Tales of the Fallen Beasts
Page 14
Crying hysterically, Raisha lunged against her restraints. She had dreamed of calling a spirit animal her whole life. It had happened more spectacularly than she could have guessed—summoning one of the Great Beasts. And yet she’d had less than a day with her new companion.
“Settle down,” Zerif scolded, his hand coming toward her.
Raisha screamed frantically. What could she say to get out of this? What could she do? There was no time to think!
Zerif placed his palm on her forehead. “In a few moments your concerns will be forgotten. You will know the peace of a wholehearted purpose.”
The worm wriggled just above her eyes. Tears streaming, Raisha whipped her head around, trying to shake it off. She strained against her bindings in vain. The worm broke through her skin and started burrowing. Worse than the physical pain was the horror of knowing what was to come.
She heard hissing from a corner of the room. Craning her neck, she could barely see where a basket was shaking. Gerathon was trying to get free!
“I’m sorry!” Raisha called to the cobra.
“Don’t be,” Zerif said. “I’ll use her much more effectively than you would have. You’ll both still serve the same master.”
Raisha sobbed. How had she ended up in this nightmare? Was this what she had been doing to people? Faces flashed through her mind.
The hopeful, seafaring Cordalles and goofy Dawson Trunswick.
Spritely Grif and the stern Anuqi.
Kids—just like her—whose destinies were taken from them.
Zerif had known she would summon a Great Beast. He had never respected her. She was just another fool in one of his traps. Except more pathetic than anyone else, because she had stood by his side the entire time. She had aided the man who was taking her spirit animal and stealing her identity.
It was too late to be sorry, but that didn’t stop her. Raisha wailed in despair.
And then the emotion was gone.
No longer aware of the tears on her cheeks, arcane whispers caressed the remnants of her mind. Sensing a comforting presence, she turned her head and her eyes found Zerif, her heart swelling with primal devotion. As the unearthly whispers intensified, her vision faded to blackness.
Brandon Mull is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Fablehaven, Beyonders, and Five Kingdoms series. He kicked off the Spirit Animals series with Book One: Wild Born, and contributed a short story in the Spirit Animals special edition: Tales of the Great Beasts. As a kid, he had a dog, a cat, a horse, some goldfish (won at a school carnival), and briefly a tarantula (captured in his neighborhood). He now lives in Utah with his wife, four kids, and the family dog. He thinks his spirit animal would be a dolphin.
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Book Three
The Return
By Varian Johnson
ZERIF JAMMED HIS FINGERS INTO A SMALL CREVICE AND climbed onto the narrow, rocky ledge. Ahead, the majestic peaks of the Kenjoba Mountains stretched before him. Below, he could still hear the shouts of the Niloan warriors and Greencloaks in pursuit. They had been chasing him for days. He thought that he would be able to hide in one of the villages in South Nilo, but it had only taken a few days for someone to turn on him and alert the authorities. He bolted as soon as he saw the first Greencloak roaming the small village.
Now that the war was over, Zerif found that very few of his allies remained. Most of the Conquerors had surrendered as soon as they lost control over their spirit animals, thanks to the destruction of the Evertree canceling the effects of Gerathon’s Bile. The few warriors that still pledged allegiance to the Reptile King wanted nothing to do with Zerif—and would have probably turned him over to the Greencloaks themselves if they found him.
Not even Zerif’s jackal remained. Like the other animals, it had abandoned him as soon as he lost his power to control it.
He was glad that he hadn’t bothered to name it.
No matter, he thought. I am Zerif. I will triumph again. As always.
Zerif climbed to another ledge, scraping his hands and face as he pulled himself up. His blue tunic, ripped and withered, flapped against him in the howling winds. The breeze shifted direction, and suddenly the stench of rot filled Zerif’s nostrils. He looked around. To his right, on another ledge, large black buzzards picked at the remains of an animal. Zerif backed up to gain as much running ground as possible. Then he took off, his weakened legs flailing as he leaped through the air. He landed on the ledge and stumbled, almost falling over into the deep, empty valley below. Once he was sure of his footing, he charged toward the birds, driving them away.
Zerif peered at the rotting carcass. There wasn’t much left of the wild dog—a few slivers of flesh hung on the otherwise dry bones, and the beast’s fur was torn and ripped. Still, he picked up what remained of the animal and flung it over his shoulder. One of the Greencloaks had been traveling with a fox; he hoped the dead animal would help mask his own scent.
After a few more hours of climbing, Zerif stumbled upon a long fissure in the rock face. It took some effort, but he crawled through. Sparse patches of green moss covered the slick, cool walls of the small cavern. The cave was barely big enough for him to sit up in, much less stand. He was shivering so much that his teeth rattled and his fingers were blue, but he didn’t dare light a fire.
Anger seethed from him. This was not what was supposed to happen when he allied himself with the Conquerors. They had failed him.
Zerif dropped the carcass beside him and curled himself into a tight ball. He would wait and plan. Eventually, the Greencloaks would abandon their pursuit.
And then, very soon, he would be great and powerful once again.
Two days later, he still hadn’t crawled out of the cave.
Every time he considered leaving, he thought he heard the footsteps of Greencloaks or the shouts of Niloan warriors. Perhaps it was just the wind. Or the sound of rocks tumbling down the mountain. Maybe he was hallucinating. He had tried to eat moss to gain strength but had retched the bitter vegetation back up as soon as it hit his stomach.
It was there, lying with his face pressed against the ground, that he first saw the gray worm inching toward him.
It was small and strange-looking. And fluid—almost like a coil of smoke. It moved toward him with an eerie purpose, as if it knew he was there. Zerif had never seen anything like it.
What is this? A leech? A snail?
And is it edible?
Zerif shook his head as he considered what do to. Has the mighty Zerif fallen so low that the idea of eating a worm excites him?
He picked up the worm, hoping to study it. It wriggled up his hand much quicker than he had anticipated. Before he knew it, it was at his elbow. He shook his arm furiously, but the worm remained. It burrowed its way into a deep gash on Zerif’s shoulder. Panicked, he hurled himself into the wall, hoping to crush the thing. When that didn’t work, he picked up a jagged rock and tried to cut the worm out of his skin.
Nothing seemed to stop the creature. It inched its way beneath his skin, up to his collarbone, then neck, then face. Zerif could feel it writhing. He screamed—both in fear and in pain. He felt it curling at his forehead.
Zerif twisted, clawing at his face, driving deep gouges into his skin.
And then, Zerif fell silent. His legs and arms ceased to move. They no longer belonged to him.
Slowly, he heard ancient whispers echoing in his mind. Soft at first, they intensified, feeding the anger and evil already residing in the depths of his soul.
Power surged inside him. He rose to his feet, no longer hungry or pained. He sensed the voice telling him to leave. To travel north. A being of great power would be there. An eagle.
Suddenly, Zerif found himself surrounded by hundreds of small gray worms. They crept from rocks, seeping out like liquid darkness. Parasites. Allies.
With their help, Zerif would be great once again.
He would be feared and worshipped.
He would rule the world.
Copyright © 2016 by Scholastic Inc.
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2015956412
ISBN 978-0-545-90129-1
Map illustration by Michael Walton
First edition, March 2016
Cover illustration by Angelo Rinaldi
Frame by Bobby Haiqalsyah
e-ISBN 978-0-545-90131-4
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