Tales of the Fallen Beasts

by Brandon Mull

  Urban held her gaze for a long moment. She didn’t see hurt there, and that made her feel a little awkward for being so harsh.

  “At least I didn’t steal my spirit animal,” Urban said gently. “Nor would I want to steal yours.” He stepped out and closed the door.

  Raisha sat back down on her cot. The panic of danger, the thrill of summoning a beast of legend, and the fear of discovery had combined to leave her drained.

  Leaning back, Raisha stared up the empty shaft. Where had Gerathon gone? Would the cobra return soon? Or would she abandon Raisha for a more comfortable life elsewhere? Could spirit animals do that?

  Her thoughts turned to Zerif. He wanted to collect the Great Beasts. Where would his journeys take him next?

  She abruptly sat up. Zerif was collecting Great Beasts. He had ways of figuring out where they would show up. Did that mean he would come for Raisha now? Was she important again?

  Would he try to steal Gerathon? No, there was no need. Raisha had served him well. She would still serve him. Why separate her from the snake?

  But would he see it that way?

  Her heart rate sped up. Raisha couldn’t be sure of anything. If Zerif did want to take Gerathon from her, was there any way to stop him? Not alone. But with Gerathon at her side, who knew what she might accomplish. It would be Raisha and her spirit animal against the world. Those odds might not be too terrible. After all, Gerathon had almost taken over the world once before.

  But to have any chance, Raisha knew she absolutely had to escape.

  That night, Raisha awoke with a hand covering her mouth. She reflexively struggled and tried to cry out.

  “Not a word,” a voice breathed in her ear. “I’m here to help.”

  Raisha forced herself to keep still. By the voice and hand she could tell that the figure looming over her was a man. A Greencloak? It wasn’t Urban.

  Raisha nodded and the hand slid away from her mouth. “Who are you?” she whispered.

  “I’m Dorell,” the voice replied. “I work in the kitchens here. But my loyalties lie elsewhere.”

  “Where do they lie?”

  He didn’t respond immediately. Raisha heard water trickling in the darkness. “Many believe a rumor that you summoned a spirit animal and are keeping it hidden. Is this so?”

  “I don’t know you,” Raisha said.

  “I serve one who you also served,” Dorell replied. “One who believes you may have called an animal of great significance. If so, it won’t be long before the Greencloaks discover this as well.”

  Raisha was fully aware that this stranger in her cell could be lying. He could be a Greencloak trying to trick the information out of her. He could also be working for Zerif, or he could be working for himself.

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” Raisha whispered. She gave a little shrug. “I didn’t summon anything. Now get out of here before I scream.”

  “Decide very carefully,” the stranger warned. “I’m prepared to extract you tonight. If you trust your captors more than me, so be it.”

  “You can get me out of here?” Raisha asked.

  “The kitchens resupply with boats from the mainland,” Dorell said. “I have a small craft standing ready.”

  Paralyzed by indecision, Raisha weighed her options. Were the Greencloaks more dangerous to her, or was Zerif? Urban was right that the prison walls offered some protection from her former employer. Would the Greencloaks try to separate her from Gerathon? Probably not. But they would most likely hold both of them prisoner for the rest of their lives.

  What about Dorell? Was that even his real name? He could be anyone. Did he really work for Zerif? If so, it proved Zerif could get to her, even in the Mire. Dorell’s mission could be to steal Gerathon. If not, his own agenda might not be any better.

  Something plopped down beside Raisha, landing softly on her mattress. A muscular, scaly rope flexed against her arm, and she heard a fierce hiss.

  Dorell released Raisha, sloshing through the water as he stepped back. He lit a lamp, revealing that he was a short man with lean features and large dark eyes. He looked much too scrawny to be lugging food around all day. His eyes widened as they fixed on the snake. “It’s true,” Dorell whispered. “You summoned Her.”

  Gerathon swiveled to gaze at Raisha, then slithered off the cot, landing on the floor with a splash. The cobra crossed to Dorell and claimed a position near his feet. Dorell kept still. The cobra looked at Raisha and hissed.

  It seemed like Gerathon wanted to go. That was good enough for Raisha, who felt no path was clearly better than the others. At least she would get to leave with her spirit animal.

  “If Gerathon trusts you, I’m sold,” Raisha said.

  “Fine,” Dorell said. He extinguished the lamp. “Stay close.”

  Raisha stood up, submerging her feet in lukewarm water. In the dark, Dorell took her hand. He led her to the door and out of the cell.

  An unseen lamp around a bend shed a little light in the mossy corridor. Like in her cell, water wept down the walls here, though the floor in the hall had better drainage.

  “They did us a favor moving you to solitary,” Dorell whispered. “This wing connects to a subcellar beneath the kitchens. Smuggling you out will be no trickier than sneaking a roll from the storeroom.”

  Dorell released her hand and led the way. Gerathon glided alongside her. As the corridor grew darker, Dorell glanced back, his eyebrows raised.

  “After this corner there are no more lanterns, and we’ll have to wade a bit,” he whispered. “Small price for freedom, am I right?”

  “Just go,” Raisha said.

  It soon became perfectly dark. They picked their way forward carefully through unseen debris, only an occasional drip or gurgle interrupting the silence. After scooting through a low gap in a wall, Raisha descended some steps into deeper water that came to her waist.

  Raisha tried not to imagine what else might be lurking in these obscure waters. She did her best to stay beside Dorell.

  “Gerathon is welcome to ride me,” Dorell said. A moment later, he let out a nervous squeak. “Ah! Excellent. I … feel her under my shirt. This will be an honor.”

  Stretching out her hand, Raisha felt her cobra coiling around her guide’s shoulders. The submerged ground remained uneven, so she stepped carefully. Below the water, Raisha’s leg brushed against a greasy mass. Biting her lip to contain a shriek, Raisha floundered away from the contact. Dorell helped steady her.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered.

  “Let’s just get out of here,” Raisha muttered.

  Still in blackness, they reached a wall of corroded bars. One had been removed, allowing Dorell and Raisha to slip through, though anybody much bigger would have had trouble.

  “It gets deeper here,” Dorell whispered.

  Raisha took a step and nearly screamed. Suddenly she found herself immersed up to her neck, treading water. “This is more than wading,” she hissed.

  “Not far now,” Dorell promised. “A short swim.”

  As she swam in the darkness, Raisha felt a slick shape ripple against her elbow. She shuddered but kept moving. The only way out of this was forward.

  Before long they found a flight of stone stairs. Dorell led the way up and through a trapdoor. Lamplight reached them from an adjoining room.

  “This is kept locked,” Dorell murmured. “Good thing I’m trusted with the keys to the kitchens.”

  “No offense, but you could use some better cooks,” Raisha said, wringing water from her sodden prison rags.

  Dorell grinned. “You mean the slop they feed the prisoners? Not much effort wasted there. But the Greencloaks stationed here eat quite well. We should hurry.”

  With Gerathon still coiled around his neck and shoulders, Dorell hustled from one room to another until they reached a long corridor followed by a narrow stairway.

  Peering down, Raisha saw that it descended to an iron door.

  “Would you believe this will take us
beyond the walls?” Dorell wagged his eyebrows conspiratorially.

  “Really?” Raisha asked.

  “The dock nearby is used to bring food in,” Dorell said. “I already took care of the guard outside. And of course I have the key.”

  Raisha asked for no elaboration about the guard. She assumed Dorell had killed him and dumped the body in the swamp.

  Dorell opened the door, and suddenly Raisha was following him along a tidy path under a starry sky and slim crescent moon. The walls of the Mire rose behind her. As usual, the night was warm. Not sweltering like in the day, but even with her clothes soaked, Raisha felt no chill.

  They reached a little dock where a small skiff was tied up. “Not many boats,” Raisha said.

  “I sank three bigger ones,” Dorell explained.

  “You were that sure I’d come with you?” Raisha asked.

  “My orders were clear,” Dorell said. “Our master would have accepted nothing less. The Greencloaks won’t know you’re gone for hours. When they get wise, they’ll have a hard time following us.”

  “I like how you think,” Raisha said.

  “I like being alive,” Dorell replied. He held her hand as she boarded the skiff, then untied the craft and hopped in. He snatched up a pole and pushed them away from the dock.

  By the scant moonlight, Raisha could see the prison tilting into the bog like some vast leviathan drowning in quicksand. She wondered how many years before the high walls would become part of the foundation.

  As she got settled, Raisha noticed a pair of paddles in the bottom of the boat. “Want me to help?” she asked quietly.

  “The pole will suffice,” Dorell said. “We only row in emergencies. The route we’ll take should avoid deep places.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the biggest town we can reach by water. Wan Digal.”

  “How long will it take?”

  Dorell shrugged, taking hold of the snake. “We should arrive before sunrise.” With the pole in one hand, he tried to lift Gerathon off his shoulders, but the cobra wrapped tighter.

  “I don’t think she wants to get down,” Raisha said with mock sweetness.

  A flicker of fear passed through the man’s eyes. “Wants to keep me in easy striking distance, does she?” Dorell asked. “Go ahead and kill me. See how far you two get in the swamp alone at night. No? Then get down.”

  The cobra loosed her hold of him and dropped to the bottom of the skiff. She glided over to Raisha and curled up in her lap like a coil of rope. Raisha stroked the sleek scales with two fingers.

  “What happens in Wan Digal?” Raisha asked.

  “We take steps to get you to Xin Kao Dai. Our master will be excited to greet you.”

  Raisha watched him pole them along. Dorell obviously knew the swamp well and handled the skiff with competence. She assumed that part of his job entailed making supply runs.

  Would he have allies waiting in Wan Digal? How much should she trust him? Gerathon hadn’t wanted to give up the position where she could strike him. That suggested the cobra didn’t put much faith in him. Raisha wondered if Gerathon could still use her venom to control people, like the stories of the Great Serpent had said.

  As shadowy trees and muddy islands drifted by, Raisha listened for the sounds of pursuit. How long before the Greencloaks realized she was missing? Surely they had other boats besides the ones Dorell had sabotaged. Some had spirit animals that could fly. Were they already coming for her?

  How would Urban feel when he found her missing? She could picture him staring into her empty cell. The imagined bafflement gave her satisfaction, but it was surprisingly tinged with sadness. Could he have really seen something special in her? Did he sincerely want to help and protect her? Was she trading a safe haven for greater dangers?

  Shaking her head, she scolded herself. Right. Who would dare come after me with a mule standing guard?

  Freedom beat incarceration any day.

  The moon blinked in and out of view between overhanging branches. Watching the sky, Raisha remembered her attempted escape just three days ago. It hadn’t taken her very long to turn that around. She smiled and closed her eyes. Whatever happened now, at least she was free.

  With nothing better to do, Raisha dozed. When she awoke, the moon was out of the sky, and the horizon was turning gray in one direction, making the stars fade.

  “We’re close to Wan Digal,” Dorell said. “Clean getaway.”

  Raisha looked around. “You’re sure the Greencloaks aren’t after us?”

  “If so, they’re well behind us,” Dorell said.

  Raisha frowned. How could he be so confident without help? “You have a spirit animal,” she said finally.

  “Maybe,” Dorell said with a grin. He gave no details, and Raisha didn’t ask.

  The predawn light increased. Before long, docks came into view up ahead. This deep in the jungle, Raisha had expected a fairly primitive village, but Wan Digal looked like an actual town. Smaller rowboats, canoes, rafts, and skiffs were attached to lesser quays, but several larger vessels were moored to bigger docks. Despite the early hour, there was already activity on the docks and some vessels out on the water.

  When the skiff bumped against the quay, Gerathon attacked.

  Dorell was ready. He leaped away just as the serpent lunged silently forward, kicking at the cobra. Gerathon struck his boot twice, then Raisha heard a shriek as a speckled brown and white bird—a marsh harrier—dove at the boat, talons outstretched.

  Raisha grabbed a paddle from the bottom of the skiff. While Dorell stomped at Gerathon, she swung the paddle like a battle ax, whacking him on the back of the head. Dorell stumbled to his knees, and Gerathon sprang at him, striking madly.

  The harrier stayed close, defending Dorell. Raisha took a swing at the bird of prey. She missed the harrier but struck Dorell on the ear. Gerathon got hold of the harrier with her jaws and promptly wrapped the bird in her coils. The harrier fell to the skiff’s bottom like a stone. Feathers ruffled, it lurched and struggled against the serpent. Gerathon struck the bird once, twice, three times, her fangs dripping.

  Then, slowly, the bird went limp.

  Slumped on his back, Dorell stared at his fallen spirit animal, his breathing shallow, his face haggard. “Why?” he asked.

  “I trust the cobra,” Raisha said.

  Dorell gave a sad smile. “You won’t get far. Zerif … won’t be pleased.”

  Gerathon hissed, and Raisha realized the snake was already on the quay. Raisha jumped out of the skiff without a look back and picked up the cobra, looping the snake over her shoulders. She walked toward the shore but immediately noticed a few fishermen moving toward her, waving their arms.

  Raisha ran.

  The fishermen ran too, boots clomping against the planks of the dock.

  She made it to the buildings by the docks but wasn’t far ahead of the oncoming fishermen. Raisha darted down an alley between two of the buildings. What if she got cornered? How many people could Gerathon take out?

  “What do I do?” Raisha asked.

  The cobra gave no answer.

  Raisha ran hard. She wouldn’t get caught now. They were almost free!

  At the end of the alley, the world suddenly went dark.

  Raisha screamed as an unseen assailant yanked a large canvas bag over her head and shoulders. It covered her down past her waist. Gerathon thrashed and hissed, trapped in the bag with her. Raisha struggled too, but strong arms held the bag in place, and a sharp chemical smell was making her woozy.

  She couldn’t pass out! She had to fight it! She had to get away! But her head was spinning, and it was becoming hard to move. Within moments she slipped into unconsciousness.

  The dull ache in her head was her first sensation as Raisha awoke.

  She tried to raise a hand to rub her skull but realized her arms were bound at her sides.

  The discovery jerked her awake. She was in a small, dim room, strapped to a bed with a thin
mattress. Raisha heaved and pulled, but her bindings held firm.

  “There you are,” spoke a rich, familiar voice from her past. “Don’t waste energy struggling. Relax. Let’s talk.”

  The voice filled her with a sickly mixture of excitement and dread.

  Turning her head, Raisha locked eyes with Zerif, taking in his dark tunic and his neatly sculpted facial hair. He had caught her, but he apparently wanted words with her. Did that mean they might still be able to work together?

  “You came,” she said, hoping to sound like a lost little girl full of relief.

  “I did,” Zerif said with a bland smile. “You’re happy to see me?”

  “I thought you’d forgotten about me,” Raisha replied.

  “You can drop the act. You and Gerathon killed Dorell and his spirit animal.”

  “I’d never seen him before.” Raisha maintained all the innocence she could muster. “I didn’t know if he was being honest. When Gerathon attacked, I trusted her instincts.”

  “Her instincts weren’t wrong,” Zerif said. “Though Dorell did work for me.”

  “I work for you,” Raisha blurted. “It can be like before. Wasn’t I loyal? Gerathon and I will serve you well.”

  “Thank you for your past service,” Zerif said, eyes glittering. “I appreciate the offer. You will indeed serve me. But wherever possible, I prefer a sure bet. This will leave no room for error.” He held out a gloved hand. A small gray worm twisted on his palm.

  “No, Zerif,” Raisha pleaded, the words catching in her throat. She flinched away from the worm as much as the restraints would allow.

  “Relax,” Zerif said calmly. “Soon you’ll have no cares at all.”

  “No!” Raisha shrieked. “This isn’t right! I called her. Gerathon! Gerathon, where are you?”

  Zerif nodded. “I knew you had the potential to summon a Great Beast.” He brought a finger gently to his forehead, where a spiral looped beneath the skin. “Just as I knew where the others would awaken. That potential was part of why I worked with you. Inconvenient that it happened while you were imprisoned, but once again you proved very useful in smuggling yourself out. You helped others experience this fate, Raisha. Now it’s your turn.”