Beast of Zarall Page 14

  The slave took a harsh breath and groaned. He pressed his forehead on the ground and clenched his fists as he waited for the last echoes of pain to pass. He was still shaking.

  “Stand up,” Valnar ordered.

  This time, slave’s delayed compliance was due to his aching muscles. He stumbled twice, but managed to stand at last.

  “You are now the property of Valnar Gaege,” Valnar read the statement from the paper. “You will be called Beast. Acknowledge.”

  The slave didn’t make a sound. He kept his eyes on the floor and stood indifferent to Valnar’s order.

  Valnar cleared his throat and repeated the statement. “Acknowledge,” he ordered harshly.

  The slave continued to ignore him. Despite his blank face and glassy eyes, Valnar knew the slave heard him. He put the paper down and stepped closer until their noses almost touched. They were about the same height and size, and Valnar had a confident posture, but the slave wa still intimidating from up close.

  “Acknowledge the statement, or I will hurt you,” Valnar growled. He regretted the threat as soon as it came out of his mouth. If he didn’t follow through with this now, the slave would never fear him again. He waited, hoping the slave would choose to avoid pain. He didn’t.

  Valnar didn’t need the paper to remember the beast’s Words. He opened his mouth to speak the word that would discipline the creature, but Lodi pushed him out of the way and took over.

  “Look at me,” Lodi ordered casually. He flicked the beast’s chin up to face him. When the slave’s eyes met Lodi’s, they weren’t glassy anymore. The beast’s chest rose and he breathed out hatred. His hands formed fists; his jaw clenched. Valnar took a cautious step forward and prepared to speak the beast’s First Word if it came to that.

  Lodi smirked. “So,” he said in his carefree way. “Euroad, huh?”

  The slave blinked. That flash of hatred faltered.

  “You wanna tell me why she was taking you there?”

  The slave’s shoulders hunched. He looked down to hide his pained expression. He seemed like he wanted to disappear, to be left alone. “I am now the property of Valnar Gaege,” he recited quietly. His voice was rough, gravelly. “I will respond to the name Beast. I acknowledge.”

  “There,” Lodi told Valnar over his shoulder. “Happy?”

  “Not quite,” Valnar mumbled. The slave’s acknowledgement didn’t sound sincere. There was also something in his demeanour that Valnar found threatening. He had to discipline the slave to ensure his obedience and respect. “He asked you a question, slave,” he pushed on.

  “Right,” Lodi said, with a tightness in his voice. “I did.” He turned back to face Beast. “Let me repeat that question for you. Do you want to tell me why she was taking you to Euroad?”

  Valnar saw what Lodi was doing, so did Beast. The slave squinted at Lodi, his expression somewhere between distrust and uncertainty. “No, Master, I do not,” he mumbled docilely.

  “Okay,” Lodi shrugged. “My question is answered. We’ve confirmed his identity and got his acknowledgement too. I am satisfied. Are you?”

  Valnar heard an order rather than a question. He swallowed the bitter taste of embarrassment and conjured up a smile on his face. “Yes, Lodi, I am.”

  “Great. So, I’ll take the first watch. I’ll wake you up in a few hours.”

  “Sure.”

  “And you,” Lodi turned to Beast. “Get dressed and eat your food.”

  Beast complied with less delay. Valnar grabbed his blanket and returned to the campfire where Ink had set up his bed. He laid down on the other side of the fire and tried to find a comfortable position to sleep in his armour.

  “Are you really not freaked out with the fact that you can do those horrible things to a man with a single word?” Ink asked from where he laid.

  Valnar didn’t bother correcting him again that he was not a man. He watched Lodi, who was giving his own blanket to the slave. He interpreted the feeling in his chest as distrust and not jealousy.

  “I think if you knew what a purebred beast is truly capable of, you’d be grateful to the Twelve for those Words.”

  16

  BEAST

  Beast sat in the black water. He didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He didn’t raise his head. He felt as empty as the water itself.

  The Demon Lord was silent, and Beast was grateful for it; he wasn’t ready to talk. The black fog swirled lazily in the cage. Keder studied him from behind the silver bars. Beast wished he wasn’t here. He’d prefer another empty, dreamless night, where he could just start the next day, and then the next day, until that unexplainable pain he felt in his chest went away.

  He would almost prefer any physical pain over this.

  The water level came to his stomach as he sat on his knees. It was higher than before; he was sure of it. He closed his eyes, doubled over, and buried his face in the water. His forehead touched the soft, muddy soil below. He placed his hands on both sides of his head, buried his fingers in the mud. He held his breath for as long as he can. The burning sensation in his lungs almost supressed the pain in his chest, but not quite. Opening his mouth, he let the air out in a silent scream that didn’t travel to his ears. He screamed all that pain out of his chest, until he neither had air, nor any more pain left.

  He sat back up, gasping for air, water trickling down his face. Curling his fingers, he grabbed a fistful of mud and squeezed it. His numbness was replaced by boiling anger now. He continued clawing the mud.

  “Why?” he gasped, his voice no more than a hushed whisper. Why had she done that? How could she have done that? He thought she was different. She understood his need to be free. She cared.

  She cared.

  Then why did she do it?

  The water stilled and showed him the reason why. He looked at his reflection. His dark blonde hair stuck to his forehead. His eyes were dark grey, and tired. He touched the tattoo on the left side of his neck.

  The last image of Olira Aryanna wouldn’t leave his memory for a long time; hugging the pouches of money tightly to her chest.

  All free men and women were greedy. That’s why.

  Acceptance carved his heart with a jagged knife, climbed in, and made itself at home. Beast’s hands stopped fisting the mud, he let out a heavy sigh. The pain didn’t quite go away, but it was more manageable. He dried his face, wiping the cold water and the warm tears away.

  He couldn’t look at the silver cage. His gaze hung at the far end of the cave. He wanted to beg for the demon’s help, but begging didn’t sit with him. Not because of pride or any other silly concept, but because his experience had thought him begging was a complete waste of breath.

  After a defeated sigh, he cupped a handful of water, and drank it.

  Part of him waited for something horrible to happen; his blood burning with poison, or his stomach bleeding out of his mouth and nose. The other part of him expected the demon to mock his surrender. Neither happened. The cold, tasteless water slid down his throat and left him less thirsty than before, and that was it.

  As the silence stretched, Beast fiddled with the tooth-like necklace hanging on his neck. The key to the cage. “I won’t unlock it,” he announced, surprised by the density of the determination in his voice.

  “You will, at the end,” the Demon Lord snapped sharply. “We both know it.”

  Beast suppressed a shiver. A cold grasp of realization twisted his heart. The demon was right and deep down, he knew it.

  “Why are you delaying the inevitable?” Keder pressed on. “What does it take for you to accept: you’re a slave. All free men and women are greedy. They won’t give you your freedom. You’ll just have to take it.”

  Beast looked away from the black fog, tilting his head down to hide the fear that just snuck into his face.

  Just take it.

  He couldn’t just take anything; no matter how much he wanted, or needed it.

  He lied to himself, saying this was about the Hunters. Hunter
s always find you. He couldn’t take his freedom, because Hunters wouldn’t let him. However, this was only a part of the truth. The other part, the one that he was never going to admit to himself, was that he feared taking.

  The sickening memory infiltrated his mind. He fought it and for a brief moment, he won.

  “No,” Keder countered. “Let’s have a look at it.”

  When Beast turned his gaze down, he was looking at the plate of food Astaldo had just put in front of him.

  *

  His seven-year-old body was starving.

  He sat on his knees, his hands in his lap, his head down. He didn’t know how long it had been since he last ate; he’d lost his sense of time a while ago. He hadn’t slept either. Astaldo only gave him water, just enough to keep him going. No food, no sleep, no rest... only pain.

  The sight of the food made his stomach cramp, spun his head. The greasy, roasted chicken leg was still hot; he could see the steam on it. The potato and the bread were fresh out of the oven as well. The warm smell brought tears to his eyes. His mouth watered. He wiped his tears and saliva with the back of his hand.

  The boy glanced at Astaldo. The slave breeder was sorting the equipment on the table, with his back towards the boy. Astaldo didn’t appear to watch him, but the boy knew he was. They had been through this several times already. Astaldo would put the food in front of him, without giving any verbal or nonverbal permission to eat. The boy had already learned the lesson; he wasn’t supposed to touch the food.

  He wasn’t allowed to take.

  He wasn’t going to fail the test this time. He closed his eyes, but the delicious smell harassed him. He took a deep breath and held it. He tried to focus on other memories, but the good ones were scarce. He had to breathe at the end, and his eyes wouldn’t stay shut either. All he could do was to stop himself from sobbing out loud.

  The food grew cold; a layer of cold fat covered the chicken and the potatoes. It still looked appetizing to the starving boy. He could hardly sit up. He’d stopped crying a while ago, he was too weak to keep going. Even Astaldo got tired. He sat on his chair; his eyes closed and his chin fell against his chest, snoring quietly.

  The boy swayed; his head felt heavy. He was going to faint. He put his hands on the floor to steady himself. The smallest piece of potato was right at the edge of the plate, so close to his fingers. It was crusted on the top.

  Astaldo continued snoring.

  The boy’s hand moved against his will. He took the potato and threw it in his mouth, sucking his fingers.

  First, the rich flavours of the food exploded in his mouth. Then, the pain exploded everywhere else.

  “Prihjtivaviula.”

  One second, Astaldo was snoring on his chair. The next, he was crouching at his side, squeezing his neck. The boy’s eyes rolled back in his skull, his flesh burnt from inside, his bones felt like they had crushed into dust. Whatever pain he thought he was in, was nothing compared to this.

  “Spit it out,” Astaldo growled. He was furious.

  The boy couldn’t comply, as his jaw was clenched tight and it wouldn’t open. Astaldo turned him facedown. His fingers dug into the flesh of his neck, and he punched the back of his head, but the boy hardly felt those. Acid soared through his muscles and his body arched at impossible angles.

  Astaldo didn’t loosen his grip and he kept yelling at him to spit it out. The boy pushed the food out of his mouth as soon as the spasms ceased.

  “You think you can just take it? Huh?” Astaldo threw him to a corner. As soon as he landed, the boy collected his knees underneath him, pressed his forehead on the floor, and covered his head with his arms, stifling a horrified whimper.

  Astaldo kicked him, flogged him, and when his legs and arms were sore, he spoke his Pain Word at least a dozen times.

  “You thought you can take what you want? You don’t take unless I give it to you! This is an Act of Defiance! Are you defying, slave?”

  “No, Owner,” the boy whimpered.

  “You act like a freeborn brat; you’ll be trained like one. Get up!” Astaldo yanked the boy up on his feet by his hair and dragged him to the centre of the room, where leather straps hung in the air.

  “No...” The boy couldn’t stop the whimper escape from his lips.

  Astaldo froze. He pulled the boy’s face closer to his. “Did you just speak? Without permission?”

  Tears ran down the boy’s face. He bit his lip until it bled. He thought his little heart was going to fail.

  “That’s two Acts of Defiance. I will scrape your flesh off your bones for this. Prihjtivaviula.”

  Astaldo flogged his face, his arms, and chest, while the boy convulsed on the floor. When the boy’s thrashing ended, Astaldo pulled him up on his feet again and tied the leather straps around his chest, under his arms. Using another strap, he tied the boy’s arms at his sides, so that he couldn’t slide down from his bonds.

  He went to the mechanism on the wall and adjusted the height. The boy hung in the air, his toes barely touching the floor and the straps already cutting the flesh under his arms.

  Next, Astaldo put a metal collar around the boy’s neck. A blunt hook protruded upwards from the collar. Astaldo moved that part under the boy’s chin, forcing him to keep his head up. If the boy let his head fall on his sternum, the hook pressed against the soft flesh under his chin, causing him pain. More pain.

  The boy pushed himself up on his toes and kept his chin high. He already knew he wasn’t going to last long. Then, Astaldo put one hand on his shoulder, and punched him in the guts.

  The boy gasped; air escaped out of his lungs. Reflexively, he pulled his knees to his stomach and tilted his head forward. He swung back and forth in the air, the straps cutting his flesh, while the hook stabbed his chin.

  Astaldo walked out of the room and left him alone with his torture. The boy believed he was going to die. He wouldn’t survive this. He wanted to die. Then, he remembered his lessons; what he wanted didn’t matter. Wanting was bad. Wanting led to taking, and taking was what brought him all this pain.

  He forced his feet down. His toes scraped the ground and stopped his motion after several attempts. He pushed his weight up, relieving the pain under his arms. Blood trickled down his throat. He craned his neck back to avoid the pressure of the hook and for a moment, he believed he could manage it.

  He did manage it for several minutes. Then, his tired body failed him, and the rest was a blur of pain.

  *

  “Let me tell you something, slave,” Keder hissed. “What we’ve ever done to humans is nothing when compared to what humans are doing to each other. Yet, demons are the ones who’re imprisoned to Darkhome, and masters, and owners, and slave breeders, and traders roam free in Earthome. How is that fair?”

  Beast splashed cold water on his face and ran his fingers through his hair. “Are you asking me what’s fair?”

  Demon Lord chuckled. “Point taken.”

  “Help me talk to them. They know who I am. They’re taking me to Kastian. Help me...”

  A grating sound came from the black fog and Beast recognized it as laughter. “They’re not taking you to Kastian.”

  “They knew I was Lion of Zarall,” Beast objected with a confused scowl. “They will...”

  “They will stay as far away from Kastian Vogros as possible.”

  “W-why? How do you know?”

  “Because, I know what Lodi means.”

  “What?” Beast was fiercely confused now. He scratched his head, trying to catch up.

  “You see,” Keder explained, “Lodi is not a name. They’re using it as a nickname. It’s a word from Praxese language.”

  “That’s... that’s the... holy language, right? The language of the Twelve Riders? How do you know it?”

  “Because, it’s the native language of dragons and demons alike.”

  “What... what does that mean? What does Lodi mean?” He paused, then added. “What does this have to do with Kastian?”
<
br />   “Lodi means...” The demon sighed, which sounded like a gurgling stomach. “You know what, I’ll let you discover that one by yourself. Keep your eyes and ears open. Know your enemy. Find out where they’re headed, what they want. Then, I’ll help you talk to them. Open your eyes.”

  Beast opened his eyes to the next day.

  17

  BEAST

  Beast slapped his hands on his knees and doubled over. His lungs were on fire, his arms and legs felt heavy. He breathed through his nose. He didn’t remember the last time he had physical exercise like this and he hated how weak his body had become.

  Someone held a water skin near his face. It was Ink. Beast took a small sip. He straightened up and followed Lodi’s gaze to look down at the city of Kilrer.

  The sun was mid high in the sky, but hidden behind dark clouds. The morning had flown quick. Beast’s muscles were sore when he woke up, and he barely had the time to stretch them when they set out again.

  Lodi had asked Valnar to take Beast’s collar off so that he could run easier, and Valnar had complied reluctantly. Lodi had set their speed; watching Beast and slowing down when he thought the slave needed a rest.

  Beast had already learned a good deal about these three, once he’d started to pay attention. He already knew that Lodi was their leader. He’d found out that Valnar’s ownership meant nothing, and Lodi dictated how Beast was going to be treated. He’d noticed that both Lodi’s and Ink’s clothing and gear seemed expensive. Valnar’s equipment was good quality, yet modest.

  While they travelled, Beast was told to run next to Lodi, while Ink scouted ahead and Valnar brought up the rear. They were both protective of Lodi, though Valnar was more rigid than Ink.

  None of this information revealed anything about their intentions and Beast still had no clue what the word lodi meant.

  “Gates seem open,” Valnar commented. He tried to make it sound optimistic, but he couldn’t mask the concern underneath. He touched the tightly-wrapped two-handed sword at the back of his saddle, as if making sure it was secure. His shield hung on one side of his saddle, and his two swords on the other side.