"You like that silly girl, don't you?" said Aelle. She sounded annoyed. "Someone even softer than you are. Why didn't you just ever tell me to stop? 'Aelle, please don't leave a mark.' Was that so difficult? I know what pain means even if I've never felt it personally," she paused. "When did you make up your mind to leave me?"
"He didn't want to hurt your feelings," said Ilaan. "So he left our world entirely instead." Ilaan gave a whinnying laugh that Moth had never heard before.
"Please, stop," he said in a rasping whisper. "Why did you even stay with me, Aelle? I never understood why...."
Aelle smirked and answered, "One becomes acclimated."
Then they were standing in front of him, blocking him, and he had to go off the path into the shadowy forest to get around them, he fell, he was falling... then he was back on the road and they were each holding an elbow, dragging him along.
"Did you remember to tell him he's never coming home?" asked Aelle.
"Oh right! You know how I said I wouldn't leave you here? I'm leaving you here. You were never really one of us, anyway. Everyone was right about you! You're going to die here. Maybe really soon! And that girl of yours is already dead. You're too late."
Moth shook his head. "This isn't real. I know it’s not real."
Ilaan barked, "Why didn't you show your True Face? Tell us. Were you afraid of showing that girl what you really are?"
He staggered to a stop, the dark world spun. He said, "I've never killed anyone and I didn't want to start now, today, in front of her."
"That's a reason, but it’s not the reason. Is it, Beast?" asked Ilaan. "Is it more to do with the way she'd look at you when it was done? Maybe not so eager after all. Maybe she’d see you were ugly inside and out. Well, it doesn't matter anymore because SHE'S DEAD SHE'S DEAD AND SO ARE YOU YOU'RE NEVER GOING HOME IT'S TOO LATE YOU'RE TOO LATE”
He did fall, finally, and clapped his hands over his ears.
Lelet's white shoe, or what was left of it, lay on the ground in front of him. He picked it up and asked, "Is this real? Am I seeing this?"
Ilaan and Aelle were gone.
He got up and kept walking.
***
Several times he thought he smelled human urine. Once he gave himself a few minutes to rest, but when he closed his eyes, all he could see was that fat man and her fear. He pulled himself upright and kept walking. It got darker and he kept going, although he sometimes couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not.
I'm going to find her, he told himself. Because the Duke would find her, and she'll be safe and so happy to see him... see me... he awoke leaning his forehead against a tree. He sighed and tried to remember which way he'd come. It was completely dark and he had no idea. At this rate he'd be walking in circles and they'd carve her into pieces and he'd be too late....
There was a noise. Someone was... singing? That was singing, wasn't it? And it was real this time, wasn't it?
He crept towards the sound and nearly fainted with relief when he spotted her pale hair in the faint firelight. She was sitting next to a tree with her arms behind her, he gathered they were tied. Her head was slumped over her chest. He hoped she was just sleeping.
The fat man was carrying on about something or other. The other two men were his audience. They were all drinking from bottles and then tossing them into the dark forest. The remains of their meal, some sort of meat stew, still clung to the bottom of an old iron pot. It had an unpleasantly gamey, almost metallic smell, but his stomach made such a rumble he was afraid he'd be heard. He tried to remember the last time he'd eaten and could only think of the taste of a pear. It was a better thing to think of than the burning in his head and in his throat.
He found a spot where he could see them all and settled in.
Finally the man with the sword grunted and rolled himself up in a blanket to sleep. He patted his weapon lovingly before turning away from the fire. The other man soon did the same, although Moth couldn't spot a weapon. You must be the one who killed me, Moth realized. I hope I can return the favor.
The fat man said something to Lelet—he couldn't make it out—and got up to piss against a nearby tree. Moth rose to his feet, pain and exhaustion forgotten, and he changed.
Chapter 64
... and with one final great shove, the Duke heaved Sir Edward through the window. It was a long fall to the crags below, and Sir Edward screamed the whole way. The Duke and Gwyneth held themselves silent and still until they heard no more screams, then a thump. Then, as if a string had been cut, they fell into each other’s arms.
-The Claiming of the Duke, pg 183
Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)
Mistra
100 years after the War of the Door, Mistran calendar
20 years later, Eriisai calendar
Road through the Great Forest
Moth saw Lelet straining against the ropes. Had she seen him? He couldn’t worry about her now. He held up his hands, roiling with ash and smoke, dark smudges against the smolder of the fire pit. The flame crawled up his legs. He didn’t feel it.
Phee was first on his feet, but hadn't even lifted his blade when Moth stepped out of the fire and fell on him in an embrace that blotted him out. He didn't get a chance to scream, he just made a whistling noise and sank to the ground.
There was a distinct smell of cooked meat in the air.
The third man shouted, "Beb! Where are you? Phee?" He'd found the fat man's club and was swinging it in a wide arc. It had gotten quiet except for the hiss and crackle of the newly stoked fire. "Beb?"
There was no answer. The third man made a dash for the cart, meaning to take the horse and escape, but a lump of darkness tripped him and he went sprawling into the dirt. The man swore and got to his feet, holding the club in front of him like a shield.
Still nearly invisible, Moth said, "Now, are you the one that hit me with the rock? Or are you the one with the knife?"
The man let the club fall to his side. "You're dead," he said.
"No, as it turns out, I'm not," Moth said amiably, "but you are."
"What are you?"
"I'm a... I am the Beast."
By the unstable flickering firelight, Moth watched as if from a distant place as his hands close around the third man's throat. He, like Phee, made a shrieking, whistling noise before he fell. The cooked meat smell was overpowering.
Moth quickly hid his True Face, and rested on his knees for a moment. He'd never been so tired. An injury as extensive as the one he'd gotten required more than a quick nap, and he still wasn't sure how he'd made it through the forest. Later on, he'd be unable to remember most of it at all. Had there been others walking with him? It didn't seem likely. At least Lelet appeared to be unhurt, although the blank look on her face made him worry about her mind.
"Lelet? It's me. Look at me. You're safe now," he said as he untied her hands. She jerked her head away. He thought she'd be happy to see him, or at least relieved, but she took no notice. She stood up with some difficulty but as soon as she was on her feet she walked right past him, heading for where Beb had fallen. The fat man was slowly moving his hands in the dirt, and Moth cursed himself for not searing his throat completely, and prolonging this for Lelet. She pulled a leather pouch from his belt and laid it aside. Then she found his knife. She held it up, looking at the firelight glitter on the blade.
Beb suddenly gave a heaving gasp and tried to sit up. He fell back, hands at his neck. He stank of charred meat. She looked back and forth between him and the knife. He tried to talk through a seared throat.
"What's that, Beb old friend?" she said. "Can't quite make it out. Say again, but take your time. We've got all night. Maybe you'd like to sing a song for us!"
He kept up the whispering and pawed weakly at the air above his face.
"What? Hmmm? Please, don't hurt me?" she said. "Is that it? Please don't hurt me, please don't hurt me..." she repeated in a singsong voice that sounded nothing like her own.
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"Lelet..." Moth stood behind her. He'd have to take the knife away from her in a moment.
"Shut up," she hissed at him. "You shut up. You're dead and you left me alone with them." She turned back to Beb, and put the knife against his burned neck. "Say it again, Beb. Please don't hurt me..." Beb's whispers had stopped. "Say it!" she shrieked.
"Lelet, he's dead. Put the knife down."
She threw it away and rose to her feet. Breathing hard, she took the three steps between them. He could see she was fighting to stay on her feet. She took another staggering step and fell against him. He could barely hold himself up and struggled not to fall.
"You died," she said in that strange grating voice, "and you left me alone with them." She looked up at him. "Am I dead too?"
"No, shani. No, and I didn't die either. At least, not for long. I told you how it is with me, that I can heal quickly. They hurt me but I didn't die. And even if they had killed me, I'd still come for you. Don't you know that?" She covered her face with her hands. "I'm sorry I left you alone. I got here as fast as I could." He blinked a few times and found he was sitting at her feet. "I'm sorry," he said again, "I've had a hard day."
She sat next to him and peered at the dark purple line on his throat. "I imagine you have," she said. "I'm sorry I yelled."
"It's all right. I didn't mind. This is yours." He handed her the remains of her white shoe.
Then everything was sideways and he closed his eyes.
***
It was barely light when he awoke. She had gotten a blanket and thrown it over him. She'd also set a cup of water next to him, and his clothing, retrieved from his hiding place among the trees, sat in a neatly folded stack. He gulped the water, then shook out his trousers and climbed back into them.
She was sitting cross legged some distance from him, staring into the now dead embers of the firepit with that strange vague expression still on her face.
"Did they hurt you?" he asked.
"You mean did they rape me? No. But look!" she said in a bright, brittle voice, "Now we match. I have some marks now too!" She pulled up her sleeve and showed him a bracelet of finger-shaped bruises on her upper arm. He looked away.
"They talked about it a bit, who was going to go first and so on, and that fat bastard got a couple of feels in, but I told them my family had money. Ha, just like I told you, remember?" His face burned. "They decided to put any major life choices off until the morning. I'm pretty sure they'd have gone for a bit of fun and then thrown me in the river. They didn't seem like long term planners." She picked up the knife. "Beb kept saying he had something for me, something I was going to like. A friend for me to meet. Do you suppose this is what he meant?" She laughed but it sounded like a scream. She tossed the knife aside and stared at the ashes. He couldn't think of a thing to say other than that he was sorry.
She shook her head. "I know you are. I know." She started to cry and he reached for her, but she put up her hand.
Finally she looked up. Her eyes were red and her face was puffy, but her voice was her own when she said, "It looks better. Your neck, I mean. Does it hurt?"
He touched the new scar. "Not so much, any more. They also took my rings. Now, that hurt."
"Oh!" she said. "Here." She handed him the little leather bag she'd taken from Beb.
"Thank you," he said, "for getting them back for me."
"Thank you," she replied, "for not being dead. And rescuing me. I don't know why I was so angry with you." She sighed. "I was going to kill that man. I wanted to. Why did you stop me?"
She remembers it differently than I do, he thought. She stopped herself.
"But they're dead and I'm alive," she continued. "And somehow you're alive, too." She touched his throat. Her touch was cool and he leaned against her hand. "Please never do that again." Her hand lingered on his cheek. He kissed the inside of her wrist. She made a soft sound. He kissed her palm. She sat back and pulled her hand away.
"Soon," she said with a small smile. "Really soon. But not here—with them, and the smell."
"Of course." He felt foolish. "I am thoughtless."
"No, you're very brave. And you saved my life. It's just, I need to think about some things. Everything's been happening so fast. Almost killing that man. I would have done it. What does that make me? I don't think my family would recognize me. What happens when I get home? And—" she looked him in the eye. "I've met a man who shouldn't exist. A beautiful mythological creature. And I've developed... intense feelings for this person."
"Oh, do you mean me?" he said with a smile.
"You are the most interesting thing that's ever happened to me. But I have to figure out why I should have to be kidnapped—twice—and meet someone who isn't strictly human for things to finally strike me as 'interesting'. Shouldn't it take less drama to get my attention?"
"I had to leave my home, my family—such as they are—and someone who would almost certainly have spent her life with me had I allowed it, everything I ever knew. I knew there was something else. And I thought I might find it here. So I imagine either you weren't paying attention, which is possible, or more likely, you weren't as content as you supposed."
She considered this.
"You are very clever."
"Well, if I'm adding correctly, I'm almost a hundred years older than you. I've had time to think."
They scattered the ashes of the fire, and together they carried the sword and Barbara (she had to explain the name) to the river and threw them in. She insisted on keeping Beb's knife and had found its sheath, which she wore low on her waist over the brown dress.
"You might die again," she said, "and beside, this awful thing needs a belt."
They watched the weapons vanish into the water. She said she wanted to jump in as well, but it was too cold.
"It’s unfair, the way you're perfectly clean," she said. "And your beard, that's gone, and yet somehow your hair is still there. There are plenty of women, and not a few men who'd like to know your secret." It wasn't only his scant beard that got burnt off when he changed form, the stink of blood and gore had been scorched away as well. It was like nothing had ever happened.
While she worked on getting only her head wet—she said the smell in her hair was making her feel ill—he dragged the three bodies well downstream and pushed them in. He was only sorry he couldn't kill them again. He thought perhaps Aelle would approve, but couldn't say for sure why.
***
They sat quietly together on the driver’s bench of the cart. The campsite disappeared behind them and the road rolled forward. Moth finally said, "Intense feelings?"
She blushed and said, "It was your well-honed sense of outrage that finally tipped the scales."
"For me I believe it was the constant questions. All the questions. All the same questions, over and over."
"I got better answers from the horse," she laughed.
"Do you want to drive?" he asked, pretending to take offense. I've never pretended to take offense before, he marveled.
"No, no," she said. "You and this horse have forged a relationship so beautiful, I couldn't think of coming between you."
"Fine, then." He thought about the dead, the scattered ashes, and the river, washing it all clean. It seemed like a bad dream and a long time ago. "Let’s finally get you to your sister."
She gave him a curious look.
"My what?"
Chapter 65
"Ach, she'll be the sweetest bride this parish has ever seen," smiled Mrs. Beedle.
"And high time the Duke was wed, there was talk he'd be a life-long bachelor, and him with his sparkling eyes and white teeth..." sighed the cook.
"Have you been in the brandy?" Mrs. Beedle asked suspiciously.
-The Claiming of the Duke, pg 203
Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)
Mistra
100 years after the War of the Door, Mistran calendar
20 years later, Eriisai calendar
Road through the Great Forest
"My what?" Lelet repeated. Moth was staring at her with his eyes wide and hadn’t appeared to have heard her. Then he dropped the leads and grabbed her by the arms.
"Your sister! It’s your sister!"
"You said that," she said. She wriggled away and reached over him to pick up the leads. "Which one?" She cocked her head at him. "How do you know I have... did we talk about...?"
He shook his head, the string holding his hair back came loose and the dark mass flew in his face. He raked it back and repeated, "It’s your sister! I can’t believe it. How did this happen?"
"Moth." She pulled the horse to a stop and tucked his hair behind his ear. "Calm down and tell me. What about my sister?" Rather than calm down, he pulled her into an embrace and kissed her, then jumped down from the cart and began walking back and forth alongside it. She touched her lips. He’d been uncomfortably hot.
"I don’t know how but it’s gone." He looked up at her, perched on the edge of the driver’s bench. "You must think I’ve gone simple in my wits all of a sudden." He broke out in a grin. "But it’s gone. The rope, in my head, it’s just gone. I’m free." He resumed pacing. "It must have been... of course, it must have been when they killed me. So they really did kill me. Strange." He glanced over at her, his eyes gleaming. "Being dead, I can’t recommend it. But I suppose I should be grateful...."
She watched his monologue with her arms folded. It had been amusing to watch right up until the ‘killed me’ part. "Whenever you’re ready."
"Oh, sorry. Of course." He reached up to help her to the ground, but as soon as he touched her, she snatched her arm away.
"Ow! Moth, you’re burning!" She pointed at him. His shirt was smoking.
His exuberance faded as quickly as it had begun. His smile vanished and she felt the air turn cool between them. "Did I hurt you? Let me see."
"No, it’s fine. Look, it’s not even pink."
He lifted her to the ground. "I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize."
He looks like someone hit him in the head with a shoe, she thought. "Take a breath. Everything is fine. Tell me what happened. Why are you grateful that you were dead?"
The Sand Prince Page 35
