by R.K. Ryals
~Peregrine Storke~
So many things often seem larger than life. Certain personalities for one, but I'd never met anyone who was ... well, actually larger than life. Until now.
"Did you have a thing for Jack and the Beanstalk as a child?" Foster hissed against my ear.
He started backing away slowly, his arm dragging me with him. Nimble squeaked, her small frame ducking behind Weasel. The troll looked ready to hurl, his green face two shades greener than it was supposed to be.
"I never drew a giant," I muttered.
My gaze moved up, up, and up again, my eyes meeting the terrible expression of a very beautifully terrible creature.
“That thing was an elf once,” Elspeth whispered. She was edging toward the woods, her eyes wide behind her spectacles. “I’d heard some of them had been turned, but …”
The creature that stared down at us was no elf. Like the sirens in the swamp, he was beautiful in a brutally enticing way. His head stopped just below the clouds, his masculine body broad and muscled. He wore no shirt, his skin pale and sculpted. Loose, red cotton pants stopped just below his knees. His feet were bare. Silver hair flowed past his shoulders, pointed ears poking through the silky cascade.
“He’s brilliant,” Nimble breathed.
The awe in her voice scared me, but it didn’t terrify me half as much as the longing in her gaze.
Midnight blue eyes lingered on our group. Our chance of escape was slim. The trees were no sanctuary from an elf as large as the one in front of us.
“Let me tell you a story,” the elf-giant bellowed. His voice boomed, but it didn’t hurt. It was a beautiful voice, melodic and deep. He inclined his head. “There was once an elf named Gunther. He was a little elf, his ears too pointed, his mouth a little too wide. He wasn’t much different than the other elves in the glen where he lived, but he was sad. There were things he wanted—ears that were less pointy, a mouth that wasn’t too wide, and loftiness. He wanted to be tall, tall enough to see the world.”
The elf-giant stepped forward and the ground shook. Foster was thrown against the grass with me on top of him.
“Wouldn’t you like to be larger, less disproportionate?” the elf-giant asked, his gaze on Nimble. There was recognition in his eyes and in hers. They knew each other.
The fairy trembled, her hands clasped together.
I reached for her. “Nimble …”
She stared at the elf-giant, her violet eyes large and beautiful. “Gunther?”
The elf-giant laughed, the reverberation causing the trees to sway and the ground to shiver. “Not anymore, sweet Nimble. Gunther is gone.” He lifted his hands toward the sky. “I’ve been reborn. I am the Beast of Belonging.”
Foster’s palm covered my lips to mask my sudden gasp.
The Beast of Belonging knelt, his large knee sinking into the soft earth. “Wouldn’t you like to be less … purple?” he asked. “More graceful?”
Herman shoved at Weasel’s hat. “She’s perfect the way she is,” he argued.
The beast’s eyes slid to the worm, his midnight gaze narrowing. There was danger hidden beneath his beauty, his heart as superficial as his face and body. I remembered drawing Gunther. He had been a funny little elf, kind and friendly. In my sketch, he’d been peeking at the castle from beneath a fallen leaf.
“What about you, worm?” the beast asked. “Wouldn’t you like to be more mobile? Longer arms maybe?” He gestured at Herman’s body. “Legs?”
Herman grimaced. “I’m quite capable the way I am,” he sniffed.
A knowing glint lit up the beast’s gaze. “Maybe you’d like to be smarter?”
Herman faltered. The Beast of Belonging had stumbled on something the worm had never been able to refuse: more knowledge.
“If I say no?” Herman asked.
The beast stood, a wry smile touching his lips. “You’d want to refuse?” His gaze scanned our group. “You’d want to refuse a chance to change yourself, to make yourself better?’
Stiffening, I pulled Foster’s hand away from my face. “Better? For who? What would it change?”
The beast eyed me, his gaze feral. “It could change your entire lives.”
“To what end?” Foster inquired.
The elf gazed at him, surprise lighting his features. “The bullygog,” the beast marveled. He harrumphed. “It amazes me that you’ve joined this lot. You, a creature created because this girl,” he pointed at me, “thought you were perfect. Do you see what she does?” His smirk grew as his gaze skirted my face. “She makes perfect creatures ugly.”
Foster’s voice was low when he answered, his arm tightening even more on my waist. “Perfect creatures are often ugly.”
His response surprised me, and I glanced at him. Foster didn’t look anything like he’d looked when we’d been drawn into Awkward. Two days’ worth of stubble marred his jaw. His hair was disheveled; his white tunic stained tan by mud and tinged pink. I’d been wrong. While the Fuschia Falls didn’t dye skin, it wasn’t as forgiving on clothes. And yet, he’d never looked more handsome.
Foster gestured at us. “Do you think changing them will make them better?” He snorted. “You’re wrong. Give them a taste of perfection, and they’ll never be able to stop. No matter how much a person changes, there will always be something he feels he needs to improve. It’s an addiction.”
Was he speaking from experience? I’d certainly walked down that path; the eating disorder and countless hours in the gym a weary way to change my appearance, to stop what I thought caused the bullying. I’d been dishonest with myself about so many things. There was nothing wrong with wanting to be healthy, but there were many paths to achieving something. Not all of them the right one. I’d gone about a lot of things wrong in high school.
The Beast of Belonging threw his shoulders back, his pale skin almost white in the sun. His beauty was transfixing.
Foster’s words had shaken the group, but the envy was still there. The need to belong, to be perfect, was strong. They’d never known anything but awkwardness. It was like doing drugs. It was so much easier to say no to something if you knew what you were saying no to.
“Do you all agree with the bullygog?” the beast asked.
It was Elspeth who answered, her shuttered eyes dark and unforgiving. “We’d rather die than change,” she told him.
The Beast of Belonging chuckled. There was something eerie about his midnight gaze, as if he could see straight down into your soul. “Would you, Princess? You want your prince, but the truth is he left you for Perfection. He left you for something more dazzling than you could ever be. You could change that.”
Elspeth frowned, her pretty eyes downcast. The darkness was calling to her. The need to change was obvious in her sober mood and hurried pace. Whatever nightmares she was having, they were calling to her, compelling her to be different the same way the Beast of Belonging was now.
“You’d let him talk you into changing?” I asked her.
She ignored me, her gaze going to the elf. “You have the magic to transform us?” she asked.
The Beast roared, the howl full of triumph. “I have that and more,” he promised.
I fought against the grip Foster had on me.
Weasel stepped toward the princess. “No! We can’t give in! We can’t! Awkward will be destroyed if we give in. Nothing would matter anymore, including the prince. This world, the way we know it, would disappear. Is it true love if Dash doesn’t love you for the way you are?”
The beast growled, the snarl full of anger. He was a hormonal creature, our elf-giant.
Nimble landed on the troll’s shoulder. “Weasel’s right. What happens if we decide to give in to perfection, to belonging? Do our emotions change? Do we change for the better or for the worse?”
Herman scooted next to the fairy, his green body rubbing up against her violet wings. She scratched him on the head.
Elspeth’s gaze slid from her friends to the
beast, her shoulders rising. “We won’t do it,” she said.
Her voice sounded less convinced than her words. There was a battle raging inside of the princess. Her heart had been broken. Love could be blind and unforgiving. It often made us feel like we had to change in order to be loved.
The beast’s face transformed, his lips pulling back to reveal sharpened teeth.
“Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum,” Foster muttered. He was dragging me now, my heels sliding across the ground toward the woods. Nimble dove after us. Weasel passed us—his speed surprising for a stocky troll—as Herman clung to his hat. Elspeth trailed us, her dress hindering her.
A mighty roar rose into the sky, the anger causing the ground to roll, the trees to shake, and the spongy soil to crack.
Foster released me. “Run!” he yelled.
We took off into the woods, our heads down to keep from tripping over tree roots. It didn’t help. The quaking grew, the trees stumbling into each other like drunken vagabonds. My knees met the ground, my hands digging desperately into the soil.
“Come, Peregrine Storke!” the Beast of Belonging cried. “I’ve seen your pain. I’ve seen what caused you to create this world. It will hurt less if you come to me!”
Nimble flew toward me, but I waved her away. “Go! All of you! It’s me he wants.”
Elspeth paused, her chest heaving, her gaze wild. Weasel hurried to her side, his hand reaching for her. She accepted his support. The ground continued to quiver.
Foster was ahead of us now, and he turned back, his gaze going to the tree line. I didn’t have to look behind me to know what he saw.
His gaze slid down to mine before moving to the others. He pointed into the woods. “Go that way!” he ordered. “All of you. I’ll go with Perri, and we’ll lead him away.”
Nimble would have argued, but Foster shushed her. Rushing to my side, he helped lift me, his chest rising and falling quickly.
“No time,” he gritted. “Go now!”
Weasel pulled Elspeth into the trees with Nimble hovering above them, her worried gaze tracking us as we moved away. The smile I threw her was an encouraging one.
“A damned giant,” Foster panted.
There was a ravine ahead, and we slid down the side, dirt and rocks falling after us. Loose soil rained down, our knees buckling as the shuddering ground exhaled. With each step, the beast was bringing the earth to life.
“Your father never wanted you!” the beast shouted. “And your mother preferred the fog of painkillers over dealing with your existence. If you had been born different … a boy maybe? Or a great beauty?”
I stumbled.
Foster caught me, his firm grip. “They’re just words, Perri! Ignorant words!”
They were painful, sharp words that sliced at my soul. What if I had been born different?
“Perri, you’ve got to help me here,” Foster grunted.
He was bearing both of our weights over a trembling landscape. My blood pounded through my veins, anger propelling me forward. I was better than this, so much better than callous words.
We ran and ran, our legs taking us further down the ravine, but no matter how fast we sprinted, the elf-giant was faster. He roared.
A large hand struck the ground next to us, the pale skin mere inches from my face. Foster swore. I rolled, coming up on my knees in the ravine, my back up against a tree. Foster followed, each of us shimmying around the trunk, the huge leaves hiding us. Above us, the Beast of Belonging’s gaze searched the forest, the rumbling in his chest a constant droning sound in the silent woodland.
“A bloodthirsty giant,” Foster grunted. “It’s like a messed up Twilight-inspired Brother’s Grimm.”
I couldn’t help myself. Even with the danger, I found myself chuckling.
Foster pulled me in front of him; his back against the tree, my back against his chest. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t sparkle.”
My chuckles turned into full throated laughter, my fear, anger, and anguish twisted into one long, maniacal cackle. It was a laugh-snort even I was ashamed of.
The giant above us paused, his head lifting. There was no controlling the laughter now. The danger didn’t matter. There was only me and madness. Behind me, Foster’s body shook, his silent laughter joining my loud howls.
The ground beneath us shuddered, the soil rising and falling, the tree we leaned against swaying as the elf-giant moved past us. Two steps later, and the Beast of Belonging was out of sight, his bellows continuing, his large feet taking him deeper into the woods.
Foster shoved me away gently, his hand taking mine as he guided us back into the trees. We ran in the opposite direction, our pounding feet carrying us away from the beast.
“He left!” I panted, my voice full of awe as I glanced over my shoulder. “He left! But the laughter …”
Foster chuckled. “He thought you were a wild animal,” he revealed.
I stumbled, my wide eyes on his back. Neither one of us slowed down. “A wild animal?”
Foster glanced at me. “Have you ever been told your laugh sounds eerily like—”
“A hyena?” I finished for him. Realization washed over me, and I glared. “You planned this!”
Foster kept running. Stopping seemed wrong, as if staying still would bring more danger than moving forward.
“It worked,” he called back to me.
I snapped, “You … Neanderthal!”
Foster glanced at the sky. “Get mad at me later, Perri. The laughter worked. Your awkwardness kept us safe.”
The impact of his words hit me like a ton of bricks. My awkwardness. My laugh. It was my awkwardness that had fooled the Beast of Belonging. This was Awkward. What made us different worked for us here, not against us.
For the first time since I’d woken on the ground outside King Happenstance’s palace, I felt triumph. If I was being honest, it was the first time in my life I’d felt truly proud of something that made me different.
Chapter 15
“That awkward moment when you realize the person you once hated has been made a friend by circumstance.”
