Read Here Be Monsters - an Anthology of Monster Tales Online

Authors: M. T. Murphy,Sara Reinke,Samantha Anderson,India Drummond,S. M. Reine,Jeremy C. Shipp,Anabel Portillo,Ian Sharman,Jose Manuel Portillo Barientos,Alissa Rindels

Tags: #Horror

Here Be Monsters - an Anthology of Monster Tales (6 page)

BOOK: Here Be Monsters - an Anthology of Monster Tales
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Ruygret frowned. “Can you not fix the orb?” She kept her pet tightly restrained, but it seemed transfixed and horrified at what it saw. Water ran from its eyes, and it made a strangled, choking sound.

Krel chuckled. “No. They are what they are.” He untied the straps and shoved the princess’ empty body to the floor. It wouldn’t fight anymore. “Put your pet on the table.”

“Father, please, no.”

“Let me just show you,” he said patiently.

“You promise you won’t take the soul?”

He paused, then nodded reluctantly. “Once you see, you’ll understand.”

The pet struggled fiercely, panicking the moment it recognised what they planned to do. Krel helped Ruygret when he saw that she could not control it in its current state. She held it while he strapped it down.

“Watch this,” Krel said. Because of the brilliance of the soul-strand, he had a little difficulty finding its root. He’d never had that problem before. It resisted him, and when he pulled, it fought him. Doubling his efforts, he chanted loudly and finally subdued it. He tugged the strand upwards, as he had with the princess’. It shone a brilliant gold. Then, Krel released it, and touched a second strand that was intimately connected to the first. It was a bright rose colour. Together, the two were like a fiery sunrise. “I see a dozen such strands, Ruygret. Each more beautiful than the last. I must have it for the warchief.”

“The warchief has many soul-orbs.”

Krel grew impatient. “You want me to give him that one?” He thrust his green finger toward the muddy orb in the corner. “My guts would decorate the floor before I could say a word.
That
,” he said, indicating the pet, “is the soul of a princess.”

“You have a large collection. Give him one of yours. He’d never know the difference.”

“He would know, Ruygret.”

“How?”

Krel glanced up angrily. How could Ruygret not see the beauty in front of her? “
I
would know.” He pointed to the writhing form on his table. “This is a soul worthy of our clan leader. Do you not believe him worthy of honour?”

“And do you not consider your promise to me worthy of honour? I said I would look, and I did. Yes, the soul is beautiful. But it is more beautiful within the creature. I will make her the envy of all. She is fierce, and she is
mine
. Find another for the war chief.”

“There is no other,” Krel said, his eyes transfixed on the dancing wisps emanating from the pet. “This is the one I must have.”

“Father, no. You promised.”

Krel ignored his daughter, beginning his work. He chanted, and the soul strands rose up, first one, then another. They swirled in the air in front of him.

“You lied to me. You care nothing for me, and you never have,” Ruygret screamed at him, but he was deaf to her. “This is the only thing I’ve ever asked you for, the only joy in my life, and you would take it from me?”

She beat her green fists against him, but he barely noticed. Couldn’t she see? He would make it up to her. He would buy her that legion, but the warchief must have a worthy soul.

“I will never forgive you,” Ruygret cried, finally spent and exhausted. Krel’s mind barely registered even the sound of the slamming door.

For two days he worked. He could not stop to eat or rest, or the intricate configuration of filaments would be unwoven. The glass-like enchantment swelled as he filled it from the pet’s body until it was wider than his shoulders. Any larger, and he would not be able to fit it through the door. He continued working the magic over the slack-jawed and drooling body on the table. It moaned, but he ignored it. Hyug always cleaned up after Krel’s work. The servant would do the kind thing and cut the humans’ throats before dumping the fleshy waste. Krel saw no reason to be cruel.

This, Krel knew, would be his masterpiece, the work by which all other reavers would be judged. He spoke the final words, and watched the gold, red, and blue filaments flying inside their glassy home. Unlike any other work he’d completed before, this was like molten fire, like the birth of a universe. No adornments or glaze was required. It was breathtaking to behold.

He cast the enchantment to hold the globe in the air, and stepped around his table. He had no idea what time of day or night it was, nor did he care. The warchief would not mind being interrupted for this.

Propelling it ahead of him through the air as he walked, Krel made his way up into the house and down to the streets. Pride swelled as he heard the gasps from the few passers-by. The word must have gone out ahead of him, but he didn’t hurry. He kept his eye on the orb, and others formed a procession with him, escorting him to the stronghold’s audience chamber.

His growing exhaustion loomed as he placed it high above the fire, and a murmur spread all around him. There must have been a crowd of at least a hundred there now. Only once the piece was mounted in its place of honour did Krel meet the eyes of the warchief. The clan leader stood and inclined his head to Krel, slowly placing his fist over his heart. “I told you it would be magnificent,” he said, and the crowd cheered.

There would be a feast in his honour, he vaguely heard the clan leader proclaim. Now that he’d released the orb, the price of such magic took its toll, and Krel staggered back. Someone, he wasn’t certain who, escorted him away from the stronghold and to his own front door. He was in a daze. Tired, but happy, and so proud. Only the moment of Ruygret’s birth had ever made him feel so complete. She was his heart, as he so often told her.

He reflected that he would have to find a way to make this up to her. He should speak to her now, before he did anything else. He owed her at least that. Hyug met him in the entryway. “Where is Ruygret?” Krel said. “I need to talk to her right away.”

“Krel,” Hyug began. “She left two days ago. I came to your workshop and told you, remember?”

“What?” Krel thought back. Of course he didn’t remember. Everyone knew he couldn’t think about anything else while he was working.

“She left for the homelands. She said to tell you she was going to live with your wife’s sister until she got settled.”

Krel looked up sharply. “She’s gone?”

Hyug looked down. “The convoy she travelled with was attacked by a wild pack of humans, hundreds of them. I was told she fought bravely.” He hesitated, his voice strangely quiet. “They brought her back this morning.”

For a moment, hope threatened to break through. “Where is she?”

“Krel, you don’t want to see her like this.” He stood in respectful silence a moment before adding, “Don’t worry about the details. I’ll arrange the rites. She will have a magnificent procession into the afterlife.”

Krel staggered away, not hearing anything more. “My beautiful Ruygret,” he wailed.

With tumbling steps he made his way down to his private gallery, which was situated just across from his workroom. The many orbs around him vibrated, as though shaking with the grief that washed over him.

Why? Why his Ruygret? Over a human? Was his crime so severe that he deserved to lose his only child? Yes, he’d wronged her, but he could have made it up to her, if only she’d given him the chance. She’d told him many times he was obsessed with his work, but it was only because she couldn’t see what he did. If only she would see his point of view for once.

He sank to the ground, sitting on the cold stone, surrounded by his creations. “My heart,” he said to the air. “Ruygret, my heart is gone.” He slumped, and something within him broke.

His race did not have the same kind of soul humans did. They were not so simple as the weak, pink creatures. They could not be confined to an orb of conjured glass to decorate the walls of a conquering race. Krel’s last words were an enchantment. Like a human without a soul, one of his kind without a heart could have no true life. He went slack.

The soul-orbs vibrated even harder, and the most delicate ones shattered instantly. A spray of colour churned before scattering in an invisible wind. The glass of the larger ones exploded outward like fireworks. Even the squat, ugly orb that held the princess’ soul dropped to the ground, cracking as it hit the stone floor. But instead of disappearing, the soul dust made its way back to the princess’ inert body.

The last orb to break was the masterpiece over the warchief’s fire. All in the chamber looked up as it rumbled and shook with the force of an earthquake. The strands of the pet’s soul flew out together, creating a firestorm like nothing any of them had ever seen. It was tragic, beautiful, and devastating. The warchief roared as the light of a hundred suns flared before his throne. Then a multitude of light-ribbons wisped their way through the air toward Krel’s workshop.

Krel’s heart, his spirit was gone. He did not see the dark sand enter the princess’ body, nor the brilliant filaments that flew through the air into the workshop only moments later. No one heard the human’s voice as it groaned, and no one saw the body rise, then release the now-conscious warrior woman strapped to the table. Krel did not see the human pet staggering toward him, naked, disoriented, and armed with his ceremonial knife. He did not feel it when the human cut his throat. He also did not have the consciousness to be grateful that the pet, too, saw no reason to be cruel.

LUX
 

Anabel Portillo

© 2011

All rights reserved.

Edited by Ian Sharmon

It always rained on nights like this. The girl’s hair hung like ribbons from her ponytail and her clothes were clinging to her like the hands of dead men.

It had been a long game of hide-and-seek through the maze of rubbish-strewn alleys. The monster was fast, faster than his bulk should have allowed, and he could smell her. Even in the rain, and more so now that it had stopped.

The girl was getting tired. Monsters don’t get tired. They shake droplets off their rough fur and they keep going.

Without the relentless curtain of water, the chase moved to higher ground.

Up a rusty ladder bolted to a crumbling red-brick wall.

She was a fast climber, and nearly silent in her soft running shoes, but the monster could jump, powerful leaps from impossible muscles and the flesh-rending grip of dirty claws.

He smelled like a wet dog. He always did.

She found a place to rest, upwind from a smoking chimney to mask her scent. Her fingers worked fast, blind, from memory, while he searched for her, panting with bloodlust and anxiety.

The Beast stomped past her, performing what passed for stealth in his mind.

“I can smell you, little girl. All your juicy sweetness,” he smacked his lips. “Come on, what do you say? Just a taste, huh? You’ve been thinking about it too, you dirty cherry pie.”

He was provoking her now, in his clumsy way, baiting her to take a false step. She had no doubt that he had caught her scent, but it was diffused by the wind and the smoke, or his fingers would have been around her throat already. One hand would suffice to encircle her delicate neck, the pressure of his thumb crushing her larynx.

He was moving again, unable to stay still, pumped high on adrenaline. He moved away from her hiding place.

She stripped off her shirt, stood up without a sound and threw it across the roof.

It fell, with barely a wet thud, as far from him as it was from her, but he spun around, quicker than a creature of his size had a right to be, called not by the noise, but by the scent hitting his fine-tuned senses. He could taste her on every breath.

With a hungry growl, he leapt towards his prey, cornering it. The little mound of cloth had fallen in the shadows and it took him a few minutes to locate the focal point. The slates cracked like eggshells under his enormous boots.

Her trick was short-lived. The Beast picked up the shirt with a low growl, jagged claws tearing the thin fabric.

Behind, the girl made a noise, a calculated high whistle, and he spun around, ready to pounce.

She stood on a low wall, the crossbow in her hands aimed at him. As he remained in the shadows of the roof, she occupied the light, her clear blue eye following the straight line of the arrow to her prey at the end of it, as if an invisible thread was tied already between her arrow and his heart.

The sight of her naked torso was enough to give him pause, a breathless second, a gasp of surprise that forfeited his life.

The arrow whistled through air and smoke, a semitone higher than the hunter’s call.

*****

The Beast had been a dead man for years.

Or he should have been. His agonizing body was stolen away, bought and sold like a horse for dog food. He woke up in a regeneration tank covered in runes and pigeon blood. No peace and no grave, his flesh changed forever, pumped and stitched, a beast of skin.

Spooked by the malevolent intelligence in his yellow eyes, the investors demanded termination. The Doctor, in a rage, packed up his creatures and went underground.

BOOK: Here Be Monsters - an Anthology of Monster Tales
3.62Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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