Tales of the Fallen Beasts

by Brandon Mull

  He started a small fire, hung his cloak from a low branch to dry, and took stock of his meager possessions. It would be boiled oats for dinner. Again.

  While he waited for water to boil in his battered tin pot, he sat upon a fallen trunk and stretched his legs. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire … and the rustling of an animal approaching through the fallen leaves.

  Devin remained seated but twisted a bit to get a look at the woods around him. He was in the middle of a heavily forested area—acre upon acre of trees, with a single dirt road leading through it.

  He’d finally crossed into Trunswick land earlier that day. Everything he could see, everything for miles around, belonged to his father.

  Except perhaps for the fiercely independent creature watching him from the shadows.

  “I see you,” Devin said, addressing the glowing yellow eyes. “Come on out. It’s almost time for dinner.”

  But the cat would not be hurried.

  Eventually, at her own leisurely pace, a small black cat slinked from the trees and into the light of the fire. For a moment, he was reminded of his spirit animal, Elda, but he forced the thought away. Like so many others, Devin had lost his spirit animal bond in the aftermath of the war.

  The cat meowed plaintively, sitting in the dirt a few paces away.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I’m working on it. Are all Greencloaks so impatient?”

  The cat meowed again in response to Devin’s favorite joke. When he’d first seen her, she had been traveling with a group of Greencloaks. But they had moved on, and the cat had struck out on her own … though she had a tendency to pop up each night when Devin was cooking.

  He’d heard them call her Kunaya, but he called her Yaya for short.

  “Careful, now,” he said as he poured a small bit of oatmeal onto the ground for her. “It’s hot.”

  Kunaya, as always, appeared initially wary, stepping forward slowly, sniffing as she walked. Eventually she decided the risk was worth the reward and darted forward, tucking happily into the boiled oats.

  “It’s a rare man who earns the trust of a cat,” said an unfamiliar voice.

  Devin stood, turning toward the sound as Kunaya bolted in the other direction, her meal unfinished. He put his hand to his sword but didn’t draw it as a girl stepped out from the trees, leading a horse by the reins. She looked a little younger than him, but her bearing was confident, and she spoke with the poise of the educated upper class. “Cats are awfully particular about who they cozy up to.”

  “Maybe,” Devin said, eyeing the girl warily. “Or maybe they just have keen noses and follow the food.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe a little of both. But I’m sore from riding and your fire looks inviting, so I’m going to assume that your willingness to share food with an animal is a sign that you’re trustworthy. Now, is there room at your fireside for a fellow traveler?” When Devin took a moment to consider it, she added, “I have bacon to contribute.”

  Devin’s mouth watered at the mere mention of bacon, but he tried not to let his excitement show. He simply nodded and gestured for the girl to pull up a log. “I suppose the cat would like that,” he said.

  The girl tied her horse to a tree and plopped down, grunting at the ache in her muscles. Devin tucked his chin down to hide his smile but kept his eyes on her. Her long hair was newly tangled, but it was a healthy, glossy black. She smelled of an odd mix of perfume and horse, and her riding clothes were a little too fashionable to be comfortable.

  “What’s so funny?” the girl asked.

  “Nothing,” Devin said. “You just remind me of myself. First time on the road?”

  She gave him a suspicious look as she pulled a sheet of oiled parchment from her satchel, unrolling it to reveal several thick cuts of raw bacon. “I’ve traveled a lot,” she said, a little defensively. She handed him two strips, which he placed on the pan. When they began to sizzle, she turned her eyes back to Devin. “But I’ve never gone quite so far by myself. How much farther to Trunswick?”

  “You’re on Trunswick land already,” Devin answered. “If you ride at a fair clip, you could reach town in a few hours.”

  “That’s a relief,” she said. “I’d hate to miss the celebration.”

  Devin gave her a confused look. “Celebration?”

  She smiled like a child with a secret. “Haven’t you heard? It’s all anyone’s talking about.”

  “I’ve been keeping to myself recently,” Devin said, and he flipped the bacon with a stick.

  “Well, it’s big news,” she said. “Apparently the Earl of Trunswick’s son has summoned a spirit animal. And not just any spirit animal—”

  “Really?” Devin interrupted, his cheeks growing hot. “That’s big news? You’re months behind. Everyone knows Devin Trunswick summoned a black wildcat.”

  “I know that’s old news,” the girl said smugly. “I’m talking about the other Trunswick boy.”

  Devin sat in stunned silence for a long moment. He could scarcely make sense of the girl’s words.

  “Dawson?” he said at last, his voice small. “Dawson summoned a spirit animal?”

  “Dawson Trunswick, that’s right. And there’s more,” she said. “He summoned a Great Beast.”

  “Just like … just like Conor,” Devin muttered to himself. “Of course. Of course it would happen like that.” His stomach twisted. “Fa—the Earl of Trunswick must be so pleased.”

  “By all accounts, yes,” the girl replied, giving a leisurely shrug. “The way I hear it, the earl’s popularity suffered during the war. When the Greencloaks came to Trunswick, many of the townsfolk sided with them. Tensions have been high ever since—but with a Great Beast in the family, the Trunswicks have the respect of the people again. Talk of rebellion is dying out. Ah, the bacon … ?”

  Devin turned to see the bacon was beginning to char. Acrid smoke hovered low in the pan. “Curse it,” he said, grabbing the handle.

  “It’s no reason to get upset,” she said. “I like it crispy. Anyway, the earl is having a celebration for his son. Everyone who’s anyone will be there … provided you bring a grand enough gift to honor Dawson. My father sent me with enough spices to make my horse walk lopsided.”

  She lapsed into silence as Devin served up the bacon. It was thoroughly ruined, bitter and brittle on his tongue, but Devin ate it slowly, grinding it to gristle and ash in his teeth.

  The silence was broken by the shrill cry of a bird. It sounded to Devin’s ears like the same hawk or eagle he had heard throughout the day, but he knew those birds were not active at night.

  The girl seemed startled by the sound. “I’d better be on my way,” she said lightly as she got to her feet. “Big day tomorrow. I can’t believe I’m meeting Dawson Trunswick!”

  “Yeah, how about that,” Devin said sourly.

  “Thanks for the hospitality,” she said. “I’m Raisha, by the way. See you around?”

  She gave a small curtsy and was gone.

  Devin tried to put Dawson out of his mind during the long day that followed. The thought of his brother with a spirit animal, however, was like a loose tooth he couldn’t stop wiggling. It was easy to picture Dawson enjoying the status and adoration that having a spirit animal would bring—easy because Devin had imagined that life for himself for so long.

  But things hadn’t worked out that way.

  Making his mood fouler was the fact that traffic on the dirt road he traveled was unusually heavy. Before the sun had even climbed above the trees, Devin was overtaken by four separate horse-drawn carriages, all headed in the direction of town. The dirt road was narrow enough that he was forced to step into the brush each time to avoid getting run over. Most of the carriages didn’t seem to care whether or not he was trampled; they didn’t slow down, and made no real effort to make room for him.

  Each time he was forced off the path, he bit his tongue and counted to ten in his head.

  As Devin walked, the road widened and the tre
es grew less dense, the forest giving way first to rolling hills and then to the great expanse of farmland that surrounded the town for miles on all sides. But there were no shepherds tending their flocks and no farmhands working those lands. The entire countryside was empty. Devin was certain the people had set their work aside to visit Trunswick, as they did for holidays, market days, and Nectar Ceremonies.

  He tried to forget about the humiliation of his own ceremony, but it hung around him like the cloud of midges he had been swatting at for the better part of the day.

  And the memories came flooding back to him as he entered the town and found its dirt roads crowded to capacity and beyond. He smiled smugly as he passed the same carriages that had overtaken him hours before. They stood still now, a long line of them unable to make their way through the teeming crowds.

  It was an oddly subdued affair. There were market stalls and musicians, but no dancing. The traders kept their voices low rather than crowing about their bargains, and soldiers wearing the traditional Trunswick blue glared from open doorways.

  No one spared him a glance as he made his way through the crowd. He fit in all too well. In a perfect world, he mused, he would have been able to bathe before approaching his family’s manor. He would have been able to trade his travel-stained clothes for finery, and run a comb through his tangled brown hair.

  But he had not lived in a perfect world for some time.

  As if to underscore the point, Devin noticed something then that made him deeply uneasy. At the very center of town, upon the stage where he had once drunk the Nectar to no effect, a woman was being tortured.

  She was hunched over at an awkward angle, her head and hands locked between wooden boards, her bare feet chained to the stage. Devin had heard this form of punishment referred to as “the stocks.” It was deeply uncomfortable, used to punish and publicly shame criminals, sometimes for many days and nights in a row. The woman’s face was pink from exposure to the sun, and her lips were dry and cracked. But her eyes were defiant, as if daring the crowd to jeer.

  No one did. Aside from the guard standing beside her, the people of Trunswick gave the stage a wide berth.

  Devin picked up his pace.

  The closer he got to the manor, the richer the crowd appeared. Those clustered about the manor’s gates were all smartly dressed, their arms laden with gifts as they awaited entry.

  Devin walked right up to the guard at the gate. Instead of wielding a sword or pike, the man held a quill poised above a vellum scroll.

  “Please declare your gift,” the guard said without looking up.

  Devin grinned. “Oh, I promise Dawson will be happy with my presence.” He chortled at his own joke.

  “I haven’t heard that joke in five whole minutes,” the guard groused. “There’s no admittance to the grounds without acceptable tribute.”

  Devin huffed imperiously. “I live here, you oaf.”

  The guard startled, finally looking up from his scroll. “Devin Trunswick?” he asked, uncertain.

  Devin smiled and puffed out his chest. “Good. I’d hate to think a few months away and a bit of road dust was enough to be forgotten.”

  “Oh, I remember you,” the guard said acidly. “You’re the one who put a spiked caltrop in my chair.”

  Devin deflated a bit. “I’m almost certain that was Dawson,” he lied.

  “I have my orders,” the guard said. Then he softened. “The earl, he … left very specific instructions about who to let in today. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  “For what it’s worth,” Devin said, “I’m sorry, too.”

  Then he kicked him in the shin, hard. The guard toppled to the ground, and before any of the onlookers could react, Devin had ducked through the gate and onto the manor grounds.

  There was a smaller group gathered in the courtyard, all lavishly dressed in the latest fashions. With no hope of blending in, he wove and dodged among them, ignoring their exclamations of surprise and distaste. He stepped on the trail of one woman’s gown and nearly knocked a glass from a man’s grip. Finally he made it into the manor itself, where the grand hall was empty.

  The ceiling arched high above him in a perfect dome, layered in vibrant shades of blue and pink and orange in an uncanny approximation of the sky at dawn. The painted clouds were brilliant white at their center but ringed in shining gold leaf, and the hundred lit candles set about the hundred ledges and crevices of the circular room made the colors flicker as if alive.

  He had seen this room every day for years. But today, for the first time, it took his breath away.

  “Let me guess,” said a voice behind him. “It’s smaller than you remembered, right? That’s what they always say.…”

  Devin turned to see Dawson standing in the doorway. His brother’s expression was blank, and he had his arms crossed in front of him as he lingered on the threshold.

  “Well, they’re wrong,” Devin said. “It’s so big. I … I don’t think I had any idea how rich we are.”

  Dawson clucked his tongue. “And you traded all of this for a life of adventure?” he said. Then his face lit up with his familiar smile—big and goofy and unselfconscious. “You had the right idea. Take me with you!”

  Devin laughed and opened his arms, and his little brother crossed the room quickly and embraced him.

  “I was worried about you,” Dawson said when they pulled apart.

  Devin swatted at the air. “Nothing to worry about. I can take care of myself. Didn’t you get my letters?”

  “Letters?” Dawson asked, and before Devin could answer, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and a shiver down his spine.

  He had always had an uncanny ability to sense when their father was nearby.

  “Devin!” The earl barked the name, short and sharp. It sounded like a curse.

  Devin turned to face his father, who stepped into the room with an armed guard at each elbow. They moved briskly, stirring up a breeze that extinguished the nearest candles, shrouding them in shadow.

  “You’ve always been thick, boy, but really, take a hint.”

  “Father … ” Devin said, and the earl’s eyes flashed with anger.

  “You,” he seethed, “will address me as Lord Trunswick. On your way out the door.”

  Devin felt the words like a blow to the stomach. He didn’t know what to say, how to react, or even where to look. So he looked at the ground.

  “That’s uncalled for, Father,” Dawson said. He gripped Devin by the elbow. “It’s my party. I want Devin here for it.”

  Devin looked up at his brother—and realized that Dawson was taller than him now. He marveled at the resolve in Dawson’s eyes as he stared down their father.

  When had Dawson grown so bold?

  “At least tell me you’ve brought Dawson some gift as tribute,” the earl said to Devin. He gestured to a table weighed down with everything from bolts of silk and jewels to vials of exotic spices.

  Devin tried to mimic the resolve in Dawson’s expression. “I don’t have anything,” he said, careful to keep his voice level. “When I didn’t hear from you, I had to sell everything I had just to get back here.”

  His father sniffed imperiously. “The sword should do nicely, I think.”

  Devin bristled. “It’s my sword.”

  “It’s the Trunswick sword,” the earl countered. “It’s only fitting—”

  Devin drew the blade then, and the shrill sound of metal rang out like a threat.

  “I’m not sure you’ll be happy with it, Lord Trunswick,” Devin said. “Since it’s not perfect.”

  He held up the blade so that it caught the light of the candles. It was broken to half its original length, ending in an ugly jagged edge.

  “Unbelievable.” His father glared at him. “Tell me, did you accomplish anything in your time as a Conqueror?” He covered his eyes with his hand. “Do you realize we had to abduct some ridiculous sheep woman and hold her hostage because you couldn’t get you
r hands on a single talisman? You ruined this family, Devin.”

  “That’s enough!” Dawson cried. He stepped between them, threw back his shoulders, and held out his arm dramatically. There was a flash of light … and Devin saw a squat, bristle-haired animal snorting and wheezing at his brother’s feet.

  It was Rumfuss the Boar.

  Devin laughed, deep and loud.

  “Rumfuss? You summoned Rumfuss?”

  Uncertainty flickered across Dawson’s face. “What’s so funny?”

  Devin cleared his throat. “Nothing, nothing. Don’t mind me. It’s just that when I heard you’d summoned a Great Beast, I’d imagined something a bit more … majestic. Not … you know … ”

  Rumfuss and Dawson both huffed in agitation.

  “Rumfuss is a Great Beast,” Dawson said. “He is powerful and … and … ”

  “And put an apple in his mouth and dinner is served!” Devin said. “You know what the Conquerors used to call Rumfuss? The great bore.” He cackled. “Get it? Bore?”

  The spirit animal let out a deep rumbling growl—and then he charged.

  Rumfuss had once been much larger. Like the other reborn Great Beasts, his new form was much closer to the size of a natural animal, and so he was only slightly larger than an average boar.

  But an average boar is thickly built and vicious, with razor-sharp tusks capable of gutting a person in a single glancing blow.

  Devin knew this. And seeing the two-hundred-pound animal bearing down on him, he shrieked, leaping back and bringing his hands up to protect his body. For all the good that would do. Those tusks would cut right through his fingers.…

  It was a long several moments before Devin realized the boar was gone. He lowered his hands and opened his eyes, which he had squeezed shut, and confirmed it: His brother had recalled his spirit animal and now stood before him, his fists clenched and his eyes furious.

  “You were right, Father,” Dawson said coldly. “I think it’s best if Devin left now.”

  “Now hold on,” Devin said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”