Tales of the Fallen Beasts

by Brandon Mull

  “Take that robin with you,” Talon suggested. “The Greencloaks should be able to recognize a stolen spirit animal. Our only chance now is to find them.”

  Grif carefully grabbed the tiny bird and waited until a large mud puddle passed by, then dropped through the hole into the brown muck. Anuqi and Talon listened closely for several minutes, but there were no shouts of alarm or sounds of combat. Had he escaped?

  Anuqi’s stomach twisted on itself as the night passed slowly. She hoped she’d done the right thing in letting Grif go.

  She closed her eyes and imagined herself dropping through that hole, leaving all this behind.

  Through the cracks in the wagon, they could just see dawn breaking. The sound of a horn echoed in the morning air. Anuqi was tired and groggy, and only slowly recognized the noise for what it was—a war horn.

  “The Greencloaks are here,” Talon said softly. Anuqi would have expected her to sound more pleased that they were being rescued.

  Shortly after, the shouts of men and women and the crashing of steel on steel rang out, accompanied by animal calls of all kinds. Two errant arrows slammed into the walls of their wagon.

  Talon and Anuqi waited silently, not knowing what to hope for.

  “If it’s the Greencloaks who find us,” Talon said, “tell them you never met me. Tell them you were captured separately. It will go easier for you that way.”

  Anuqi wanted to ask why, but the set of Talon’s lips made it clear that she had said all she would say. Anuqi gripped the bars of her cage as the battle continued outside.

  Suddenly, a tiny head popped up through the hole in the floor of the wagon. A small, muddy figure wriggled his way up inside.

  “Told you I’d be back,” Grif said with a grin. “And look what I grabbed off one of the mercenaries!” He brandished a ring of keys and set to work trying them on Anuqi’s cage. A moment later, all three of them were free.

  “Let’s get out now, while they’re still fighting,” Talon suggested.

  “We should be able to make it to the trees at the side of the road if we’re quick,” Grif said. “They’re fairly distracted, what with the battle and all.”

  The three slipped down through the hold, shimmied across the ground, and dashed for the woods. Anuqi gritted her teeth as the pain in her ankle flared, but kept running.

  As they passed into the darkness of the woods, Anuqi looked back to the train of wagons. Greencloaks and mercenaries were in pitched battle.

  “That’s the Keeper,” Talon said, pointing to a young figure resplendent in tellunum armor, battling two mercenaries. A moment later, the mercenaries gave up and fled for the trees on the other side of the road.

  “And over there—that one is Keith.” A Greencloak had cornered Raisha and had an arrow nocked on his bow, pointed at Raisha’s heart. “Looks like he finally learned how to fight.”

  Anuqi grinned as she saw Raisha raise her hands in surrender. The other mercenaries were soon dropping their weapons or running for the woods, Greencloaks on their heels.

  “Let’s keep moving before they realize I’m missing,” Grif said. “Here, let me help you,” he said, slipping under Anuqi’s arm to help keep the weight off her ankle.

  Anuqi leaned heavily on Grif as they walked, and smiled despite the pain as they slipped deeper into the woods.

  “What now?” Grif asked as the sounds of battle faded and they made their way past a snow-covered farm.

  “I have some friends I’d like you to meet,” Talon answered.

  “Friends who will help us find Suka?” Anuqi asked through gritted teeth.

  “Yes,” Talon said. “We’re not as numerous or powerful as the Greencloaks—or whoever Zerif is working for—but we care about Erdas. And we will do whatever it takes to get your spirit animals back.”

  Anuqi glanced back along the path they’d come. The Greencloaks had looked dashing, swooping in for the rescue like that. But still, she had no desire to spend any more time with them than absolutely necessary, even if they had likely just saved her from a horrible fate at the hands of Zerif.

  Let Zerif, Raisha, and the Greencloaks take care of each other, leaving their usual trail of destruction. Anuqi had all the friends she needed.

  “CALM DOWN,” THE OLD MONK SAID. BUT TAKODA couldn’t. His arms were still shaking from the fight.

  “Be calm,” Ananda repeated. Her soothing voice was a demonstration of calm, even as she commanded him to be still. Takoda looked up into her soft brown eyes, hoping she couldn’t hear the pounding in his chest.

  He hated being told to calm down, as if the anger he felt was something he could control. As if he was wrong to feel outrage or hate after everything that had happened.

  Ananda told Takoda to take a deep breath. She rested a graceful hand on his shoulder, so gently he could barely feel it. He closed his eyes and breathed. Slowly his trembling subsided, but the bruises on his left cheek and right fist felt suddenly sore.

  “Takoda,” Ananda said. “You can’t keep picking fights.”

  He wanted to defend himself, to tell Ananda that it wasn’t him who started it this time. But that wasn’t entirely the truth.

  Takoda couldn’t honestly remember what Sudo had even said. But he could remember the cruel face the boy had made as he teased Takoda. Sudo’s tongue had stuck out and his brow furrowed, as if the air itself tasted sour. His chapped lips had twisted into a sneer—and then gaped in surprise when Takoda leaped to defend himself.

  Ananda glanced down at Takoda’s saffron robe, and her stoic, regal face gave way to disappointment. When he looked down, he realized the fabric was badly torn.

  If Father was here, he could mend it, he thought bitterly. If he still had a father, he wouldn’t be here, getting in fights.

  And then he thought of his mother, who was as beautiful and patient as Ananda was—but strong, too. Willing to fight for a good cause—like marrying a Zhongese man even though she was Niloan. Willing to go into battle against the Conquerors for their family.

  Takoda squeezed his eyelids as tightly as he could, afraid of what would happen if he opened them.

  He expected to be punished for what he’d done—Ananda was in charge of disciplining the acolytes, after all—but the gentle monk pulled him close instead. Takoda instinctively wanted to pull away, but stopped himself. It felt nice, listening to her breathing and imagining a future in which he might be as peaceful as Ananda.

  “What would you have done,” she asked gently, “if you were at home?” Ananda let go, holding Takoda at arm’s length and looking him in the eyes.

  It was the first time since Takoda arrived at the monastery that any of the monks had mentioned the home he’d lost. He gaped at her, too busy thinking about the question to piece together an answer.

  “When you were upset about something, what would you have done then?” Ananda waited patiently.

  “I would have run,” he confessed. Takoda thought about the savannahs that circled his village in southern Nilo, and how the shallow grass whipped in the wind for as far as the eye could see. He remembered how the combination of sweat and speed cooled his dark skin, even in the full sun. Being out in the grass helped clear his mind, helped him forget everything but the pace of his feet against the earth and the drum of his pulse in the air. He imagined the sky itself could hear his heart. The birds sang to its beat as they dipped close, as if cheering him on.

  “I would have run until I couldn’t run anymore,” Takoda said.

  The deep creases around Ananda’s eyes softened, and Takoda wondered if she wasn’t as nostalgic for wide open spaces as he was. She led them to sit together on the cool steps.

  Surrounded by stone and sky, the temple was several miles from the closest field. Takoda knew because he had scanned the landscape from each of the monastery’s many majestic towers. It was perched on the rocky shore of a deep river, water to one side, forest on the other. Nowhere to run.

  “Have you met Nambi?” Ananda asked, rolling
up the stiff sleeve of her blue robe. Takoda shook his head. “Takoda, meet Nambi. Nambi, meet Takoda. I think you’ll be friends.”

  There, on Ananda’s slender brown arm, rested the bold tattoo of a giraffe, sitting patiently with its legs folded under. “Nambi loves to run, too. And so do I,” Ananda explained. “But this monastery is no place for a giraffe, is it?” She was right, and the fact seemed to bring her great pain.

  “So why are you here?” Takoda asked her, wondering how long Nambi had been forced to wait in passive state.

  “To heal,” the old woman said. “Same as you. Sometimes it’s necessary for a person to be away from their place of comfort for a time. Nambi will run again soon. And so will you, Takoda.”

  Ananda rolled her sleeve back down and stood. She looked off toward the horizon, to where the sun hovered low in the sky. Takoda caught himself smiling as he looked up at her. He realized it had been a very long time since he’d smiled.

  “As for your punishment … ” she began.

  Takoda’s heart sank as he remembered the trouble he was in.

  “You will take over Sudo’s post in the west tower. Starting right now.” She pointed toward an entryway, beyond which stood the first shadowy steps of a very long climb. Takoda’s eyes scanned the outer walls of the tower, up to where a distant belfry stood among the clouds.

  “Three strikes,” Ananda said. “You’d better hurry.”

  Takoda nodded, unable to look at her. He did as he was told, scurrying toward the entrance.

  Peering up the spiral, he looked to where the highest stairs disappeared into darkness. Each of the ancient stone steps was worn down in the center, leaving a rounded impression so that no step was completely flat. Takoda couldn’t help but wonder how many young monks had climbed the staircase before him, wearing a curve like that into the stone with nothing but their sandals. And all to ring a bell as the sun hit the horizon. Once at dawn, once at sunset.

  Takoda hadn’t run in over a year now. Even brief trips up and down stairs left him winded. He briefly wondered if he was up for the challenge. Hurrying, Takoda tried to count the steps as he took them.

  It wasn’t the same as running, but Takoda caught himself in a familiar pace. The soles of his sandals hit each second step in time, and his increasingly loud breaths echoed against the dark stones. Up and up and up.

  Takoda thought of Sudo climbing. The bully’s broad forehead creasing, covered with beads of sweat. At first it made Takoda angry, that what was once Sudo’s punishment was now his own. But then Takoda managed to leave his annoyance behind, climbing past it up the spiral.

  The boy’s mind wandered to the savannah, and the sweet sting of the grass at his ankles. Up and up, Takoda thought of his home and of the feeling of exhaustion as he had returned from a run. His father would bring him water, not saying a word about where he had gone until he had been ready to speak. And his mother would watch on, a strange look of pride on her slender face.

  Up and up and ever up, he climbed. When Takoda lost count, he refused to let it slow him down. Instead, he simply started over again from zero.

  He thought of the last time he had seen each of his parents. Before the war ripped his family away, he remembered his mother waking him in the night to say good-bye. She had kissed his forehead, her braids pulled tightly back and her chest covered with armor. Takoda remembered it had hurt to hug her, the hard metal pressing against his chest.

  His mother never came home.

  Takoda thought of his father on the last morning he ever saw him. The Devourer’s army was sweeping across Nilo. He remembered the fire in his father’s eyes as he burned down their modest hut, hoping to trick the enemy into moving on without searching for survivors.

  And then, finally, Takoda recalled his gentle father’s deep-throated scream as the two of them were discovered hiding in the wreckage, covered in soot.

  Up and up, Takoda remembered his father’s last words as he commanded the boy to run. “Don’t stop until you can’t see smoke,” he had said.

  And Takoda hadn’t stopped.

  And he had survived.

  He’d watched the horizon from the safety of trees on the far side of the savannah. He watched for a long time, afraid to close his eyes, until they began to twitch and tremble. Takoda had watched through the twilight and into the dark, scanning and scanning the shadows for his brave father, realizing he would never come.

  Takoda was no longer thinking of climbing when he reached the top of the tower. The sudden brightness of the high windows startled him, like fire catching in his eyes. Pinprick stars speckled his vision as he leaned against the stone and struggled to catch his breath.

  Remembering his duty, he found the large mallet hung on the tower wall and timed his first strike so that the first knell rang out deeply just as the sun hit the horizon.

  Goooongggg!

  Takoda could feel the vibrations on his arms and face. They tingled against his tender cheek. He struck the bell again.

  Goooongggg!

  This time it was as if the vibrations rang through his very thoughts. Takoda felt suddenly dizzy, as if the tower beneath him was quaking. His vision blurred and the tower seemed to darken all around him. Then—a flash! It was as if the sky had lit up with a flash of noon sun. But only for the briefest moment. In an instant, the light was gone.

  Takoda blinked, seeing the same pinprick stars as before. It must have been a reflection off the bell, he told himself. But strangely, he sensed something had changed.

  He remembered Ananda’s instructions. “Three strikes,” she had told him. Takoda’s stomach twisted into a knot as he realized he’d already messed up the timing of the third toll. Monks all over the monastery must have heard his failure. Two tolls had rung out loud and clear, followed by deafening silence.

  Takoda hurriedly lifted the hammer to strike the bell one last time. But as he aimed, he saw a terrifying face reflected in the curve of the metal. Deep-set eyes glared from above a snarling fanged mouth.

  Snapping around, he saw that the same red eyes stared wildly at him from the top of the dark stairs.

  Run! Takoda thought. But where?

  A monster inched toward him from the shadows. As it stepped into the light, its face was revealed by the orange glow of the sunset.

  A silverback gorilla.

  Takoda hit the bell as hard as he could, hoping to scare the beast away.

  Gooooooonnnnngggg!

  But the ape’s red eyes stayed fixed on Takoda’s. The animal squinted at the boy, pulling itself forward on huge fists. A gust of wind blew through the bell tower, rustling the long black hair on the creature’s arms. Each of its biceps were as thick as Takoda’s waist.

  Goooongggg! Goooongggg! Goooooooonngggggg!

  Takoda pounded and pounded the bell, hoping someone would hear the extra tolls as a warning—a call for help. The ape raised a clasping hand, reaching. For Takoda’s arm? Or for the mallet? No! It was reaching for the bell. The gorilla pinched the rim with its hairy knuckles, muffling the sound. The knell cut short.

  Takoda dropped the hammer, and it crashed by his feet.

  “Run!” he heard his father say, but his legs wouldn’t move.

  Caught in the stare of the ape’s red eyes, Takoda suddenly recognized him. There was only one gorilla in the history of Erdas with eyes like that.

  Kovo.

  All reason told Takoda that it was impossible, but he knew in his gut that he was right.

  Suddenly, Takoda didn’t want to run. He wanted to fight. Not only to hold his ground, but to hurt Kovo—kill him if he could. The gorilla was responsible for the deaths of his parents, and countless others across Erdas. He had masterminded not one, but two great wars.

  But what was Kovo doing in the temple’s bell tower?

  The truth fell on Takoda like the setting of the sun, darkening the world. The strange flash of light … The appearance of the ape, not as a gigantic Great Beast, but a normal-sized gorilla …


  Takoda had summoned a spirit animal, and it was the worst one who’d ever lived.

  Even beneath his horror, Takoda felt the connection forming between them, an invisible tether pulling them closer. His skin tingled, and he longed to reach out a hand and touch the ape.

  He fought the urge with everything he had.

  Not knowing what else to do, Takoda screamed. Right in Kovo’s monstrous face, as loudly and for as long as he could. All of the boy’s breath seared through his throat in a single, extended blast.

  Kovo screamed back instantly. His fanged jaws opened wide as he let out a terrible roar, twice as deep and loud as Takoda’s. The boy could feel the ape’s wet breath hit his face. Kovo was close enough and strong enough to crush Takoda like a bug if he wanted to, but Takoda went on screaming anyway, the sound all but lost beneath the ape’s. Kovo roared, and the boy roared back, until he had nothing left in his lungs.

  A dozen monks suddenly piled in, clambering up the stairs. They cast a huge net over the ape, like the ones the fishermen used to dredge the river.

  Takoda didn’t think it would do much to restrain the gorilla, but amazingly, Kovo didn’t fight them. He just stared forward through the thick knots of rope.

  Takoda looked around at the alarmed faces of the monks. One by one, they turned from the mysterious ape to Takoda. And when he looked back at Kovo, the ape was watching him, too, with unapologetic red eyes. As if he was figuring out the perfect way to destroy the boy.

  “He’s a spirit animal now,” Ananda said, a hint of wonder in her usually calm voice. “Your spirit animal.”

  The two sat together on the floor. They were in the monastery’s granary, a large building full of simple silos that could be locked from the outside. Takoda had been hurried into just such a silo while the monks fetched Ananda.

  Elsewhere in the granary, Kovo was locked inside another.

  Spirit animal. Takoda couldn’t get the words out of his head. His whole life, he had thought he knew what it meant to have one. Now he was no longer sure. What kind of spirit did Takoda have to be bonded with such a creature? Kovo was the most villainous, conniving wretch in the history of Erdas.