A monster inside, p.13
A Monster Inside, page 13
part #1 of Undying Prince Series
The monster wailed, and the earth and sky rang with its lamentations. Yet it was powerless to resist Erik’s will. It fought back even as it obeyed, slashing at what little remained of the Prince as it soared further and further into the wilderness.
Misery assaulted Erik like hot pliers and needles jabbing into his intestines. Ever so slowly, his control faltered, and his mind slipped under. . . .
■■■
Memory Fragment - Patrick Maida
The wind rose, whipping Patrick’s gray-colored, wool cloak and cutting through his coat as if it were not even there. He wished he had worn something thicker, or that the Wilderness Survival Test was not done during winter. Only one hour into the challenge and he already doubted his own ability to survive the full twenty-one days.
All I need is one little ember. Please, just one.
Muscles trembling, he fiercely worked his hands down a wooden hand drill. The skin on his palms tore, and he grimaced, but did not stop. Why couldn’t they have just given us a fucking flint firestarter? Why do they always have to make everything so complicated?
A little wisp of smoke rose from the fireboard where the tip of the drill rubbed against it. “Yes,” he whispered, lifting the drill, eyes alight with celebration. An instant later, the joy drained from him.
Nothing. No ember. Not even the hint of one.
Patrick howled, smashing the fireboard against the ground. “Fuck! Fuck!” Frustration brought tears to his eyes. I can’t die here! I’m only sixteen!
The snapping of a nearby twig jolted him to stillness. Eyes alert, he scanned the forest. There were worse things out here than the cold. Far worse.
Patrick gripped the knife at his belt and focused on his First Sefirot. Malkuth. At his command, the sphere-shaped, egg-sized crystal spun within his gut, powered by prana. The surrounding air shimmered like a mirage, shrouding him in a cloak of invisibility. Colors faded before his eyes. The world transformed into shades of red, orange, and blue, revealing the light that spewed from each living creature.
■■■
Erik jerked back into awareness, gasping, even though he no longer had lungs. The Celestial Dragon rose kilometers above the earth, soaring ever higher. He experienced the world through its senses. Temperatures cooled, and the air thinned the higher it climbed, yet this had no effect on its ascension. Somehow it pushed its weight into this other place—this other dimension. Making itself lighter than a butterfly, then lighter than air. Its scales glittered under the silver glow of the shards of the moon, rippled in a song no human ear could perceive. The Song of Calling.
Terror flashed through Erik. The Celestial Dragon was sending a signal out into the void. It was calling to its kin. Whatever members of it species heard its cry would come swarming to this world, all filled with the same burning desire. Hunger. This knowledge was suddenly inside Erik as if it had always been there.
No! Not understanding how, he retched the beast’s body mass back from that other place and it all came flooding back. All those tens of thousands of pounds.
The Celestial Dragon’s upward momentum stalled, and gravity reasserted its dominance; its wings tore in half from the sudden increase in weight. Pain erupted, and torrents of hot blood spewed into the air, exploding into fiery flames. Erik felt all of it as his own, as the monster spiraled back toward the distant ground.
■■■
Memory Fragment - Patrick Maida
Patrick sat in a smoke-filled tavern next to four of his top-knotted brothers in arms, nursing a bowl of wine. The Code frowned on public displays of intoxication, but a few bowls would do no harm, or so Patrick’s current squad leader claimed. He held no opinion on the topic either way; he was just glad to already be two months into his first posting. And truthfully, his vice lay in another direction.
A knot of barmaids stood beside a window darkened with night, sending him flirtatious glances while giggling among themselves. But he paid them no mind. He only had eyes for one woman. Christel. Another barmaid, yet unlike the others in a way he could not articulate. Despite the birthmark that marred her beauty, his eyes could not help but track her across the tavern. There was something about her that called to him the same way an inferno might to a moth. She moved about the room serving drinks to men in stained shirtsleeves and round-belly merchants, never looking in his direction. Her disinterest cut at him, wounded him.
Patrick fingered one of the wooden buttons which held his black coat closed. At first, wooing Christel had been a game he played to amuse himself. A game that became slightly less enjoyable with each new rejection; unlike the other barmaids, she refused to lay with him. Is this love?
Somewhere along the line, his interest had turned into an obsession, even he could see that. Most nights his mind ran with thoughts of her. Even the company of other women did little to release the need that boiled and seethed in his loins.
She will be mine! Patrick thought with a sudden flash of anger.
A cracking sound drew his attention down to his hand. The button lay broken in half, between his thumb and finger.
■■■
Erik plummeted from the sky, howling, screaming. He fell in a confusing mix of human and bubbling dragon flesh, assaulted by the wind, bombarded by snatches of memory. His mind was a battlefield and his body a war zone. He. . . .
■■■
Memory Fragment - Patrick Maida
Existence was a shimmering mirage of blue, red, and orange.
What am I doing? Cloaked in invisibility, Patrick stalked Christel as she went about on her morning chores. This was not the first time or even the second. This is not right, I need to stop.
Christel paused with her hand on the doors of the stable, glancing over her shoulder. Patrick froze, gasping and shivering even though she could not see him. Her face blurred with a mixture of orange and red hues.
■■■
The wind howled around Erik, spinning him like a twig in a tornado. One moment he protruded from the Celestial Dragon’s chest and the next instant it grew from his. Back and forth they went, human flesh and dragon scales in constant flux.
■■■
Memory Fragment - Patrick Maida
An unlit lantern hung from a nail in a post, leaving most of the stalls consumed by shadows. Patrick came through the stable doors hard on Christel’s heels, she spun around, and he knocked her to the floor. Heart pounding, he flipped her onto her stomach and pinned her down. Somewhere along the way, he dropped his invisibility. But he hardly noticed with all the blood roaring in his ears and the itching need clawing inside him, blinding him to everything else.
Christel struggled beneath him, desperate to escape but too feeble to overcome his might. The horses neighed in their stalls, frightened by the sudden commotion. “Please, don’t do this,” she begged.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the need in him growing violent, turning from an itch into a searing flame. His body ached. His body burned. One hand pressed to the back of Christel’s neck, and the other fumbled at his belt buckle.
Tears spilled from Christel’s eyes onto the wooden floorboards. “Please,” she said in a voice that pulled at Patrick’s humanity.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
■■■
Disgust flashed through Erik as the darkened earth rushed up toward him, vast and ungleaming.
■■■
Memory Fragment - Patrick Maida
Patrick buckled his breeches, shrouded in shame and self-repudiation. Christel watched him from her knees, with eyes like two hot coals, eyes that singed his soul. He dropped his gaze, unable to meet her stare. “I’m sorry,” he grunted. “I never meant to—”
“Rape me,” Christel said in a voice pitched low, for his ear alone. She seemed calm, too calm. If not for the look in her eyes she might as well have been talking about what she ate for breakfast.
Patrick’s bottom lip trembled, and he stilled it. “I-if you tell anyone I’ll. . . .”
“You’ll what?” Christel asked in the same cold tone. “You’ll tell everyone I’m a liar? That I wanted it? Or maybe . . . you’ll kill me?”
“I would never do such a thing.”
Christel gave a dry, humorless laugh that made Patrick flinch as if struck. “I’m sure there is nothing you wouldn’t do. I know men like you, I’ve been putting up with them my whole life. You’re nothing more than a brute. You took what I wouldn’t give.” She fingered the red patch of skin on her cheek. “Everyone believes this is a birthmark, but it’s not. I burnt myself when I was eight, thinking my uncle would stop touching me if I weren’t pretty anymore. I was wrong. It never stops.”
“I love you,” Patrick whimpered. Guilt spooled at the back of his throat until he thought he might choke, and a river of tears ran down his face. “I love you.” Louder. “I love you.”
“I hate you, Patrick Maida!” Christel shouted. “I hate you!”
Chapter 15
Erik jolted into consciousness, gasping for breath and writhing in pain. Even as his mind rang, he fought both the tide of phantom images and the Celestial Dragon to a standstill, then won. His chest lay opened to the night sky, broken bones protruding through ripped flesh. Torment like the flames of a pyre tore through every wound and every cut. Yet he was not afraid. All around him black and red tendrils slipped and stalked through the sand, reaching for him. The tendrils merged with his battered body, sealing wounds, repairing torn ligaments and bones.
Erik stood, heart pounding, staring at the mist-wreathed lake that stretched out in front of him. How far north did the Celestial Dragon take me? And which direction is south? He pinched the fabric of his spotless robe in between his thumb and finger. His sense of touch helped ground his fragmented thoughts.
South is that way, spoke a voice from inside his head.
Erik froze and forced his hands to unknot, staring out at the fog. His heart raced, beating with a furious dark sound. The fog drifted onto the shore and swirled around his legs, hiding his feet before being broken apart by the breeze. Please, let it be the wind.
If it makes you happier, call me the North Wind, my Prince. Patrick's voice floated back. It makes no difference. Not to me. Not now.
Erik laughed, a short, uneasy sound. “Patrick....” He swallowed. “Is that really you?” The last part came out in a whisper. Am I going mad?
You’re no more insane than you’ve always been, Patrick said. Then again that’s not saying much.
Erik turned from the lake, scanning the rest of his surroundings. No living thing stirred in the night except for him. The moon glittered above, the broken center piece of an ocean of stars. Below it, a handful of indistinct trees grew from an endless field of long grass.
He sighed. The thought that he might be going mad was not pleasant, but he did not run from it. He had little fondness for the cowardliness that led to Fiendlords, least of all when found in himself. Whether he liked it or not, he would kill himself if the Abyss had corrupted his mind.
While I enjoy talking to you, truly I do. . . . Patrick drawled in the back of Erik’s head, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Right now, might not be the time for this discussion. We’re standing on the edge of what I assume is one of the few water sources for kilometers. Within the bowels of the Northern Reaches. At night. Alone. His voice turned even more mocking, something Erik had not thought possible before. Perhaps we should move to a safer location, then revisit this conversation.
“We?” Erik asked, the word souring in his mouth. It made everything seem more salient and inescapable. From now on he would never be alone again. He wanted to laugh at the horror of it all but could not bring himself to make a sound.
Yes, we, Patrick said ruefully.
The Celestial Dragon rumbled within Erik, letting its presence be known. We, it whispered, sounding as displeased as Erik felt. For once the creature seemed almost intelligent. Had the introduction of Patrick made it smarter?
Soft juicy flesh-things. You promised. Feed.
Then again, maybe not. Erik strode away from the lake, scratching at his mustache with a finger as minutes passed. The night, like his life, held many unknowns, but he was not afraid, even though he was unarmed. He took comfort in his new abilities.
A vagrant gust of wind swayed the knee-high grass through which Erik walked, bringing with it an aroma of spicy wrongness. To his left, a deformed redwood jutted out of the ground, grown twisted and gnarled by the overlong absence of men. He could not be certain in the dark, but it appeared diseased.
“Are you sure this is the right direction?” Erik asked, trying to puzzle out the weird scent.
Did you not have tutors growing up in your gilded palace? Patrick said. South is in the opposite direction of the North Star. That’s basic astronomy. Hidden beneath the insolence was a note of worry that let Erik know Patrick was aware of the growing stench.
“I was never a good student,” Erik said. “Well, not with the subjects I hated. Astronomy bored me to tears; I never saw the point in it. How could distant points of light let me better play the Game of Faces?”
A forest of mighty redwoods loomed up in front of Erik without warning, taking him by surprise. Bleached white without a drop of color, he should have been able to see it from kilometers away, yet he had not. Like a gallery of pillars hushed by some unspeakable horror, the forest warred with the heavens and lost, but not by much.
Erik stopped, the sight of the twisted redwoods battering against him as if he were ice in rushing waters. His skin prickled, his innards churned, and his nose twitched. The source of the spiky odor lay somewhere within its depths.
Have you noticed how quiet it is, came Patrick’s voice, for once completely void of insolence and ridicule. He too was gripped by apprehension, Erik knew.
Erik took a quick step back, away from the forest of redwoods. Silence lay heavy around him like the inside of a grave and had since he awoke beside the lake. But he was just taking notice. There was no warble of unknown birds, no buzzing of insects, no sounds of life at all but the pounding of his own heart.
I think. . . . Patrick paused. I believe that it would be best if we set up camp for the night and traveled by daylight.
Erik nodded, taking another step back. Now that, I think is the first intelligent thing you’ve said all night. Perhaps ever. He reached for his longsword and grasped only empty air. He had dropped the weapon at the bottom of the Rin Mountains. The blade was worth a fortune; he hoped someone had recovered it so it would be there when he returned to Hjörtur.
Patrick snorted but remained silent.
Erik moved away from the forest, collecting fallen branches and twigs as he walked. He was thankful for the Lightbender’s lack of a response. The constant mocking tone had tested his patience. Patrick had never dared been this disrespectful in real life, and he did not know how much more he could take.
Erik dropped an armful of wood in a haphazard pile and sat down cross-legged, keeping the forest of redwoods in his line of sight. He focused his mind and inhaled—
Patrick chuckled, dashing Erik’s meditative state. There was laughter that exalted by bringing others together in a sense of community and there was laughter that ridiculed. Patrick’s mirth belonged firmly among the latter.
“What’s so funny?” Erik’s lips curled up in a snarl.
Is this the first fire you’ve ever made, Patrick asked, his amusement palpable. You're like a newborn babe. How have you survived this long? I’ve always known nobles were useless, but I must say, my Prince, you’ve exceeded even my low expectations.
Eyes narrowing, Erik peered down at the disorganized pile of sticks. For a coward and a rapist, you sure have a high opinion of yourself.
Who are you to judge me? The Lightbender’s voice sparked with resentment and something else . . . something sharp and cutting. Perhaps self-loathing? Either way, Erik’s words had gotten under his flesh.
Whatever I am, Erik said almost gleefully. Whatever I’ve done, I’ve never raped a woman. “You’re the lowest kind of filth,” he whispered.
Patrick retreated, hiding, sinking into a darkened corner of Erik’s mind.
Erik heaved a silent sigh and inhaled through his nostrils. A sense of flowing inwards overtook him, a feeling of collapsing down into a single point that stood outside of time and space. He frowned at the few lights in puzzlement, lights that flashed through the earth and the air like fireflies, then gasped with surprise. Unlike the countless times he had done this before, the world that opened before him was lacking in prana. It was as if most of it had been drained away. How was that even possible? Even when armies of Cultivators battled, the prana never seemed to thin. Yet. . . .
Erik pushed his concern aside. He reached out to ensnare what little prana there was, expanding his consciousness out in every direction. He touched the edge of the blight-stricken forest, and pain seared his mind with the heat of a hundred suns, flash frying thoughts, incinerating brain cells.
“No!” Erik howled.
There was a collapse, then a yanking of the rest of his fundamental being toward the redwoods. Something monstrous slumbered within it. Something that was trying to swallow his soul. The Celestial Dragon roared! Patrick whimpered.
Erik resisted, dragging, clawing his awareness back from the awaiting horror. Teeth clenched, sweat beaded down his face. One slip and he would be washed away, burnt right out of existence. He snarled, veins throbbing in his skull. His thoughts whirled, fragmenting into ever smaller pieces. What is this? Who am I? I-I-I....
