Brakkendike’s Beast

By Bethany Kohler

My heart pounds against my ribs. I am oddly aware of the blood laboring through my veins. My head feels like it’s floating, not actually attached to my body.

I’ve been poisoned. I can only seem to fill my lungs halfway. My limbs don’t respond when I try to move them. Voices slowly seep into my consciousness.

“…coming to. Give her another dose.”

“Too much more could cause permanent—”

“I said give her another dose.”

A hand grips my arm painfully. I struggle to open my eyes. Have I gone blind? A sharp pain in my arm, and I feel the waters of oblivion rising again to overtake me.

***

“I need you to wake up!”

I’m being shaken. The voice is an urgent whisper. I blink. A giant squirrel face comes into focus not far from my own.

“There you are. I was beginning to fear I was too late.”

Fire seems to run through my veins instead of blood. My head is firmly attached to my body, but throbs terribly. “My brain isn’t working properly,” I say, but it comes out in a raspy whisper. “I can’t recall anything.”

“Sit up, if you can.”

I raise myself with the squirrel’s help. A Xintixa, I remember his race is called.

“Do you know your name?” the Xintixa asks, putting a flask to my lips. His large brown eyes seem kind and intelligent.

I drink automatically. “I am Wenlyn of Clan Taruga, daughter of Chief Krusak.”

The Xintixa’s ears twitch. “Good. Very good.” He stows the flask. “I am Phezznibbet Maplebark. Can you stand?”

Fragments of information return to my mind, singly. “I was poisoned.”

“Yes. I gave you the antidote, along with a shot of stimulant. We are not safe yet.”

I struggle to my feet.

Maplebark comes up to my waist. He removes an unstrung bow from his back and puts it in my hand. “Lean on this to steady yourself. We must move as quickly as possible.”

I follow unquestioningly, as in a fevered dream, taking in none of my surroundings, only focusing on the fluffy squirrel tail in front of me.

I begin to wonder how long it has been. Have I been following him for five minutes? Or two hours? Certainly longer than five minutes.

Suddenly we stop.

Maplebark pulls me down so my head is level with his. “More of Brakkendike’s men ahead. Wait here.”

Brakkendike. Why is that so familiar? I’m frustrated at my brain’s malfunction. Why can’t I recall?

Sounds of combat draw my attention. I peek around the corner of the wall where I’m crouched.

Maplebark is on one man’s back, slicing his throat. Then he throws the knife into the chest of a second man.

I cringe and recoil behind the wall.

A memory I do not want fills my mind: my brother lying with his throat cut, bleeding out, the light fading from his eyes. A sound like a gasp and a sob escapes me before I can stifle it.

Brakkendike. The monster who murdered half my family in his quest for power. Of course I remember.

I look at the stone walls around me. Brakkendike Fortress. He must have kidnapped me as leverage against my father.

Maplebark’s whiskered face appears around the wall. “All clear. Better keep moving.”

Soon we emerge into a moonlit courtyard.

Maplebark keeps us in the shadows. “Unfortunate that your race is not as nimble as my own. Even if it were, you’re in no state to get out the way I came in. We’ll have to go through the main gate.”

A knot forms in my stomach. “Impossible,” I mutter.

Maplebark puts a reassuring paw on my arm. “You are thinking of Brakkendike’s beast.” His paw moves from my arm to the belt of bone-handled knives strapped to his chest. “Nimble is only one of my assets.”

Brakkendike’s beast is notorious, though I’ve never seen it myself. I shiver, suddenly cold. “Why are you helping me?”

“Your father enlisted my help. But I have my own score to settle with Brakkendike. One of my people was fed to his beast, and I will avenge him.”

I look at the furry little Xintixa, in whose tiny paws I must entrust my life. For the first time, I notice the dark scar that marks a jagged line across his snout, up to his brow.

I offer him back his bow. He pushes it away. “Too dark to sight an arrow. I’ll stick with my knives.”

We traverse the periphery of the courtyard.

I’m conscious of my loud breathing and make an effort to silence it.

We stop.

Maplebark slips away into the shadows. I am left standing, peering ahead, trying to see through the darkness.

A bone-chilling sound fills my ears, half hiss, half growl. My gaze moves upward to find glowing purple eyes staring down at me. I am face to face with Brakkendike’s beast. Its head is half lizard, half dog.

I stop breathing.

My mind is blank. I don’t know what to do. Am I supposed to do something? Am I ruining the plan? Was there a plan?

I cry out as burning pain pierces my shoulder. Suddenly, I’m flat on my back, pinned beneath the beast’s awful claw.

As I gape in terror, I glimpse Maplebark landing on the creature’s head, driving a knife into one purple eye.

The monster screams and claws at its own face. But Maplebark is already under its head, his swift knives finding the most vulnerable part of its throat. With a gurgling cry, the beast rolls on its side, lifeless.

Maplebark seizes my hand and drags me out of the gate. I stumble after him, fueled by fresh adrenaline.

We do not stop until we reach a dense grove.

“Rest here. You are safe.” Maplebark tends to my wound.

I grasp his paw, tears blurring my vision. “Thank you.”

He gives me a crooked smile and a wink. “All in a day’s work.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bethany Kohler is a writer and poet with a penchant for witty banter, a weakness for verbose descriptions of scenery, and a passion for weaving truth into fiction. She carries a deep regard for nineteenth-century literature, and counts many dead authors among her mentors. When she’s not reading or writing, Bethany enjoys baking delectable pastries, sewing historically inspired dresses, and singing. Her book Trompe l’Oeil: Beauty and the Beast Retold is now available.

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