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

by Shawn Mackey

  My heart fluttered when my eyes met the croquet mallet leaned against the closet door. I hated the game, playing once with my uncle just to please him, and had considered using it for kindle on many occasions. I grabbed the handle, satisfied by the weight. Something a bit more solid, any sort of metal, would have been preferable. If a blow to the head did not split it in two, it would certainly stun my abductor.

  Lefnir was boiling water in a pan with his back toward me. I crept up behind him, holding my breath, mallet ready to strike. As I swung, aiming for the side of his head, he turned around. The mallet bashed him in the cheek, hurdling his body to the floor. The force broke my weapon in two, which would have meant my doom if the goblin had not bolted out the door, screaming about the treachery. I grabbed the pan and dashed to the door, tossing the boiling water at Lefnir. It missed, as did the pan.

  I chased the wretch with my broken stick. The blow to his head had knocked the mask away, revealing his grotesque face, ugly as sin but less alien than I had previously imagined. He darted to and fro, commanding his brethren to attack the traitors. Only a few sprang to action, either too caught up in the revelry or complacent in their laziness. I caught up to Lefnir, who immediately dropped to his knees and begged for mercy. In hindsight, his plea may have been a lame attempt at trickery, unless he truly feared me for some unknown reason. I did not hesitate to plunge the splintered stick into his throat.

  Black blood burst from his mouth and the wound. Lefnir clutched at his punctured throat, gouts of that oily liquid drenching his hands and wrist. He fell to his side, and in the height of my fury, I proceeded to bash his skull into paste. First with the stick, then with my heel. Everyone witnessed this, and though none stopped me, Lefnir’s last order was made clear. Reveler attacked reveler.

  The third blow, which finally broke my weapon, had been enough to finish off Lefnir. I caught a clear glimpse of his mutilated countenance before breaking it like a rotten pumpkin. I thought it strange at the time, and after this whole ordeal ended, found myself utterly consumed by it. His eyes had popped, his teeth had been knocked from their gums, and his brow caved in to the brains. What lay underneath these broken features? Blue eyes, flat teeth, and gray matter. As I mentioned, it was only a glimpse, enough to burn the image into my brain but not enough for a thorough investigation. Now I am stuck with an ugly question, and the implications will haunt me forever. Was he wearing a second mask? Was Lefnir once some sort of human?

  The slaughter ended with an earthquake and thunderbolt. We watched the face in the sky with the same awe as last time, while the island spawn fled in terror, their numbers already drastically reduced. All around us were corpses, human and inhuman. Among them were the doctor and Gerald. By some miracle, or perhaps a divine stroke of luck, my uncle had survived. If I had not seen him during the monstrous exodus, I may have followed them back to their home world. Without him, I have nothing left here.

  Besides you, but that matters little. We could always have these chats on the other side. Our love is bound to nowhere.

  Forgive me for waiting so long to return. It has been a grueling week, picking up the remnants of our humble village. Barely a dozen are left, Fiona and I the only women. Out of that massive holocaust, she managed to save two lives. Her medical skills are not as meager as she claims.

  I seem to have gotten my wish. Since finishing the makeshift shelter, all efforts have been placed on building a ship. With the monsters and other oddities gone, the curse keeping us here appears to have lifted. Leaving is an option, one I will explore in the next entry. I am too tired to make such an important decision. Good night, my beloved.

  Entry 55

  The time has come to weigh my opportunities on the scales of fate, for the wrong choice will lead to a life of regret. In truth, I do not know if there is a right choice. I suppose that will be made clear in hindsight. Either I spend the rest of my days on this island alone or I set sail with the others. Their destination is currently unknown to them, the general consensus being anywhere but our homeland or this island. Superstition is warranted after recent events. I just cannot fathom how they believe these outer forces are suddenly working in their favor. They discovered an apple tree and think the curse has been lifted because the fruits are withered. According to my uncle, they found it around the same location Aiden and I saw the webbed trees. I have no doubt this is just a coincidence.

  I am almost certain I will stay. Ignore my earlier entries about destroying the exotic creatures, even with the evil they wrought. Those words were scribbled in fear, while I have the luxury of a cool mind. There is a land parallel to our own, the land where I truly belong, not among Lefnir and his monstrous kin, but the kingdom of Yod. In that world, I would be queen.

  I returned to the cave last night in the hope of finding a trace of our attackers. The entrances were sealed by more rubble than a man or machine could remove in a lifetime. My sole chance to leave this wretched world has passed. To have been given the chance is more regrettable than never having, which is less preferred to never knowing. When life has finally lost its luster, it’s worth risking to escape the mundane. No amount of exotic traveling will match Lakustria.

  Which brings me to the second choice, the safest and most logical. Plenty of countries would welcome foreigners. My uncle is nowhere near as infamous as my father. A new haircut and a beard will suffice as a disguise. It would please him to spend his final days in my company. After the loss of Aiden, I am not so eager to settle down with another man. I would rather travel the world as a pauper. Existence will be a day-to-day struggle, but such is our lot. In time, I may find a home.

  I will rot with either choice. I am a lady, not a childbearing sow or a jaded floozy. Why am I forced between these two miserable paths? My only hope lay in another world. I should be grateful for having proof of such a world, though a tangible angel gracing my eyes does not guarantee a safe passage to heaven. I need to retain a healthy dose of skepticism.

  I have roughly two weeks to make a decision. If I stay on the island, I will open the cavern entrance with my bare hands, even if it takes a lifetime. If I am bound for sea, I want to travel to South America to visit the cannibal tribes. They sound exquisitely savage, certain to appreciate my beauty more than any city folk. I will not settle for anything less than the title of queen.

  Do not worry, for no matter the destination, you and I will never part. Though my ink runs short, I will find other means of communication, even in my blood if need be.

  Entry 56

  Did you miss me? I slept well last night and will make up for our brief correspondence in spades.

  I have a few words for Aiden and my mother. Enough time has passed since their deaths to allow their absence to sink. Judging by my previous entry, it feels as though I casually brushed their fates aside. There is certainly truth in this observation. That disaster made me a widow, yet I pull weeds and water seeds like a happy farm girl. Should I be punished for my callous lack of pity for my mother? Is my mind sick for not longing Aiden’s warm touch? I botched up his son’s birth. I at least owe him genuine yearning and tears.

  I have lived on this island for nearly three years, and have lived elsewhere for seventeen. Those are seventeen years without the man I married, a mere pittance compared to our time together. We were close for perhaps a year at most. I will not say we married out of necessity, for I truly loved Aiden, but I would be lying if I confessed to marrying him without necessity. The child was a mistake, no doubt. Better it was not born into this world and nurtured by a wicked witch. Yes, I am glad such a sour event turned out sweet.

  Perhaps I have spent too much time with my family to care for anyone else. I never went to school with children my own age. I cannot recall desiring the company of my peers. Janice was a first, and Aiden the second. Is Kantos considered a third? He was more of a staggering old man with a child’s heart. I suppose we can round him out to some middle ground to suit our purpose.

  That makes three fr
iends I cannot bring myself to mourn. If I could muster a single tear, I would consider it a worthy tribute to their companionship. They taught me three valuable morals.

  Through Janice, I learned compassion through humble resignation and selfless conduct. During my first days in this town, she made it an obligation to befriend me, not because she lacked friends, but she would not allow me to stand alone. Her stubborn efforts to drag me to community events were severely annoying at the time, but missed dearly in retrospect. Janice wanted nothing more than to raise a child. If she had not turned into a barn animal, there is no doubt she would have birthed several, all of which would never lack a healthy amount of love and affection. Not as a little girl cradling a doll, but as a model of virtue and kindness.

  Through Aiden, I learned strength through magnanimity. A powerful will is nothing compared to the will to provide. Bred under the same circumstances, a man fighting for his family would rend a man fighting for wealth. Righteous action is a sketchy concept in most cases, but nature has certainly proved a father’s indignation trumps a warrior’s bloodlust. Not even a divine law could soothe the thirst for vengeance for one’s kin. To temper the source of such a wrath into something peaceable is the greatest virtue. Aiden did anything to protect me, and I do not use the word anything in hyperbole. He was the town’s most productive worker, and these daily labors were completed exceptionally because he had me. He was the perfect husband. I will never remarry in order to honor him to the fullest.

  Through Kantos, I learned nothing of real value. He played a pretty song and relieved me of a burden. If he was not a two-legged beast, I suppose he would garner an ounce of pity. It is quite a feat to cross such a distance. I can praise his skillful flute playing and endurance at least. My life would be different without him, most likely worse. I owe him thanks and wish we had more time together. I can hear the faint murmurings of his song at the cave mouth, though I am sure it is my muddled mind. I may one day learn more of Kantos and his brother.

  I should probably elaborate more on the latter. Lefnir pervades all things. My sight, my breath, my hearing, and most troublesome of all, my thoughts. It is substantial proof of madness to believe your thoughts communicated externally. It is even more absurd to support such a postulation with mundane occurrences. I feel an exasperated breath in each breeze, a subterranean war of titans in the tiniest vibrations beneath my feet, and a faint echo of unconscious thoughts in a bird’s song. When a strong gust of wind tosses the tall grass forward, I see the rapid charge of hungry beast, while my mind assures it is only the wind. The voice, one that sounds exactly like my conscience, tells me that I am thinking lies. I have yet to be pounced on by a hungry beast, so until I am devoured by one, I will ignore my new conscience. It is more suited to a neurotic hag.

  Yet I cannot deny its presence. To feel a breeze and be able to say: “This is a breeze,” is definite proof of sanity. A nagging belief that it is a monster’s breath has no need to be refuted, for it is ridiculous to even a child. I harbor such a belief, as a maladjusted old woman thinks she has this disease or the other because of a cough. Her mind assures her she is well, yet her heart tells her death is near. Thus, she makes ostensible display of these aches and pains.

  What purpose do these beliefs serve? To collapse my overactive mind, I am sure. Like all diseases, it seeks to weed out all things unnecessary to create a proper breeding environment. It only real function is propagation. I will begin to shed other functions, for they will hinder the germ’s essential processes. What am I to become? I refuse to even speculate. Does the newborn know it will grow into a man? Ask one, and as you attempt to decipher its language, know that it will be no different than my future self speaking to the present.

  And my mind says, be afraid Sophia, while my conscience laughs and says you will not be alone. I do not want to change! I am young, beautiful, and spirited. I love my family and myself even more. I want to remain confident and vain, even as my flesh wrinkles and my voice goes hoarse. Here I am, a gibbering, tearful, wretched girl.

  There lies another lesson from Kantos: stray from the flock and find yourself in forbidden territory. I cannot call a foreign land my home, even amongst my kin. We can never return home, and in our exile, we will be eternal guests for wherever fate brings us.

  Which brings me back to my mother, the woman who gave her eye to protect my virtue, and her life for mine. Christ pales in comparison to this angel bound by human flesh. Words will not suffice in her eulogy. I simply say this: her life was indisputable proof of an absolute good and a perfect model of female purity. A saint in all but title.

  You are an excellent listener, but I am afraid you offer little in regards to advice.

  Entry 57

  Once again, I am chained to my bedpost, accused of the same crime. This time, it is no mere speculation stemmed from outlandish evidence. It was committed in front of an audience.

  Shortly after my last entry, I left to meet my uncle in the woods. I made my way to the edge of town and found a large crowd congregated around a single person, who I soon recognized as my uncle. The high-pitched wailing of an infant rose far above the mob’s collective chatter. I gritted my teeth as one of the people made eye contact with me, prompting him to shout my name and alarm the rest. They all turned in abrupt silence, leaving only the baby’s wretched howling grating on my last nerve.

  It is a miracle, some said. She left her to die, others said. Look at her scowl, one said. I knew she was a witch, another said.

  The crowd parted as I stormed to the center. My uncle passed me the baby with a grave expression. I took hold of the infant, cradling it as I did with my dolly as a child. I recollected the doll’s face, vacant eyes and a dead smile, and recalled it as much more pleasing than the wretched creature in my arms. Those terrible crystal blue eyes, identical to the pupils hidden under that wretched goblin’s disguise. Its furrowed brow, like that of a lecherous old man, toothless pink gums that turned my stomach, chubby cheeks I wished to pinch till they turned purple and burst, tiny hands that audaciously slapped my chin, and worst of all, little legs which seemed more like handles fashioned as a mutated parody of actual legs.

  Did they not hear its unnatural screams? This child would not be satisfied with the breast of a woman, nor any animal of this world. It had been nursed by a monster as a cruel jest at my expense. One might pity it, for it did not belong from this world or the other.

  I clasped an ankle in each hand and raised it above my head. The wailing changed to a different pitch, one that signified genuine distress and not infantile bemoaning. It cut short in a single stroke, splattering a surprising amount of blood on my dress and my uncle’s boots. I tossed the remains over the crowd just as two men tackled me to the ground. A strong hand pinned my head to the ground as dozens of blows thrashed my entire body. I felt the corpse thud somewhere behind them.

  Cooler minds prevailed this time around. I was to be executed in an elaborate fashion. A few recommended an old-fashioned burning. Some wanted a drowning. One suggested each man have their turn with me. Another agreed wholeheartedly.

  I did this for you, dear friend. We both know my crime was not an infanticide, not even a case of murder. Should one be charged for squashing an ant? Insects count less than the creature I snuffed. My every instinct had screamed for this action, and I know that I am now more attuned to you than the townspeople. I think it is not a matter of right or wrong action on my part, rather a matter of gross accusation by fragile minds.

  I shall put my hunch to the test. You have the power to change the winds. Am I correct? I offer my friendship, by means of direct conversation. Bring a reckoning onto the people of this island and I will traverse the cave. If I die in the attempt, consider it in your honor. If I am executed, neither party gains anything.

  I know you are capable of saving me from an undeserved fate, and I fully understand your dilemma. I speak the following as a representative of my species, and if you truly value my words, heed this: My
love for your kind outweighs the lives of these people. I will walk the cave until my heart ceases to beat or I reach the shores of Lakustria.

  If I have done anything to displease you, I plead for a sign before my death. I can withstand their torment in exchange of an acknowledgment, whether it is praise or condemnation. Use whatever method you see fit, for I am familiar with your judgments.

  And do not see my pleas as mad desperation. I would have lived content on the other end of your domain. I mean to cross realms as a means of communicating my love, so that you may feel rather than witness my pain, not out of spite, but as a genuine transmission of sensation.

  Most of all, know that I would not forsake you as I plead for the death of my former family. I count them as kin in a worldly sense, which I do not take lightly. This means I do not cross for strictly my own sake. If I live to tread upon your domain in a bodily fashion, we will breach the unbreachable and free ourselves of this silly game of coy correspondence. We shall embrace and become something more than friends by mere label of friendship.

  Please, if you have ever considered the prospect of my proposition, the time is right to act. Purge this island of my enemies and win yourself a debt that can never be repaid, for it will bind both our kinds through a communication more potent than mere divination. Take the initiative and change our futures for the better.

  I will give my left thumb to show that I do not take this lightly. If you deny my request because I did not choose the right thumb, then you are stingy and I do not wish to be friends. I will sign my name with the severed digit, so that whoever comes across these pages will know that I am Sophia, traitor to the human race.

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