Krel glanced up. Eight thousand was ten times more than he’d been paid for his best piece. He could see the warchief was determined to have his way. Krel would have to do it. He could extract and preserve such a simple soul in less than an hour, but he had to find a way to craft it into a piece worthy of the clan leader. “I need four days,” he said, looking at the frail pink creature in front of him.
“Good!” The warchief bellowed a laugh. “Take the human to my reaver’s work chamber.” To Krel, he added in a low voice, “A delegation from the Grem clan will be here in three days. I want the orb ready before they arrive.” His eyes glowed yellow, and his teeth bared into a menacing smile. “For eight thousand crescents, I expect miracles.”
Krel thumped his fist to his chest and lowered his eyes with respect. But his thoughts were tortured and dark. He didn’t know how he could deliver what was required, but he had no choice. The last one to disappoint the clan leader ended up hanging on a row of spikes while ravens picked at his body for the five days it took him to die.
The guard dragged the human behind Krel, and they walked together in silence to his workshop in the lower floor of his home. The guard waited until Krel strapped the subject to a stone table in the centre of the room before taking her leave. Krel stared at the tangled mess of humanity and sighed. His divining rod in hand, he ran it over the princess’ body again, looking at the pathetic, simple, muddy soul. He didn’t know where to begin.
A screech like that of a demon harpy startled him out of his reverie. It came from above. Ruygret.
Krel left the unconscious human and ran up the stairs. His daughter was the only thing that kept him from becoming completely lost in his own mind. If anything happened to her…
The thought was lost as soon as he got to her chamber door.
In the corridor stood Ruygret, holding a chain. At the end of the chain was a collared, naked, well-muscled human female. Ruygret had a pointed stick in her right hand and the leash in her left. The human had several small gashes and thin welts on its back and thighs, and it paced back and forth like a caged panther.
“What in the name of Brogdell are you doing?” Krel roared.
“This is my new pet. Remember, father? We talked about it earlier,” Ruygret said with a tone seemingly full of patience.
“A human?” Krel stood stunned. This was worse than a werecat cub. “But…what’s wrong with another wolf?”
“Father, I’m not twelve any more. Humans are more intelligent than wolves. Pryshaq has one that can dance, but mine will be even better. Watch.” She put the stick in a loop at her waist and clapped her hands. The human’s attention snapped to her immediately.
“Up!” she said sharply.
The human eyed her warily, but stood upright.
“Good. Now flip!” Ruygret gave a quick hand signal.
It hesitated only a second before leaning forward and touching the ground. Krel stared in amazement as it shifted its balance and put its feet in the air. It kept its balance admirably for a moment before toppling back to an upright position. It looked at Ruygret hopefully, and she smiled and petted it affectionately. “It took me four weeks to get it to do that well,” she said with pride.
The sweet moment was ruined, however, when the human lunged for Ruygret’s training stick. Fortunately, she got the creature under control with a sharp yank on the leash and a hiss. “I still have a lot of work to do,” she said apologetically. “But, father, it’s wonderful. So smart and adaptable. It’s a spirited beast, but we have a connection. I can feel it. It just needs more time. Now that I have it inside with me, I’m sure our progress will be even more remarkable. It’ll be fit to entertain a warchief by winter.”
Krel had heard of human pets, but the idea turned his stomach. He would sooner invite a troll to dinner. “But they’re dangerous,” he said.
“I know.” Ruygret looked delighted. Krel had to admit, her determination made him proud.
Suddenly, Krel realised his divining rod was thrumming. He pointed it at Ruygret’s pet. The sensation intensified.
“What is it?” Ruygret asked.
“Hold it still.”
Ruygret gave another yank to the chain, and said, “Up!” As before, it stood still, shoulders back and chin up.
Krel admired how well she handled the creature. But his thoughts for his daughter disappeared when he glanced the pet’s skin with the divining rod. The soul practically leapt out at him, dancing and shining with furious light. It had at least a dozen soul-strands, all varying shades of greens and pinks—wide ribbons of shimmering beauty. This, he lamented, was a soul worthy of the clan chief, not the festering sludge down in his workroom.
“I want it,” Krel said.
“What?”
“The warchief has commissioned a new piece, but the subject he gave me to work with is inadequate. Ugly. This one’s soul, though, is magnificent. The most beautiful I’ve seen in my life.”
Ruygret loosened her grip a little in her shock, and the pet began to fight again. It took her a moment to regain control. “If I give you its soul, will it live?”
“You would have to feed it, clean it, and it would not speak, but if you cared for it, it would live.”
“Would it be trainable?”
“No,” Krel said. He knew from experience it would be little more than a shell, and although tempted, he would not lie to his daughter.
“No,” she said. “It is mine. I chose her for her spirit. I’ve slaved over her for months. It’s the best pet I’ve ever had.”
“If I please the warchief, we will receive eight thousand crescents. I can buy you another one. I can buy you ten pets as strong as this one.”
“How do you know it is not her soul that makes it special? You said yourself it was the most beautiful you’d ever seen. You wouldn’t be able to replace that, and all my work. Father, please.”
“Ruygret,” he said firmly. “I must take its soul for this commission. Come. I’ll show you.” He led his daughter down to his workshop, the pet in tow behind her. The creature’s eyes widened when it saw the princess strapped to the table, and it began to yelp. “Control that thing. There’s delicate equipment in here,” Krel scolded.
He stood over the princess and, with his divining rod, tapped the seat of its soul. Intoning a well-practiced enchantment, he teased the ugly brown strand upward and let his magic do its work. A crystal casing formed, and he coaxed the mire toward it, taking his time with his art, as he always did, even though he knew this subject was unfit. The resulting glass was small and thick, and the soul measured barely the size of the human’s eye. Krel had seen horse droppings more pleasing to look at. He spoke the words to suspend it in the air, but sent it flying to an upper corner of the workroom. He didn’t even want to look at it.
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 se
cond 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 c
ruel.
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.
Here Be Monsters - an Anthology of Monster Tales Page 4
