Dear Muse (Those Whom the Gods Wish to Destroy Book 1)

by Shawn Mackey

  Vargrim caught his breath and retrieved his sword. The island’s creatures appeared to be on the verge of starvation. He was not usually one to ponder such things, though he was certainly concerned. It would be a shame for them to die so pitifully.

  He caught up to Tooth, who now had a slight limp. Vargrim allowed his companion to rest for a few moments and feed on the scanty remains of their prey. Talon watched vigilantly in the treetops for any intruders. It was well into dusk when the eagle finally let out a shriek. Vargrim and Tooth were ready when the massive creature shook the ground and rattled the tree branches with its lumbering dash.

  A long serpentine head rose above the trees and instantly plunged downward with a screech. Two yellow eyes gleamed in the darkness, closing in, gradually revealing a scaly snout and forked tongue. With a hiss, it flashed a mouthful of fangs and lunged forward. Vargrim swung his sword, hitting a fang dead on, the blow’s force knocking him onto his back but sending the creature reeling into the darkness.

  The fat, scaly torso pushed through the trees on two legs, waddling back and forth as it stood to full height, far too tall to support its small hindquarters. It bobbed its cobra head back before lunging, but was once again stopped by Vagrim’s sword. The blade passed through the creature’s mouth, ripping the tongue in half and opening its cheek. As it slithered around in agony, Vargrim leapt atop its body, stabbing at both legs, plunging the blade into its torso as it tried to roll over, causing the wound to tear open the entire stomach. Purple blood gushed as it attempted to slither back into the darkness, its lame legs wading around as its guts seeped from the wound. Vargrim plunged his sword into its eye, causing the monstrosity to go utterly still.

  After a few more pokes to the head and neck to confirm the kill, he noticed the absence of Tooth and Talon. Vargrim surveyed the area, the beast’s purple blood bubbling and eating through the ground like a corrosive acid. He whistled once and heard nothing in return. Two more times was enough to cause alarm. He continued toward the cave, certain his companions would surface on the way.

  At the darkest pitch of night, Vargrim smelled smoke. He traced the source, which was on the way to his destination, wondering if a party of soldiers had been stranded. An unlikely scenario that made more sense than the reality. A naked pygmy-like man turned a plucked bird over on a spit roast, with Tooth by his side, hungrily lapping his tongue, eyes focused squarely on the meal. The man removed the chicken, tore a generous strip, and tossed it at the wolf. Tooth caught it in midair, then sprawled onto the ground and gnawed at the meat.

  At close range, the being was clearly not a man. Its body was far too tiny, head and hands too large, and at an even closer range, its features similar to the Yod yet uncannily alien. The creature quickly devoured the bird, leaving the bones for Tooth. Vargrim assumed this was not Lefnir, but perhaps one of the more docile island spawn who had taken a liking to his companion. The feeling should not be mutual. Vargrim let out a whistle.

  The nimble creature leapt to its feet, its huge eyes focused on Vargrim. It rubbed Tooth around the neck, and with a hiss, prompted the wolf to charge at its owner. Familiar with the animal since childhood, Vargrim was well aware that Tooth would pounce if he did not raise his sword. Brandishing the weapon did nothing to slow its speed. Vargrim sidestepped, avoiding the foaming jaws. As he turned to subdue his comrade, he felt the wolf’s teeth sink into his ankle. Dragged to the ground, Vargrim managed to grab Tooth by the throat, the beast’s teeth inching toward his owner’s face.

  The creature cackled and danced around the fray, its laughter reaching a crescendo when Vargrim was forced to snap Tooth’s neck. Naturally, this enraged Vargrim. He lunged at the creature with his sword, unimpeded by his wounded ankle, managing to slash the creature’s arm as it leapt backward. Though he drew blood, Vargrim’s nemesis hurled taunts and insults, all the while evading a second strike with flips and somersaults. Vargrim was sure he could kill it with a decisive blow.

  The creature snatched a handful of dirt and hurled it into Vargrim’s eyes. He used his free hand to rub it out, blindly swinging with his other. The creature ran up behind him, crouched down, extended his leg, and tripped Vargrim. With obnoxious peals of laughter, it fled into the darkness as Vargrim got back onto his feet.

  A stone smashed into the side of Vargrim’s head. He charged in its direction, and after a few steps, struck by another at his back. As he turned, another pelted him across the shoulder. The creature’s laughter echoed in every direction.

  Vargrim endured hundreds of blows from pebbles to boulders. At dawn, he spotted it atop a hill holding a rock larger than its entire body. The vile cretin wasted no time tossing the boulder. Vargrim sliced it in midair, causing it to burst into tiny stones. As the creature fled down the hill, Vargrim picked up a stone and threw it. The stone flew past the other end, and a shriek echoed across the island.

  Vargrim climbed up the steep incline, and once on top, found the creature in a tall tree. He swiftly ran to its base, and in a single swing, sliced the trunk in two. The tree toppled over, its occupant cursing with an even shriller shriek. Vargrim dashed at the pinned creature, and without warning, pierced its throat with his sword. After it gurgled blood and thrashed about, Vargrim brought the sword down one more time, severing its neck.

  This little monstrosity could not be the one known as Lefnir, twice as meddlesome as it was fierce. The Yod were not so frail to be bested by a weakling. He kicked the head aside, sheathing his sword and continuing toward the cave. Though he may slander the dead creature, it had cost the lives of Tooth and Talon. They were irreplaceable, making the upcoming battle somewhat worrisome. Perhaps that was Lefnir’s plan.

  No other spawns appeared on the way. Vargrim arrived at the cave, hoping his nemesis had the courage to face him at its entrance. He drew his sword, calling out the Lefnir’s name. Respectably at first, but as his patience waned, so did his tact. At the height of his fury, a rock struck him in the jaw.

  The creature appeared behind Vargrim and slashed its claws against his back. As Vargrim turned, sword drawn, ready to decapitate the pest once more, the creature was once again behind him. It shoved him forward, seized the wrist holding onto the sword, and twisted it upward. Vargrim used every ounce of strength to keep the creature from popping his shoulder from its socket. His footing gradually started to slip. Rather than fall forward, he pushed his body backward, tumbling down with the creature, his sword point piercing its thigh. As Vargrim dragged the blade all the way down its leg, the creature slashed just under his eye. He reeled back and rose to his feet. It tried to lunge for Vargrim’s knees, its leg too damaged to move forward. This time, Vargrim brought the sword down through the center of its head, splitting the creature’s skull all the way down to the nose.

  As he wiped his bloodied cheek, Vargrim found himself tackled from behind. He managed to snatch onto a tree trunk mid fall, supporting his body with his sword point placed firmly into the ground. The creature slashed at his chest and back, and as Vargrim pushed it backward, it sunk its teeth into his arm. Both were once again wrestling on the ground, the creature’s jaw nearly piercing bone. With his free arm, Vargrim reached for the sword but found it out of reach. He beat the butt of his fist against the creature’s head, causing it to bite harder. He jabbed a thumb into its eye, sending it backward with a squeal and a large chunk of Vargrim’s arm. He planted his foot into the creature’s forehead, sending it backward again. When it pounced on him, he caught its neck and squeezed. His fingers snapped through muscle and tendons, but right before it broke, the creature managed to thoroughly slash his face to ribbons, narrowly missing the eyes. Vargrim tossed aside the still body and wiped his bloodied vision clean.

  The creature cried out from atop the cave entrance. Vargrim managed to get to his feet, having used a torn cloth to bind his wounded arm. With another piece, he patted his scratched up face.

  Vargrim wearily seized the hilt of his sword, and as he lifted it, the creature leapt at hi
m with a shrill screech. He raised the blade in time to impale it on the tip. The body sent both sprawling backward, sinking it further through the blade, faces inches away. The creature gnashed its teeth, breath so foul it turned Vargrim’s stomach. He managed to twist the blade, push the body off his, and pin it to the ground. Placing all his weight on the hilt, the creature was stuck.

  The two locked in this position for days without flinching. The creature feigned sleep to trick Vargrim into letting his guard down. He did not falter, not even to yawn. In time, the creature eventually through a fit, begging his nemesis to let him go and fight on fairer terms. Vargrim would allow this on the condition it accepted defeat. It proved equally stubborn, kicking and screeching like a petulant child.

  After a full week, Vargrim was seized by the creature’s boredom. They talked about the Yod, exchanging battle stories, Vargrim against the island spawn and the creature against the Yod. Both grew to admire the other, yet neither would admit to being bested by the other, and neither could bring themselves to leaving it as a draw, despite their agreement that it had been a worthy battle. Vargrim offered to release his sword in exchange for an oath. He ran his hand against the blade, as did Lefnir. They clasped palms and firmly shook. The moment Vargrim unpinned his new friend, it knocked the sword from his hand and slashed his belly. Both seized the other by the throat, intent on mutual destruction. As Vargrim’s lungs craved air, so did Lefnir’s. Their strength waned, their grips with it. They simultaneously collapsed, and both reached for the sword, hands touching the hilt. As they tugged for control, Lefnir waved his talons toward Vargrim, who caught the hand by the wrist. He twisted it, causing Lefinir to screech. He gained control over the sword and sliced the creature’s arm in half, severed the head in one blow, then seized it by the ear, and tossed it into the cave mouth.

  Within seconds, Lefnir crawled out of the cave. It walked right past him, crouched as though ready to pounce, and instead knelt. Vargrim sheathed his sword, and after burying the remains of Tooth and Talon, returned to the kingdom of Yod with a new ally. As a constant token of their battle, Lefnir dons a wolf mask made from Tooth’s face and a necklace of Talon’s leg. If the two were to wage battle again, these tokens were a reminder to Vargrim as to its cost.

  Entry 35

  My condition has vastly improved in the past few days. Aiden was permitted to visit, and by the time of my next entry, I will be back home. My uncle nursed me back health at his house, though from his brief descriptions, it was an affliction of the mind rather than body. At one point, my screaming had become so dreadful, I needed to be gagged for days. Whenever my uncle tried to feed me, I would nip at him like a savage animal. He has the teeth marks on his hand to prove it. Fortunately, that was the extent of my violence.

  He read all my writings two nights ago and spent most of the next day scrutinizing my state of mind. If not for the Vern incident, which made the supernatural forces around us known to all, Aiden would have been tried and executed for my untimely miscarriage. I assumed my journal had absolved me of any explanation, but he claims to have heard a baby wailing in the woods, the sound far too authentic to blame repeated auditory hallucinations. Despite this doubt, my uncle has defended me publicly to such a degree that I can rest easy of all accusations. As far as everyone is concerned, I was the victim of some demonic power. Whatever crawled from my womb disappeared into the cave’s mouth.

  There is no doubt, no matter my uncle’s adamant insistence, that something in my mind has been irrevocably lost. I sense a sharp decline in my faculties, a marginal decrease in wit and the inability to remember certain events, before and after my life on the island, with no correlation between the two. My second meeting with Kantos is a blur, as well as my wedding ceremony. I have an intense memory of swearing a blood oath with Aiden and the incident that prompted our exodus to the island.

  I can scarcely recall today’s conversation with Aiden. Not many words were exchanged, merely the sight of the other was enough for us. He demanded to bring me home, and after hostile exchange with my uncle, brought the sentence down from one week to two days. Aiden’s point made it clear: people were starting to ask questions. The most important brought up has got me thinking. When do I return to teaching?

  The women spent their spare time watching the children, who spent more time asking about my condition than misbehaving. This is enough encouragement to quit languishing in melancholy and focus on improving myself. Looking into a mirror would also suffice. It has been days since I have thoroughly bathed.

  And even I am beginning to smell it. Apologies for gracing these pages with my repugnant stink, friend. Know that I am well and we will speak again shortly.

  Entry 36

  My homecoming was greeted with more visitors than necessary. The front door has been open all day, people walking in and out as though it were an open invitation haven for the unoccupied. First my parents, then the mayor, and then my uncle. I love the man, and he has my eternal gratitude for the constant care in the last month, but I would like to go an hour without his presence. Fortunately, he left eventually with Father and the mayor, leaving us with my despondent mother.

  She was far more devastated by recent events than Aiden and I. Something had murdered my unborn child. Not a curse, but an inhuman monstrosity meant to do me harm. Why did I go into the woods that night? I could provide no easy answer, and like my uncle said concerning the whole affair, chalk it up to a lapse in sanity. No one would think twice after the red trail leading from my crotch to the distant woods. Before finally leaving, she made sure to remind me that some of the more superstitious members of our town suspect me of witchcraft, believing that I had orchestrated the events concerning Vern and much more to come. It seems I have usurped my father’s position as their scapegoat.

  But I will still be in charge of their children. They all insist another week of rest. I need only two days. Tonight, I have business with a certain moonlighting rascal. I cannot blame him for the miscarriage, even if it had been his intent. I drank from that bottle without hesitation, and in honesty, do not regret the consequences. If Aiden ever read those words, he would be distraught.

  We were next visited by Judith, Thomas, Phoebe, and her mother. The children would have come themselves, Judith confessed, so to prevent an intrusion, they were promised a short visit. They were eager for my return. Phoebe openly admitted to hating the substitute, a woman named Bernice. She is a few years my senior, married to Patrick, and quite a hen. It is miraculous she has not pecked one of the children to death.

  Janice arrived, and with a kitchen filled to capacity, the others left. Phoebe’s mother did not say goodbye, and I am fairly certain she did not say hello. However, I would not allow her sour face to taint the long-awaited reunion with my good friend, her belly ready to burst. Like my mother, Janice seemed genuinely upset that our children would not grow up together. She did not put it into words, but the sentiment was surely there. I wish her better luck than mine.

  That was all for guests. When put to paper, the day seems less busy than it felt. Given my recent captivity, it is a matter of adjustment. For now, I must prepare for my meeting with Kantos. Let us hope there are no meddlers.

  I was going to save the entry for tomorrow night, but my aching body and restless nature has proven to be a potent combination, as though some outside force were preventing me from sleep. Not even a nap! It is well into morning, so I will make haste. Prying eyes are liable to visit at any moment.

  I went to meet Kantos and found every shred of his existence gone. The small campsite was now a bunch of bushes, the cavern entrance covered so thoroughly with rocks that not even a crack of light could pierce the other side. I called out his name a few times, scouted the vicinity for a few minutes, then decided to slim the risk of getting caught and make my way back. This sort of operation seemed to be typical of otherworldly entities. I was foolish to expect him here, as I was foolish to expect answers to anything from a demonic sot.

 
In the last few days, as I mentioned, my memory has been cloudy. However, I knew full well that my markings were being displaced. Not just sticks and rocks, but cuts on trees barks were wiped clean and placed on other trees. This took me some time to figure out. By then, I was utterly lost. As though to punctuate the realization, a hard object fell from one of the trees and landed directly on my head. The shock caused me to trip and fall, scraping my knees on a tree root.

  I quickly got back to my feet, brushing the filth off as a trickle of blood dripped between the bridge of my nose and the edge of my eye. Cursing my luck, I wiped it away with my hand, then wiped the hand on the nearest tree, so not to accidently leave a stain on my clothes. Another object struck me in the chin, creating quite a large gash and leaving my last action for naught. As I looked up at the tree, expecting to see a bird’s nest or something or other, a large rock belted me in the gut so hard I initially thought it was a fist. Before it could strike again, I started to walk off, eyes darting back and forth for an intruder. The second another rock struck my ankle, I fled like a faun from a predator.