The Beast

by A R Davis

  Valerie noticed something on the floor. It was a coin bag. She scooped it up and ran after the man.

  “Wait, you dropped this.”

  But he was gone.

  “Papa, I’m here!” she yelled.

  Valerie could see three guards scouring the forest with her father. He was crying. His eyes widened with disbelief as she approached. He closed the short distance between them and gathered her up in a clumsy embrace. He sobbed. Valerie did her best not to cry with him.

  “This your daughter, sir?” one of the guards asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Valerie replied over her father’s shoulder. “I am.”

  “I thought I lost you,” her father said. “I thought you were gone.”

  Valerie shushed him and gently patted his back. “I’m all right, Papa. I’m sorry.”

  “What were you doing roaming about in the forest?” another guard asked irritably.

  Valerie reminded herself not to scowl. “It was such a nice day out, sir…I thought I would go for a short stroll. Unfortunately, I was trapped in a net.”

  “And how did you get out?”

  “A man helped me.”

  Her father released her and looked in her eyes. “A man?”

  “What did this man look like?” the guard asked.

  “I don’t know, sir. He was wearing a cloak and I couldn’t see his face. He didn’t hurt me or anything. He just helped me get free.”

  “Lawrence, tell the hunters to make a note of any strange men wearing cloaks roaming the forest. I’m sure Captain Yendel will want to hear of this as well.”

  Valerie wrenched herself away from her father to stand in front of the guardsman. “I told you he didn’t do anything, sir.”

  “That may be true,” the guard responded nonchalantly. “Either way, he’s wanted for questioning, miss.”

  “Why?”

  “They found…a body,” her father said softly. “I thought…That’s why I thought you were gone. I thought for sure it was you until I saw it. And even then I thought…” He broke down again. Valerie held him, but her thoughts were on the man in the black cloak.

  He had made no mention of winning that fight.

  *

  The bullet split through the dummy’s head, showering the training ground with dust and splinters. Young Aubrey lowered his rifle to inspect the damage. If that was a real man, he would be dead. He had images of shooting a killer and the people cheering upon his triumphant return—hailing him not just as a great Lord Aubrey but simply as a great Lord. They would weep for him when he died and bury him in a place where they would always see him.

  “That was a beautiful shot, Master Aubrey.”

  Young Aubrey turned around to see Captain Yendel strolling across the grounds toward him. He had been in Lord Aubrey’s service since he was around Young Aubrey’s age. The Captain was known as a friendly yet fair man. Women in town tripped over their own feet in their eagerness to speak with him. Captain Yendel was nearing his forties, but he still held the same smooth, boyish features. Even with his helmet on, Young Aubrey could see his dark blue eyes and a few strands of curly blonde hair. When he was younger, Young Aubrey very much desired to be everything Captain Yendel was. Like everything else, he kept that desire firmly to himself.

  “I had a good teacher,” Young Aubrey said.

  Captain Yendel placed a hand gently on Young Aubrey’s shoulder. “You will do well during the Aubrey hunt,” he said, nodding once before adding, “I am…very proud of you.”

  Young Aubrey hid his embarrassment at the sentiment. Lord Aubrey had never spoken those words. It was always, “I know you will do well.” Lord Aubrey had never stopped to take in his son’s accomplishments. But how much pride could you have in watching someone tread your same path?

  “Thank you, Captain,” Young Aubrey replied, returning his attention to the wooden dummy. “How goes the reconnaissance?” he asked as he took aim.

  “My men found no black-cloaked killers when they searched, Master Aubrey. You needn’t worry.”

  “I wasn’t worried.” Young Aubrey fired and the loud bang echoed in his ears. The bullet went through the dummy’s neck. He assessed the damage for a moment. “That’s disappointing.”

  “Am I distracting you, Master Aubrey?”

  “No. That wound would be just as fatal as the last. Whether it be an animal or a black-cloaked killer. Do you think that girl was speaking falsely?”

  Lord Aubrey had plenty to say about the girl when he was first told of this matter. “Perhaps she was making the whole damn thing up. You lads know how girls are: squeaking at any little thing they deem suspicious. For all we know, she was only speaking about a strange man so that she could avoid punishment from her father. You can’t trust their words on such matters. It’s why they are best left at home.” Young Aubrey hated his father’s words, but he would hate them more if Lord Aubrey turned out to be correct.

  “It is hard to say for certain, Master Aubrey,” Captain Yendel said and took his guardsman’s stance. “If there is such a man, he wasn’t found. My men saw only animals.”

  “Then maybe an animal killed that man.” Young Aubrey lowered his rifle, staring at the blistering hole in the dummy’s neck.

  “If that is the case, Master Aubrey, then you shall shortly have the opportunity to bring the killer beast down.”

  Young Aubrey nodded absentmindedly. He certainly liked that idea, but he knew it would not be enough. Several years into his lordship, nobody would remember him bringing down the animal that had taken a life. He saw his portrait being hung in the corridor along with the other Aubreys, and his features twisted into that of his father’s, and that of the others, until he was no longer himself.

  “Are you nervous about the hunt?” Captain Yendel asked.

  Young Aubrey forced himself to smile. “No.”

  “Are you nervous about becoming Lord?”

  Young Aubrey laughed. “Why is everyone asking me that? No, of course not.”

  “It is a large task, Master Aubrey. Most men could not handle the responsibilities that come with the title.”

  “Then it is fortunate for me that I was born into it.”

  “The name alone isn’t everything, Master Aubrey.”

  Of that I am very well aware, Young Aubrey thought. “Did you always want to be a captain?”

  “A guardsman, yes. A captain, not so much.”

  “Yet you became one. Why?”

  “Because I enjoyed the feeling of enacting justice. As Captain, I could easily preserve peace and order. Believe me, there is no greater feeling than having men willing to follow you to the depths of the earth and back because they believe in achieving the same goals.”

  Young Aubrey took a moment as the words sunk in. “But you’ve accomplished much in your life. Any man would have every reason to follow you.”

  “And those same men have every reason to follow you. Your father has taught you well. I can see it when I look at you. He passed on his morals, his goodness, and his sense of justice. There is no reason why our loyalties should be swayed. My men and I will give you our honor and our lives, just as we have for your father.”

  Young Aubrey did not doubt the sincerity in Captain Yendel’s words. He never did. There was a hollow ache in his heart. He wished he could tell Captain Yendel everything that was churning in his mind—the thoughts that kept him up at night and haunted him in the daylight hours. But there was a risk that the Captain would take his words back to Lord Aubrey. He could never explain to his father the overwhelming feeling of never being good enough.

  “Now,” Captain Yendel said, clapping his iron hands together, “why don’t you try to show me that lovely aim of yours?”

  Young Aubrey reloaded as another dummy was strung up. Listlessly, he raised the rifle eye-level. The dummy’s face appeared like that of his father’s; then, rolling back and back in time, the face morphed into that of the first Lord Aubrey, smiling and smiling at him.

  He
took the shot, and it was perfect.

  Chapter 4

  It was utterly dark except for the moon breaking through bits of the canopy. It was also deathly quiet, which he liked best. At first, he didn’t like that animals refused to approach him. Now, he couldn’t even stand looking at them, whether they were dead or alive, and they smelled terrible. Sometimes he wondered if he smelled just like them. Maybe not, since the girl sat next to him. Then again, she didn’t seem like the type to say outright that he smelled funny. However, she was the type to tell others about him. Talking to her was a stupid mistake on his part. He should have just kept his mouth shut.

  He washed his hands by the stream, cupped them full of water, and took a drink to wash the blood out of his mouth. He hated the taste of blood. It felt like he was constantly sucking on a dirty coin. Once he was clean (or as clean as he could be), there was nothing else to do but return home.

  Home, he thought. It felt like a strange word. Yet, if there was a better one, he could not think of it.

  As he neared the house, he procured a key from within his cloak.

  The door was already open.

  His heart jumped into his throat. The hunters found me. They are in there right now, guns at the ready.

  He did not feel ready, but he opened the door anyway.

  The entrance room was empty. There was not even a swirl of dust to signify that someone was still there. The smell of burnt sausages hung in the air.

  His ears pricked when he heard the sound of a fork scraping loudly against a plate. The muscles in his stomach tensed. Carefully, he pushed the swinging door just enough to peer through.

  He was taken aback when he saw who sat at his kitchen table. It had been a long time since he last saw Dante. The last time, Dante gave him a look of pure loathing as he stood above him with his fists bloody and his teeth bared. Now, he was casually eating as if none of that had happened. He did not know whether to be happy or angry. He didn’t think Dante would ever come back.

  Of course he would, he thought.

  But for how long?

  Tentatively, he entered the kitchen. He still remembered how much pain the last encounter caused, and he wondered if Dante was hiding his anger behind his casual demeanor. Dante loftily raised his hand in greeting, his mouth stuffed with sausages.

  “Hello,” he said.

  The way he said it…the way he just sat there…it really seemed as though Dante had completely forgotten the incident or that it no longer mattered to him.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked in a harsher tone than he intended.

  Dante gestured to the food in front of him. “Eating. I was tired of waiting for you.”

  “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  Dante reached for his cup and took a drink. “You going to keep standing there, or are you going to join me?”

  He took a seat across from Dante, who didn’t bother to offer some of his food, not that he would have taken him up on it if he had.

  “I must admit,” Dante said, “I was worried about you for a minute.”

  “Just a minute?”

  “Don’t be like that, Damien. I was sure you were fine.” Dante chewed like a cow.

  Upon hearing his name, Damien flinched. The last time he had heard Dante use his name…

  “Are you still upset about our fight?” Dante asked, staring at his plate as though he did not want to bring it up.

  Damien’s memory flashed to Dante’s fist bearing into his cheek and his ribs. He felt Dante’s kick to his shin, he heard him shouting in his ear, telling him that he hated him so much. There was pain and nothing else.

  “No,” Damien said.

  “Well, good. It was pretty stupid. We can just bury it.”

  Along with everything else, Damien thought.

  “How’s your leg?” Dante asked.

  “I can still walk.”

  Dante nodded. “You…you did the right thing. I just wish you had…I don’t know. I wish you had done it differently.”

  Damien didn’t know what to say to this. He didn’t know what to say when Dante struck him either, so it felt appropriate.

  Dante sighed and Damien knew what was coming. “They found a body earlier this week.” Dante tapped his fingers twice on the tabletop. “There were a lot of rumors about some madman in the forest who might have done it.”

  Damien’s body tensed as the silence was drawn out. Dante took another sip.

  “I want you to know, whether it was your work or not, I took care of it,” Dante said. “Just be more careful in the future.” There was a hint of disappointment in his voice.

  “What – What did you do?”

  “Does it matter? I took care of it. You’re safe.”

  “OK…Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me for something I had to do.” The edge of bitterness was hard to miss.

  “All the same…Thank you.”

  Dante shrugged and downed the rest of whatever was in his cup.

  The unspoken question was hanging between them. Damien did his best to swallow it down, but it bubbled up like bile. He had to ask, “Are you…are you coming back?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Did he really have to make him say it? “Your room is still the way you left it.”

  “Dingy and suffocating?”

  “N-no. I mean –”

  “I know what you meant. The thing is…I like it out there. I get to see people and enjoy their company and vice versa. It’s like the way things used to be. And maybe it’s best if I’m gone, you know?”

  Damien did not know why this shocked him as much as it did. And it hurt like hell, too—worse than any punch he could have received from Dante…worse than being told he was hated.

  “Maybe it is,” he said. He paused. And then he blurted out, “I saved a girl.”

  Dante stared at him dubiously. “Oh? From what?”

  “She got caught in one of the hunter’s traps.”

  “That’s nice.”

  Damien didn’t know why, but he expected a bigger reaction. He grew disheartened. “You don’t believe me.” He thought that this, at least, would get Dante to forgive him—if only a little. All he received was a humorless smile as Dante rubbed his hands together.

  “I have to admit, it’s a tad farfetched.”

  “Why?”

  Dante looked about the room. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s something about the way you live.”

  “The way we live,” Damien corrected.

  Dante chuckled. “The way I used to live.” He lifted his empty cup.

  At that moment, Damien remembered being stranded at sea with the waves curling over his body and filling his stomach with salt until it looked like a sickly balloon. Who should be there beside him to pull him up from the storm?

  “Well, I’m heading off,” Dante said. He stretched and then scraped the chair across the floor as he got to his feet. He paused. “Is there anything you need me to get you?”

  “How long will you be gone?” Damien asked, his eyes still on the empty plate and his thoughts still floating in the sea.

  “I don’t know. A few days. A few weeks. Either way, I’ll be back.”

  The waves were pulling them apart. The sea beneath them was fathomless. They could not see each other’s bodies floating in the blackness; their hands did not reach for one another.

  “Thank you for the food,” Dante said as he pulled his cloak over his shoulders.

  “I didn’t offer you any,” Damien replied. “You just took it.”

  *

  Dawn was still hours away, but Young Aubrey was wide awake as the dread-filled anticipation ate away at him. His fear wasn’t simply of the idea of the hunt taking place in the morning; it was sneaking around the Aubrey manor that added to his anxiety. He carried no lantern in case someone else was creeping in the dark, and he didn’t want anyone stopping him to ask what he was doing. He carried a plate of sugared pastries and wondered if she would like them.
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  He reached the stairwell without any interruptions. On tip toes he made his way downstairs to the cellar door—his heart beating wildly.

  What would he do if it was locked? It had been quite a while since she allowed him to see her. Each time he found the door locked, he felt an ache in his chest. But today was important. Surely she would want to see him…surely.

  He turned the knob of the basement door.

  To his relief, the door gave way.

  Stepping inside the room was like entering a melancholy painting. The room was barren with the exception of a lumpy looking bed and a chair in the center of it all. Sitting in that chair was a very pale woman bent over her knitting. Her hair hung in wisps in front of her ashen face and lay on her lap like a worn scarf. She wore a dark blue dress that buttoned up at the neck. The only bright color in the room was the fabric she was working with: a bright, sky-blue that looked like water spilling from her lap. Young Aubrey never knew what she made, or if she ever finished anything; he only knew that she spent all of her time doing it. Perhaps she thought that, once she was finished, she would have no other purpose to serve.

  “Hello, Mother,” Young Aubrey said softly.

  She didn’t respond; she never responded. Instead, her needles clicked eagerly. He took it as a sign that she was happy to see him.

  Young Aubrey took a seat on the floor in front of her like a boy preparing to listen to a story. He watched as she moved the needles back and forth, the length of the woven fabric growing as long as her hair. Her lap was there in front of him, still and warm, yet he resisted the urge to lay his head there. He peered up at her face.

  His mother’s looks were tainted with burn marks. He didn’t know all of the details, but there was supposedly a kitchen accident that caused her dress to catch fire. Even now, as Young Aubrey looked up at his mother, she looked as though she was melting in front of his eyes. Her neck was mottled like meat falling off the bone. This wasn’t known for certain, but Young Aubrey assumed her grotesque features were what kept her living down here with only her knitting to keep her company.