Tales of the Fallen Beasts Read online

  Urban snapped at the convict ahead of him. Raisha wondered if she might actually faint. The plan was to become so exhausted that when she faked passing out, it would look real enough to fool her jailor. If she actually lost consciousness, she could miss her chance to make an escape. And if she kept pushing, truly fainting was possible.

  Who needed to scale walls if the guards took you on a walk through the jungle every other day? A chain was only as strong as the weakest link, and a prison wall only served if you remained inside.

  Raisha needed to make her move soon, before they reached the marshier part of the jungle around the Mire. She was willing to risk running through dense vegetation, whether or not hidden predators lurked among the fronds and reeds—but the gloomy waters of the swamp were too forbidding.

  A root decided the matter. Raisha tripped, dropping the yoke. Buckets clattered and water splashed. She stayed down, her cheek on the firm, warm mud of the trail. The ground seemed to gently teeter.

  “On your feet!” Urban barked.

  He sounded distant. Oh no. Maybe she really would fade off to sleep.

  “Give me a break,” he grumbled. Raisha heard his boots slap the mud as he dismounted. She heard him tromp over to her. Her breathing was labored. She tried to keep it regular.

  A boot slid under her ribs and flipped her onto her back. Now was the crucial moment. She did her best to stay limp. A chance for escape depended on it.

  “What’s the holdup?” a guard asked from behind where Raisha had fallen.

  “On your feet,” Urban demanded again. Raisha gave no reaction and let the pause stretch out.

  “She’s playing possum,” said the guard from behind.

  Raisha felt a finger slide into her nostril. Fear, will, and sheer exhaustion helped her resist flinching. The finger poked inside her ear. There came a pause. Then a hand slapped her cheek hard enough to sting. She kept her body slack.

  “She might really be out,” Urban said, a touch of concern in his voice.

  “Drag her to the side,” the other guard suggested. “Let us pass. Then tie her up and throw her on Lucky.”

  “Will do,” Urban replied.

  Strong hands seized her ankles and Raisha felt herself sliding through mud, out of the way. Then she heard other inmates and guards passing.

  If she waited until she was tied up, Raisha knew she would have no chance to escape. Timing would be everything.

  As she heard the last of the procession passing, she opened her eyes a crack. Urban stood beside his stinky mule, uncoiling a length of rope.

  “Don’t turn your back on her,” the last guard cautioned. “Want me to stay around?”

  “Go on ahead,” Urban said. “I won’t be far behind. If I can’t handle a young girl, what use am I?”

  A fair question, Raisha thought.

  “She’s no ordinary young girl,” the other guard warned.

  “She committed unordinary crimes,” Urban said. “But she’s nothing extraordinary.”

  The dismissive comment made Raisha’s cheeks burn beneath the streaks of mud. The problem was, he had a point. She hadn’t accomplished her missions through abnormal strength or speed or agility. As an unassuming girl without a spirit animal, the daughter of a prosperous merchant, she had used her normalcy to her advantage. She could go places many people couldn’t go without being questioned. If she got caught somewhere she shouldn’t be, she could pretend she had lost her way. Who was going to arrest a respectable young girl who seemed accidentally lost—or perhaps had gotten a little curious?

  But now she had been unmasked. Anonymity no longer protected her. She couldn’t make excuses or invoke the name of her father to dodge trouble.

  And there was no way she was going to overpower a Greencloak guard, even slovenly Urban.

  But she might be able to run from him.

  If she got a head start and raced wildly, taking risks he was unwilling to take, maybe she could create some distance and slip away. The dense jungle held perils, but nothing so fearsome as thirty years in a sinking cage.

  The last Greencloak guard in the procession passed out of view around a bend in the trail. Urban still stood beside his mule, cutting the rope. He was only seven or eight paces from Raisha, but the guard would never be farther away or more distracted before coming to bind her.

  Wishing she felt a little less exhausted, Raisha rolled over and pushed herself quickly to her feet. She charged into the lush undergrowth. Broad fronds parted in a series of limp slaps. Pliable branches yielded to her legs. She weaved around trunks and plunged through shrubs.

  “Raisha, no!” Urban called. “Don’t be a fool!”

  She heard him crash into the undergrowth behind her, prompting a frantic surge of speed. Heart hammering, she shot forward, hurdling a fallen log shaggy with moss.

  Without the buckets, her body felt light. She might be small, but she was quick, and Urban’s bulky size would hinder him in the dense foliage. She darted through a stand of bamboo, making the cluster of poles clack and rattle. Raisha cursed between heaving breaths. The noise would signal her exact location to anyone with half a brain.

  “Raisha!” Urban yelled, revealing that she had already gained a little ground on him. “Halt! Come back before you get hurt!”

  Raisha’s mind raced almost as fast as her heart. No way would she get duped by his desperate bluff. If she got away, yes, she would be lost in the jungle. And that involved a host of dangers. But if she headed northeast, she would eventually reach Xin Kao Dai and the surrounding villages. The reward was worth the hazards.

  Blinking hard, Raisha fought off a bout of light-headedness. Her body really had been exhausted. Wouldn’t that be perfect if she passed out now? No! She might never get another chance like this.

  Gritting her teeth, Raisha charged ahead through a curtain of vines.

  And suddenly she was on the ground, arms pinned against her torso, legs lashed together. The vines had collapsed around her like a dozen constrictors. No. It was netting—a trap concealed in the vines.

  Raisha bucked and squirmed, but the net only embraced her tighter. Her head ached and the ground seemed to rock beneath her. She stopped struggling and lay on her back, hot and sweaty, staring up at layers of leafy limbs that blocked out all but the tiniest glimpses of blue sky, minuscule windows of freedom.

  “Are you all right?” Urban called, not too far off now.

  “I’m not dead,” Raisha responded mirthlessly.

  “Then you’re fortunate,” Urban said. She could hear him bulling his way through the foliage as he drew nearer. “We’ve been using this trail for decades. There are traps all over the place. And before long, you would have reached waterways that connect to the swamp. Did you honestly think running was an option?”

  Raisha didn’t answer. Why wouldn’t a hungry tiger just come eat her?

  Then the furry head of a mule entered her field of vision. Showing its teeth, the animal brayed in a way that Raisha could only conclude was laughter.

  Indirect sunlight filtered into the cell through a long shaft in the ceiling too narrow for her to enter. A rusty grate protected the mouth of the shaft, and iron bars crisscrossed beyond at intervals. By the weak light, Raisha watched water rippling down one wall and across the floor to a congested drain.

  This was her third day in solitary confinement in one of the wet cells. The volume of water on the ground varied, but was seldom less than an inch, or more than three. The prisoners whispered that the entire floor of this wing would eventually sink into the bog, as the floor below it had done years ago.

  Upon her arrival in solitary, Raisha had been told by her jailors that there would be no more fresh water coming, so her best chance for a semi-sanitary drink was to lick it off the walls. After several hours scantly slurping water that tasted of minerals and mildew, some guards brought her a pitcher of water and a hunk of stale bread. Their laughter still echoed in her mind.

  Raisha huddled on her cot—the one place
in her cell where she could keep dry. For the millionth time, she cursed herself for getting caught. Everything had been going so well! Her life had been an adventure! Working for Zerif had been a glorious, empowering game. Before Zerif entered her life, Raisha had always felt ignored. Her father doted on her brothers. Her mother obsessed about their place in society. Raisha had no real companionship, and no real destiny. But she had used the invisibility that comes with being ignored to accomplish amazing things.

  The days alone in the wet cell had helped confirm the reality that her life had permanently changed. Her dash into the jungle now seemed childish and stupid. There would be no escape. Life as she had known it was over.

  Raisha shook with sobs. She should have been more careful! Zerif should have rescued her before she got here. Was there any chance he would come for her now?

  No. With her cover blown, she would be of little use to him. The dealings and travels of her father had granted her access that Zerif found useful. Raisha would learn a dignitary’s schedule, or leave a door unlocked, or deliver a package, and consequently earn praise and gifts from the future ruler of Erdas. And then there were the Great Beasts! Creatures of legend, taken as easily as if they’d been dogs in the street.

  If she could go back, would she do it differently? How could she have resisted the thrill? Her involvement with Zerif had been the secret spice in her life, making everything else mean more. Without that secret, who would she have been? Nobody. Another silly merchant-class girl who pretended to have interests until she was married off to some insipid merchant-class boy. She would never have done anything important, and there would have been no adventure in her life.

  Looking around her tomblike cell, Raisha breathed in the damp air. Was this what adventure looked like? Rotting in a half-drowned tomb? The thought of being here a week more was too much. Let alone a year. Or ten. Or thirty.

  Raisha felt crushed by the weight of all those years piled on top of her. Hauling water through the jungle. Huddling in a humid cell eating tasteless goo. This wasn’t living.

  Leaning back on the cot, Raisha laced her fingers behind her head. She wished she could sleep for the next thirty years. It would be better than the uncomfortable monotony that awaited. She would surely lose her mind.

  No—after her escape attempt, it might be more than thirty years. If the Greencloaks felt she was such a threat, did she have any guarantee they would ever release her?

  It was going to be a long, slow, wretched life.

  The light from the window shaft dimmed. Had a cloud swiftly overtaken the sun? And was there less torchlight coming in from the corridor? Were the torches burning out? In the dimness, rats started squeaking in the walls. Raisha sat up, the hairs on her neck standing upright. She hated the rats at the Mire. They were too big.

  Raisha felt an odd tingling. The entire prison began to tremble, stones groaning. The water on the floor of her cell sloshed. Then came a searing flash and a crash like thunder.

  As Raisha blinked away the afterimage of the brilliant light, her eyes fell to a motion on the floor of her cell. The light from the shaft into her room was back to normal, and she could see a snake flowing toward her in looping curves, long body undulating like a ribbon in a river.

  With a scream stuck in her throat, Raisha scooted to the opposite side of her cot from the serpent. The rats had grown quiet, but this was much worse!

  The snake reared up, revealing a yellow underside in contrast to the black scales elsewhere. A hood spread out, framing the head. The cobra swayed gently, and a thin tongue flicked out.

  As Raisha gazed at the cobra, she began to collect her thoughts. She was still tingling and felt inexplicably drawn to the snake. The temporary dimness, the upheaval of the prison, the squeaking rats, and the flash of light began to add up in her mind. Had she just summoned a spirit animal? Here? Now?

  Chills tingled through her as the serpent edged nearer, holding its head above the edge of the cot. Raisha studied the cobra as it swayed hypnotically. Black eyes rimmed in gold returned her gaze.

  Raisha slowly reached a hand toward the snake. If the animal struck her, the bite could be fatal. Yet she felt strangely calm, her fingers drawn toward the reptile almost against her will.

  The cobra stopped swaying. The stillness made her hesitate inches from contact, then her fingertips brushed the side of its hood, and Raisha gasped at the spark that reverberated through her body. The invigorating jolt was accompanied by a sense of relief, as if she were finally breathing after a long pause.

  For a moment, Raisha sensed people throughout the prison in varied states of alarm, mostly in rooms and yards above her present position. Thoughts and conversations about the recent quaking came to her in jumbled snippets. She could taste the odor of her cell.

  “You’re Gerathon,” Raisha said in amazement.

  The cobra dipped her head in acknowledgment, then bared slender fangs in a reptilian parody of a smile.

  “I’m Raisha,” she said breathlessly. Tears blurred her vision. She had always hoped to call a spirit animal, and had also felt a quiet certainty that it wouldn’t happen. Nobody in her family had summoned one for generations. But now, in her hour of need, here was one of the most powerful animals of all time. The mighty Gerathon!

  The cobra dipped her head again.

  From beyond the door of her cell, Raisha heard voices and the clinking of keys. The sounds snapped her out of her trance.

  “You need to hide!” Raisha warned Gerathon. “We’re in a Greencloak prison. The Mire. I don’t know what they’ll do if they find you here.”

  The voices drew nearer.

  In spite of her fear of discovery, Raisha couldn’t resist grinning. “You used to be bigger, right? That’s not an insult. You’re a full-sized cobra, but you used to be gigantic. You’re still too large to hide in here. But not too big to fit up the shaft to my pathetic window.”

  Raisha leaped to her feet, splashing as she dragged the cot beneath the window shaft. Picking up the sleek cobra, Raisha found her heavy and awkward to hold. But she climbed onto the cot and managed to lift the sinuous reptile above her head.

  Hood down, Gerathon squirmed through the grate and up into the shaft. Keys rattled in the cell door. Just as the cobra’s tail disappeared through the grate, the door opened.

  Payu, a tall, stern-eyed female guard, stepped down into the room, her boots plopping into the water. “What are you doing?”

  Raisha kept her eyes away from the shaft. She could feel the guilt on her face, and she knew that standing on her cot looked suspicious. Would the guard notice she was right below the shaft?

  “I heard rats in the walls,” Raisha said. “They were going crazy.”

  Urban entered the room behind Payu. “So you climbed onto your cot?” he asked.

  “I didn’t know if the rats were going to flood into my cell,” Raisha said. “I was freaked out.”

  “You moved the cot,” Payu noted.

  “Under the light port,” Urban added, sloshing across the room. Leaning over the cot, he peered up the shaft.

  Raisha looked up as he did. There was no sign of the cobra.

  “I thought maybe the light would scare the rats,” Raisha said.

  Stepping back, Urban folded his arms. “This smells fishy.”

  “It’s mildew,” Raisha corrected.

  “I saw the lights dim, Raisha,” Urban went on. “I know what it looks and sounds like when a spirit animal is summoned. We all do. Only three of the prisoners here are of the proper age to summon a spirit animal, yourself included. Our guards are checking on the other two.”

  “You’re a criminal,” Payu said. “But summoning a spirit animal is no crime. We wouldn’t punish a newly called animal for your past mistakes.”

  Unless the animal has committed crimes too, Raisha thought. Like almost destroying Erdas in a former life. “You think I called a spirit animal?” she asked sweetly.

  Urban gave her a searching gaze. “Have it you
r way. We’ll check up on the other possible candidates. But if you happened to summon a spirit animal, you don’t need to hide it.”

  “Would you promise to be as good to my animal as you’ve been to me?” Raisha asked with mock sincerity.

  Urban gave an incredulous chuckle. “Are you honestly complaining? You conspired to part people from their spirit animals, and you think prison is harsh? Plenty of people would have wanted you to hang for that crime. Raisha, you still have a chance here. Let us help you.”

  “Don’t take her bait,” Payu said.

  “She’s a kid,” he replied.

  Payu shook her head. “She looks like a child, but no true child would do what she did. That’s why she’s here. Come on. We’ll check back later.”

  After Payu exited, Urban lingered in the doorway, staring. Was his look meant to convey sympathy? Did he want her to trust him? Was he out of his mind?

  Raisha could hear Payu walking away, but Urban stepped back into the room. “I get that you hate it here. I know you see us as monsters for locking you up. But we’re trying to protect the world from monsters like Zerif. You don’t owe him your loyalty anymore. We both know he was using you.”

  Raisha looked away from Urban.

  “We also both know you’re no ordinary kid. You’re special, Raisha. What kind of twelve-year-old can get into the kind of trouble you stirred up? And I’d bet my life savings that you called a spirit animal on top of it. Work with us. These walls won’t only keep you in. They can keep Zerif out. We don’t just want to save everyone else from him. We can also help save you.”

  Raisha wavered. Did she want to spend the next thirty years alone? Was it possible to form friendships with her Greencloak captors? Maybe even learn from them? No—those thoughts were pathetic. Urban just wanted to win her over so he could get info about Zerif. If he knew she had called Gerathon, he and every other Greencloak in Erdas would only want to control her.

  She let her eyes return to his, a sneer curling her lip. “The last thing I need is the help of some joke who lives in a swamp with his mule.”