Beast of Zarall Read online

  Business seemed to be good for Master Tholthus, as half the shelves were empty. An employee was walking amongst the shelves, recording sold items in a book. Two women were browsing the shelves while a third customer stood by the counter, talking to the store owner.

  Master Tholthus was an old man with a bushy beard, thick eyebrows, and a pair of large ears. As they walked to the counter, Beast studied the store owner with subtle glances.

  He was good at reading the body language of free men; the ability to understand their Owner’s mood and personality was crucial for every slave. The way Master Tholthus spread his wrinkly hands on the counter and leaned forward indicated his assertiveness, which was a good sign for a slave. It implied that if his slaves ever did anything to anger him, he was likely to verbally confront them first, before resorting to their Pain Words. His face darkened as he watched Olira approach, which told Beast that he was not one to hide his emotions from his face. He didn’t see any sign that proved what Olira had said about him having a good, merciful heart. But it didn’t matter.

  Master Tholthus was never going to be Beast’s Owner, because Beast was going to do everything he could to sabotage the sale.

  “We don’t even know where she’s from,” the customer was saying. “Didn’t realize we had a shortage of women in Chinderia. And his daughter! They say she can be eccentric sometimes, but I think the word they’re looking for is a nut job.”

  “Olira Aryanna,” Master Tholthus said. His voice reminded Beast of a purring cat. “Your father would be ashamed of you if he’d seen you now.”

  Olira’s steps staggered as if she’d been slapped. She recovered before all three customers’ eyes turned on her. “Master Tholthus,” she said approaching to the counter with determination. “May we speak private please? In your office?”

  Beast closed his eyes and, in his mind, prayed to the darkness - the only deity that had answered his prayers so far - to make this work. He bit inside his cheek and let the blood seep on his tongue. He readied himself to cough and spit blood as soon Master Tholthus approached to examine him.

  Olira was going to be pissed. She was going to punish him terribly for this. He shuddered. He didn’t see any other choice.

  “I’m not buying your slave,” Master Tholthus said. “I will not trade a slave even if I had nothing else left to trade.”

  The old man’s words slapped Beast this time. He almost coughed for real. He forced himself to keep his mouth shut and swallow the blood.

  “I’m not here to sell you a slave,” Olira said arrogantly. “I’m here to pay you my debt.”

  The store owner forced a laugh. He swung his finger at Olira, shaking his head from side to side. “Good try, but you don’t get to choose your currency.”

  Olira slammed her hands on the counter and leaned forward. She was conscious of the customers’ and Master Tholthus’s employee’s attention on her. Her blood was rushing to her face, but she kept her voice polite. “How much do I owe you, Master Tholthus?”

  “You know damn well how much you owe me.”

  “How much?”

  “Seventy-nine Chinderia Blues and another Grey for every month you delay.”

  “He’s a purebred beast, worth at least three hundred Blues if you auction him.”

  Master Tholthus raised his voice. “I don’t care what he’s worth. I’m not trading slaves.”

  Olira bared her teeth, then shook her head and took a deep breath. “Look, we need supplies for the winter, and this is the only way I can pay. Just make an exception. You will make so much more profit.”

  “Do you know what happens every time a man makes profit off a slave? Another good Chinderian disappears from the roads.”

  “No. That’s just a rumour. Only city officials can enslave...”

  “Lies! Sheep like you can’t even see what slaves are doing to our economy. Master Kerol, your son used to work for Master Hilodd’s farm, right?”

  The customer who was speaking to Master Tholthus earlier, jumped when he heard his name being dragged into the argument. “Yeah?” he said cautiously.

  “What happened to him after Master Hilodd bought a slave?”

  Kerol scowled, looking at Olira with disapproval. “Master Hilodd didn’t need him anymore, so he lost his job.”

  Olira hung her head and sighed while Beast witnessed the argument as if it was transpiring in another language. He had never heard any free man would turn down an offer like this. Olira was practically giving him away for free.

  This doesn’t make sense, the small voice said at the back of his head. All free men are greedy. He refused to believe Master Tholthus was different. Yet, the old man continued shaking his head stubbornly.

  “If it’s supplies and more time you need, I’m not a heartless man. Take what you need from the store and come to my office. We’ll talk about an extension.”

  Olira didn’t raise her head as she hissed a thank you between her teeth.

  “And leave that abomination out,” the old man added, pointing a hairy finger at Beast.

  All eyes turned to him and Beast found himself staring back at them. The argument shook one of his core beliefs, that all free men were greedy, and Beast didn’t know how to cope with the resulting anxiety. This fear was very different than the fear of physical pain, but it made his body tense and his heart race nevertheless.

  He couldn’t move until Olira walked over to the aisles and pulled him with her. Master Tholthus went to his office behind the counter and the customers returned to their business of shopping. Tholthus’s employee joined Olira to assist her.

  During the next half hour, Olira pointed at what she needed and the store assistant piled everything in a corner for her. When she was done shopping, she ordered Beast to carry everything outside and she supervised him as he loaded the bags of grains and salt into Warrior’s saddles. When he was done, she hooked his chain on the saddle and left him there to wait with the mule while she walked back inside to settle her debt with Master Tholthus.

  Beast still tasted the blood in his mouth. His face was hurting from scowling. He got what he wanted; he was going back to the farm with Olira, where he could wait until the Twilight of Infinity, and somehow convince her to take him there. Yet, he was still uncomfortable with how things went down.

  All free men were greedy and he refused to believe Master Tholthus was an exemption.

  He noticed a group of children admiring him, whispering excitedly from a distance. He recognized one of them; the kid who had dropped his basket of apples earlier. Beast grunted. He knew what happened every time a group of young boys came together to see a beast from up close.

  He turned his back to them, and realized he could see inside Master Tholthus’s office from a side window.

  Olira was sitting on a chair with her back towards the window. Beast could only see the top of her brown hair. Master Tholthus was sitting at his desk across from Olira. He was leaning over a thick book with large pages. He was looking at the pages through a thick glass he held with one hand and wrote with the other. Beast had seen a similar accessory on King Leonis’s old physician, but his was encircled within a metal rim and sat on his nose.

  He felt the tip of a sharp stick poking at his back, and growled quietly.

  The boy laughed and ran back to his friends. Beast hated this game, where children dared each other to come close enough to touch him. The boy’s friends congratulated him while the stick was passed on to the next contestant.

  Beast did not see the purpose of this entertainment. There was nothing courageous about approaching a purebred beast. It wasn’t like he could hurt them!

  He wished Olira would finish soon, but the way Master Tholthus studied his book told him they were not close to finishing.

  The second boy approached him, his knees shaking but his eyes sparkling with excitement. When the stick touched the back of his knee, Beast rolled his eyes and breathed patiently.

  Master Tholthus slammed his book shut and lea
ned back on his chair. Beast wished he could hear what he was saying. The old man stood up and started walking back and forth with his hands clasped behind him.

  Encouraged by his friends’ shouts, the next child poked his arse with the stick.

  Beast’s hand darted back. He snatched the stick and broke it in half with one hand while staring directly at the child. He didn’t hide how much he would wish to break his slender neck like that stick and the child read that from his face. He yelped, tripped on his own foot and fell on his back. He used his hand to break his fall and cut his palm on a sharp rock.

  Beast felt satisfaction from seeing the boy’s blood and watching him scramble away through dirt and mud. His friends screamed and backed away too when Beast’s gaze fell on them.

  “Hey! What’s this commotion?”

  The noise brought one of the store owners - the town’s shoemaker - out on the street. “What’s happening here?” the man confronted the children. When they all ran away in every direction, the shoemaker’s attention turned to Beast. “Hey!” he said, scowling at the stick in Beast’s hand.

  Beast’s default instinct was to turn his head down and avoid confrontation with a free man. However, the satisfaction of scaring away the children was too sweet and he didn’t want to let go of the feeling. He stared at the shoemaker, imagining himself and the man in front of him at the Switchblade Arena.

  The store owner took a couple of steps towards him, his hands on his hips, then froze. His face changed from hostile to unsure. He averted his eyes and walked back into his store, glancing over his shoulder and mumbling under his breath.

  Beast dropped the pieces of the stick. A victorious smile was trying to bloom on his face. He felt powerful, but not in a physical sense. He enjoyed it.

  His grin was erased from his face when he turned back to Master Tholthus’s window and saw what was happening inside.

  The old man had stopped walking. He was now standing right in front of the chair Olira sat. His hands were on the arms of the chair and he was leaning over Olira. Beast couldn’t tell if he was talking or kissing her, and he couldn’t see Olira’s face either, but the top of her head was not moving as if she was frozen.

  Beast didn’t know how long they had been like that, but Olira snapped out of it shortly after. She pushed the old man off her, eloped from her chair, and ran out of Beast’s view.

  Less than a minute later, she was out, untying Warrior from the post. Her face was cloudy, her lips trembling. She darted down the street, yanking Warrior’s lead hard enough to make the animal bray angrily.

  As he hurried behind them, Beast glanced over his shoulder at Master Tholthus’s office. The old man was standing by the window, watching, his hands clasped behind him. A hungry expression twisted his face.

  Beast chuckled quietly. He wasn’t wrong about the free men after all. Master Tholthus was as greedy as any other. Only, his currency was not money.

  6

  BEAST

  The smell struck Beast long before they even saw the tannery.

  It was located way outside the town, behind a hill, and Beast could understand why. He had to cover his mouth with the sleeves of his shirt as the smell got stronger. Even Warrior brayed his complaint, shaking his head. However, Olira neither slowed down, nor gave any indication of discomfort.

  The tannery had a large yard where most of the smell originated from. Pits were dug in one side of the yard, with nasty coloured water in them. There were piles of hides at various stages of curing, some folded, and some being stretched on posts. A gentle stream ran right behind the yard, where animal blood and gore were washed off the hides.

  As they entered the yard, Beast’s eyes were watering from the odour that was wafting from the pits. He could swear he smelled dung and urine in the mixture.

  An aged dog with one blind eye stood up to greet them. He announced their arrival with a dutiful bark, then went back to his corner.

  Jygan walked out of the single story building a couple of minutes later.

  He was a large man with a worker’s body. He had a bearded face and his hair was tied behind his head. Remains of animal hair were stuck on his apron and long gloves. He smiled at Olira as he took his gloves off.

  “Perfect timing,” he said. “I was running out of my incense and I was about to prep a late lunch too. Would you like to join?”

  “No, thank you,” Olira said, as she searched one of the saddle bags. “I have to be on my way.”

  “I know I’m not a great cook, but I’ve got fresh bread and eggs... Hey, what’s wrong?”

  Olira pulled a large pocket of dried herbs out of the saddlebags and pushed it into Jygan’s arms. She was keeping her head down to hide her face, but Jygan had caught a glimpse. He held her arm, not letting her turn away, and forced her to look at him.

  “What? What happened?”

  “Nothing.” Olira pulled her arm, but Jygan didn’t let go.

  “No, I can see something happened. You’re coming inside with me.”

  “No, I need to get back to the farm before dark.”

  “It’s only afternoon, you’ve got plenty of time.”

  “Jygan...”

  “I’m not letting you go until you tell me what happened.”

  Olira still wasn’t looking at him, but she surrendered with a nod. She let Jygan guide her towards the tannery, then she remembered Beast was still standing with the mule. She turned back to unhook his chain from the saddle and lead him inside with them.

  The smell was slightly more tolerable inside the tannery, and that was because of the pot of incense boiling in the fireplace. There was a wooden beam, angled upwards, where Jygan had laid an animal hide and was in the process of scraping the hair off with a knife.

  Jygan opened the door leading to the back room, which was his living quarters. Beast noticed the door was reinforced with an airtight paste around the frame.

  “You wait here,” Olira told Beast.

  “Yes, Owner.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she unlocked his collar and left the chain on a counter. Jygan held the door for her. He was sizing Beast with an uncertain smile. Before he followed Olira inside, he added more incense into the boiling pot. “Please don’t touch anything,” he mumbled.

  “Yes, Master.”

  When the door closed behind them, Beast walked over to the fireplace and got as close as he could without burning himself. He breathed in the herbal aroma of the incense. He scratched his neck, where the collar had left a red mark on his skin. The warmth of the fireplace and the pleasant smell of the herbs made him feel drowsy. His eyes closed, as he listened to the crackling of the flames.

  That’s when he noticed he could hear them talking on the other side of the wall behind the fireplace.

  “He said what?” Jygan growled, furious.

  “That’s the only way I can get extra time to pay.” Olira’s voice was trembling.

  “You can’t marry him! He’s too old! What does he think he is? What does he think you are? An aging widow who’s desperate for suitors?...”

  Olira let him go on for several minutes. Jygan continued ranting, his voice becoming muffled, then clear, as he paced back and forth. He suddenly got quiet, abandoning his sentence in the middle. A bitter silence hung between them. Olira broke it with a sigh.

  “He doesn’t want me to marry him. Once a week. He wants me to take over his late wife’s duties.”

  For half a minute, neither of them spoke. Beast leaned forward to hear better and almost burnt his face. He heard a sudden movement in the room, followed by Olira yelling in panic.

  “No! Jygan, don’t do it!”

  “Olira, let me go!” His voice was coming right behind the door, booming with an icy fury. Beast stepped away from the fireplace and stood with his hands clasped in front of him.

  “Don’t do anything stupid!” Olira begged him. There was a vague sound of struggle. Beast imagined Olira tugging at Jygan’s arm.

  “I will beat
the shit out of that old goat!”

  “No! You’ll get into trouble.”

  “That perverted piece of turd can’t do anything to me.”

  “You’re wrong. You need him as much as any other craftsman in this town. Would you prefer travelling the roads yourself to sell your leather?”

  “I don’t care! He can’t abuse you like that.” Although he still sounded pissed off, Jygan’s voice was losing its fuel. Beast couldn’t hear the physical struggle anymore.

  “I won’t let you do anything to harm your craft. I’ll take care of it.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “You’re not considering to accept his offer, are you?”

  “No. I don’t know,” Olira’s voice trembled again. “I’ll have to think of something.”

  There was another brief pause, where Beast could hear Olira’s silent sobs. They became muffled, as if she had buried her face on Jygan’s shoulder.

  Their voices drifted away from the door. A couch creaked when they sat down. Beast relaxed. He approached to the fireplace again and continued listening.

  “You can sell the slave to someone else?” Jygan suggested.

  “I don’t think I can,” Olira sniffled. “I think his papers are fake.”

  Beast couldn’t help but grinning. This could work in his advantage. She was desperate for money, and she couldn’t sell him. Twilight of Infinity would solve all of her problems. All Beast had to do was to figure out how to start a conversation, and convince her.

  Jygan was saying; “Then take him to the trader you bought him from. Return him.”

  “He sold me a dying slave under a fake name,” Olira said bitterly. “Do you really think he’ll stay in the city and wait for me to come back with a complaint?”

  Jygan remained silent for several seconds while Olira continued sniffling. Beast heard a movement, followed by the soft sound of clay plates on wooden surface. Jygan was preparing food.