The Way of the Black Beast

by Stuart Jaffe

  When Malja left the room, more confused than when she had arrived, Willie grabbed hold of her. She didn't resist. She wanted to go this time. Without a word, he guided her into the fields.

  Robert and Lonnie were less agitated this time, and all three escorted her to the magic wall that camouflaged their cave. The two men guarding the way smiled and gave Malja a casual salute before starting up a new song. Once inside, they sat her down and Lonnie rushed off to fetch Old McKinley.

  The old man started with her legs this time. He inched close to her, sniffing her thighs through his mucous-filled nose. As he worked toward her face, his white stubble poked at her neck. He leaned back, his head at an awkward angle, spittle dancing on his lips, and whispered to Willie.

  "You're lucky you didn't make that pledge," Willie said. "If you'd been lying, the magic in her machine would have fried you up in seconds. And if you really meant your pledge, the magic would have enslaved you to her will."

  Malja laughed. "Right. Sure. You guys aren't very good at conning people. I mean of course I'll believe in fire magic. Everybody knows magic is based on the elements. And while you're fake wall trick is arguable, I'm sure many would reason it out for themselves — but sniffing me and suddenly knowing what happened and then throwing in magic that can enslave people. Nobody's going to believe that."

  Willie didn't change his attitude at all. "There's far more magic in the world than you'll ever know." Malja thought of how Tommy had made her talk so bluntly. "If you give Cole what she wants, you'll see some of the worst."

  "Then you tell me what I want to know."

  "And what is that?"

  "Cole knows where Jarik and Callib are. Finding them is why I came here. That's all I want."

  Old McKinley coughed hard. As he hacked away, Lonnie rubbed his back and looked at Willie with a hopeless expression.

  Willie rested a hand on Old McKinley's shoulder when the coughing fit ended. He turned back to Malja. "I can't tell you where to find the magicians."

  "But you do know. Until now, you've been Cole's second-in-command. From what I've seen, you still are in many ways. It's not possible that she would hide that bit of information from you. So you choose not help me."

  "It's not that simple."

  "Then I guess I'll go see Cole."

  "You can't go to any of them. You don't understand what they're trying to do. Cole, Jarik, Callib — they've all gone too far."

  "Then tell me."

  "How can I tell you of powerful magic when you don't even believe in the smaller stuff?"

  Old McKinley groaned and raised a hand to Willie. After some whispering Willie nodded to Lonnie, who wheeled the old man away, but not before Old McKinley pointed a shaking finger at Malja. He almost spoke but started coughing, and Lonnie rushed him out before it could become another full-on fit.

  Willie consulted Robert next. Robert didn't like what he heard but relented under Willie's stern eye. He dug into his coat and produced a vial of yellowish-green liquid. Willie took the vial and handed it to Malja.

  "Tomorrow night," he said, "when Suzu comes for you, drink this. It only lasts a short time but it'll deaden many of your readings so Cole's machine will fail. The machine will say you speak the truth but its magic will be blocked."

  Malja examined the sickly liquid. "Why would I trust you? This could be poisoned."

  "Old McKinley said you'd take it. He said you're a great warrior and once you've thought through the strategies involved, you'll see we have no better alternative except to kill you. But we don't want to kill you. It would keep you out of Cole's hands and Jarik and Callib's, but then there'd be nobody bold enough to fight them."

  "Do you always speak so vaguely?"

  "Just drink it tomorrow. Cole will think she has control over you. She'll tell you everything and show you more. You'll see then. You'll understand. Then I expect you'll very much want to kill her."

  * * * *

  She spent the night alone. Fawbry had not been brought back. The idea that he might be dead weighed her down in between thoughts of magical machines, crazed old magicians, and strange liquids. Only her goal kept this bizarre place in perspective.

  Listening to Shotgun snore while he should be guarding her only reinforced her will. She could have busted free many times, but that would send her back to the beginning — and Fawbry would be right about her creating a mess. Stuck in the middle of two power-hungry factions had brought her no closer to answers. Of course she would drink the liquid to gain Cole's trust. The real question was simply how much information could she get before blood had to be spilled.

  Tommy flashed in her mind but she pushed him away. She knew what she had to do. It had to be kept that simple.

  Chapter 16

  Stuck in the stall throughout the day, Malja had nothing to do but rest, sit, and listen. She heard a lot of activity, more so than any previous day. They were preparing for something special. She heard Rev and Willie walking by outside. They were engrossed in a debate over which animals could be slaughtered for the party without damaging the needs of the farm. She heard plenty of guitars being tuned and plenty of joyful voices building in excitement as the day wore on.

  But she couldn't be distracted by these sounds all day. At some points, her mind would wander. Inevitably, she would see and think of those she had killed. And she thought of the Black Beast.

  She had not told Fawbry everything. She had spoken of Gregor's warnings and her rage-filled vows and all that one would say to dissuade another from the Beast. But the truth she withheld could not be hidden from herself — the Beast satisfied a part of her soul. Every step closer to her prey felt good inside like a brief intoxication. She would never turn away from it. The purity of her hatred promised an equal ecstasy when the bastard magicians fell. The Black Beast may be all that Gregor had warned, but it gave her so much, too. It gave her a purpose, a reason to live.

  That was something Jarik and Callib had taken away. They denied her any chance to discover who she wanted to be. They molded her as they desired. But they didn't expect her to be so strong willed. She learned what she wanted and shunned the rest — but only of what they made available.

  It all sounded good in her head, full of righteous bluster and woe-is-me anger. But underneath all that lay two stones of truth embedded in her bones. The first told her she could never get her fathers to see her as anything more than their failure. That's why they got rid of her.

  The second stone reminded her of the coldest truth — she had been free from them since age ten. They wanted nothing to do with her and had no control over her actions. At some point, she had to stop blaming them and accept that all her actions are her own. But the Black Beast always answered that one with its raspy growl — when they're dead.

  * * * *

  That night, when Suzu arrived, he acted differently. He spoke with greater care and even added a polite "Yes, ma'am" and "No, ma'am" when answering her. He fumbled with the locks and walked with a stiff back that pushed his belly out even further.

  "Wait," Malja said, clenching her legs together. "Before we go anywhere, may I ... you know?"

  Suzu's cheeks reddened. "Of course, ma'am. I-I'll turn around, but don't try nothing. There's lots of people out tonight. You wouldn't get far. And I'd hate to see you get hurt."

  "Thank you," Malja said. Once Suzu had his back to her, Malja downed the bitter liquid in the vial Willie had provided. Hoping the metallic taste wouldn't coat her throat long, she squeezed out what little pee she had so Suzu would hear. "All done," she said, and with a warm smile, added, "You're a real sweetheart."

  Suzu giggled. "Follow me, ma'am. I'll get you there safe."

  They walked up to the house, the party sounds loud but not as raucous as before. Suzu's demeanor returned to his earlier formalness. Those mulling around the grounds whispered and exchanged darting glances. Whatever Cole had planned for tonight, it seemed everyone knew.

  By the time they reached the office, Malja's body
had become numb. The potion had begun to take hold. She still retained control; she just didn't feel anything as if all her nerve-endings had been frozen in a Korstraprime ice storm. Cole entered the room, showing no sign that Malja appeared any different.

  "Well, my dear Malja, normally I'd be a better host, but the party's waiting on you," she said, dressed in a black gown with a white sash — ready for a party, indeed. "Let's just get the unpleasantness over with. Then we can go join the fun downstairs. That is, if you're ready to pledge to me."

  "If it means I'll find Jarik and Callib, I am."

  Cole beamed. "Well, bless your heart, that's simply wonderful." She wasted no time getting her machine. She pulled one of its crabbish arms outward and said, "You just hold onto this and speak the truth."

  Gregor taught her about bravery and heroics once. It had been a summer morning and he cooked up talma root and tomatoes for breakfast. He said that true heroes act without self-regard in battle because they have controlled their fear. "See, sweetie, if you worry about getting hurt or dying, you'll be too cautious and too slow. The brave accept death, and therefore are free. After all, if failure means death, then you'll never live to regret failure. So, heroes charge in, knowing that if they live, they will win the prize, and if they die — then nothing. They rest."

  Without pause, Malja grabbed the metal arm. "Cole Watts, I pledge myself to your service."

  Cole concentrated on the machine, but she made no reaction. Malja's hands tingled. "Try again," Cole said.

  Malja cleared her throat and repeated, "Cole Watts, I pledge myself to your service."

  Cole frowned, and Malja's hands tingled more. Her feet began to tingle as well. The potion was wearing off. It had to be. And while she knew in her heart that Gregor's words on heroism were true, the idea of dying in Cole's office instead of in battle turned her stomach.

  "Thank you," Cole said in a monotone that gave away nothing. She packed up the machine and left it on the small table. Lifting her eyebrows and spreading her hands open, she said, "As promised, I will tell you where the magicians hide. You'll find Jarik and Callib in the City of Ashes."

  City of Ashes — a massive cemetery of a city covering endless miles of the western mountains. Remote, difficult terrain, and inconvenient as a place from which to command. If Cole spoke the truth, they really picked the last place Malja would have ever looked. "You can be a little more specific. That city is enormous. I can't even be sure you're telling the truth. In fact, why don't you grab your machine and prove your honesty."

  "Now, now. Patience. Once we're ready I'll walk you right up to them."

  "I don't trust you."

  "You don't have to. Just know that those brothers have hurt many people besides you. Some of us are willing to go far in order to see them pay." As Cole spoke, her eyes darkened. "I have no interest in betraying you. If I'm to harm Jarik and Callib, I need you."

  "Then what are we waiting for?"

  "First, we have to stop the Willie fracas. Once this group is united, we'll have our army. Then I'll show you the exact location of those nasty magicians' hideaway."

  Malja sat back with a disapproving sigh. "You people think magic can do anything. It's not like that."

  "Oh, but it is," Cole said, her eyes firing up as she rose. "Before the Devastation, magic was used like most people think. Government and law kept it limited to the simple elements. They feared its power, so they controlled its users. After a few generations, magicians were born into thinking that's all they could do. But the Devastation came and wiped away the rules — no governments, no laws. Before, with billions of people, anarchy would have been madness. But with only a few scattered millions, anarchy is freedom. And that kind of freedom means nobody can stop a magician from reaching the fullest potential."

  She walked into the dark hall. She turned, revealing her lovely profile, and said, "Come along now. Let me show you what I'm talking about."

  Malja launched to her feet and rushed down the hall. Cole waited at another door. Colored lights seeped through its edges. Sorrowful, mourning music drifted in with the light.

  With a suggestive roll of her shoulder, Cole opened the door. A vast hall spread out before them as if the house had been gutted of all its little rooms. A balcony wrapped around the hall, and Malja saw a stage at the far end below. Two guitarists and a drummer played a slow but powerful tune while a man who rivaled Suzu in size belted out the words. Like a Kryssta congregation at worship, the packed audience swayed and called and cried. They were a mix of humans, griffles, raggers, and cholohs — others, too that Malja had never laid eyes on before. She didn't know what to make of Cole's sympathetic vibrations, but she could see the magical way this music moved its people.

  "It's called the Blues," Cole said.

  "I should've guessed. They are the Bluesmen, after all."

  "Watch now, dear. You're going to see something amazing."

  They went down a flight of stairs ending on a landing overlooking the stage. The music stopped. The crowd stilled. All eyes turned to Cole.

  Four wide flags unfurled from the ceiling. Each pale-brown one dropped down about seven feet and flowed as if a gentle breeze cascaded from above. Malja first thought of magic, but then realized these were not flags at all. They were living creatures.

  On an unspoken cue, Willie entered from the back carrying a guitar quite different from any Malja had ever seen. Rather than a deep body made of light-colored wood, Willie's guitar appeared to be a shallow, solid chunk painted with rich, dark colors blending into each other. Unlike a normal guitar, this one lacked a hole for the sound and was adorned with silver knobs and switches.

  Willie stepped onto the stage. Robert wheeled out a large black box with a thick, black rope coming out of it. Willie picked up the end of the rope and stuck it into his guitar. He touched the box and suddenly the guitar came to life. Willie played a few notes and the sound wailed out of the box like a crying brother god. The crowd roared its approval.

  Four Bluesmen brought out chairs and guitars — normal looking ones. They took up a steady, pulsing rhythm which the drummer joined in on. Willie played over this, his guitar making one long cry after another. Watching Willie perform mesmerized Malja, and she missed the moment when still other guitarists joined. Looking around the stage, she now counted twenty men playing including Lonnie and Robert. Others in the crowd also strummed. They clearly yearned for the stage but no more space was opened.

  The noise level increased as did the tempo. Willie's playing grew frantic, but his notes were precise. He pushed the others faster and louder. More energy. More power. The music broke down into a cacophony of dissonance. Despite the sheer mayhem of sound, the crowd moved as one to a rhythm Malja could not discern. Her skin prickled as sensation continued its slow return to her body. The music grew louder and the hair on her body stiffened. The higher notes that Willie hit shivered her teeth. She peeked over at Cole. The sexuality had vanished, replaced with a maniacal anticipation.

  Following the erratic drumbeat, the crowd split down the middle, backing away enough to reveal a metal frame built flush into the floor. The wood inside the frame shimmered with each note Willie played. The air smelled of sweat and lust and something Malja could not place. As the air crackled with little electric arcs, it hit her. The smell — a memory of Callib attempting to teach Malja magic. Not the sour smell of violent casting, but a crisp aroma unique to special magic.

  The flag-like creatures flapped with vigor, always in time to Willie's playing. Holes opened up — mouths that stretched enough to swallow a person. They sang in harmony — loud enough to remind her of Barris Mont. An enormous explosion of sound blasted the room as if the air itself had been shattered. Malja fell to the floor, covering her ears, controlling her breathing, trying hard to stay conscious. People passed out around her. She pressed her ears tighter. She closed her eyes to stay focused.

  Somebody tapped her shoulder. She looked up. All was still. Cole rested her slender hand
on Malja's head and pointed to the frame in the floor.

  The metal frame pulsed an orange glow that kept time with the slow moan that the musicians had settled into. Inside the frame, the floor no longer existed. Instead, Malja saw a room as if she hung from the ceiling. A round table covered in fuzzy green material dominated the room while dark wood shelves and darker rugs filled the rest. Malja thought they had blown a hole into the floor and looked upon some basement room. Except bright, noonday sunlight cut across the table.

  "What is this?" she whispered.

  "This," Cole said, savoring each word as it crossed her tongue, "is real magic. This is a hole into another world." Raising her arms like a prophet before her people, she climbed down the stairs and crossed the stage. "Long ago, perhaps not as long as you think, before the Devastation, magicians who knew the truth the governments denied them practiced in secret so that their power would grow and their ways would not die. They sought to improve their dominion over the world. Like little children playing with guns, they attempted to open a doorway into another world. They succeeded. Only for a second. Then they lost control, and we've all paid for that."

  Malja gripped the banister. "What are you saying? This is the magic that caused the Devastation?"

  Cole whispered, "Don't worry. We've not caused another Devastation."

  "Well, what have you done?"

  "Sympathetic vibrations. We create our own magic — just like them."

  "Who?"

  "Those from the other side. They came to us first, opened a portal right here. It only lasted a short while but it was enough to start talking with us. They call their magic a séance and they think of us as ghosts. Through them, we learned the Blues music and their way of life. We pattern ourselves after them for we have seen what great power exists — after all they opened a hole to our world without destroying theirs."

  A portal into another world. She had no idea if such a thing were possible or if this was a hoax. Gregor certainly never mentioned it.