The Way of the Black Beast (14 page)

"Almost as much as I know about religion."

"Before the Devastation, mankind created many wondrous things. Buildings that could fly, ways to communicate across oceans, and machines that could think and work and talk. It took a tremendous amount of magical energy, but they succeeded. These are the dead we worry about. The machines. If they rise again, Korstra will have lost. So, Korstra made us, the Chi-Chun. We absorb the energy, we redirect it if needed, we keep the dead dead, and help prevent Kryssta from victory."

"Sounds like more superstition."

"Except that Cole Watts, the one we seek, builds these machines."

Of all the land in Corlin, the Freelands had been hit hardest by the Devastation. Though it had never been good land for farming, it had flourished with rugged trees and dangerous wildlife. After the Devastation, it transformed into barren rocks. Those creatures that survived did so by the most ruthless means. No day passed without the death of something. And oftentimes death was preferred. By the time trees grew again and more animals returned, those that dwelled in the Freelands had grown accustomed to the area. They understood and accepted its rules. Many saw no other way to live.

Malja led her team along the remains of an ancient road. Every so often they came across a sign marking the way. The signs varied in size. Some were like a shield posted on a metal rod. Some were enormous, mounted on metal framework, spanning the distance across the pocked pavement and beyond.

"The road used to fill up the whole space," Fawbry said. "I've seen a few up North still intact. I can't imagine what the world must've been like to need a road this wide. I mean, look there." The skeleton of a grounder long ago stripped of anything valuable rusted off to the side. "These grounders weren't big. A road this wide — you could've fit five, six, maybe seven or more across. Can you even begin to picture the numbers of people a world like that had?"

Malja didn't have to. Thanks to Barris Mont, she had seen it. That world had been breathing and vibrant. It overflowed with exuberance for human life that literally floated amongst the clouds. Surely a world like that would never allow monsters like Jarik and Callib. She didn't lie to herself — evil must have existed. But in her world, especially in the Freelands, people tolerated evil. People tried to strike bargains with evil just to be left alone, to survive.

In the Freelands, evil thrived. Here, such things held a twisted logic. But in that glistening, peaceful world she had witnessed, it made no sense. Evil lived off want. There was no want in that world.
Don't be an idiot. People always want what they don't have.

The road hugged the sides at each hill and found every crevice as a detour. Half the time chewed-up pavement disappeared leaving only a dirt path to follow. Sometimes the road vanished completely. In fact, Malja realized they could have picked up a different road by mistake. According to the sun, though, they still headed in the right direction. That would have to suffice.

"You're pushing my tolerance," Tumus said.

Fawbry had been making little comments all day — praising Kryssta for fresh air or cursing Korstra for a sore muscle. Malja wondered what offense had brought Tumus to the point of threats. The answer forced her to suppress a laugh. Sitting in his saddle, scrunching his features with studious concentration, Fawbry silently read from a tiny book.

"Put away that vile affront or I'll be forced to put it away for you," Tumus said.

Feigning confusion, Fawbry looked up from his text. "This? The Book of Kryssta? It's hardly an affront. The fact that Kryssta's guiding hand kept this book safe when I nearly drowned in the Yad should tell you that much. Besides which, even if you don't follow its wisdom, the poetry in these pages is beautiful." Fawbry held the book out. "Here, try it."

Before Malja even saw Tumus's frustrated, hurt features, she knew Fawbry had done a nasty thing. Odds were that Tumus could not read. No shame there — most people couldn't read. But for Fawbry to flaunt his education, to literally shove it at her, that lacked any sense of respectability.

Perhaps he recognized his error because, in a solemn voice, he said, "I know you don't believe, but let me share with you one thing from this —

My brother, my earth, my home, my world —

The endless angles of ourselves —

We inhale what others exhale —

We are formed from others' dust.

— Do you see? We are all one to the brother gods. After all, even Korstrians believe the goddess Elatria was formed by the brother gods together. We are all one."

Tumus led her horse ahead, but her hostility lessened for awhile.

As the day wore on, Tommy's fever returned. Malja dismissed her concerns at first, but when dusk approached, there could be no denying. He had begun the day bright and joyful — sitting upright in the saddle, pointing at trees and birds, smiling. Now, he curled in Malja's arms, shivering and sweating, pale and pained.

Tumus had noticed, too. She never stopped watching him, and every little groan or shift or sigh he made elicited an overbearing response. In seconds, her horse would ride alongside and she bombarded Malja with questions about the boy that had no answers. She touched the boy's brow with the back of her hand, touched his shoulder to readjust his shirt, and touched her own lips mumbling prayers. Malja bit back her desire to knock Tumus off her horse.

The sun lowered turning the gray rocks milky blue. The air grew colder. Ahead, they saw a dilapidated structure — a welcome sight amongst the endless rocks.

The one-story building had a wide roof that jutted out several feet creating a covering for the horses.
Probably meant for grounders,
Malja thought. Shaped like two cylinders smashed together, the building appeared to have been a way station. Old batteries were piled against the wall, each one so empty of magically-created electricity that its power gauge lacked enough power to give a reading. No surprise, of course. Those things hadn't been charged in over a generation. For that matter, the only thing keeping Nature from reclaiming the space was the barren remoteness of the area — that and the occasional travelers fixing it up for a night or two.

"We'll stay here tonight," Malja said. Tumus dismounted and hurried to help Tommy down. Malja turned the dappled gray away and said, "See if you can find some firewood." Before Tumus's confused pout found a voice, Malja spied Fawbry near the doorless doorway. "Be careful."

Fawbry stepped away. "Don't worry. I'm not going in there until you do."

Once Tumus left on her futile errand (Malja would be shocked if she found more than a sapling or two), Malja eased Tommy off the horse and handed Fawbry the reins. Tommy stood by one of the dented posts holding up the overhang. Any minute he might collapse. She pulled out Viper and approached the doorway. Something smelled horrible like urine-soaked rags.

Inside, Malja saw a dusty, marble-topped counter with holes smashed through it. Behind the counter, an archway opened up to another room. Rubble lined the paint-peeled walls. In the center, a circle of stones marked the spot many had used for a campfire. Malja peered at the domed ceiling — black with soot. She couldn't see an air vent, but there had to be one, otherwise a campfire would choke the room.

Just in front of the campfire, she found the source of the stench — four rabbits and a hawk, blood drying on the floor. Her thought — blood sacrifice of one of the smaller religions. When she turned to leave, however, she saw that her thought was severely incorrect.

"What in Kryssta is that?" Fawbry asked. "It sure stinks."

"I told you to stay outside," Malja said.

Tumus entered with Tommy. "It started pouring out there and the overhang is full of leaks. Cold rain is the last thing Tommy needs."

"Go back outside. I'll take care of this," Malja said with a glance at the undulating, brown mass pasted high on the wall.

Tumus stepped closer. "Is that an egg sac?"

"Cocoon. Now get out before anything breaks free of that."

Fawbry raised an eyebrow. "Looks like someone threw a crap at the wall."

Tumus pointed at the dead animals. "Those are for the baby when it gets out."

"It's a snake-cutter," Malja said, "and when it leaves that cocoon, it'll eat everything in sight."

Fawbry scratched his head. "So can't you kill it now while it's stuck in there? We'll get a fire going and have baby snake-cutter for dinner."

"I told you to wait outside. When I strike, if it survives the first blow, I don't want it coming after any of you."

"I don't want that, either. You've convinced me. We'll wait outside."

"It's too wet, too cold," Tumus said. "Tommy can't take that."

"It'll be just a moment," Fawbry said. "Just pray to your Korstra to protect the boy."

"I do. All the time."

Malja pointed to the doorway. "Go. Let me get this done." Tumus scowled, but she followed as Fawbry headed out. Tommy, however, stepped forward. He placed his hand on top of Malja's — the one gripping Viper. His hand felt clammy and ill, but his eyes cut into her with icy clarity. She tried to pull away, but he held fast. "I don't like killing," she said, unsure of why she spoke, hating the little girl she heard. "And I've killed more things in my life than I ever wish on anybody. Everyday I live with it. Everyday I know I've got more killing ahead. Right or wrong doesn't matter. Justified or not doesn't matter. I do it because it's all I know. And it kills me."

Tommy released her hand and collapsed. Tumus hurry to his side. Malja wiped her face — tears glistened off her cheeks.

Breaking the silence, Fawbry said, "Um, I think it's hatching."

Malja did not move. She searched Tommy's unconscious face for an answer as to what had just happened. Behind her, she heard the cracking cocoon. He had touched her and she could not stop her talking. She heard the kittenish cry of the baby snake-cutter. He had pierced her with his eyes, and she revealed so much of herself. She heard an odd crinkling as the baby snake-cutter ate its cocoon. The only answer she saw — Tommy had used magic on her.

"Malja," Fawbry said as he clambered on top of the counter, "it's almost out."

She spun around to face the baby beast. White like snow and covered in mucus, the four-foot snake-cutter flopped to the cracked, tile floor. Its tubular body and hundreds of tiny, slithering legs gave it the snake illusion. Its head, however, lacked any such image. It didn't even have a face. Instead, its front end closed tight like a sphincter. Eyes on either side and a long-hair mane made this one of the ugliest creatures Malja had ever seen.

Righting itself, the baby shook off the fall, eyed one dead rabbit, and launched into it with abandon. It slurped and groaned and mewed. Each sound flipped Malja's stomach. She clenched her teeth and snarled. The snake-cutter's eyesight may have been poor, but its hearing worked just fine. Its head shot up, searching for a threat.

Malja looked back at Tommy. He had used magic. On her.

With a raw, primal scream unlike any war cry she had ever made before, Malja swung Viper. The tip hooked the snake-cutter. It cried out like a child strangling its tears and jerked away causing its skin to tear. Malja kicked it to the wall, shredding its skin as it ripped free from Viper. Wriggling against the wall, it moaned and screeched as its blood pooled. Malja moved forward. It cringed at her approach.

Again she struck hard with Viper, launching the baby into a new frenzy of cries.

Again she struck hard. Holding his ears, Fawbry yelled, "Just finish it." But she didn't want to. She wanted it to fight back.

Again she struck. Blood sprayed against the wall. Tumus cried out at each blow, her shocked voice melding with the dying creature's.

Again. Malja's arm shook as Viper cut straight through to the floor.

The cries weakened. The blood flow lessened. Still, Malja struck.

When she finally stopped, she let Viper clatter on the tile floor. She stumbled backward. Rain and thunder played a double rhythm. Her frenzied fury still echoed along her skin, pulsing with her heartbeat. Lightning flashed. She looked at Tommy — the magician. He gazed up, shivering next to Tumus.

"Don't ever use magic on me again," Malja said and walked into the rain.

As night edged in, Malja worked on the horses. Under fluttering torchlight, she slid her hands along the withers, kneading when required. She scooped the rib cage and massaged the chest, working the rubdown all the way to the legs. She cleaned out a metal container and collected rainwater so the horses could drink. She talked to them and combed their manes. By the time she had finished, most of her anger had dissipated.

Fawbry spent this time clearing out the mess she had made. He built a pile of rabbit, hawk, and smoke-cutter bits and covered it with stones and mud to keep scavengers away. He built a fire using the charred remains in the campfire circle — not enough for a good blaze, but it would keep them warm.

Malja had watched this as she worked. Now, she stood by her dappled gray, stared out at the rain, and listened to its drum rattle on the overhang. She heard Fawbry behind her — sounded like he made extra noise so as not to startle her into a swift attack.