The Way of the Black Beast

by Stuart Jaffe

  "Wait, wait," Malja said. "You can read?"

  "No, of course not," he said with a fumbling cough. "And if I could, I wouldn't waste my time with Chi-Chun nonsense. I mean, they spend hours like that for what? Another will come along to relieve them. Then they go to their little commune, pray, eat, sleep, start all over. Nothing else. What kind of life is that?"

  Malja settled back in the saddle. She didn't care about the Chi-Chun, but to find another who could read thrilled her. He could deny it all he wanted, but she had heard the education in his voice earlier, and now he let slip that he could read.

  Gregor had taught her and if for nothing else, she loved him for that infinite gift. Jarik and Callib had taught her much as well but only what served them — never what would solely benefit her. Teaching a child should be an act of love in many ways. For Jarik and Callib, it was an act of control.

  Over the next hour, they saw three more Chi-Chun. One stood unsteady, his arms shaking. Fawbry said that one must be new. Malja thought they looked like creepy scarecrows. They existed, after all, to scare away the dead.

  "We're here," Fawbry said, but to Malja, this patch of gray looked much the same as any other they had traveled across.

  Tommy nudged her and pointed to the one difference. A decrepit, wooden dock poked out into the water like a splinter. The lake lapped against it with a steady, dull clap. A Chi-Chun stood her outstretched vigil at the tip of the dock like a ghost forever waiting a lover's return.

  After dismounting and tethering the horses, Malja and Tommy stood back while Fawbry approached the lake. For a coward, he seemed to be quite gutsy. Fawbry squatted and slapped the water three times, paused, slapped three times, paused, and continued the pattern for a full minute. The Chi-Chun stiffened at the disruption but did not break her pose.

  Fawbry straightened, cupped his mouth, and called out, "Barris! Barris Mont!"

  Malja kept close watch on the motionless Chi-Chun and readied for an attack. Fawbry called out again, his voice fading in the fog but still crossing the water. The Chi-Chun lowered her arms, turned around, and removed her hood.

  Her night-black skin hid most of her features like the dark lake hid its depths. Only her deep-set eyes — a bold, sickly yellow — and her matted hair — knotted with weeks of grime — revealed the dangerous mind beneath. She looked like the dead returned. Malja thought these Chi-Chun had taken the idea of studying the enemy a bit too far.

  The woman advanced towards Fawbry, her agile and speedy feet surprising all. Malja started to retaliate but Fawbry put out his hand, motioning for her to wait. When the Chi-Chun reached him, she widened her eyes, pointed at him, and said, "Do not call upon the damned."

  "Barris is not damned."

  "Blasphemy! Do not speak such names or I shall call the power of Korstra, and with His might I shall lay a curse upon your head."

  "Fine, fine. Just do it and get out of here, so I can call Barris Mont in peace."

  The Chi-Chun woman sucked in air as if she might explode should she hear anything more. "You vile heathen."

  "No, ma'am. You are the heathen. I follow the right and just Kryssta, the greater brother god, the true leader of all mankind."

  "Blasphemy!" The woman pressed her thumb against Fawbry's chin. He did not move away, though he rolled his eyes and huffed disdain. "I curse thee," she said, her words seething hatred. "I curse thee in the name of Korstra, the wise and powerful brother god. Change your path, heathen, or this curse shall follow you always." She put her hood back on and kneeled at the edge of the shore. In seconds, her body swayed as she mumbled words Malja could not make out.

  Fawbry waved Malja and Tommy over. "Don't worry," he said. "I've been cursed before by the Chi-Chun. If they have any real power, curses aren't it. Now that I say that, I can't think of anybody ever suffering from a curse. Must not be real."

  "She's dangerous," Malja said, her wary eyes hawking the woman.

  "Do you really think I'd stand up to her if she were?"

  "Good point."

  "Come. Onto the dock."

  Malja waited. "I'm fine here." Having just crossed the Yad, even standing on a rickety dock overlooking a large lake felt too close to water.

  Fawbry shook his head as if mocking a child but wisely left it at that. He walked out on the dock and tapped the water once more. Malja noticed that Tommy had left her side. He hovered near the Chi-Chun. Facing his fears. Good. Before she could say anything, a low groan bubbled up from the lake. Fawbry hurried back to the shore.

  "He's here. He's here," he said, giddy and impatient.

  The Chi-Chun woman inched back but continued her praying.

  From the water, a dark object emerged. Malja thought, at first, she saw the head of a man, but as it moved closer, as it rose higher, she saw nothing that resembled a human form. The head-like shape became an eye, one of many, and its large size hinted at the creature coming.

  To say Barris Mont was enormous was to say a grain of sand was small. The word failed to convey any real sense of proportion and power. Barris was massive. Taller than the trees and wider than a house, he moved with slow yet powerful grace. A monstrous, lumpy shape — soft and wet and malleable. Good for underwater living. Waves of fish odor pulsed off him. His purplish-black skin looked like an enormous bruise, and his eyes popped open at random points like blemishes. Worse were his legs. More than a tentacle but not as sturdy as a foot, Barris had so many he looked like a mound of dark meat atop thick, never-ending noodles.

  The Chi-Chun let out a cry and pressed her head to the stony ground. Tommy watched in gasping disbelief. Fawbry danced about like a child expecting a new toy.

  "Barris," he said when he finally regained a little control, "this is the warrior Malja and her companion, Tommy."

  A gray appendage wormed out of Barris. Its prehensile tip settled on Fawbry's head. Fawbry closed his eyes and, with a relieved grin, grew rigid like a corpse shortly after a battle. Two similar appendages emerged and took hold of Tommy and the Chi-Chun. It had not happened quickly, yet Malja did not react. The sheer size of Barris had stunned her. But when she saw another gray snake coming for her, she snapped free from her awe.

  She brandished Viper and took on a fighting stance. "Let go of them," she said.

  In a deep, indecipherable voice, Barris spoke. His tones shook the ground. Leaves fell off trees. Two birds darted into the sky, cawing a frightened warning to others. Malja dropped to her knees and clutched her ears. Her bones radiated pain from the marrow outward as they vibrated against her muscles.

  "Stop! Stop talking!" Her words sounded muffled, and she feared she might go deaf. He spoke no more. For now. Wiping at the tears in her eyes, she looked up at the sky and saw no end to Barris. She wobbled back to her feet. Weaving like a drunkard, she swung Viper toward the gray appendage attached to Tommy. Another splashed from the lake and slapped her down. As she hit the ground, a sharp rock poked the small of her back.

  The gray tube, for she could think of nothing nicer to call it, still waited for her, its tip motioning for her to join. She stumbled to her feet, her body complaining at each movement. If Barris chose to speak again, Malja knew her ears would bleed and her body would fail. Death would come swiftly. But still that disgusting tube beckoned.

  She wanted to check on Tommy, but her heart told her not to bother. She had failed the boy. Alive or dead, she had failed the boy.

  No. I only fail if I do nothing.

  She grabbed that gray tube so hard Barris let out a startled complaint — loud enough for Malja's legs to buckle, but she managed to stay upright. She pulled the tube closer. Another tube tried to strike her, but she wouldn't fall again. She dodged the attack with one step and with a second step, she planted her legs solidly.

  "I don't want to hurt you," she said, knowing how absurd her words sounded, "and since Fawbry wanted to be here, I think you don't want to hurt us. So, you just let go of the boy, and I'll let go of you. We'll leave you in peace. Okay?"

&nbs
p; Nothing happened.

  "Fine. I'll go first," she said and let go of the gray tube.

  Barris spoke. The ground shook as vibrations radiated outward with explosive force. A dying tree splintered and fell. Distant animals screeched and fled.

  Malja collapsed as blood dribbled from her nose and ears. The pressure on her head brought spots to her eyes. She felt like the brother gods had each taken a side of her skull and pushed.

  She rolled on the ground, clutching her head, trying to focus. She saw Tommy. Despite the vibrations shooting endless jolts straight through to her bones, she reached for the boy. Her breathing labored and her vision clouded. She rolled onto her back, fighting for air. She found Viper and tried to think of a way to strike back. But part of her mind began wondering what form Death would take.

  Barris finally stopped. All fell into silence. Malja couldn't even hear her own heartbeat. She felt the gray tube slither across her leg. She held Viper now but could not find the strength to left her weapon. The tube entered her field of vision.

  Barris did not hesitate. The tube lowered onto Malja's head.

  Chapter 8

  "Malja, come here now," a voice called from behind. She knew that thin timbre — Callib. A terrified yelp surged up Malja's throat, but she clamped her mouth against it. Brutal lashings waited for her should she turn around. "Malja," Callib said, exasperated and harsh, "did you kill my dolyan birds?"

  "Yes, sir," a little girl answered through her bawling.

  Malja whirled around to see a four-year-old girl clad in a black assault suit. The dead lake, the barren trees, the overcast sky — gone. Tommy, Fawbry, the Chi-Chun, Barris — gone. Before she could say a word, little Malja vanished.

  Another Malja appeared in the distance. Eight-years-old. The younger version of her practiced with a new sword she had been given for her birthday. Malja remembered the day well. Lunges, parries, sweeps, and slices. Over and over she went through her forms — each choreographed step a tutorial for battle. No windows to distract her. No warmth to lull her. Just cold, echoing stone and damp, musty odors. Warm tears stung in her eyes, but she kept practicing.

  Then she was ten, crouched at the door to her room listening to her fathers argue in the hall. "She's a complete failure," Callib said. "There's not a bit of magical ability in her. Nothing."

  "Failure?" Jarik said, his deeper tones always more striking than Callib's shrill rants. "It's a success she's survived this long."

  "Obviously, but—"

  "You continue to think you can change her, but look at what she is. Look at what she can do."

  "What? The fighting?"

  "Yes, the fighting. She's by far the most talented warrior this world has ever seen. We did that. That's success."

  "That's your success. It has nothing to do with finding safe passage, and quite frankly, it's a waste of our valuable time and resources. She's nothing but a failure to me."

  She stared at the door. Burning tears streamed down her face, but she wiped them back.

  Again the world dissolved. Malja gasped as her vision flooded with memory after memory. She saw her days training, her days being yelled at, her days being beaten. She saw the morning they tossed her in a sack and abandoned her in a forest.

  She felt the fear and the loss and the betrayal. Yet she also had the context of an adult looking back to aid her. She admired little Malja's pluck. That girl refused to give in.

  She saw the week she had struggled to survive, scavenging for the mere basics — eating grubs, enduring freezing rain, fighting off hungry konapols. She saw the day she thought she would die of starvation, the same day Gregor found her on his morning walk and decided to take her in.

  The years with Gregor were pleasant but never secure. She listened closely and tried to obey his rules. But no matter how often he professed his love for her, she kept an eye out for any change to come. At some point, she expected, he would grow tired of her burden and dump her.

  With a jolt like riding in a wagon run by a spooked horse, she saw a seventeen-year-old Malja returning from a three-day hunt. She had a load of meat to store for Korstraprime. She called Gregor to give her a hand. She really just wanted to show him how well she had done. He always praised her accomplishments, and she never tired of hearing him.

  When he didn't answer, she cupped her mouth and said, "Wake up, Lazy-head. I'm home." The concern on her face lacked any humor. Both Maljas — old and young — tensed as the seventeen-year-old approached their tiny shack.

  The older Malja closed her eyes, knowing what awaited the younger. Gregor — ripped to pieces. Blood and tissue strewn about like sloppy decorations. Burn marks on the walls and a sour stench marring the air — sure signs of magic.

  Only two magicians would have cared about an old man and his daughter living alone in peace. Jarik and Callib. The younger Malja, her eyes cold and dry, tripped on her way outside to throw-up. The older knew what happened next. She could never forget about the man hiding in the second room. She braced herself for the coming confrontation, for the moment that changed so much, but the vision skipped ahead, cheating her from watching her truly discover her strength and saving her from having to deal with it. Now, she saw herself standing before the shack as she burned it and Gregor's remains to the ground. And she made her oath. She would find her fathers. She would unleash the beast for Gregor's sake.

  More years soared by her — all the dark, dreadful places she had seen. The barbarians of the Freelands, the criminal magicians holding towns hostage, the constant battle against roving groups of killers and cretins — all of it washed her in the blood of memory.

  But then she stood in a gleaming, white room. Not a memory. She had never seen such a room before. A window encompassed an entire wall letting the sun glitter off the white marble floor. A white desk and chair occupied one side of the wide room. Far across on the other, Malja saw a white couch. She had seen furniture before but never in such pristine condition. Two white birds chased each other around the ceiling.

  "I'm sorry it took so long to settle on a meeting location," said a man in a gray suit with a brilliant green tie. He touched his desk and the birds vanished. "Usually I can find a memory that's happy, warm, and above all else, safe. I could not find such a place in you. Admittedly, I'm pressed for time, but still, you've lived a bitter life."

  Malja thought hard on what she had seen and heard. She offered the most intelligent reply she could muster. "Huh?"

  The man smiled, revealing just how handsome he could be — and clean. His skin, his hair, his clothes — everything smelled as clean and clear as the spotless room. "I apologize again. This can be a bit disorienting the first time." He raised a finger. "Let's begin with introductions. I'm Barris Mont." He offered his hand.

  As Malja shook, she said, "But you were that huge thing."

  Barris laughed. "Yes, I was. Still am. All this is going on in my head."

  "Your head?"

  "Well, it was meant to be yours, but as I said, your life has been rather dark. So I brought you into my mind instead."

  "Then this is your memory?"

  "Back when I was human. Before the Devastation."

  With timid steps, Malja approached the window. Never had she felt so shy, so unsure of what she would do with what she would see. Before she felt ready, the world opened up.

  The office she stood in must have been miles in the air, for she could see the city spread out to the horizon. Far below people scurried about and grounders zipped along the road. Other offices floated in the air while some buildings simply stacked upon each other, reaching for the clouds. Lights of every shape and color winked and flashed and dazzled.

  A scarlet bird with white-tipped wings slid along the air and settled on the window ledge. It seemed nonplused by this amazing, breathing city. It seemed at peace.

  Malja saw that the city was at peace, too. Despite the speeding grounders and bustling people, despite the airborne offices and the numerous advertisements, despite
it all, the city moved with a quiet, peaceful grace. The engines, the food, the lights — all powered by magicians, silently doing their job from the shadows.

  "It had elegance, don't you think?" Barris said.

  Malja could not hide her wonder. "It was beautiful."

  "This is the city of Winsal, one of the great cities of the Southern Countries."

  Though she wanted to see more — indeed, she could have stared at it for hours as if she were a magician casting a massive spell — she pulled away and put on a thoughtful look. "So, Mr. Mont, what is all this for? What do you want?"

  "You, of course. But I need you to be honest, and honesty often requires comfort. So, I suppose you could say that all this—" Barris pointed to the world around them. "—is about your comfort." With a smile that suggested a surprise, he pressed another button on his desk.

  A young man entered with a stiff walk. He wore black pants, a white shirt and jacket, and had a funny, little tie. He carried a silver, covered tray. When he approached Malja, he bent towards her as if in solemn reverie.

  "A little gift," Barris said.

  The man lifted the tray cover to reveal one firm, red apple. Malja thanked the young man as she took the apple. Before the young man had left, she bit the fruit.

  Delicious. Exquisite. Perfect.

  For an instant, she could believe in the world outside the window — she did not stand at the edge of a putrid lake, and the sun gleamed off life like the bursting juice in her apple.

  "Good," Barris said as he settled on the couch and patted a spot at his side. She sat, marveling at how the cushion felt softer than a moss bed. He placed his hand on her shoulder and said, "We have much to discuss."

  Malja pressed him back like a young girl fending off a kiss yet not wanting to hurt the boy's feelings. "What are you talking about? 'Much to discuss.' I brought you Fawbry. He's the one who wanted to be with you. Though you sure are cute." What did I just say? Malja's head felt fuzzy. "Did you ... do something to this apple?"