The Beast of Maug Maurai, Part Two: Feeding the Gods

by Roberto Calas

  They laughed and tried to enjoy the night, but the laughter faltered at every sound from the forest. Their smiling eyes made quick movements toward the edge of camp, imagining massive teeth in the pale birch trunks, their fears turning boulders to beasts.

  Grae left the tent and allowed Maribrae to play a handful of songs on her fiolys. Sage accompanied her. The scout was adept both at singing and playing, so they took turns on the fiolys. Grae sat on a stump a short distance away from the men, watching the festivities absently. Hammer sat quietly at his side.

  “We could have made them a formidable squad,” said Grae.

  “They are a formidable squad,” said Hammer. “’cept maybe Drissdie. And the magician apprentice. And we know Sage ain’t worth his weight in thrull piss.”

  The Hrethri crossbowman, still in the ancient plate armor, clanked and clattered his way toward them. “Good night, Brig, sir,” said Jjarnee. “I just want to tell that you will be compressed with my shooting.”

  Grae looked up with his wry smile. “Compressed?”

  “You will not worry about choosing me. I am best archer in Laraytia.” He looked back toward Aramaesia. “Can shoot better than pretty girl.”

  “Is that so?” asked Grae. He liked the good humor, the brashness of this armored crossbowman.

  Hammer pointed back to the rest of the squad. “Get back to your camp, soldier,” he said. “No one told you to speak to the brig.”

  Jjarnee shot the two of them a ten-lantern smile and saluted. “Aye, Hammer,” he said and walked back to the fire.

  Hammer smiled at Grae, and the brig returned it with a half-smile. The old soldier suddenly looked different to Grae. He studied the man. The creased face, the lumpiness under the chin. Hammer was fast approaching fifty years. Ancient by a Laraytian Standards’s timeline. Grae wanted to ask again about the Andraen horsemen. The ones that had followed them around Western Nuldryn before the squad entered the forest. But he didn’t want to broach the subject of the Andraen curse, the bane-box that Grae had lied about. So he asked him about another curiosity instead.

  “There’s something I don’t understand. You’ve been a hammer for almost as long as I’ve known you. I’ve recommended you for Signet at least a half dozen times. I can’t understand why you keep getting passed over. It’s a damnable crime.”

  Hammer glanced sidelong at his brig and took a long swig of wine. “Why would I wanna be an officer? I ‘ear they take your bollocks before they pin the new rank.” He handed the skin to Grae, who drank as well. They watched the squad for a time. When Hammer spoke again it was with a shrug. “Earth ranks don’t go to sky ranks, Grae. Not for most of us. You’re something special.”

  “Yes, well, the other officers don’t think I’m so special.”

  “Daisies, all of ‘em,” said Hammer. “Bunch a baby silk-shirts with daddy’s gold. You earned your way into the sky, Grae.”

  “You could too, Mul.”

  “Nah, Grae. I’m not like you. ‘sides, being a signet ain’t the most important thing in my life.”

  “Fair enough,” said Grae. “I suppose I should stop recommending you. Anyone would think you had no ambition at all.”

  “Seems to me,” said Hammer, “that ambition ain’t nothin’ more than discontent.”

  They traded the wine back and forth in silence, watching the men grow rowdier. Grae kept his eyes on the Gracidmarian archer. She smiled at everyone, tried to sing though she didn’t know the words, accepted whatever she was offered.

  Beldrun Shanks spoke quietly to the bearded soldier, Rundle Graen, and the Hrethri, Jjarnee Kruu. Grae wondered what the big man was saying to them. Shanks seemed to realize that he was being watched and stopped talking. The other two men glanced up, saw Grae, and turned away quickly. Shanks smiled a nervous smile and nodded at the brig.

  “Up to no good, that one,” Hammer said.

  Grae nodded, thought again on Hammer’s earlier words. “I suppose you must think me highly discontented.”

  “Aye,” said Hammer. “I do. You got the notion that someday you’ll get to a rank where everyone’ll listen to you. Where the other officers will stop treatin’ you like an ‘eeled dog. You wanna fix everything that’s wrong with Laraytia. But maybe you’re scared that you’ll never get there. So you put it outta your mind and you keep working, and you bark when they want you to. And you bite when they order it. And you ‘ope that what you ‘ave to do justifies where you wanna go. But it’s changin’ you Grae. It’s taking its price.”

  Grae took a long swallow from the wineskin. “Well, that should do wonders for my outlook,” he said. “Thanks for the cheer.”

  Hammer looked as if he wanted to respond, but there came a sound from the forest. Guttural and wild. Everyone in the camp heard it. And everyone was certain of what it was. The music stopped. Maribrae hustled to Jastyn’s side. The squad contracted, moved toward the fire.

  Drissdie Hannish screamed.

  He was posted on the southern watch just outside the rampart. He screamed again, his voice cracking with the weight of the cry. “The Beast!” he shouted. “The Beast! Mother of Life, I see it!”

  The camp erupted. Soldiers scooped up their weapons and sallets. Grae called the men to formation as he strapped the officer’s bevor around his throat. The men gathered with the campfire and massive boulders at their backs, and the half-circle of the rampart in front of them. Drissdie Hannish appeared outside the rampart and edged backward toward the camp through a gap in the wall. He gave another cry while in the gap, setting his shield and jabbing at something outside the wall with his longspear.

  “It’s here!” he screamed, his voice cracking. “It’s here!”

  Grae led the soldiers three paces forward. Until the open arms of the V formation nestled up against the breach in the wall, just inside the rampart. Drissdie was still at the breach, holding something back with his spear. Grae called him into line, praying the Beast would follow. If the creature strode through the gap it would enter the jaws of the formation. Every soldier would get a chance to strike at it.

  “Mind the fire,” Hammer shouted. “We ain’t got much room to back up.”

  Drissdie stepped backward, thrusting with his spear to keep the monster at bay. He took his place on the left side of the V just as the creature leaped through the breach. It followed Drissdie directly into the formation. It was perfect. Grae couldn’t have envisioned a better scenario for his strategy.

  If only it had been the Beast.

  The firelight revealed a mangy, maddened boar. It charged Drissdie, who battered it with his shield as the other soldiers struck. Spears and swords and shields and axe blows fell upon the creature. It squealed and snarled and fell, then rose again. The soldiers didn’t relent, but the creature kept rising, its eyes flashing green in the firelight, its teeth jagged and froth-spattered. Lokk Lurius cut the animal’s head off with a clean stroke of his strange short sword and the wild boar finally ceased. The soldiers looked at the dead creature, then at one another.

  Then they laughed.

  Shanks and Rundle and Jjarnee Kruu leaned over and shook with the laughter, Sage pinched at the tears in his eyes and struggled for breath.

  “’annish, what in Lojen’s Piss is wrong with you?”

  Drissdie Hannish rubbed at the lucky coin he had found and pointed at the dead boar. “It . . . it weren’t a normal pig, hammer. It didn’t . . . ” He turned the carcass over with his spear and studied it. “It looked strange out there. Its eyes were green.”

  “Ain’t you never seen an animal at night before? It was reflecting the firelight. Sister of Aerys!”

  Beldrun Shanks picked up the head and worked the jaws, thrusting it toward Drissdie. “Rowr rowr . . . I’m the Beast ‘a Maug Maurai. Rowrrrr!”

  “Look at it!” Drissdie tried to shout above the laughter. “Look at its teeth! Look at its face! It ain’t right. Why did it keep coming? Why didn’t it die?”

  Hammer waved him off. “It’s a bo
ar. They never stop. And the thing probably ‘ad the foaming madness. You best ‘ope you weren’t bit.”

  “I weren’t bit,” said Drissdie. “But it didn’t look like no normal pig.”

  Beldrun Shanks struck Drissdie in the chest with the boar head, knocked him over then continued to make it snap at him until there was no humor left in it. Until Hammer shouted for him to stop. The big infantryman tossed the head into Drissdie’s lap and walked away, chuckling.

  The boar’s head landed on its side, its green eyes staring upward. Drissdie looked into those black eyes and batted the head to the ground, scuttled away as if it were still alive. “That ain’t a proper thing,” he whispered. The head stopped rolling with its eyes still facing Drissdie. “Ain’t a proper thing at all.”

  †††

  Aramaesia sat on a haypad with her eyes closed, her lips moving in a chant. She spun a graven silver bracelet slowly on her wrist. Small charms dangled from the metal hoop and her fingers ran nimbly over the charms.

  Grae watched her for a time, then spoke. “Aramaesia, I’m going to do a perimeter circuit. Would you care to join me?”

  She stopped chanting but her eyes didn’t open for another two heartbeats. And when her gaze met his, those green eyes seemed as if they couldn’t quite focus. She blinked and her smile returned. “Of course.”

  Grae walked past Beldrun Shanks and Rundle Graen, who stopped talking and looked in opposite directions when he approached. Grae craned his neck and watched them as he led her through one of the openings in the rampart.

  The darkness was absolute beyond the dirt walls and Grae’s belt lantern did little to dispel it. “We haven’t had a chance to speak, you and I.” He walked along the camp’s perimeter, keeping Aramaesia and the rampart on his right. A jagged branch arched along the forest floor, one end resting on the rampart. Grae took the archer’s hand and helped her over the obstacle.

  “Ohn Mehtu,” she said, with a curtsey.

  “Brey nuah,” said Grae with a shallow bow.

  Aramaesia clapped her hands. “You speak Graci?”

  Grae held his thumb and forefinger up with a tiny space between them. “Lu perri,” he said, and he watched a smile play across her face like daybreak. He pointed to her smile, “Ul Sanrie . . . il ane . . . anetria . . . ah . . . . It’s lovely.”

  “Ohn Metu,” she replied. A rose hue, just visible in the light of his lantern, clouded her neck and cheeks. She motioned to her smile, then pointed to Grae’s face and shook her head. Her eyes couldn’t seem to meet his. “Neun se sanrie.”

  “Ja sanrie iren . . . jentro . . . “ he stumbled over the Graci. “Ja seinry jen . . . curse it all . . . . . . I do smile from time to time. But don’t let anyone know I said so.” He gave her his crooked half-smile and pointed to it.

  She laughed and waved her hand, mimicked the crooked smile. “Su vulai quies een seinry.”

  Grae considered for a moment, then did his best to respond. “Elais nu . . . Elasi nu mejan ky ja . . . ” he couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken Graci this much. Or tried to, anyway. “Elais nu mejan . . . uh . . . gods drink vomit, this is infuriating." He smiled and shook his head.

  Aramaesia laughed and clapped her hands again, pointed at his face. “Finally. A smile.”

  “That doesn’t count,” he said. “I’m smiling in frustration.”

  “Even when you smile, you do not acknowledge it.”

  “I don’t acknowledge it bec—”

  Something exploded in the distance.

  Short and powerful, like the roll of thunder compressed into a single detonation. So resonant that Grae felt it in his chest. He whipped his sword from its sheath and Aramaesia drew an exquisitely carved ivory dagger from her belt. They stood tensed, staring into the forest. He glanced at her, watched her as she breathed deeply and scanned the darkness. For all her compassion, there was strength in her. A savageness that he had only ever seen in survivors.

  She noticed his gaze and met it. And this time, she didn’t look away.

  He brushed at his tabard and called over the rampart. “Hammer, did you hear something odd?”

  The warriors in the camp had their weapons out. They formed a loose defensive formation, their eyes searching the forest.

  “What in Dedra’s Cunt was that?” Shanks shouted. The big man’s hands flexed on the haft of his axe.

  “That weren’t no Beast,” Drissdie called out. His eyes were wide, his mouth open and stretched with fear. “That weren’t no Beast!”

  “Sage, join Jjarnee Kruu on watch,” Grae called. “That sound came from miles away. Nothing to fret over.” He motioned to Aramaesia to walk again. She nodded but kept her dagger out.

  “That’s a fine blade,” Grae said.

  She stared for a time at the ivory-gripped dagger. “My cousin’s. Dear as a sister to me.”

  “She gave it to you?”

  “No. Her father gave it to me. At her burial.”

  “Oh.”

  “War,” she said. “It seeps into the cracks and chills us all.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Grae. “Did she live near the front?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Soldiers entered her village and killed everyone. They burned the place to the ground.”

  Grae felt the blood pulsing through his body. He had no heartbeats; they were detonations. Concussions in his chest. He prayed that she didn’t name the village. If he didn’t know, he could pretend it wasn’t one his massacres.

  “Did you fight on the front?” she asked.

  “I have,” he said, staring into the darkness.

  “Why do they kill the people who do not fight? They are not happy to just kill soldiers. They do terrible things to women. Kill children. Why? I always have wanted to ask someone. As an officer of Laraytia, you are qualified to answer this?”

  Grae pushed through hickory branches and held them for the archer before he answered. “An army besieging a city can take appalling casualties. Between the defenders and disease, half the army can fall before the city is taken.”

  “But these are not cities,” she said. “Towns only. And villages. Small ones.”

  Grae nodded. “When an army besieges a city, the enemy needs to fear what will happen if that army enters its gates. The fear of our soldiers needs to be greater than the despair of losing their city. So that when the commander of the invading army talks to a city’s governor, he can guarantee the safety of the people inside. But only if the defenders open the gates. Only if they surrender. And if the garrison commanders love their families, they will think carefully on the offer.”

  “And this works?”

  “Not often,” said Grae. “Not often.” And he grew quiet.

  They walked silently for a time, passing Jjarnee Kruu on perimeter watch. Jjarnee gave a sloppy salute and Grae returned it, crisply. When they were past, Aramaesia spoke again.

  “I see you always appearing unhappy,” she said. “Why do you appear in this way?”

  “Probably because I am,” he replied.

  “You are unhappy? What is it that makes you so?”

  “Guilt,” he said. “Disappointment.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s the knowledge that no matter how hard you work, your dreams always seem just as far away.”

  “Perhaps,” she replied, “you follow the wrong dream.”

  “I wasn’t aware that there were correct and incorrect dreams.”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “This is well known. Each person has one dream they are meant to follow. If they do not follow it, then they are destined for unhappiness.”

  “Is that so?” said Grae. He looked at her face and couldn’t hold his dour mood.

  “It is,” she replied. “A powerful man following the wrong dream is dangerous.”

  “What of a woman?” he crossed his arms. “What if a woman follows the wrong dream?”

  “A woman is dangerous no matter what dream she follows,” she said. “That is what my father tells me.”

&
nbsp; Laughter snuck up on Grae like an assassin.

  “It is nice to hear you laugh.”

  “That?” said Grae, and he gave her a half-smile. “That wasn’t a laugh.”

  “It was!” she replied.

  “No,” he said. “That was a chuckle. Nothing at all like a laugh.”

  “Denials and denials!” she called.

  “Well, we Laraytians don’t smile every minute of the day,” he said. “Do all Gracidmarians smile as much as you?”

  “Only the ones who aren’t becoming old, crabby men,” she said. “We smile when we are happy. Is it not the same here?”

  “And you’re happy now?” he asked. “Pressed into military service in a foreign kingdom, on a quest that could well kill us all, sitting with a commander who smiles once a year?”

  “Maybe the situation amuses me,” she said.

  “What could possibly amuse you?” he asked.

  She bit her lip and glanced sideways at him. “You did try to speak Graci.”

  †††

  The warriors sat within the firelight and laughed and drank and spoke bravely of their coming deeds. Maribrae told a story about Anris the Tolerant, the long-dead king of Noxley, who united all three Galadane territories into what would become the Galadane Empire, of which Laraytia was a part. There was more singing and drinking, taunting and posturing throughout the night.

  A particle from the fire tumbled upward into the dark sky, swirling and rising toward the stars. Down below, under the rising ember, music and light and laughter mingled. But as the spark rose higher the squad grew smaller. Sounds faded, growing more and more muted, until the camp far below was nothing but a tiny, silent speck of light, a particle of its own. The darkness claimed the floating ember after a time, extinguishing the tiny speck. And down below, all around the ember of the camp, for miles and miles and miles, was nothing but the black abyss of Maug Maurai.

  †††

  All save the watchmen lay on their haypads, though no one found sleep quickly. There were noises. The chirp of crickets and the croak of frogs, the staccato of an owl in a tree, the rustlings of gray mice in the underbrush. What they did not hear was the sound that they dreaded most, and the anticipation of that sound kept most of them awake, kept their eyes open. Many of them, sometime during the night, conjured the sensation of glittering black claws pulling them from their pad. They envisioned teeth of such smoothness that your dying expressions were reflected in them. A mammoth black stinger, glistening with unknown venoms, hurling downward like the arm of a catapult.