Dear Muse (Those Whom the Gods Wish to Destroy Book 1)

by Shawn Mackey

  Meanwhile, I had a distressed classroom to deal with. To my surprise, the children seemed to comprehend the situation, at least on the surface. The bad man had to die, one of them said. I was spared the task of explaining the ludicrousness of justice; however, the method stirred their fascination. A bit too much. David’s excitement caused poor Phoebe to break into fresh tears.

  Hailey talked about the time she pricked her finger, and all the blood that came out, and how badly it hurt. How does it feel across your whole body? I assured her, she would never have to find out as long as she continued to behave. Did Finney go to heaven? What about Gwen? Why did Finney kill Gwen? Why did people think my father killed her? Why did the mayor speak so highly of my father if he tried to kill his wife? Why do their parents hate my father?

  I was savagely berated with questions. There was only one way to stop them. I simply told them to go home and walked away. If their parents wanted to know why I gifted them with such bundles of joy so early, they had my weak stomach to thank. The mayor and my uncle had words for me later, but I did not register a single one.

  The obnoxious stench has returned, with its tinge of sweetness, like the aroma of decay. Did they bother to bury the body? No doubt the howling wolves will keep me up, fighting over the maggot ridden limbs of Finney. And to think, tomorrow’s dinner is roasted pig on spittle. These rustic fools sure have a bizarre appetite.

  Entry 20

  Phoebe, still my favorite student, had more questions than usual today. Most of these concerned the island and its history. For violating our prime law, children are given severe beatings instead of executions, having no real understanding of the offense. The thrashing prevented public breakdowns, besides the occasional plea to return home, which clearly indicated their old country. My students have become so comfortable and candid, they come to me with questions, and I am always eager to provide an answer in most cases.

  Today was one of those exceptional cases. Phoebe asked if my father’s name was Charles or another that her parents mentioned in a conversation last night. I did not wish to curb the girl’s inquisitive nature, no matter how much she pressed the question, nor did I appreciate the carelessness of her parents, specifically her mother, who had unkind words for me, as well. I was influencing the town’s people with my charms in a bad way, according to her. Something about witchcraft and whatnot. The accusation was laughable, though her gossiping nature grates my nerves. The hen was already rubbing off on her poor daughter. Unless I intervene, she will grow to be a sour scandalmonger.

  These children will believe anything. I knew it from the start and made frequent sport of their ignorance. Why not take it to another level?

  I was from a magical land, an otherworld beneath the Earth. My father was a king, my mother a queen, and my uncle a regent. As a princess from the otherworld, I needed their solemn vow to keep my origin a secret; else the evil monsters will come to the island and kill everyone. This simple explanation was enough to keep them under my trance. They had never been so enthused. For a moment, I relaxed in the silence before continuing.

  The monsters stormed our castle and ate all our soldiers. Before they could attack the throne, we were whisked away by a wizard. In our exile, the monsters stole the castle and ruined the land. Without an army, we could never return.

  Phoebe wanted to know if the wizard was safe, Thomas wanted me to describe the castle, David asked about the monsters, and Hailey could not comprehend the prospect of another world, assuming I came from the sea no matter how many times I told her otherwise. People cannot breathe underwater. How can they breathe underground? My counter argument must have been directly from the muse. I quivered with inspiration.

  There is a whole world underground, with a sky and sun and moon and water, including a large lake named Lakustria. At its center is an island, and on that island is a cave. My family traveled through the catacombs to reach this island. Was that why everyone wanted to explore the forest? Precisely, I responded with a smile. Phoebe’s astuteness forever cemented her as my favorite.

  The island was a perfect parallel of ours, only inhabited by hungry monsters instead of people. Thomas was the one who got me on a roll, asking, who fights these monsters? If nobody was fighting them, they would have followed us through the cave. To answer his question, I warned, the whole history of my world would need to be divulged. Their attention fully focused, I was able to tell the story without interruption.

  The world known as Lakustria began as an egg held by the mouth of a giant snake, coiled deep within the bowels of the Earth, traversable through a dark fissure and into the snake’s second mouth. No mortal may pass through the two-headed serpent, whose insides are vast beyond the measure. Woe to the man who finds himself stranded in the belly of this behemoth.

  Two boundaries of earthen material divided the egg into three portions, the top full of frozen liquid, the middle full of turbulent air, and the bottom full of everlasting fire. After being continuously singed by the flame, the lower boundary began to heat up and soften the earthen material. The air eroded the surface, dispersing the dust and heating the ground even further. It caused the dust to intermittently ignite into tiny balls of fire. The smoke accumulated into a large cloud and, carried by the dusty air, clung to the top boundary. The warmth caused the colder earthen mass to sweat cool liquid beads. These droplets rained onto the ground, gradually forming into small bodies of water. They eventually evaporated because of the fire below, leaving behind residue of the top boundary. The bottom boundary grew thicker from the additional material of its opposite.

  The warm smoke continued to cling to the top boundary as the air collected more dust from below, creating a firestorm. The conflagration caused the muddy soil to copiously drip, softening the top layer into loose mud. The entire ceiling, unable to hold the icy liquid, collapsed and passed through the firestorm, extinguishing it and further defrosting the water. The steamy mixture smashed into the ground. The titanic waves and violent winds formed a calamitous tempest, isolating the giant cloud of smoke in the former location of the top portion.

  The water finally stilled to a steady tide with chunks of the mud floating on the surface. Many of these clung together and solidified into large masses of land. When they dried out, the air once again collected dust from their surfaces and carried the particles to the above smoke cloud. As the land masses were brought together to form a cohesive continent, the dust storm continued to feed the smoke, while also forming a cyclone in the middle. The winds formed the particles into a solid ball, hoisted into the black cloud and igniting a spherical inferno. The cyclone carrying this ball of flame separated from the air, which collected more dust to feed the fire. This process cleared away the smoke, until the ball burned out, causing the black cloud to condense again. It eventually burned the charred ball, feeding the cyclone and continuing the cycle.

  While the air fed dust to the fire, it aided the tide in beating against the land mass, soaking the rocky cliffs. The constant friction caused pieces to break off and float. The smaller rocks were broken by the tide, as well as their smaller counterparts, until the tiniest bits are pulverized into dust. This dust mingled with the water and solidified, leaving a layer of mud on the surface. This mud couldn’t solidify due to the tide, and instead thinned and spread out into a filmy crust. The crust was carried by the tide, where it is tossed onto the larger masses of rock, and gradually dried into dirt.

  The dirt, like the water, was pushed by the perpetual burning storm above, yet unable to join with the floating mote of dust because it was too heavy to rise. The dirt swirled around, forming tiny clods that smashed into each other, reformed, smashed, and reformed. Through countless destructions and creations, the dirt became looser and looser. It also ceased to push the tide, yet residual dirt was still tossed back onto rocks and reformed.

  The cycle calmed, then ceased altogether. The firestorm above continued to stir, while the middle layer was utterly still. The earth layer below the water vib
rated, either as a result of the clashing clods of dirt above or somehow accommodating its absence, and shook the lowermost portion of the spherical dome. This rattled the fire as well, heating up the earth and boiling the waters. The lower layer liquefied and mingled with the water, extinguishing the lowermost fire. This boiling mixture bubbled. With the popping of each massive bubble, molten residue was cast onto the rocks. Since the middle portion of the spherical dome was lowered, dust took longer to fuel the firestorm, which made the cycles of smoke and air much longer, reaching two perfectly balanced periods of night and day.

  The waters ceased bubbling, and once again the tide beat against the rocks, where the liquid earth formed on the shores and solidified into molten ooze. This ooze dripped along the land and collected the residue from the burst bubbles. Once it accumulated every last drop, it loosened into a watery substance and absorbed by the rocks, leaving the impression of a muddy lake. As the surrounding dust was swept up by the air, the mud started to slowly swirl. The tide beat against the rocks, causing the mud to swirl in the opposite direction, once again renewing the cycle of destruction and reformation. As the waters finished cooling, the tide weakened, and the lack of force created less dust for the fiery mote. The mud continued to barrage itself, relying totally on its own force.

  The clumps took a uniform shape as the beating becomes less sporadic. They collided less and less, yet their motion continued. The clumps moved around individually, sometimes swirling around in sync, sometimes swirling around and smashing into each other. When the clumps of mud formed identically, the autonomous motion ceased, and each individual clod moved on its own accord. They scattered in tiny groups around the giant landmass, mingling, yet too solid to combine into a singular whole. This confusion lasted until the clumps distinguished each other from different features. These were split into two distinct groups, though no individual impeccably resembled another.

  They came to be known as Kay and Kel. The small groups, an equal mix of both type, congregated around the dry lake’s remnants. Whenever these groups came into contact, they engaged in combat. The Kel fought Kel, while the Kay birthed more between battles. Death was initially impossible, since Kel bodies could endure the strikes of other Kel. As countless time passed, many grew weaker, while others managed to retain their strength. These were valued above all others and were given leadership among their groups, which came to be known as clans.

  Over time, the leaders made themselves distinct from their subordinates, and even more so from the other leaders, whose subordinates resembled their masters more than the subordinates of other clans. The greatest fighters lacked speech, while the lesser fighters communicated verbally, mocking their enemies and praising their leader. As a result, the clans shared a universal language.

  Names were given to those who lacked speech. This consisted of the chiefs and a few of their top fighters. When the better fighters died in battle, the lesser adopted their names. The names of the chiefs were considered sacred, since their battle prowess surpassed the others by a considerable degree. The lesser revered their superiors, lashing their envy onto the other chieftains, always considered inferiors to their own. This sort of boasting occurred frequently during the mating periods, when the Kel would replenish their number with the Kay.

  The Kay were given unique names. If one were to birth another Kay, the elder would be killed and the name passed to their offspring. Since the Kay did not participate in battle, their numbers needed to be culled; else the population would grow to an enormous number, thinning out the bloodline and producing inferior warriors. Births took place a day after conception and full growth another day. The average Kel lifespan was short due to perpetual warfare. Each new generation brought its own defects, giving the older a priority in choosing mates. This prolonged the species inevitable degradation, though still leaving a substantial gap between the newborn and the clan leaders.

  The clans were narrowed down to six and reached a long stalemate, leading to a massive increase in numbers, resulting in unceasing skirmishes. A routing clan would find another at their rear, while a victorious clan would discover an attacking clan at both flanks. This meant an all-out war with wholesale slaughter as the sole condition.

  There was no communication between clan members during this demoralizing period. If not for the Kay, even names would have been forgotten. They were not wholly excluded from combat; enemies occasionally seized or killed the opposing Kay without resistance. They continued to flourish, despite the continued efforts to keep their numbers at a manageable rate. Neither Kel nor Kay could abstain from their wanton desire to reproduce. The weaker fled from battle to find a mate with no regard for war. It was as though they were sabotaging the species’ future to satisfy their lusts for innumerable offspring.

  Drastic measures were taken. No one knows who made the decree to butcher the Kay. Each clan simultaneously executed a holocaust, preceded by an unspoken peace to dig a pit to pile the severed limbs. If not for this deep hole, located in the lake in which they were originally sprung, the accumulated blood would have drowned the entire continent. To prevent it from overflowing, one of the clans sent their subordinates to dig out a river to empty into the nearest sea. The corpses decayed into a watery substance, filling out the trenches. Vegetation sprung wildly from this surrounding area. It provided an excellent location for neutral ground.

  Ten Kay were designated to each of the six clans. The recent massacre sent many of the elder Kel into an unrestrained rampage, and the younger speculated the incoming supremacy of their leaders. Before speaking of the next event, it is best to describe the clans in more detail, for it is through these different components that allowed one to achieve victory.

  Karkrak earned the greatest renown for killing the oldest Kel, a seemingly impossible feat due to the vast difference in strength between generations. Extraordinarily limber and of tall stature, he wrestled his opponent to the ground and clamped both arms around his neck. No amount of tossing and turning could throw Karkrak off his back. After a long struggle, a loud crack echoed through the battlefield, putting a temporary halt to all fighting. Every Kel watched in awe as Karkrak twisted his adversary’s head in a complete circle, crushing all of the bones within and tightening the flesh. He gnawed threw muscle and sinew like a crazed rodent, then yanked the entire head from its shoulders with one pull, hoisting his trophy high as jets of blood soaked his grinning maw. He still hung the head on a pike, its countenance frozen in agony serving as a suitable war banner. Many flocked to his side upon learning of this event, perceiving the victory due to Karkrak’s unique strength rather than the inevitable decline in the Kel’s biological functions after exerting massive amounts of energy in a lifetime of unending combat. Death by natural causes was an alien concept to a race engaged in perpetual warfare.

  Gar was known for his silent ferocity. This may seem like a frivolous trait in a state of constant battle. As language progressed in the tribes, Gar’s was the sole exception. His men painted themselves with the blood of their fallen comrades, using such copious amounts that it melded into their skin. Their muteness, coupled with demonic designs smeared across their bodies, lowered morale in even the rival chiefs. They attempted to imitate Gar’s tactics, but their warriors had already adapted to using speech in combat. Their war paint lacked the power of Gar’s symbols. His bestial nature expressed itself in the minutest gestures, impossible to mimic and defying comprehension.

  Floon was known for prudence. His men were the slowest into battle, but the most prepared. They adapted quickly to their opponents’ formation and were quick to counter with a variety of stratagems. The majority of these consist in attack from different directions, even from below, for he was exceptional when it came to launching subterranean ambushes. Floon was notorious for stabbing his foes in the back, even when they were facing eye-to-eye. He was the most agile by a large margin, striking with swift and expert precision. Never struck in battle and capable of stacking ambushes on ambushes, Floo
n was the most despised among the Kel, though not without respect.

  Ennok was known for his endurance. By inflicting wounds on their flesh, his kin tempered themselves physically and mentally. They slept on beds of pointed spears and used thorn brush as pillows. Upon awakening, they bathed in flame until their flesh hardened like charcoal and colored a dark pitch. While many of the tribesmen perished during this cleansing, Ennok and many of his kin acquired impenetrable skin and tremendous strength. An unfortunate victim, bringing Ennok’s share of loot, awoke his leader from a meditative state and suffered a fist through the abdomen, a reflexive motion rather than agitated strike. He apologized to the dead by forfeiting all loot to his devoted disciples from that point onward.

  Narg was known for his plunder. War trophies were not exclusive to this tribe, though it was the most avaricious by a large degree. Whether a necklace of bone or a finely crafted weapon, Narg took pride in loot. Each piece was a symbol of victory, an accumulation of glory. A warrior’s greatness is measured by his possessions obtained through combat, and each piece had its own story. Narg’s treasure was carried in long caravan, which he led at the head, adorned with his rivals’ former prized possessions. These carts were carried on the shoulders of his subordinates. The labor was considered an exercise in body and humility. Attempts to pilfer the hoard could not dent his vast riches, for he had accumulated in a single vessel more than all the clans combined.

  Lug was known for his engineering. His camps were built of stone instead of sticks, and the surrounding area was littered with various traps. A strong defense left little room for ambush, and ample time for planning. The clan was more stationary than the others, less territorial, and the least hostile. The lack of aggression was supplemented by the ability to take advantage of their terrain to the greatest extent. The primary purpose of raiding was to acquire stronger material to fortify their towers. He was the first to temper steel and create armored plates strong enough to deflect iron-tipped projectiles and, eventually, a steel fortress.