Playing With Fire

by Adrienne Woods et al.

  He begs the lords to grant him human arms, imagining Ashlan wrapped up in their soft human flesh, her face pressed against his chest. But the transformation would not pull back.

  Perched in the top of the tree his prayers go unheard, he stews in his regrets. Damn his village, damn Erik who didn’t stop his father and damn the now dead corpse of Audun who failed to protect him well enough. He swallows the pain, and feels the flood gates open to every destructive thought after that. Is it true, did his mother kill herself because she knew what she had birthed - a monster? His father’s words come back to him, ‘I would rather Ashlan be dead than in the hands of a monster like you’, followed by ‘I don’t blame my queen for killing herself after discovering what she had spawned.’

  His beastly heightened senses listen and watch from the highest of treetops to the valley below as his father and Erik with a troop of their finest warriors, and hunters emerge from the forest. Trumpets of ceremony ring out from the Castle walls as they near. In the fields villagers emerge with baskets of berries and flowers following their king into the walls of their castle.

  Chapter 4

  By the Moon

  Nighttime fell with the heavy cloak of rain and thunder. The skies giving a wide yawn with a deep roiling sound before exhaling a strong chilly gust upon the walls of the kingdom. Trusses and stone moaned in protest as the tempest came pelting down, threatening to bring with it an early brutal winter.

  Khan found shelter in the darkest of the castle corridors, slinking to the thick shadows like a thief in the night - desperate to go unseen, eager to escape with his prize.

  The howling of the wind blew through the small cracks, whistling past in eerie warning. The soft glow of lanterns revealed a cluster of the king’s harem making their way up the corkscrew set of stairs leading to the Royal chambers. Followed by the pungently sweet scent of perfume and wine. Khan heard the voice of a man, no two men, and a few women following behind the group. Curiosity and hope took him over; if the king had ordered women to his chambers, he wouldn’t be with Ashlan, and there could still be a chance he can get to her in time before the wedding.

  His head popped around the corner with eyes narrowing in on the new girls escorted by The Watch. Their shadows slim and tall against gray stone walls, he studied them a bit longer, especially after seeing a lock of red hair escape a young girl’s headdress. When the guard pulled her along, she recoiled, and he caught a glimpse of her face. The prince drew back in shock, a shudder raking down his spine, gripping his stomach – Audun’s wife; his sister and his daughter. Bile rose in his throat, bitter and sharp. Audun’s daughter was only eleven. He knew of Audun’s family because his guardian Erik had visited him many a lonely night, in the dark of midnight telling him tales about life outside of his tower where Khan had spent every single night since the death of his mother.

  Stories of people outside the castle, people who practiced and shared love, kept him warm at night. Erik sharing tales of real families were also what kept his ‘transformation’ at bay, kept him sane - but mostly human. Giving him hope that one day he too could have a family of his own, a girl as sweet and smart as Audun’s Maaika. They’d laugh at the trouble the young girl got into. She’d often question the demands of the king, publically too. And if not for her aunt, Calandra and her father being of high ranking among the chevalier, she’d probably have spent many days scrubbing the stone floors of the temples. He studied the young redhead Maaika, his skin crawling as the compulsion to save her crept in. But instead of succumbing to it, Khan drew back as the tallest of the three redheaded women stopped to stare in his direction. Her eyes were not the same color as Audun’s or that of his daughter’s, they were dark brown and empty – it must be his wife, Tal.

  Swallowing the hungry sorrow he could relate to in her eyes, a growl escaped his throat, causing him to feel sick to his stomach at what was transpiring; and the pull in his gut wanted nothing more than to kill The Watch leading Audun’s family to his father’s bed. Ivor’s lust held no bounds.

  About to leap from the shadows, a hopeful thought sprang to Khan. Where is Ashlan? He could still get to her before the ceremonial preparations for the wedding. If memory serves him right, she would not be so heavily guarded until the announcement is made. It didn’t matter to him if she was married or not, especially since he knows it would not be Ashlan’s choice to marry king Ivor. Feeling compelled to save her and take her away from a life she’s not deserving of, he drew further back into the shadows. Judging by the harem and the three new women heading to the king’s chambers, it would be a while. But on the thought of the young Maaika in his father’s greedy grubby hands, he wants nothing more than to save Audun’s family when Ashlan pushes to the forefront of his mind, it totally wrecks him - redirecting his immediate priority. Ashlan; he knows her heart, and he knows how much he wants nothing more than to keep her soul worthy; being married would forever ruin any chance of them being together again. She’d stay with the horrid king because she has morals, and married women do not stray.

  As the harem make it up the stairs unaware of his lurking presence, Khan turns back to find secret passage to Ashlan’s chambers. A deep-rooted need to get to her propels him forward, forgetting about Audun’s little girl. He needs to change her mind in accepting the proposal, and he has to act now.

  Khan would have to take the servants stairs to the royal chambers, to remain unseen. He backtracks, taking the passageway leading past the Well-room. On the way there his paws tingle at the vibrations, hearing with angst the music coming from the Grand Hall. A celebration was taking place already? No doubt his father had made the announcement of his wedding, why would the gods bestow any kindness on him now?

  Khan’s anger spikes, like a physical barb, gripping into his flesh; heat exploding in his chest, pulsing through his veins and making its self known in the extension of sharp claws from his paws.

  While walking, his fingernails extend into thick black talons from elbow to tip, and with each step, the sound of his clawed paws against stone floors echo down the corridor.

  “Who goes there?” A voice calls out.

  Khan takes a few steps back, but his nails are still hitting with each step. His panic giving rise to his transformation, pushing it to become more prominent.

  The voice calls out again; he can sense the fear in it too. When Khan tries to head back the way he had come, a shadow advances from that side. The fear of being caught is over-ridden by his desperation to get to Ashlan. If he understood Viking customs, the announcement means the wedding would happen tomorrow. It would explain the harem; again anger and disgust taint his tongue. For a moment, rage blinds him, crippling Khan’s judgment, and his escape is threatened by the rise of panic as he takes in the figures moving in from both ends of the passageway.

  With extended paws and claws, he scales the wall high into the shadows of the domed ceiling of the Well-room. His tail shooting out and coiling around the beam to pull him into the darkness, hidden from sight. The sound of metal rings out as the watchman lifts a torch from the wall, his shadow reaching into the room as he nears. The gleam of the torch’s flickering flame fills the room, glittering off the water in the well and accentuating the bulk of the watchman. Khan closes his eyes so the radiance of them wouldn’t give away his position. At some point, he’d have to learn how to control that, amongst other things.

  The other Watch calls out, giving pause to the search in the Well-room. Khan opens his eyes slowly to observe the exchange. He catches a glimpse of the one watchman as he leans over to replace the torch; a flash of silver hair plaited down his back moving like the main of a well-kept horse.

  Khan uses his tail like a thief would use rope, tethering him to the well-beam, he unrolls the bulk of his tail and lowers himself to take stock of their weapons. He might have to find a way to disarm them and leave them unconscious for a while. The Well-room would be a perfect place to hide them. The room is dark, and would only be used in a few hours when dawn
broke the horizon. From above, the wind howls around the well-house tower.

  The figures meet each other just outside the Well-room, their steps and voices echoing into the corridor and beyond. The beating of one of the men’s hearts reverberates into the domed space. A sense of wickedness overcomes Kahn. He is torn between exploring the power of being responsible for scaring someone; and the human nature of himself. He never wants to be the cause of anyone’s fear, especially someone who has never done him harm.

  “Tell me, you heard that.” The bulky watchman with the silver plait says.

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “Like…”

  “Yes, it sounded like,” he hears them both swallow, followed by deep breathing.

  The bulky watchman clears his throat. “No, can’t be?”

  The sound of shuffling soles before the other watchman admits what he had heard, “It sounded...” he takes a breath, “similar to animal claws over the stone floor.”

  The bulky watchmen snickers at the same time the other watchman starts to fill him in, “The king did warn us that the beast might have offspring, and it would most definitely come looking for revenge.”

  The watchman gives a soft chuckle. “And how would it have made it over our city walls?” his voice gruff and tight, letting Khan know he is older, much older, and that didn’t always mean weaker in Viking customs - it means wiser, but hopefully slower.

  “You are right.” The other watchman snickers. “No one or nothing has ever breached these walls before.”

  An uncomfortable silence falls, meeting with the sound of pelting rain against the roof; they couldn’t deny what they both heard. Even Khan cringed at the sound his own nails made on the stone floors, and the vast empty passageways only amplified each step.

  “It did come to ear that something was spotted not too far away, the same creature that escaped an onslaught of our poisoned arrows.”

  The older watchman groans, “What do you mean it escaped? Nothing can escape our arrows. It is said the entire hunting squad went out. All nine of them. Your information is simply wrong.”

  “It left paw prints from where it was spotted.”

  There is a slight pause, followed by laughter. “It flew away?”

  “Don’t laugh, flying creatures have existed before.”

  “Dragons! You are talking about dragons! As in King Uther and Merlin days?”

  The younger watchman’s voice takes a lower pitch, “I thought they were just stories, too.”

  “There are no such things as dragons and witches you fool. I think last night’s ale might have left you without thought today.” Licking his lips, he adds, “Or are you still well-oiled?”

  “Get away from me.”

  Khan watches in amusement as the watchman hits the older watchman’s arm away from his face.

  A silence falls again before the older of the two men say, “Oh by the paling of your face, I’d say you are deadly serious.”

  “My cousin found this.”

  Khan’s interest peaks, he uncoils his tail just enough so he can sail down from the ceiling like a spider on its silk cord until his line of sight falls just below the arch. He studies the exchange with deep curiosity.

  A slim man, with dark blonde hair and green eyes framed by a thick curly beard, beaded with silver and white – the colors of low-ranking, sheaths his weapon. He has a huge nose and thin lips, with some silver ax-shaped piercing through his bottom lip. From his pocket, the young blonde pulls out a long black object, holding it between his silver-ringed fingers. The older looking man leans in – he is all bulk and shoulders with hair as straight as straw and as silver as the moon on a winter’s night. His voice takes on a strange tone, “Is that real?”

  The blonde watchman snorts. “How does one fake a feather exactly? I know of no seamstress who can replicate a feather.”

  “It’s massive.” Silver beard says.

  Khan scrutinizes them both when the older watchman, tattooed up to his elbows and scarred hands reaches out for the feather. “It’s longer than my bloody arm!”

  The feather was so true blue, it appeared almost black under the glow of the gas lamp. It shimmers like oil over water as silver beard twists it beneath the light.

  “A big bird?” Silver beard cocks a bushy white eyebrow.

  “Not a bird.” the curly blonde replies, “My cousin is one of those hunters that went out earlier today, they saw the creature leap into the trees. It was human-like, walking on two legs as it ripped the arrows from its flesh with thick claws.” he swallows hard before continuing, “it had horns, and a tail, with furry paws. He described it griffin-like.”

  Silver beard’s face contorts, stroking his beaded beard, “Resembling those statues of that English Town we pillaged four seasons ago.”

  The blonde watchman nods, taking back the feather.

  “A lion-eagle with horns and a tail?” silver beard chuckles, but it sounds more like a nervous trait than amusement. “I think your cousin might have swallowed some of that poison from the arrowheads.” Then snorts as he tries to stifle a laugh.

  A thick silence falls before the blonde voices his theory. “What if the stories of gargoyles are real?”

  Silver beard ponders the fact out loud, “Demons that protect the holy?”

  The blonde watchman shrugs, “We did pillage a church.”

  Silver beard blows out through his nose before confessing, “And we also did bring back that artifact the priest...”

  They start to whisper, “The holy man warned us of its curse.”

  “Christians don’t believe in curses.”

  “How do you know? “Think about it, if one of our sacred artifacts was brutally taken from our kingdom, would the gods not punish the wicked?”

  Silver beard’s fingers slowly make it to his weapon “It would make sense; the attacks of the dark beast on our scouts started right after the English village foray?”

  The feather exchanges hands one more time. “Perhaps it is looking for the artifact.”

  Silver beard says in a low voice, scrutinizing the feather, “How do we kill a demon?”

  “The king gave strict orders to chop its head off!” A different voice makes it to ear from down the corridor, where Khan finds himself retreating back into the darkness of the domed ceiling.

  Both Watch shuffles around as they are caught off-guard.

  “You two, the king needs escorts from the grand hall right away.”

  The bang of wood against stone reverberates down the passageways; the sound of a staff weapon hitting the ground. “Stop standing there opened-mouthed like two frightened maidens. Go now, or you will have something more than a baby beast to fear.”

  It is Erik; Khan would recognize his voice anywhere. It is the voice of the man who took him from his father’s beating fists on the day of his mother was found dead. The man who has fed and clothed him for the last four years. The man who talked him down from his demonic transformation as a child and taught him how to stay human. The man who trained him in weaponry and combat; to show discipline in times of high stress. Khan’s heart sinks - Erik is also the man that stood by as his father tricked him, and lead him into a trap. The man who told the watchman to chop off his head. Prince Khan snaps from his macabre thoughts as Erik speaks, “Go get the king, watchmen; take him to his chambers. You might need to seek out Birger for assistance.”

  “Oh,” one of them replies.

  Khan knew what that meant. Birger literally means keeper in Viking. He is the biggest of all the king’s chevalier and made useful mostly to escort a very drunken king - and by escort, it meant to carry the king. Khan had seen his father carried past the tower doors almost every night following his mother’s death. It is only of late the king had tried to sober up. But now Kahn knows the reasoning behind his father’s attempted to sober up. The king kept a sober mind long enough to devise his plan to steel Ashlan away from the future heir - him.

  When the watchmen don’t move down
the passage quick enough, Erik calls after them. “Move with haste you idiots, his harem lay in wait. If King Ivor passes out before his last romp, it will be your funerals we attend tomorrow.”

  “Sir.” There is uncertainty in silver beard’s gruff voice; then he takes it back quickly. “Nothing, sir.”

  As the men go about their instructions, Khan catches a whiff of a familiar scent; so intoxicating it takes all his strength not to reveal himself.

  His racing heart always chances gear when Ahslan is around, and the closer she gets to him, the harder and faster it pounds. To such an extent Khan imagines it might explode through his ribcage or leap from his throat.

  His tail’s coil tightens, the beam creaking in protest. Khan quickly recoils back into the dark domed ceiling as Erik and Ashlan hurry past. Ashlan’s eyes dart toward the Well-room as if she knows he is there. If Khan has to be honest, he feels it too. The undeniable bond that tethers them to each other - like the earth and the moon that could not exist without one another. Forever in each other’s orbit. Khan is the earth admiring the surreal beauty of the moon, and without the moon, there is no light during the dark times. His heart a tide that breathes by the bloom of the moon.

  Chapter 5

  When Darkness Beckons

  The train of her azure dress sweeps across the floor as Ashaln and Erik pass by, a shiver raking over Khan’s skin, no his pelt, in her wake - alight with anticipation. This, he thinks to himself, is his chance to grab her. Erik, he knows has a soft spot for him, and perhaps Khan could convince his guardian that Ashlan is better off with him than under the abusive and cruel hand of his father. In Khan’s heart, as beastly as it may appear, he knows the true nature of Erik, and even though Erik had stood by, watching his king kill his fellow chevalier Audun, he knows Erik would never ever stand by and let an innocent beautiful lady be tainted by the likes of a crude man like Ivor.