Fell Beasts and Fair

by C. J. Brightley

  “What did you say?” I asked shakily, unable to decipher the grunts.

  He didn’t look at me, just stared into the crackling fire between us, but he did repeat his words. “I said, I understand more than you know.” His voice was laced with the heavy weight of experience. “I’m sorry for frightening you.” This last sounded tired and defeated, like my reaction fell in line with the rest of the world.

  I knew why I was afraid of him, but most people weren’t cursed to be hunted by a magical beastie before they were old enough to fight back. My skittishness resulted from my situation; it didn’t explain why the rest of the world would feel the same. Unless they had cause—as with the Cursed Witch—people didn’t usually fear magic users, even this far into the northlands. Curious, I asked, “Why do you expect me to be terrified?”

  “Does it matter? You clearly are,” he bit out bitterly.

  I waved his evasion away while agreeing, “Yes, yes, you’re big and scary,” that earned a wry twist of the lips from him. “I get that, I can be big and scary too. Big and scary tried to take a chomp out of me recently, which explains me. But you expected that, which means it’s happened before. I don’t see why anyone besides me would fear you—unless you do eat people.” I kept my face straight, even though I was joking with that last.

  He finally raised his eyes to meet mine. His were hard, black, and unfathomable. “They have reason to fear me, just as I have reason to fear leeching magic.” His eyes unfocused, drifting to memory. “It’s been used ill on me too many times.” His focus snapped back before he explained carefully, “I’m not exactly human.”

  I gave him a good look up and down before replying, “You look like a man to me.”

  Dagr shook his head, but not before a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I’m not.” He watched intently for a reaction as he said, “I’m daemae.”

  I examined now visible lightning sparking through his veins, illuminating his face. My people were neighbors with the darric fieron. Of course we had heard of daemae, beings formed of magical energy and bred by leeches as power sources since full-blooded leeches didn’t possess power of their own. But I’d always thought daemae stories were spun to frighten children. “Daemae are pure magic,” I insisted before repeating, “You look like a man to me.”

  His eyes narrowed as he retorted, “You look like hillfolk, and yet you walk in their nightmares.” I flinched at that. “Well, so do I. You wield leeching magic and yet you don’t understand daemae. You change shape, but you don’t expect others to do the same?”

  I frowned. “First, I haunt their nightmares because they’ve met mine. Second, I have leeching magic, but I’m not a leech, not in the sense you mean. Third, my shapes are both solid, and so are you. I felt it. I have trouble believing magical energy can take the form of a man.” My words reminded me I had felt something else too. I closed my mismatched eyes and breathed deeply. Woodsmoke. Without other distractions, the smell was overpowering. I sneezed, twice. “Okay, I believe you.” I opened my eyes to find him looking surprised. “What?” I asked. “If you know leeches, you know the magic allows us to sense other power. I can smell yours, but most people can’t, so why should they fear you?”

  He looked at me as though the answer was obvious. “If you are from the hills, you must know of the leeches’ allies.”

  I raised an eyebrow and asked, “So you’re telling me that your darric fieron master has been waiting in the shadows this whole time to jump out and command you to eat me?” Darric fieron were generally a bad bunch, but then so were leeches. Together, they and their experiments were the source of all manner of legends and nightmares in these hills, including my own personal one.

  Most of my unusual mix of magic originated with my shapeshifter father. The darric fieron had tried to rip his power from him and give it to a leech, hoping to bind the two so the leech could shift and steal the magic of others. Only the spell had backfired, reversing to give the leeching magic to my father instead. It also gave him the edge he needed to escape, which earned him the beastie on his trail. I’d never met him, but I assumed it had eaten him and moved on to me because I had inherited his natural and unnatural powers. I figured the beastie was the darric fieron’s way of cleaning up their mess. “And daemae serve the leeches, right? So you can’t be here because once they have you, there’s no way to break a leech’s hold.”

  He grinned, showing teeth. “Not quite ‘no way,’ but it’s certainly not easy.” My eyes caught on the broken runes etched across his face, and I wondered what he’d had to do to escape.

  I nodded. “Okay, so no darric fieron in the shadows?” I had no desire to meet those who commanded the beastie. “If you wield power yourself, why do you fear mine?”

  He answered quietly, “Because it matches that which was used to control me. And I cannot use mine. It would act as a beacon to those I escaped, and they would find me again.”

  I sucked in another deep breath, filtering out the scent of Dagr’s power. Running through the wash of woodsmoke was a faint trace of mud. I’d smelled something similar woven with beastie’s rotting scent. The same people hunted us both. Only the beastie would find me—it always did—and lead them straight to Dagr. Using the cave wall for support, I pushed myself shakily to my feet. I grimaced as my stiffened wound protested, but I remained standing.

  “Where are you going now?” Dagr asked mildly. His eyes were sad, but his voice betrayed no surprise, as though he knew the answer all too well. He made no move to stop me this time as I took a lurching step.

  “My presence puts you in danger,” I informed him, taking another determined step. “I cannot allow that.”

  “Me? In danger? How?” He sounded incredulous. Apparently he had anticipated the reaction but not the explanation. He probably thought I had come to my senses and decided to be scared of him.

  I halted my slow progress. “That magic beastie that’s after me? It’s still coming. And it answers to the darric fieron.” I turned toward him and explained, “I’ll continue on to my hillfolk kin.” No need to tell him that they were unlikely to welcome me. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” I gave the open-mouthed Dagr another half-bow that threatened to topple me, and resumed my exit, ignoring my barefooted semi-clothed state once again.

  I heard a rustle behind me as though he had started in my direction. He probably remembered my last reaction because the noise stopped. Instead, he cleared his throat and matched my polite tone. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t leave.”

  I paused to ask, “Didn’t you hear what I just said?” I’d seen the terror in his eyes when he felt my leeching magic. He didn’t live by himself on the side of a mountain because he was eager to face off with the darric fieron.

  “Yes, but if you go out like that, I’ll just have to carry you back frozen again.” He had a point there. “I’ve fought the creations of the darric fieron before. Whatever is after you won’t hurt you here.” His voice was so determined that I almost believed him. But he hadn’t met my beastie. And I knew what it sounded like when you tried to convince yourself.

  Still, there was the matter of clothes. I could see the snow falling again—or still falling—in thick heavy flakes. I remembered running, not knowing when the beastie would emerge through the sheet of white. My heart thudded in my chest and my legs folded beneath me, severely limiting my options.

  Strong arms prevented me from a painful meeting with the floor as I collapsed. This time, I didn’t flinch.

  “You can leave as soon as you’re on your feet again,” Dagr murmured soothingly as he scooped me up. “When you come to your senses, you’ll be running anyway,” he added in an even quieter tone.

  “Are you sure you don’t eat people?” I asked Dagr as he shook the snow off and bent down with an armload of firewood. It had been several days since I’d tried to leave, and I was finally able to walk around without suddenly sprawling on the cave floor. Since it hadn’t shown its distorted face, I cou
ld only conclude that the beastie was having difficulty tracking me through the blizzard, which continued without abating. It let up enough this morning that Dagr ventured outside for more wood.

  Before going out, Dagr had pointed me toward a wooden trunk, and I had abandoned the blankets for actual clothes while he was gone. My own garments had not survived my wounds and my trek up the mountain. The clothing options were limited by what fit, and I ended up in an emerald green dress finer than anything I had ever owned. I didn’t have any luck with the shoes, so my feet remained bare. Most of the other clothes didn’t look like Dagr’s either, hence my question.

  Dagr’s back was to me when I spoke, and I saw the muscles in his neck tense. His expression remained stony and tight as lightning forked toward his jaw. Then, he glanced back and saw that I was joking. He gave me a tentative half-smile in return and explained, “Sometimes, I help travelers stuck in the snow. Most don’t stick around to pack their nice things.”

  He turned back to stack the wood, and the stench hit me—rotten and slimy with a hint of mud. I stumbled back, but beastie must not have reached the cave because the snow outside was unblemished.

  At my sudden movement, Dagr turned, and when he saw my sheet-white face, he asked, “What is it, Sian?”

  I swallowed hard, “It’s here.” I met his eyes and told him seriously, “You should leave.”

  He gave me what was probably meant to be a reassuring pat on the shoulder and said, “I’m big and scary, remember? I’ll persuade it not to eat you.” He turned toward the cave mouth.

  I reached a shaking hand to catch his arm. “I already owe you my life. I won’t be responsible for your death.”

  He gently removed my fingers, “That thing doesn’t want me. If you stay hidden it won’t know you’re here.”

  I should have explained it didn’t work like that. I should have started running then and there, but my feet remained rooted to the spot. I let him walk outside to face my nightmare.

  By the time Dagr waded into the snow piled outside the cave, I could see the beastie. It had paused, wings folded, sniffing the air. Dagr addressed it in a conversational tone. “I think you and I should talk, especially since you probably don’t like those holding your leash any more than I do.”

  The beastie tilted its head and flared its nostrils at Dagr. I’d never tried to talk to it—until this last time, I’d never even been close—maybe it really was considering his offer.

  Without warning, one massive claw lashed out and slammed into Dagr’s side, tossing him out of my field of vision. Unfazed, the beastie sniffed the air again. I remained frozen, afraid to move, even though I now knew it hunted by smell.

  A dark form erupted from the snow, and I realized it must be Dagr as he collided with the beastie’s back legs, toppling them both. I found I could breathe again when the beastie turned its attention away from me to focus on Dagr. I dropped to my knees on the cave floor, partially concealed by empty crates.

  A few seconds too late, my sluggish mind processed what the distraction might cost him. The beastie thrashed, sinking its claws in Dagr’s chest as it stood, pinning him to the snow-covered ground.

  I remained frozen. I didn’t know what to do. I had tried running. I had tried letting dragons fight on my behalf and they had been no match for the beastie. Now I was hiding. Each time, the outcome had been the same. Others paid for my choices.

  Expecting the beastie to subdue the threat and continue the hunt, I was surprised when it paused, flexing its claws to anchor them more firmly. Dagr’s scream was drowned out by the beastie’s howl. The snow dampened the sound, but it echoed through the cave. The beastie flapped its wings, and I wondered if it had found new prey to hunt.

  Wind gusted around my hiding place in the cave. I couldn’t bring myself to fight the beastie, not after it had caught me, but maybe I could use the wind to my advantage again. My magic had completely recovered from the last attack, and I gathered it all to my hands. Raising my arms over my head, I let the wind waft through my fingertips and take my magic. These gusts were strong, and I did not have the power to move them from their chaotic path around the cave, but I needed only to nudge them in the right direction to send them hurtling back toward the beastie. It stood on the flat area between the cave and the sheer cliff of the mountain.

  My plan might not work. It wasn’t as though the beastie was standing on the edge, but the beastie had its wings stretched open like sails, and I hoped that they would function the same way.

  The magic-laden winds slammed into the beastie and drove it backward slowly but steadily. It howled in frustration, but didn’t relinquish its grasp on Dagr. Under its claws, he slid across the snow toward the edge of the cliff.

  I had to decide between one heartbeat and the next. If I did nothing, I could probably slip away and the beastie would lose my trail for a time. But it would take Dagr with it. I didn’t know if the daemae could survive the drop, but I doubted he could fly.

  I moved, dashing out of the cave to slide barefoot across the snow. I reached them as they teetered on the edge. The beastie was almost over with Dagr’s body anchoring it to solid ground. Dropping to my knees, I tried to dislodge the beastie, but my fingers scrambled ineffectively where the shiny claws dug into Dagr’s fur cloak.

  I had only moments before it would realize its true prize was under its snout, and the push of the wind gusts would not last much longer. In desperation, I poured the last of my magic into my right hand and reached up. The beastie’s head darted, trying to grab me like before, but I was ready for it, and this time, I wasn’t dodging. I managed to get my hand over its nostrils and released my magic. At the same time, I pushed, as though my human strength could do anything to move it.

  At first, I didn’t think it worked, but then the beastie’s nostrils flared and it snapped at the air. Tangling my fingers in Dagr’s fur cloak, I leaned my whole weight across his shoulders, trying to stop him from being dislodged by the beastie’s sudden movements. It lifted first one claw and then the other to swipe at prey that wasn’t there. Free of Dagr, nothing anchored it to the ledge and it tumbled backward, spiraling down into the nothingness of the falling snow and taking its smell of rotting things with it.

  “Dagr?” I asked, but his face was still. Lightning sparked weakly—purple and teal—across his throat, so he was alive. Not knowing how long my trick would keep the beastie away, I didn’t want to be out in the open when it returned. Using my grip on the furs, I attempted to drag Dagr backward toward the relative safety of the cave. He slid a few inches, but I heard stitches pop as I fell over backward. The ground was uneven and he was dead weight. I just didn’t have the mass to move him in this form.

  But I had given my magic to the winds, and I didn’t think I had enough remaining to shift to hound. Reaching a hand over the edge of the cliff, I collected the residue of my magic from the winds that swirled up from the chasm. It took a few tries and I had to close my eyes to concentrate, but I finally managed to switch forms.

  Trying not to cause more damage, I gathered a mouthful of the fur near the neck of Dagr’s heavy cloak and leaned the weight of the hound into dragging him backward. Once I had him moving, we made good progress over the snow, and I didn’t stop until we reached the fire that still crackled pleasantly.

  I knew I should leave him and run—the beastie could be back any minute—but what good would my leading it away do if he bled to death here on the floor of the cave? I needed human hands to examine the wound, so I shifted. The emerald dress was wet and cold against my legs, but I ignored it as I carefully peeled back the fur cloak and the fabric of Dagr’s shirt.

  I almost panicked as the scent of rot hit me, but it wasn’t strong. The wounds from the beastie’s claws oozed dark sludge. I leaned closer and confirmed that to be the source of the smell. Rotten woodsmoke. I didn’t even know where to begin. I’d never been much of a healer—my sister said I didn’t have the temperament—and these wounds already looked like they were
infected. The cuts from the beastie’s claws were deep, and looked dangerous even without the ooze. I needed magic. It wasn’t the most efficient, but if you overloaded a wound with it, the body would figure out the rest. It was a bit of a bludgeoning method of healing, but it usually worked.

  Only one problem—most of my power was riding the winds down the side of the mountain.

  I curled my fists in frustration. There had to be another way. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath—I couldn’t afford to let my guard down. If the beastie returned, I needed to know. Wounds or no wounds, Dagr would be better off without me if it returned. I only smelled the rotten ooze—and woodsmoke.

  Dagr shouldn’t need my power to heal his wounds when he had more than enough of his own. With my eyes still closed, I studied him with my leech sense. The woodsmoke swirled lazily in a fixed pattern, never increasing or decreasing. Dagr had said that he couldn’t use his power or those who hunted him would know his location. Apparently, that resolution extended to using his magic to heal himself.

  I frowned and opened my eyes. The lightning was fading with each flicker. If I didn’t do something soon, Dagr was going to die. But I wouldn’t condemn him to a life of being chased. No one deserved that.

  I had a pretty good handle on the thread of magic that smelled like mud and must belong to the leech or the darric fieron that he feared. It was the only magical scent that drifted beyond Dagr. Reaching out, I used a shred of my own magic to encase the mud. I rolled it between my fingers until I could barely smell the other magic. That should keep anyone on the other end from feeling what I was about to do.

  Returning to Dagr, I removed one of his heavy gloves. “I’m sorry,” I said as I gripped his hand in both of mine because I was about to become his nightmare.

  As soon as I reached for his magic, Dagr’s eyes flew open, but seemed unable to focus. He started to struggle weakly and gasped, “Stop. Please.” But I put one hand on his chest between the claw marks and held him in place so that he couldn’t injure himself further. Closing my eyes, I worked my way past his magical defenses. They were formidable, and if he had been fully conscious, I’m not sure I would have succeeded.