Beast

by Thomas Castle

  “I would guess that the end of life is paved with nothing but memories. If this is the path fate has laid, than I would like to set one last stone with you.” Luzenac handed Hagar a package. He watched his brother pull the knots till the bow to slid flat and uncurled into string, and laughed as the paper unfolded like a flower in bloom. Hagar brought out his journal like a newborn delivered from the womb, and raised it up to catch the last ray of sunlight shining through the window. He held it for a time, fanning the pages, flipping them front and back as his eyes watered.

  “Where’d you find- how?” Hagar asked, “Luz! Thought this was lost to me. How’d you find it?” Hagar swung his feet out of bed to hug his brother and fell. Luzenac caught him, like boulders colliding in a landslide, and laid him back down. Hagar pulled his brother down, slapping his back, holding him, recouping lost time. “You arse” he laughed. Luzenac took the journal and turned through the notes.

  “‘Hilda wasn’t me first guest but-’” Luzenac read.

  “Stop right there” Hagar said. His brother lowered the book, looking at him. “Better that you start the next page.” Luzenac licked his finger and fanned the pages.

  “‘Mum was pleased with the table I made’” Luzenac read. “‘Pup was plowing the fields with the harness he made and Luz made he self a birthday cake. It was fine enough for dirt.’” Luzenac raised his eyes as Hagar blushed.

  “How about another story.” Luzenac turned the pages till a sheet fell out.

  “‘Mum was so angry I thought we be orphans. Pups helped me build a treb-’”.

  “Trebuchet.”

  “‘Trebuchet and’, gosh, Gar, you have picture of it too.”

  “Let me have a see” he said, pulling the top of the book down to peek over the edge. “She’s me favorite. Pups said we could throw some rocks. But no, I wanted something bigger. Pups promised me a sheep if we could found one dead.”

  “Did you?” Hagar held that old devilish look in his eye when each brother ruptured with laughter so identical it proved they were blood. “But go on, another. Read another.”

  “‘Today Luz lassoed me a bull to mount. Pups cut the rope for us and watched. I will be stronger one day, I will, stronger than Pups, then I’ll have to teach Luz to do things. That’s good by me’” Luzenac choked up, “‘because I love him. No matter that I’ll be stronger, he will always be me bigger brother.’” Luzenac reached over and took Hagar in his arms, holding him.

  “I love you, Gar” Luzenac said. Hagar patted him on the back, like a worker breaking stone, as Luzenac let loose a sigh of pain.

  “Aye” he said. “I’m not getting better, Luz. The gods are calling me home to Mum. I’d of liked to done more but me body says no.”

  “It’s alright.” Luzenac closed the journal and leaned in on his elbows. “But before we get to that, I have one last surprise.”

  “What?” Luzenac smiled and set the journal back onto his lap.

  “I sent for Pups; he’s taking the seas to see you.”

  ~ 23

  Snow fell from Adam’s shoulders to the threshold as he pushed the stable door open. He entered a stall where silver saddles and brass stirrups hung over bones bleached in frost, mementos of a late kingdom, a place where cattle once stood on hallowed ground. The king reached out and touched the remains, wondering if something of the past might come to life in his flesh and slay him.

  What has my kingdom become? What will it become? he wondered. The stall moaned as the crossbar holding the saddle bent. Adam stepped back when it collapsed, slamming the bones, splintering them across the room in ash and grit. This was the tome of the kingdom’s history, from its majesty to its ruination, of riches and death. Could he turn these phantoms of a past life into living breath, resurrecting glory? His power resided in the kingdom, and that sovereignty lay in the bowel of ashes.

  Adam sat in the animal bedding, leaning against the silver saddle fogged in dust, and removed his crown. Beasts sleep in the stable he thought as he raised his arm and drew back the robe, exposing the fur stitched from his elbow to his knuckles. That girl from the village, he sighed as he slid his sleeve down and coiled for warmth. All the gold, the ointments and furniture, the throne and crown, all the treasures of his kingdom, he was sure, could never turn her eyes in love upon him. He was a creature, the mark of Cain. Beast.

  Then something caught his eye. Petals of light rotated on the stable wall. Adam searched for the origin, pulling back the rotted slats until he found a sword in the rafters. Sunlight spilled through an open tile, hit the blade, and slid off the metal like glowing rhinestone. He brought the sword down, holding the power of his kingdom, and saw the reflection of his ancestors in its metal. It weighed heavy in his hands, with the blood of its enemies sitting all at once fresh on the blade. Adam swung it, the steel whining as it slid through the cold air, vibrating in his hands.

  Then a screech filled the stable. Adam dropped the blade over the silver saddle and ran as the clang of the armor of the fallen knight came to rest. Wings beat the air and the shriek quickened as Adam turned into the last stall to find an owl skipping in the hay around the remains of another owl. It pecked at the wings, marred the feathers, then moved toward the head where it stole the skin around the beak and plucked an eye which to sag from the vein. The creature squawked and hopped over the dead thing with a toe hanging by a thread of flesh. It bit at the bone and peeled back the soft tissue, working out the artery.

  Shock overcame Adam, wondering whether the owl killed its kind, driven by starvation, or found the spoil dead. Did it become an anathema to the animal kingdom for partaking of its own?

  But you were born a beast he thought.

  ~ 24

  Beatrice entered the study with a dish of wilted asparagus. Adam slouched in the chair with an arm folded across his aching gut and a finger that capered on his teeth. He looked at her, the skin seasoned in freckles, then to the lock of hair that escaped her cap and coiled through the air. She caught his gaze and set the tray on a stand beside his chair.

  “Sire” she said.

  “Beatrice, please. Adam.” A flush of heat filled her cheeks. She leaned forward to meet his gaze, tempting a tryst, and took his hand. It was strong, daring. She raised it to her lips and offered one gentle kiss. Beatrice sat on his lap and arranged her arms over his shoulders. He smelt her sweat between their gaze and felt her chest pulse with rapid breath. The winter left her dainty but breasts thick. He licked his lips, unable to draw them close again, when she leaned in. Adam shied away as a child.

  “I am sorry” she cried. Her lips, wet with a thin gloss, quivered. His breath palpitated as he stared into her eyes shimmering with broken trust. How betrayed she felt, alone and smothered, until he dressed his hand on her cheek, holding it tight till the tears moistened in his palm. He brought her in, kissing her, and anchored the blouse till a heavy hand caressed her, firm and tenacious. The shower of warm kisses sunk from her neck. How haughty, she thought.

  Beatrice kicked and screamed and tumbled to the floor as a grueling pain seared through her. Craze overcame Adam as he dove on Beatrice, ripping back her fingers that patched the gape issuing a fount of blood. The king bit her again, returning with tapes of flesh between his teeth. Strength fluttered from her fingertips, leaving a cool numbness in their wake, while Adam stood with his jaw rotating around the bloody meat. Beatrice felt undulations of warmth rush past her navel and pour out her feet. The heavens turned a singed gray and her eyes blank, as though what was open became shut. Strange, she thought. My eyes aren't closed. It was her last.

  Adam stood over the body with her blouse resting in his hands. Blood mingled in sweat dripped from the corner of his mouth. He watched her eyes, frightful, accusing the ceiling with a castigating stare. What did he do? His lips juddered and fingers clawed his face, the devils fought in his soul. He wiped his mouth, wanting to spit, wanting to savor. What had it come to? Why did it come to this? He shoved the body, folding it in blood.

&
nbsp; “You should have left” he screeched, his hunger ransomed with such awful price. He stood to his feet, as though awaking from a dream, a dream which left all the proofs of its existence, and loomed over the body. Was this Miss Lena? Who lay on the ground lifeless, her blouse rent at the seam? Adam cringed as the beautiful curls once bobbing at her shoulders grew slick in the pool expounding from her neck.

  Look how impetuously death mortifies the body, Adam heard. He stumbled back as the hearth crackled and burst, igniting the air; all fire is the devil’s to a murderer. Adam heard, even smelt, the hounds of hell coming for him. He watched the body with a presumptuous dread, wistful for it to spring to life and decry him, that he might run and have it pursue him into hell. How many devils do you expect the carnal one will spare to claim your soul?

  The body began to cool with the blood congealing in silt. He salivated and his stomach rumbled in long groans. Was this pearl too great a price? Why resist now? But is it a mortal thing to do, consume? Adam knelt beside the body and caught the last resin of warmth on his tongue as he pressed his lips against her neck. Cold flesh touched his throat. The king fell back, expelling and spitting and wiping his mouth, trying to absolve himself of the melancholic touch that engrossed him.

  He ran from the study and searching for reprieve found a sky spangled with stars. Something about the incident was elating, when the winds groaned and squelched his reflection. What happened? Was there a murder? Is it nothing more than the shadows of the mind creeping without custody? Did I kill? The blood foiling on his tongue spoke all too true. Satiated hunger proved his sin.

  ~ 25

  Adam achieved something foul, and so ran out the castle gate where the gale beat against him like the spit of wicked angels. He ran into the black forest, masked with snow like leper’s stubble, and sank numb into the slate. A growl raised his head to the soaring black trunks dressed in glacier.

  Adam saw a wolf prowling the shadows, swimming in and out of where light grew extinct. Snow fell from its fur as its muzzle vibrated with teeth borne. Fury drew its eyes sleek and a tongue lashed over its fangs. Adam bore his teeth in an exchange of brutal hatred. The wolf, catching the scent of blood lingering from the king’s breath, fled. He watched the dark horizon for the creature. A man’s conscience is a judge that is always with him. How long before the wolf returns for its prize? He stalled, wanting to find the end of his misery incarnate in the wolf, but the remedy never came.

  Adam ventured upon a cave and took inside where the ground was cold but dry, save the snow he carried on his heels. Echoes reduced the howl of the wind to a mirror of its truculence. He crept to the back wall, nuzzled against a protruding rock and slept a short time till the scent of blood woke him. His mouth watered, strung with hunger. Where is it? he wondered. Is there meat? Adam felt the blood meted in his hair, the sticky and lewd mesh. Why should mess bother me now? A small growl, followed by a staving mewl, rose from his feet. Adam recoiled.

  There lay the wolf flat on its side, enveloped in gasps, breathing shallow breaths with great agitation. Standing beside the mother was its cub. The pup lunged and the mother sighed as it drew tapestries of fur in its bite. Adam stared into the mother’s eyes wincing in pain. Flesh gird the cubs snout and blood laced its fangs as it charged the wound, snipping the ribcage.

  Adam reached forward and touched the wolf when a dense grunt stifled in its throat too weak to cry. The flesh was warm, the meat soft. Desire overcame him. His fingers delved in and snapped a rib off the rack. The wolf lifted its head, readying for one last howl, but fell dead. The cub drew back in a queer moment of silence, then sauntered toward Adam and lapped the blood from his hand.

  “I” he tried saying, vacillating his words. Speak no more the voice said. He dropped the bone in his hand and left with the cub at his heels.

  ~ 26

  Miss Jansen sat down as she dabbed her nose with a handkerchief and thanked the constable for the tea. She lifted her dress, letting the air set it even, and rubbed her hands.

  “I was up the night cleaning glass off the floor” Miss Jansen said, patting her knees while Fierro set a notepad on the table. “I loved the rugs but they had to go; too many fibers. I guess my knees aren’t what they use to be. But, oh, that’s another thing. It was just so dark. And I was surprised. And scared. And everything happened so quickly. He had that awful hair in his face, like an emu. I can’t even remember what he said; I just remember doing it. All that I can remember is the smell; he was sauced. I smelt him before I left the bedroom. I don’t know what I was thinking when I did. Hagar doesn’t drink. Can’t drink. I was just so befuddled, not sleeping, not eating. I’m widowed, you see, so I take the night shifts so that all the young and pretty ones can enjoy the night with their families.”

  “Thank you, Miss Jansen” Fierro said. He went to refill her cup with tea when she put her hand on his arm.

  “I do remember something. He left his knife. I told you he brought one but I forgot that I fought it from him.”

  “There was an altercation?” Fierro asked, taking notes.

  “Yes. I don’t know what I was thinking. When he fell I had the moment, and, and I just held it till I was sure the devil was gone. I put it back in the sink with the other knives. I wasn’t thinking right, dear; see, my nerves are still shaking. I’d have brought it but it’s just a common knife. I couldn’t look at it for a week; I tremble just walking past the spot where we tussled. Then I built up the brass to go and look at it. No initials, nor craftsmanship. It’s just a dull old blade like any other.”

  “Did you find anything missing? How many rooms did he enter?”

  “Just the front. Everything was where it had always been, save the old vase that he shattered. I’m really sorry” she began crying, daubing the corner of her eyes. “I just don’t recall.” Miss Jansen stood up, giving him a look of resolution, and walked out the door. Willem came in with a pot of coffee spiked with rum while Fierro took his seat on the table.

  “Over already?” Willem asked. “I was just about to offer her memory some aid.”

  “It was over the moment he stepped back out that door.” Fierro swallowed the coffee hard, not willing to cut this loose end until he could settle the score on the culprit. What really attacked Hagar? A man? Or beast?

  ~ 27

  Adam returned to the castle where vultures mended the heavens like needlework. The lull of the winds stirred his conscious. Killer it said. Eater. The cub followed at his heels, cajoling the ghosts to confront his crime as they made it to the study. He pushed the door to the wall and found the body ashen. Adam felt hunger, demonically driven by a rumbling gut, and hoisted the body onto his shoulder.

  He carried it down the halls, mindless to any wandering servant, and entered the cavern penetrating the sea. The channel rushed forward, begging at his feet. He threw the body from his shoulder, heavier in death, into the waves knitting the bottom steps. Her face bobbed in and out of the swell then vanished.

  Beatrice was gone.

  ~ 28

  Luis entered the woods with a bundle tied to his haversack. The roosters crow marked Luis’ departure, pulling the sun from hiding by the chain of its voice. He left, seeking to amend his grievance with manhood by proving himself in the wild, to either return a man, or die.

  Luis swat the flies that disbursed like pinecone seed in fire and meandered till his shadow fell over a dead fox. He broke off a piece of willow and lifted the flayed pelt with the shoot. Spiders scattered about as lizard snatched them then retracted back into the fox’s throat with their kill. The rot separated and Luis gagged as blood fell from the veins in tubes of slime.

  Luis wiped his mouth, threw the stick aside, and tightened his rucksack when the bushes behind him rustled. He bent down to pick up a rock when a growl returned. Urine ran down his leg and puddled in his boot. Luis dropped his equipment and fled deeper into the wild. Branches swung above his head likes ores of a ship as he ran till the growling stopped. Adrenaline pulsed thro
ugh his veins, beating his heart so hard he felt his ribs would crack.

  His legs became deadlocked in cramps, his breathing short, and he fell face first into the dirt. He closed his eyes, waiting to embrace eternity and all the malady that precipitated it, and cried. Be a man Luis swore, wiping the mud from his face as he rose. “I have the same mettle as anyone does. When I am in council, they’ll pay for this. I’m not a boy!” He went to pick up his rucksack and found it missing. Luis tore a branch from the tree and swatted the earth, spitting and cussing, pulling his hair till the burn in his scalp trickled into his ears. Don’t be a child. Luis laced his boots, took a long gander at the trees for the creature, then set of back onto the path.

  He passed the day beneath the shade, sipping ponds of dew collected on the leaves, and once sampled sap from a piece of bark mistaken for honey. Thoughts of beguiling Gabrielle swam in his head, fantasies of wedlock, all grandiose things that common men spat at.

  Luis stepped off the path and tilted a rotten log onto its side to rest. He kicked off his boots, unrolled his socks and opened the cyst on his heel with a knife, flinching as a fleck of blood spread across the wildflower. Luis cleaned his knife against his pants, packed clay and moss on the wound, then dressed his feet.

  As he stood Luis saw a creature in red in garments disappear into the woods, the sight as allusive as truth on a hustler’s tongue. An impulsive spirit compelled Luis to interrogate his suspicion. He slid his wrist across his forehead to gather the sweat, minting his brow in grit, and pressed forward. What was that? he wondered. Could I have really seen, the, something, it? What was that?

  The trees refused him the sanctuary of light, closing the pathways between man and the heavens, greedy to be the sole witnesses of his tragedy. Luis stooped beneath the branches, catching a breeze, when the creature passed inside a crevice hewn in the boulder. Birds sprung into the sky leaving their young to fend for themselves. Horror filled his heart as the air in his lungs turned leaden. What he saw baptized his soul in a pool of death. It’s real! he opened to scream but swallowed a bevy of gnats.