nothing more that night.

  The monster backed away until it was nearly out of the clearing, growled, then leaped upward into a great hickory tree. Long claws scratched at the trunk, hooked onto a branch. The tree groaned with the weight. Aramaesia fired one last arrow. The creature swung to one side to avoid it, then disappeared into the canopy.

  The squad re-formed inside the rampart and backed up until the boulder ridge was at their back. Aeren and Maribrae dragged Jjarnee to the fire and the soldiers made a half circle around him, facing outward. Maribrae sobbed. Ulrean was curled next to her, his head buried beneath a wool blanket, his muffled screams and sobs mingling with hers.

  The monster howled from the west. The soldiers kept the circle tight around Jjarnee Kruu, facing outward into the forest. Hammer set his spear down and turned to check on the Hrethriman.

  “How is he?” called Grae.

  Hammer looked at the mess that was Jjarnee and pursed his lips. “He’s missing important parts, Grae.”

  The Brig bared his teeth. The Beast howled again, closer, from the south.

  “Ja… Ja pruejj!” shouted Jjarnee, blood oozing from a half dozen wounds. He took a few breaths, then spoke quietly. “Ja pruejj.”

  Hammer shook his head. “Time’s not helping him, Grae. He’s got a journey coming.”

  Grae took a deep breath. “Lokk.”

  The Eridian backed out of his space and turned to the Hrethriman.

  Maribrae rose screaming. “No!” She leaped in front of Jjarnee, shoved Lokk with all her strength. Once. Twice. She pounded his torn breastplate with her fists. “Get away from him, you savage! Get Away from him!”

  Hammer stood, pulled her back gently. “There’s a love,” he said. “You ain’t buying him time, dearie. You’re just buying pain. Just suffering, love.”

  She dropped to her knees, raised her hands to her head and sobbed.

  “Oh, Blythwynn!” she called. “Oh, Lojen above!”

  Lokk gripped his remaining theiyra tightly and knelt next to the Hrethriman.

  “Wait!” called Maribrae, her voice raw and gritty. “Wait!” She threw her arms around Jjarnee’s neck and stroked his forehead. She kissed him, tasting blood on his lips. Jjarnee’s eyes seemed to clear. A smile touched his lips.

  “Goodbye, Jjarnee,” said Lokk Lurius.

  Hammer dragged Maribrae away from the crossbowman, her hands clawing at Lokk. The Eridian stepped between them and drove his sword into the Hrethriman’s throat, upward toward the back of the skull. Jjarnee’s legs twitched once and then his body was still.

  “Oh, land and skies!” sobbed Maribrae. “Oh, stars and graves! Oh, Jjarnee Kruu!”

  Lord Aeren put a hand on her shoulder as Hammer returned to the line. “Saving me,” she said to Lord Aeren. “Saving me.” Her face crumpled again. “Saving me! He died saving me!” Every man in the squad had fallen in love with that voice, and it burned at them now.

  “With respects,” Grae called to Sir Jastyn. “Silence her. Silence her or I will.”

  Sir Jastyn nodded and backed into the circle. He put his arms around her. She pushed him away, but he tightened his grip. She pounded at his armored chest, then lost all strength and sobbed on his shoulder. He held her head with a gauntleted hand and whispered soothingly, stroked her hair.

  “Jjarnee,” she whispered, sobbing. “Oh, Jjarnee Kruu.”

  Chapter 31

  Some say the Beast is Mundaaith, Himself.

  But there is a difference between the two: Mundaaith can be killed.

  —from “The Black Beast of the Forest,” writer unknown

  Grae couldn’t tell how much time passed while the group held their vigil, the soldiers in a ring, their weapons bristling outward. Maribrae, Aeren and Ulrean huddled in the center around Jjarnee’s body. The Beast continued to howl and circle, taunting them through the night. It seemed to howl from every direction, shrieking from the trees at times, from the ground at others. With each cry, the soldiers braced themselves for another attack that did not come. And when the Beast was silent they heard the other screams—Jjarnee’s screams, Maribrae’s—echoing in their heads.

  A Maug Maurai dawn broke slowly over the squad. They stood like sculptures in that ring. Like Eridian war statutes. The howls had grown less frequent as time passed. Sometime in the night they ceased entirely, but none of the soldiers let his guard down or left his position. The only sound was the ceaseless sniffling of Drissdie Hannish.

  Maribrae and Ulrean were the only two who slept. She lay in a tangle across Sir Jastyn, who sat with his arms around her, his sword in one hand, his shield in the other. Ulrean dozed in Aramaesia’s lap. She held her bow across one knee, an arrow lying nocked upon it.

  The diffused light of the forest revealed the battleground on which they had fought the night before. Sallets, broken spears and blackened chain links littered the western edge of the camp, past the ditch and wall. Shallow swamps of blood curdled on the forest floor. The field looked vastly different in the daytime. It looked like someone else’s battle.

  It was long after dawn before anyone gathered the courage to move. Grae sheathed his sword and stepped forward, muscles groaning, his bones grinding.

  “Let’s get Jjarnee buried,” he said quietly. “We have a lot of work to do today.”

  Maribrae’s quiet sobs resumed when she woke, as if she had frozen overnight and thawed with Grae’s words. Ulrean raised his head from Aramaesia’s lap, his hair plank-straight and rising at an angle from his head. The iridescent blue of the gemstone twinkled above his brows.

  †††

  A wren chattered a cheerful tune in the canopy as the soldiers worked Jjarnee’s cairn. Hammer and Grae stood a short distance away, watching as the soldiers clattered more stones on the mound.

  “He had a heart, that one,” said Grae.

  “Aye,” Hammer replied. He held a half-eaten crab-apple. “Reminded me ‘a Tallian Kraough.”

  Grae’s face gave the impression of a smile, twitched in an amused way. “Tallian Kraough,” he said. “Haven’t thought of him in ages. Where’s he posted these days?”

  Hammer took another bite from the crabapple, wincing at its sourness. “Eleyria.”

  Grae’s face lost its amusement. “I miss making the mounds. Makes me feel like I don’t belong, watching them do that.”

  Hammer shook his head. “Earth ranks to earth, air ranks to air,” he r
eplied. “Wouldn’t be proper.”

  “Lots of things aren’t proper,” said Grae. “But we do them anyway.”

  Hammer threw the apple into the trees and wiped his hands on his trousers.

  “I don’t think it’s going to work,” said Grae. “I don’t think my Northern V is going to do it.”

  “It’ll work sir,” Hammer replied. We drove the thing away. We ‘urt it. You just gotta tinker with the formation a bit. If there’s anyone in the Standards can come up with a winning recipe, it’ll be Grae Barragns.”

  “I’m not sure this time, Hammer,” he said. “This thing… this creature. It’s too fast. It’s got too many seamarken legs. Too many weapons. It can shatter two spears on opposite sides without opening itself up front.”

  Hammer shrugged and drew his wineskin. Grae suspected it wasn’t because he was thirsty, but because he felt the need to do something with his trembling hands. “I suppose, now you’ve seen it, you can make adjustments,” he said. “We’ll be luggin’ it’s ‘ead back to Kithrey by dawn tomorrow.”

  They took turns drinking from the wineskin. The clunks and scrapes of shovels sounding flat.

  “Hammer,” said Grae. “Are you ever going to tell me what those Andraens that were following us? The ones with the bane box?”

  Hammer stared at the other soldiers and grinned without showing teeth. Grae had seen that smile often enough to recognize Hammer’s discomfort. The old soldier unclasped the bevor from his neck and slipped a leather thong out. A green pendant hung from it, long and narrow. Hammer held it up then, after a moment, handed it over. Grae grasped the pendant between his thumb and forefinger and examined it. Whatever it was had been dipped in green wax.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Is the finger of Anthus Grygg”

  Grae dropped the pendant, grabbed the thong instead. He wiped his fingers on Hammer’s tabard. “The finger of a dead prime?”

  “Aye,” said Hammer. His voice dropped to a whisper, “The only Andraen ever declared a prime. And this is a piece ‘o him. It’s been documented.”

  Grae tried not to smile. The Andraens had chased them around Western Nuldryn because of a withered old bone that someone had likely taken off a dead leper or pauper.

  “It’s a powerful Turae relic. My mum gave it to me a few months back.” He thought of Alianne, his woman in Kithrey, and felt an ache deep in his chest. He’d given her the pendant the day he had received it, and she had returned it the day he had left for Maug Maurai.

  “Why would your mother give up such a prize?” A half-smile crept across Grae’s face.

  Hammer licked at his lips and wouldn’t meet the brig’s gaze. “She thinks she’s dyin’, Grae. I… I walked in on ‘er naked. Lying on one of them moss beds the Andraens die on. She was just lyin’ there, waiting for death. The boy that looks after ‘er says she does it once a week. She strips down to ‘er sloppy naturals and lays on the moss and waits.” He sighed. “Until she gets ‘ungry.”

  “She thinks she’s dying, so she gave you Anthus Prime’s finger. I think I’m beginning to understand, but for the sake of clarity, why do the Andraens want to hurt you? Why do they want that finger? And how do they know you have it?”

  “Who knows?” Hammer mumbled. “Crazy race.” He studied the pendant then placed it back around his neck. He left it outside his mail now. “Anyway, Anthus Grygg protects me now.”

  Grae frowned at the pendant. It dangled beneath Hammer’s bevor, a completely unsanctioned addition to his uniform. “I know Turae is popular down in Duryth, Hammer. And I know you were raised and fed on it. But sometimes you have to think for yourself. Even if that was the finger of a dead prime, you don’t honestly believe that it’s protecting you, do you?”

  They watched the men add more stones to the grave. Hammer shifted and glanced at Grae a few times before replying.

  “We all ‘ave things we cling to, don’t we?” he said. “Sometimes they’re worth clinging to. Sometimes they’re not.”

  Grae rolled his eyes at Hammer’s philosophical response and watched Lokk Lurius pacing the field, searching for the theiyra he had thrown. The brig’s gaze shifted to Aramaesia. Hammer followed Grae’s eyes. The archer knelt a short distance from the graves with Ulrean lying on propped elbows next to her. The child caught their stares and gazed back. His gaze fell on the pendant hanging from Hammer’s neck, and the boy reached into his shirt and drew out the pendant that Aramaesia had given him. The King’s Authority pendant given to Grae by the Chamberlain. The boy let it fall on his chest, then nodded to Hammer. Hammer touched the finger of Anthus Grygg and nodded back.

  Grae’s eyes didn’t leave Aramaesia.

  Hammer glanced sidelong at the brig. “Whatever happened to that skinny little blonde you took with you to Maulden? What was her name? Chrysani?”

  “Chrythansa. She drifted off, Hammer. She just left one day.”

  “She give a reason?”

  “She didn’t need to.”

  Hammer kept his eyes on Grae. The brig didn’t speak until the last stone was set upon Jjarnee’s grave. “One night, she went to sleep next to Grae Barragns. And the next morning she woke up beside The Headsman.”

  †††

  They gave Jjarnee the Farewell and returned to the safety of the ramparts. The men wanted to catnap but Grae had them clean their armor and weapons first. While the soldiers worked, the brig called Lord Aeren, Sage, Hammer and Lokk Lurius to his pavilion.

  “Lord Aeren,” asked Grae. “Any observations about what we saw last night?” His voice was hoarse with fatigue.

  Aeren cleared his throat. “In all of my research, I have never seen anything similar to it. My mistress is more knowledgeable than I. She may be able to identify it when we... return. The forwardmost claws are prehensile—the creature can grip things with them. And the talons... they can tear through metal.”

  Grae nodded, recalling the sound of the claws punching through Jjarnee’s breastplate. The sound of chain mail rings being torn away by those claws.

  “The teeth on the Beast are peculiar,” Lord Aeren continued. “They are not meant for chewing or rending. They appear to be made simply for catching prey.”

  “Or for scaring prey,” said Sage.

  “Fascinatingly, I don’t think it has any teeth on the inside of the mouth at all. No grinding teeth. No crushing teeth. I’m not certain how it can eat anything without them.”

  “It doesn’t eat its prey,” Sage whispered.

  “Yes, well, I’m developing some theories about how it nourishes itself.” He cleared his throat. “It stung Jjarnee, but he… he didn’t live long enough for me to study the effects of the venom.”

  “A good thing, too,” said Hammer.

  “The skin of the creature is curious to me,” said Lord Aeren. “It looks as if parts of the creature are decomposing. You can actually see bones jutting out at points. It reminds me of the maurg we fought. But it is fast. Faster than a drasik. Faster than hunting cats. Faster than it let on. Whenever Aramaesia fired, it moved twice as quickly to avoid the arrow. As if it were purposely slowing itself down when fighting us.”

  “Like it were playin’ a game with us?” asked Hammer.

  Lord Aeren shrugged.

  “Thank you.” said Grae. He turned to Lokk. “Any thoughts? How does it compare to the Beasts you have fought?”

  Lokk didn’t respond right away, didn’t look as if he had even heard. Grae was about to repeat the question when the Eridian finally spoke. “I’ve never fought anything like it.”

  A somber silence grew in the tent. Grae tapped his knuckles together in thought, then looked up at the men with a smirk. “So,” he said, “how do we kill it?”

  Chapter 32

  Some have questioned where The Dark Place lives.

  Does it simmer underground, beneath our feet?

  Does it lie overhead, leaking blackness into night?

  I say The Dark Place is here, in Laraytia.

&nb
sp; I say The Dark Place is Maug Maurai.

  — From “The Andraen Forest,” by Dallyn Salthis

  One hour after the Farewell for Jjarnee Kruu, Drissdie Hannish heard movement in the forest. He was on watch at the south end of camp and the sounds brought back images of shining black teeth. He backed until he was inside the ramparts, putting spearhead between him and the forest. Most of the other soldiers were asleep.

  Beldrun Shanks was once again tightening the head on his axe—the blades had rattled and wobbled on the haft since coming off in the cire hulk’s head. He looked up from his haypad. “You got another mangy boar out there?”

  “I dunno.” Drissdie’s voice trembled. “I heard something.”

  Shanks looked out to the forest and grew quiet. He rose to his feet and walked to Drissdie’s side, his fingers flexing on the haft of the great war axe. The two soldiers edged to the western opening in the earthen wall and listened. The forest was thirty yards from the wall, and something was walking and snarling in the brambles.

  The brush erupted and both soldiers cried out. Three jurren birds scampered past them and into the clearing. They grinned at each other, until a moan rose from the forest. Drissdie opened his mouth to call the camp to arms then froze. “Mother of light.”

  Shanks laughed and shouted back into the camp. “Hey, Lurius! I think you’ll want to see this.”

  Lokk Lurius was oiling the burnished scabbards of his theiyras by the north wall. He looked up without expression, then turned back to the scabbards.