Here Be Monsters - By M T Murphy Page 0,15

back. Someone, he wasn’t certain who, escorted him away from the stronghold and to his own front door. He was in a daze. Tired, but happy, and so proud. Only the moment of Ruygret’s birth had ever made him feel so complete. She was his heart, as he so often told her.

He reflected that he would have to find a way to make this up to her. He should speak to her now, before he did anything else. He owed her at least that. Hyug met him in the entryway. “Where is Ruygret?” Krel said. “I need to talk to her right away.”

“Krel,” Hyug began. “She left two days ago. I came to your workshop and told you, remember?”

“What?” Krel thought back. Of course he didn’t remember. Everyone knew he couldn’t think about anything else while he was working.

“She left for the homelands. She said to tell you she was going to live with your wife’s sister until she got settled.”

Krel looked up sharply. “She’s gone?”

Hyug looked down. “The convoy she travelled with was attacked by a wild pack of humans, hundreds of them. I was told she fought bravely.” He hesitated, his voice strangely quiet. “They brought her back this morning.”

For a moment, hope threatened to break through. “Where is she?”

“Krel, you don’t want to see her like this.” He stood in respectful silence a moment before adding, “Don’t worry about the details. I’ll arrange the rites. She will have a magnificent procession into the afterlife.”

Krel staggered away, not hearing anything more. “My beautiful Ruygret,” he wailed.

With tumbling steps he made his way down to his private gallery, which was situated just across from his workroom. The many orbs around him vibrated, as though shaking with the grief that washed over him.

Why? Why his Ruygret? Over a human? Was his crime so severe that he deserved to lose his only child? Yes, he’d wronged her, but he could have made it up to her, if only she’d given him the chance. She’d told him many times he was obsessed with his work, but it was only because she couldn’t see what he did. If only she would see his point of view for once.

He sank to the ground, sitting on the cold stone, surrounded by his creations. “My heart,” he said to the air. “Ruygret, my heart is gone.” He slumped, and something within him broke.

His race did not have the same kind of soul humans did. They were not so simple as the weak, pink creatures. They could not be confined to an orb of conjured glass to decorate the walls of a conquering race. Krel’s last words were an enchantment. Like a human without a soul, one of his kind without a heart could have no true life. He went slack.

The soul-orbs vibrated even harder, and the most delicate ones shattered instantly. A spray of colour churned before scattering in an invisible wind. The glass of the larger ones exploded outward like fireworks. Even the squat, ugly orb that held the princess’ soul dropped to the ground, cracking as it hit the stone floor. But instead of disappearing, the soul dust made its way back to the princess’ inert body.

The last orb to break was the masterpiece over the warchief’s fire. All in the chamber looked up as it rumbled and shook with the force of an earthquake. The strands of the pet’s soul flew out together, creating a firestorm like nothing any of them had ever seen. It was tragic, beautiful, and devastating. The warchief roared as the light of a hundred suns flared before his throne. Then a multitude of light-ribbons wisped their way through the air toward Krel’s workshop.

Krel’s heart, his spirit was gone. He did not see the dark sand enter the princess’ body, nor the brilliant filaments that flew through the air into the workshop only moments later. No one heard the human’s voice as it groaned, and no one saw the body rise, then release the now-conscious warrior woman strapped to the table. Krel did not see the human pet staggering toward him, naked, disoriented, and armed with his ceremonial knife. He did not feel it when the human cut his throat. He also did not have the consciousness to be grateful that the pet, too, saw no reason to be cruel.

LUX

Anabel Portillo

© 2011

All rights reserved.

Edited by Ian Sharmon

It always rained on nights like this. The girl’s hair hung like ribbons from her ponytail and her clothes were clinging to her