Beast Read online

  ~ Prologue

  Walter Elias polished the chestnut box and set it on the table. At last the secrets it held could be broken with the testament of his grandfather’s will. He had to know the true story. His fingers trembled as they touched the lid, tasting something profane as he pulled back the cover. There rested a human skull. Claw marks etched the bone, and above the brow laid a partial inscription, “The king eats-”. Walter set the specimen down, staring at the soul through those haunted sockets, and drafted a letter.

  “You may ask, ‘Did the king kill his people?’, to which I must admit no. It wasn’t as grandfather said in those stories of enchantment and wonder. No, it was much worse.” Walter Elias looked back at the relic, rereading the cryptic words bitten off of the skull.

  ~ 1

  “My liege!” a young voice called. The vizier watched the sunset when a boy came in, panting for breath.

  “What is it?” The vizier asked, but the boy turned to the queen.

  “My pardon, queen; I didn’t know he was in so great a company.”

  “Be quick, Henry.”

  “They’ve declared war.”

  “Not a truce?” The queen turned toward the boy. What a tender look she thought.

  “Thank you” she bowed. The boy smiled, returned the gesture, and left as her eyes became deadpan. “So it is true.”

  “Who do you think sent this?” The vizier asked, walking toward the bench holding the declaration. He picked up the arrow and broke the twine binding the note to the shaft.

  “Whoever it is hides in the shadows.”

  “Do we ignore it?”

  “We don’t.” Her husband was the king, but she was the crown. “We must respond. It is apparent that this is a challenge not of one kingdom against another, but of a throne against a woman. Cowards; I will show them the reach of my rule.”

  “And the prince?” The queen stopped. She loved Adam, the child dear. But could the world?

  “Soon he will lose his father. He may lose his mother too. But it is not necessary that he loses his kingdom.” She birthed the prince in her elder age; a province long expected but never thought possible. But to the king and queen’s rue he wasn’t born a natural boy. What came to them appeared to be a little wolf. Hair stretched from his ears to his brows, and from his brows to his neck to his belly. The pads of his infant feet were coarse, and his teeth jagged. A mane consumed him whole.

  But when he let loose his first guttural cry, the king and queen were no sooner in love again with this strange child. But what would it be? Can a king, fashioned more like a beast than a man, bear the crown? Without an elder, or any sibling in succession, in what hands would the kingdom rest? What did it matter to a mother. The queen took a firm love to him, having him groomed, even giving him a pompadour. Once, and only when the child slept, was he be sheared. What lay before them was a baby, porous, wonderful, yet follicles scarred his infant flesh from head to heel. It was a matter of days before the growth returned, and the baby once again became the cub.

  The queen left her reverie and spoke, “I must see my son before we go. A king is to know what broods in his kingdom.”

  ~ 2

  17 years later.

  Adam sat on his throne, reminiscent of the day his mother led a fleet of knights to become martyrs of time and mystery. He looked across the hall but all his servants kept their eyes diverted to the floor. This boyish age was devilish. People thought their king more mutt than man and mocked him by crowning strays. Many left, foregoing their posts to find riches. The young and younger gave up their souls to the winter as the harvests thinned. Grains died back into the frosty soil, leaving tombstones standing higher and denser than the wheat. Cattle grazed for food but found none. As the famine deepened, their rotting carcasses turned the strong frail, sending many into death’s cold grip. Adam found nothing but hunger as he stared across the empty hall. Winter took many souls, but despair and wicked rumors of the queen’s death claimed even more.

  His eyes watered seeing the specters carrying racks of spit meat turn into pallbearers. Nothing could revive what was lost. The marrow of life was deplete in the bones of the kingdom.

  Adam stood from his throne and staggered through the cold till he was outside. The air was brisk and punishing, booming in echoes against the castle wall. He rubbed his furry arms, grateful for his condition, and saw an elder maid sitting at the end of the court pulling the soil to bits with a wooden trough.

  “Miss Lena” Adam called. “The ground is freezing. Winter is upon us. I’m sure you’re best beside a hearth.” She returned him a warm smile, resting against the handle with brittle, liver spotted hands. A shawl framed her cheeks and pared the eyes and lips that sagged to a point. Her teeth were sparse, wanting of beauty.

  “My king” she curtsied. “We may see a seed yet.”

  “Even so, the winter will claim it.”

  “Even so.” She rubbed the frost off her knuckles. “Worn hands need be busy.” How handsome the king could have been she thought. Merciless. Miss Lena bowed once more then withdrew to her work.

  Adam stared at the field through the gate where rich embers of grain once grew. Am I beast in a cage? he wondered. Nature’s crime? Then he heard a distant gallop. Could it be a messenger from his mother? Hope and misery raced in his breast, dueling princes for the throne of his heart. He never bid that his mother died because no note reached him telling this secret. The excitement was excruciating. Slurry became fire on his skin. The palpitations of his heart turned into chaos. He ran up to the gate and gripped the wooden slats. His breath exploded into the autumn air.

  A rider came up the path with a horse whose head swung unhinged in a wild bob. Adam summoned the gatekeeper to sprain the pulley and lift the gate. The rider pulled in and ripped the faceguard off his chin. Frost faded his brow. He kicked the stirrups off his feet and patted the horse as he dismounted.

  “My lord” the rider said as he kneeled.

  “Sir” Adam returned the bow. ‘They will live to the degree in which you treat them’ his mother taught. ‘Be wise, Adam’.

  “What is your bidding?” Adam asked. The man opened his satchel and handed the king a letter. “What is this?”

  “I am a worker, my lord. I have a very young child, a daughter, and we are in need of food. I charged a nurse to care for her in my absence. With your permission, I will labor in your guard and send my notes to her. It is all I ask- for my daughter.” Adam folded the voucher, promising nothing.

  “Crafter?” The man nodded. “Can you invent warmer weather?”

  “I can mimic it” he replied, blowing hot air into his hands. Ah, humility Adam thought. The lost jewel of my crown.

  “How much recompense do want, and what ration of food? Things are portioned, even in the kingdom. Look about you. The hands of winter have touched us all.”

  “Yes, sire.” Adam began toward the castle. The rumors are true the man thought. Our king is a beast. He heard it in a dying man’s confession, but disregarded it as a hallucination commonly abjured in death. Then he stopped. How does it walk upright and speak as native as a man? Caught in disbelief, he stared on when the king stopped a few paces ahead.

  “Inventor?” Adam asked. Adrenaline burned out the cold in his veins.

  “My pardon” he cleared his throat and dropped his eyes to the floor. Was the winter so blinding? Then the messenger grasped his chest and fell to his knees, overtaken by a heavy cough.

  “Come now, there’s warmth inside.” The king reached out but the rider jerked away and stumbled into the mud. Adam stood over him with eyes glistening with sorrow.

  “I’m just short of breath.” Adam responded with a nod and continued toward the castle. “Forgive me. My name is Jakob. I was told, but I didn’t expect–. Forgive me
, sire.” Adam stopped again.

  “Were the rumors true?” Adam turned his head halfway back, unable to look at the man lying in the mud. Guilt fastened his tongue shut with fear and loathing.

  “I took in a man who said that there was a war. And telling no one else but me, he said a beast ruled the kingdom. True or not, I mentioned this to no one. He’s dead now.”

  “What was his name?” Who is this man that came back, but not with enough heart to return to the castle? Adam knew better than to temper his thoughts with questions, knowing that doubt would prevail; hope was needed to survive the early winter. Drought crippled the land last season. All but the forest was taken, the deep and dark brooding wilderness.

  “Pablo” Jakob gasped in between coughs that sank like molten anchors into his lungs. The very word soiled Adam. Pablo. Pablo, Adam repeated. The Spanish cook was dear to him. He had been incontestably kind toward the young Adam. Most servants passed rumors and hateful jokes, but Pablo cherished the boy. Knowing that he enjoyed helping him cook, and because his hair often dipped and shed into the stew, Pablo sent for a blacksmith to fashion the young prince his own cauldron. When Adam could escape his royal duties, he would find the chef and cook with him. The flavor became wanting because the chef granted more attention to the child than the dish. However, the king and queen did not mind since the absence of the palate was a suggestion of love toward the boy. But now Adam felt betrayed by Pablo’s death. Why? Was he too sick to complete the journey? This man traveling from the village to the castle contracted an illness, why then would Pablo risk his life?

  The answer would never be known.

  The king helped Jakob to his feet; his skin crawled with terror as the paw braced his arm. Jakob felt soggy with madness. But Adam’s thoughts remained on Pablo. So many years passed, with so many faces lost to new memories. Would the staking of a cross over his grave bring the reality of his death?

  They went into the castle where drapes netted in dust and moth eaten holes decorated the walls. Curtains hung from the pillars and sat in silver basins. The throne sat center of the hall and on it rested a crown. Adam walked up to it and touched its golden peaks.

  “I use to wear this” Adam said. “But that was long ago. Obviously, my condition makes normal wear quit uncomfortable. A crown is fitted for a head unlike mine. But even so, who would I wear it for? My kingdom is merely a ground I stand on. I no longer rule. The land has forgotten its king and has somehow found its freedom in my absence. In denying me they have ripened their joy.”

  “Not I, my lord. My heart has not forgotten loyalty.” A servant walked in with a bowl of frostbitten fruit seasoned with salt.

  “You’ll have to excuse my kitchen. We preserve our food by drying it out. It may prove a little dull.” He took an apple, reforming the brown skin between his fingers, and walked toward the window. A tree dilapidated in frost sat at the base of the wall when a branch snapped and skipped in the breeze. He winced. What a bitter sight; the last memory of his father was taken on that very branch. As a young boy his father set him on that branch and said to him, ‘Adam, from your post, the highest post, you can see me coming from afar. Await me, son. I will return.’

  ‘I don’t want you to go, Papa.’ The king took the boy down from the tree and set Adam on his lap, fixing his hands over the boy’s narrow shoulders.

  ‘I too, son. I too. On my word as king and father, I will return. Be brave, son, and ever noble. Remember this, Adam. I will always love thee because thou are my son.’ He longed to remember which cheek his father last kissed.

  “Will that tree come down soon?” Jakob asked. Hasn’t it? Adam thought. He turned away and placed the shriveled apple back into the bowl.

  “Let me show you your room.”

  Jakob felt swept by the command of the castle. Statues of the forefathers were gowned in armor, brandishing swords and shields carved with the family’s crest. The effigy reached from the late king to the highborn who first governed the land, each head high and proud. Their cold stone eyes held reverence, calling all who see them to a deep sense of duty and homage. Though dead and withered, their bones radiated primacy.

  Then violent coughs seized Jakob; his knees hit the floor.

  “Jakob?” Jakob raised a hand to ask for a moments rest. The king wondered how deep the frost sank into his body. Then he thought of the child. “You spoke of a daughter?” Jakob smiled, hiding his obscurity with a grin.

  “Yes. She is with a wet nurse.”

  “Her mother?” Jakob frowned and lowered his eyes. “Oh, my apologies.”

  “Is it that we were born to die? Some say we are to die to live. Who am I to judge the intervals at which life and death exchange places. But the child is healthy. I fear she is too beautiful.”

  “And some children, we hear, are born ugly. But with any stroke of luck the hideousness will be hidden in fur.” The king ruptured in laughter but Jakob found the humor too dangerous to entertain.

  They came to a narrow room with two windows; one opened to the sky, hanging as a cape over the ocean, the other sat overlooking the court and the black forest bedded in snowcap. A bed prepared with a duvet sat center of the room. Adam pressed the pelt laid out on the bed, measuring its thickness, then turned to Jakob.

  “Sleep well.” Adam said. He began to leave then turned back. “Summon a servant for more blankets if need be; I prepared this, but I am no good at measuring what is necessary for warmth” he said, tugging the hair on his arm. He saw Jakob’s apprehension and said, “I was shaved once, as a boy.”

  “And I let my beard grow an entire winter; it consumed me to my navel.” The nerve in his back twinged as the king smirked and left the room.

  Jakob walked over to the window where the waves crashed against the rocks. Ages passed since he had heard that most wonderful, yet terrifying, power of the ocean. The balm of sea salt loomed in the air; he set his hands on the windowsill and basked in his thoughts. What a devilishly bold day.

  ~ 3

  A mirage of beastly wraiths berated Jakob’s peace. He thrashed as the chain’s rattle droned through his head. The morning cold nipped at his flesh, intensifying the sleepless night driven by the winter chill and horrid nightmares of the beast king. Then he awoke to pain drumming in his skull and beads of cold sweat dripping into his blankets. He dressed in his winter coat and massaged his hands warm while the scent of fresh baked bread eased his mood.

  Jakob entered the kitchen finding Adam hunched over the preparation table. The smell of pheasant loomed in the air with the musky tang of boiled cabbage and potato. Jakob wet his lips as Adam set the table. Globs of meat rose in the dish, accompanied by a medley of roots.

  “I knew Pablo, the old man you hosted” Adam said, setting a goblet of wine beside his plate. “He mentored me as a child, taught me that success was easy to understand. That Spaniard use to say, in his thick accent, ‘If you want to know if it’s delicious, ask the dishes.’ Leftovers? Don’t make it again. But licked spotless? People savor it.” Adam paused. “If the bowl comes back half empty I won’t be offended.

  “Pablo was a good man, rich in his own rite, someone of custom. He brought spices and bitter herbs, things we never dreamed to taste. Most of it was curious, some of it impeccable, and others just vulgar. But his heart was in the food. He stayed behind when my kingdom went to war; his wife, a busty woman, more pudgy than pleasant, swept our halls. She too was odd in her own way. Always a frantic and never without that rickety straw sewn broom. My, would we be chased if we were caught disheveling her workspace after she cleaned. But they were in love. No one could understand them. By day they fought, and fought ferociously. Their accents, when angry, masked their words to the point that we could no longer tell the accent from their native tongue. But by night the amor returned; that is their word for love.”

  Jakob listened, wondering if this man was the invalid he sheltered. The stranger was frail, his hair discolored. He had a thin mustache which seldom kept his trembling li
ps hidden. His eyes were sunken and he held his wrists limp at his chest. Jakob took him in, setting him on a wooden chair overthrown with a blanket, and offered him tea. The man never spoke anything beside his name and the secret of the king. Jakob wondered if this could be the same man, lacking all tumescence. No, this man was languid, his lifeforce lapsed. Jakob crept back from his thoughts, and returning to a cold bowl of soup realized he had not taken a single bite.

  “How many others are here?” Jakob asked. He hoped for a sorted bunch, every trait from a grinder to work the grain mill, someone to take dictation, to the more conventional talents. These people, he believed, would make a fine assignment.

  “Eat to your strength then we will go out and see. Tell me, how old is your child?”

  “An infant.”

  “Ah. Her name?”

  “I haven’t decided. Have you ever thought about children?” Adam turned his eyes to Beatrice entering the doorway with a tray of roasted duck and brussels sprouts.

  “I haven’t decided either.” She set the platter on the center of the table and whisked out of the room. “Even if I wanted, who else would want my children? Ruling is only as valuable as the one you rule with. There are two heads to a crown.”

  “Good things come to everyone.” Jakob dipped the ladle into the stew and sipped the cold broth. “They just come in varying ways. I never thought I could leave my daughter. But then I realized I couldn’t stay and watch her waste away. Not a day goes by do I regret missing her childhood, my only fatherhood, yet I will never regret providing for her, even though it costs me much.”

  “Is that what happens?” Jakob plugged his fork into the water fowl when he noticed the king lost in his thoughts, and cleared his throat. Adam brought his eyes to Jakob who at once realized the boy beneath the crown. “Is that what happens when a mother and father leave a child? Love?”

  “It is” Jakob said, digging his knife into the meat. “What children don’t understand is sacrifice. I don’t want a life; I just want her to live.” Adam felt his anger coil like a venomous snake waiting to spring. He opened his mouth when Beatrice returned with a carafe of plum wine.