by Kay L. Ling
She yanked her hood up before her hair got any wetter and broke into a run behind Jules and Franklin who had just spotted Elias and his group. Running in mud wasn’t easy. She slipped once, righted herself, and nearly fell again as she skidded to a halt.
Three gnomes and four breghlin stood together, armed with swords and spears, shovels and pitchforks. They had formed a semicircle around the brontskeller. The creature faced them, hissing and swinging its head back and forth. Jules was right; it was easily the diameter of her kitchen table, but not as high. Its brownish-black shell, smeared with mud, had hundreds of closely spaced, pointy ridges. The skin on its head and legs looked like petrified wood. This creature was more intimidating than a crocodillo, and she wouldn’t want to face one alone.
Elias held up his hands, palms forward. A shockwave slammed into the brontskeller, and the energy was so powerful that the ground shook, but the creature barely noticed. It looked ready to charge.
The next two energy pulses revealed Elias’s true intentions. The ground around the brontskeller trembled, then the soil seemed to dissolve, and the creature fell into a sinkhole. Unable to crawl out, it stretched its neck upward, jaws snapping, trying to reach the hunters.
“Now!” Elias cried.
A gnome swung his sword, and Lana heard the blade sing through the air and connect with something solid, then the brontskeller’s head landed on the ground, and mud flew everywhere.
Spattered with mud and gore, the group cheered, and Lana was amazed to see gnomes and breghlin thumping one another on the back. Caught up in the moment, they had forgotten their mutual dislike.
“Turtle soup for dinner!” Elias shouted. “Now let’s find the other ones.”
Still congratulating themselves, the group started off.
Elias approached Lana, Jules, and Franklin. His green robe was filthy, and his hair lay plastered to his head, but his eyes sparkled, and he didn’t look tired. “I’m glad to see you’re all right,” he said, wiping mud from his face. “Is there any word on the remaining creatures?”
“My group killed one over there,” Franklin said pointing toward an unmoving form on the ground.
“Good. That makes three. We killed one near the moat a few minutes ago.”
Feeling numb, Lana looked up at the sky. What sane person came to a place where it rained all the time and you spent the day hunting monsters?
Mud sucked at her sneakers as she followed the men, and she realized she was hungry. How could she think of food at a time like this? Blame Elias, she decided. It was his fault for mentioning turtle soup. Would he really cook and eat the brontskellers? The very thought gave her shivers, but in Jules and Elias’s day, turtle soup had been a delicacy. These turtle-like monsters might taste good, and meat was scarce in Shadow. The gnomes might not want it, but the breghlin would.
“One of the breghlin is in the infirmary,” Jules told Elias. “He was bitten in the thigh. I cauterized the wound and Lana helped me bandage him, but that’s the best we could do. Maybe you could look in on him.”
“I will as soon as I wash. I’m sure you and the others can dispatch the remaining brontskeller.”
“We’ll take care of it,” Jules promised.
When they found the fourth hunting party, the group had swelled to at least a dozen. All were soaking wet and caked with mud. Jules asked how things were going, and a gnome reported that the remaining brontskeller had knocked down two breghlin with its tail, crossed the moat, and was last seen heading toward the outer castle wall. The hunting party was resting before attempting a new assault.
“I like your invisibility idea,” Jules told Lana, “but you won’t need to help; I can use my knife. I’ll take a couple gnomes, and we’ll finish off the last creature.”
Franklin took Jules’s arm. “It’s no worse than killing a pythanium, but be careful.”
Jukes grinned. “Thank goodness it doesn’t have a beautiful hide, or Lana would want me to skin it.”
Brontskeller jokes might replace pythanium jokes before long. “The shell would make a great bathtub,” she said. “Better than a barrel.” She wished Jules wasn’t going after this creature, but Franklin had killed one, and Jules wouldn’t want to be outdone.
Jules went off to explain his plan to the hunting party, and then they headed toward the drawbridge with Lana and Franklin following at a distance. Franklin glanced at Lana, who was in no mood for conversation. Something in her expression must have told him that. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked with his head down.
They found the brontskeller plodding along the stone wall, thrashing its tail, clearly unhappy about being trapped between the wall and the approaching hunters. The air bore a strong, musky odor that had to be coming from the creature.
The hunters paused, conferred briefly, and then Jules held up his glowing knife, and he and two gnomes vanished. Lana shook her head. Invisibility just never got old. The downside of watching an invisible battle was that it was, well . . . invisible. She shifted nervously from one foot to the other, squinting into the mist. Beside her, Franklin said reassuringly, “Don’t worry, they’ll be fine.”
If only she could be sure of that.
The brontskeller’s head swung this way and that, and her skin prickled with fear as she realized that it might not be able to see its attackers, but it probably could smell and hear them. The visible members of the hunting party closed in, raising their weapons.
The brontskeller suddenly changed course. Lana heard a thump followed by a grunt, and one of the invisible hunters hit the ground, sending mud flying. If only she could see what was happening! She held her breath, her hands clenched inside her jacket pockets.
The hunting party backed away as the brontskeller began turning in a slow circle, thrashing its tail. It seemed to be searching for Jules and his two companions. Suddenly she questioned the wisdom of this plan, but it was too late now.
“Maybe he should have tried hypnotizing it with his knife,” Franklin said, apparently also having second thoughts.
There was no telling whether the knife would make the pulsing light, and hypnosis might not work on brontskellers, anyway. She was about to say that when the creature snapped its jaws, and a second later, its decapitated head landed on the ground.
Once again, a shout rose from the hunters. Jules became visible again, smiling happily. Beside him, a gnome lifted a bloodstained sword, his smile as wide as Jules’s. The other gnome, liberally splashed with mud, looked less enthused about their success. Lana laughed with relief and Franklin gave her a friendly slap on the back. “I knew they could do it.”
Jules made his way toward Lana and Franklin, wiping blood from his face with his sleeve while the rest of the hunting party rushed to examine the carcass.
Lana said numbly, “That was scary.”
Dripping water all over her, he leaned in for a quick kiss. “I’ll admit I was afraid. We were leaving footprints in the mud, and I hadn’t thought about that until I looked down. I’m not sure how observant brontskellers are, but I showed the gnomes our footprints, they understood, and rather than face the creature, we flanked it.
Lana said, “I heard a thud. Someone fell. I was hoping it wasn’t you.”
“No. One of the gnomes couldn’t get out of the way in time when the brontskeller changed course.”
“Lucky he didn’t get trampled,” Franklin said.
“After colliding with him, it stopped. I tried to stab it in the head, but its skin is tougher than shoe leather. I just made it angry. It swung its head around to take a bite out of me, and that’s when the gnome sliced off its head.”
“I’m glad everyone’s okay,” Lana said. He took her hand and they started back to the castle. “Are you sure there aren’t any more of those things?”
“The breghlin insist there were only four,” Jules said, glancing at Franklin for confirmation.
“Yes, four—four too many. I learned a lot about them today from my breghlin team members—e
verything from their diet to their behavior.”
“What do they eat? I mean, what did they eat?” Lana corrected herself.
“Basically, the moat was the castle’s garbage dump, and the brontskellers lived on refuse.”
Lana wrinkled her nose.
“Who discovered that the brontskellers were out of the moat?” Jules asked.
“One of the breghlin—Oliver. He came out of the maraku barn and saw it, and then as he ran toward the castle to spread the word, he saw the other three. A few minutes later, Elias was forming hunting teams.” Franklin paused and gave Lana and Jules a sly smile. “Couldn’t find you, though. Where were you?”
“In the basement,” Jules said, looking guilty.
Franklin raised a brow. “The basement?”
Lana said with a grin, “I’m an old hand at avoiding unpleasant duties. And monster hunts rank high on the list.”
Chapter 22
The beetle circled inside her cage, her feelers testing the air for sounds, smells, and air movement. Her eyes were not very useful. Although she could detect the slightest trace of movement, and she had a wide field of vision, the many small lenses of her compound eyes made it impossible to focus on objects and distinguish details. She was quite certain the humans had gone, and she hoped she had frightened them. She knew more than she let on. Let them discover the danger for themselves.
Several minutes ago, her guards had rushed away. For the first time in weeks, she was completely alone. Even this small victory brought her satisfaction. She moved to the center of her cage, away from the dreadful metal that burned when she touched it.
Brontskellers had left the moat and were roaming the grounds. It was so delightful! Terrified gnomes had run past the library, shouting the news. The castle was in an uproar. If only she could watch the mayhem! But the best she could do was sit in this cage, gloating, and she intended to enjoy this moment to the fullest.
Brontskellers were harmless in the water, but on land they were highly aggressive. She pictured them biting off gnome arms and legs, crushing their bodies, and attacking the livestock, while Elias and the gnomes frantically attempted to drive them back into the moat. During the confusion, the breghlin who were still loyal to her would kill some of the gnomes. Any semblance of cooperation between humans, gnomes, and breghlin would end today. Life at Shadowglade would descend into chaos, and it would be impossible to restore order. Oh, how she would taunt Elias and his disgusting allies, Jules and Lana. What sweet revenge! The beetle waved her feelers in a frenzy of joyful anticipation.
This new disaster was almost as delightful as the incessant rain. Oh, yes, she knew about the rain. The guards had whispered among themselves, but she could hear them. Rain had fallen for days. Before long, Shadow would be an impassible swamp. Yet another victory, she told herself gleefully. The gnomes thought they were free, but their miseries had not ended with her defeat. And unless they restored her to her proper form, matters would continue to get worse. She clicked her mandibles in an approximation of laughter—the best she could do in this wretched form.
But a nagging thought dampened her joy.
The humans must be lying. It could not be true. The spell book would never turn against her. She tried to push away the disturbing notion and revel in her victories, but one worrisome thought led to another.
Her tormentors had discovered that some gnomes had gem powers, and worse, they had somehow activated the gnomes’ powers. The wolfhound-man was right: her breghlin would flee in terror from gnomes with gem powers. Bah! What a horrible twist of fate. After all these years, gnomes had uncovered things about themselves that should have remained hidden forever.
She crawled about inside her cage, no longer clicking her mandibles in laughter but snapping them in anger. Her enemies planned to read her books, study her scrolls and maps, and search for answers about their past. She did not want them to learn her secrets. They must not learn about Traitor’s Ridge, Bloody Knoll, and Last Hope. And yet, she consoled herself, perhaps it didn’t matter. They could no more change the past than she could, and knowing what had happened, and how much they had lost, would not do them any good. In fact, it would only make them more miserable, and they deserved to be as miserable as she was.
Unfolding her wings and shaking them in agitation, she resisted the urge to fly. The cage was too small. She would touch the sides of the cage and singe her wings.
Unpleasant thoughts continued to haunt her. If she could go back in time, what might she do differently? The Mydorians had served their purpose, and for a while, all had gone according to her plan. How could she have guessed the depths of the gnomes’ desperation, or the lengths to which they would go to stop her? Had they realized what would happen? Had they willingly made the sacrifice?
The gnomes’ losses had been unthinkable, and in many ways, they were still paying for their folly, but though she hated to admit it, they had actually won. She snapped her mandibles furiously. No! She must not think of it in those terms. To some degree, she had gotten what she wanted—subjects to rule, and slavish obedience, if not slavish devotion. True, they had denied her the full measure of her ambitions, but she had denied the gnomes far more.
Somehow that brought her little satisfaction.
The gnomes had defended this land, but they had not been able to stand against her dark powers. What was theirs had become hers, and that was as it should be. They were weak, she told herself, her wings twitching irritably. She had seized their stronghold. Claiming Shadowglade had brought her some satisfaction, but now it was theirs again.
How long could she keep her sanity while powerless, with an insect body, on display in a cage? How long could she endure this humiliation? The gnomes poked her with sticks and laughed at her distress. The breghlin, who had once trembled before her in fear, now trembled with laughter. Fortunately, due to her compound eyes, she could not see their jubilant faces.
She tried in vain to calm herself. Elias and his gnome-lover companions had a tenuous grasp on this land. Their burdens would overwhelm them and drive them mad, if her supporters did not murder them first. And if the rain continued long enough, all life would perish. She was the only one who could stop it. Elias was weak and incompetent, unsuited to leadership. When would he realize his folly and restore her to her rightful form?
If only a vestige of her once-formidable powers remained, she could bend Elias to her will. She pictured him bowing before her, acknowledging her superiority, begging her forgiveness for turning her into a detestable beetle.
All too often, when she thought very hard, she exhausted herself and lapsed into a torpor, much like the sleep she had known as a woodspirit. Sometimes she welcomed it—a respite from her dreary existence. She must not lose hope, she must not lose hope, she must not . . . .
Suddenly she stirred, disoriented. How much time had passed? She detected approaching footsteps and crawled toward the side of her cage. It must be Elias and his accomplices. Perhaps they were coming to surrender. By now, the brontskellers would had savaged the gnomes, drenching the once-parched soil with gnome blood. Any survivors would have fled, abandoning their incompetent human leaders. Surely now Elias would concede defeat and turn her back into a woodspirit.
Four indistinct figures entered the room. She knew who they were by their voices. They talked and laughed among themselves as they approached her cage.
“I’ve never hunted in a team before,” Elias said. “It was quite exciting. Too bad it was over so soon. Killing the creatures should have been more challenging.”
“Blame the breghlin. They’re good hunters,” Jules said, “and they really seemed to enjoy it.”
“I must hand it to Ben, that was quite the display of bravery,” Elias said.
“How’s he doing?” Lana asked.
“He’s fine,” Elias said. “I healed his leg and he’s out of the infirmary now, but he’ll probably have a scar.”
Lana laughed. “He fought a brontskeller. He’ll be braggi
ng about that scar for years.”
The beetle snapped her mandibles and rattled her wings. Lies! All lies! Her brontskellers dead? Impossible! They could not be dead. They were savage creatures with shells like armor. And breghlin would never hunt them—certainly not alongside gnomes. Ridiculous! Did the humans think she was gullible enough to believe such a story? Trapped in this cage, she couldn’t disprove their lies, and they knew that.
“Hey, S,” said the annoying human, Lana, in her usual mocking tone. “We’re thinking about mounting a brontskeller head on the library wall. It goes with your décor—the bone furniture and all. What do you think?”
The beetle ignored the foul human’s taunts. Why give them reason to think she believed any of this nonsense?
After a long pause Elias said, “We should mount a head from each of S’s monsters so we can remember them once they’re extinct.”
“That’s a great idea,” Jules agreed. “By the way, Lana wants to make an outdoor bathhouse with brontskeller shells for tubs. “Then the breghlin can take their Saturday night baths in style.”
Unable to contain her fury, the beetle made a loud, grating noise. Breghlin taking baths. Ridiculous! The humans’ lies grew more inventive by the moment, their attempts to upset her more desperate, but they were wasting their time. If only they would go away and leave her in peace.
“Well,” Elias said, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m starving. I told the servers to prepare a celebratory lunch for gnomes, breghlin, and humans to enjoy together. It’s probably ready by now.”
The beetle flicked her feelers angrily. Eating together indeed! As if she would believe that!
A face drew close and Lana said, “It wouldn’t be right for everyone but you to have lunch, S, so I brought you something special.” The hatch at the top of the cage opened and something rained down, pelting the startled beetle.
Lana said cheerfully, “There you go. Trampled earthworms with a side of brontskeller dung. Yum!”
