Beginnings
By Eric S. Brown
Though his family had been branded traitors and his very life was forfeit, Stefan of Chelswin needed an audience with the king. He knew the cause of the plague that ravaged the city and he would do whatever it took to put an end to it.
Stefan knew from the edge in the guard’s voice that there was going to be no way into the palace without confrontation. Everyday more and more people died from the plague as it continued to spread through the streets of the city like wildfire. By chance, he had discovered its cause and one way or another he was going to see the king this day.
When Stefan didn’t back away from the palace gates the lead guard stepped forward to shove him back into the street as the other three guards watched cautiously. They were all heavily armed. Each wore a suit of thick chain mail and each carried a long sword in a scabbard that dangled from a belt.
Stefan caught the guard that was reaching for him by the arm and spun, snapping the bone inside the guard’s arm before ramming an elbow deep into the guard’s stomach. He whirled back to face the other three even as the first fell, gasping for air and in pain, to the cobblestones. Stefan ducked beneath the closest guard’s opening swing and swept his feet out from beneath him. Chain mail clattered as the guard struck the ground. Stefan caught the second guard’s blade in his bare hand in mid-swing. The blade bit his flesh but he ignored the blood dripping down his arm, thrusting out with the open palm of his free hand to shatter the guard’s nose. He followed up with a series of three fast, palm edged strikes to the man’s throat. The remaining guard, still on his feet, was yelling for help, and a dozen more soldiers of the king’s army rushed from inside the courtyard to the gates.
Stefan tore the sword out of the last guard’s grasp, shoving him aside. He moved to a position close to the inner wall, narrowing his foes’ field of attack, and stood with the stolen sword poised to strike, held high in both hands. “I must see the king!” he cried at the top of his lungs.
The king’s men closed around him, forming a half-circle, and trapping him against the wall. Their expressions were a mixture of confusion and anger - perhaps even a little fear - as they stared at the young man dressed in peasant rags who had just overcome four of their number. One among them who wore the finer mail of a captain glared at Stefan coldly, looking him over.
“Young man, you’ve just attempted to break into the king’s home and injured several of his guard. Surely, you know those are crimes punishable by death.”
Stefan held his sword firm, meeting the captain’s eyes. “I must see the king,” he said again. “I know the cause of the plague within our streets. I have seen it with my own eyes. Please, I beg you, take me to him and I will gladly answer for what I have done after he hears my words.”
Without the slightest change in his grim expression, the captain looked Stefan over once more and nodded. He motioned for the rest of the men to lower their weapons. “Follow me, boy. I’ll take you to the king. But remember - what you’ve started this day is far from over.”
The captain and his two largest soldiers led Stefan across the courtyard and into the palace through the back entrance. A short slim being with long flowing hair and greenish skin met them as they entered. Stefan recognized him as Slythe, the king’s personal bodyguard.
Slythe flashed a smile of yellow teeth at Stefan, dismissing the captain and his men with a wave of his hand. When they departed he spoke. “I ssaw what you did out there, boy. Tellss me where a peasant learned the wayss of my people.”
“I am Stefan of the house of Chelswin. My family was once a part of the king’s court. Noble blood flows in my veins and I serve the king still.”
Slythe blinked. “Ah yess, Chelswin. I thought I had killed all of your housse. I ssee I wass mistaken.”
“Will you kill me now, Lord Slythe?” There was no trace of fear in his voice.
“No,” the snake-man answered. “Your family’ss crimess are of the past and I think your house hass shed enough blood. The king will decide your fate, child of the betrayer.” Slythe’s fingers drummed on the hilt of the oddly curved blade that hung in the scabbard at his side. He blinked again. “Come, boy; let uss hear what you have to ssay that wass worth dying for.” Slythe turned and took Stefan deeper down the winding hallway towards the king’s chambers.
The king awaited them, sitting comfortably behind an elaborate, finely made desk. The old man’s face showed clearly the signs of fatigue and worry. He glanced up at Stefan. “Well speak, boy. I have too much to do to waste my time waiting on you to choose your words.”
Stefan bowed, sinking to his knees. “Your Majesty, I know the cause of the plague that slays the people of our city.” Raising his head, he met the king’s gaze as though to reinforce his words. “There is a Yagsdill among our people, Your Highness.”
Lord Slythe leaned over to whisper something in the king’s ear. The old man’s laughter echoed throughout the room, the sound his voice booming as he slammed a fist down on the top of his work table. “A peasant,” the king said at last. “A peasant and the son of a traitor brings me the news that it has taken you weeks to discover, Lord Slythe.”
Slythe hissed, but said nothing.
“Had you been a day earlier lad, your news would have been truly shocking, I admit. Tell me, last son of the house of Chelswin, how did you discover the Yagsdill?”
“I saw it last night, Sire, feeding upon a man outside the inn where I am staying.”
“And yet, you’re alive and here to tell the tale. How?”
“The boy iss of the Hex, My King,” Lord Slythe interrupted. “I know not how he learned the ancient wayss of the discipline as I thought mysself to be the last living master. Ssomehow, ssomeone trained by my people must have passed the knowledge onto him. Perhapss hiss master of armss when he was younger, before hiss house broke away from the throne.”
“Interesting indeed.” The king got up from his chair. “Boy, did you bring me this knowledge of the Yagsdill to atone for the crimes of your father and become an outcast no more?”
“No, Your Majesty, I came because people are dying in our streets. I’d like to think that even my father would have done the same despite his hatred for you.”
“Banenach, the court wizard, and Lord Slythe have a plan to lure the Yagsdill out and stop it. Their plan is not perfect as it is but you my boy have made it thus.”
“How?” Stefan asked.
“They need bait, lad. Bait that can survive the Yagsdill long enough to lead it to them. You have attacked my guards and your house owes the throne a blood debt still. Your life is forfeit but if you help rid us of the monster in our streets, I shall spare you and cleanse the name of your house that you may be free again. I can grant you no more than this.”
“Then their bait, I shall be, Your Majesty. I live only to serve the crown.”
As Slythe accompanied Stefan out of the chamber he said, “You handled that well. Most would’ve ended up with their head on a sstake in your place.”
Stefan accepted the compliment. “So,” he asked Slythe, “When do we carry out this plan?”
Slythe’s slit pupils grew large with excitement as he replied, “Tonight, boy. Tonight.”
The plan was simple. Stefan would walk the streets of the city alone, smelling of fresh blood and ale, as if he’d just staggered away from a bar brawl, looking weak and battered yet healthy and free of disease. To further entice the Yagsdill, Banenach would cast a powerful luring charm upon him. The Yagsdill would be drawn to him to feed upon his spirit. It would come with its withering touch to leave its spores behind in his flesh after it had fed. The spores would spread among those who found his body, making them mortally ill, marking them as easily traceable prey for the next night should it not be able to find a fresh victim.
Of course, Stefan had no intention of letting the Yagsdill touch him, much less hold him long enough to begin draining away his soul and thus infect his body with its spores. He would confront the creature and drive it to anger, leading it to the ruins of the temple of Hexus left over from the days when snake-men like Slythe ruled this land. There Banenach would summon a portal, opening into Hell itself, and they would force the monster through it. The plan was simple but full of danger for all three of them who would be involved. Yagsdill were not easy prey.
Stefan was ready to give up after having spent the last four hours wandering the streets of the city in vain. The Yagsdill had not shown itself nor was there any sign of its presence. Dawn was not too far away now and if the Yagsdill did not show itself soon all would be lost. It would take Banenach another month to prepare the portal spell again through many long rituals and sacrifices. Half the city or more could fall to the beast and its plague during that time.
Stefan rounded a corner in the street heading down the darkest alley he could find. He made show of stumbling in his steps. His hand rested on the hilt of the enchanted rapier Banenach had made and Lord Slythe had given him. The blade could not slay the Yagsdill but unlike normal weapons, it could cause the beast pain. Stefan longed to free the blade from its scabbard but dared not carry it openly and ready in his hand.
Without warning, a hand twice the size of a man’s shot out of the darkness grasping for Stefan’s face. He yelped and tumbled backwards losing his footing as he narrowly avoided the long, talon-like fingers which slashed through the air before him. The thing stood above him, nine feet of rotting flesh under tattered black robes. Its eyes burnt with orange rage and it had no mouth upon its face. Instead, the centers of its palms were open like wounds filled with rows of tiny, gleaming teeth.
Stefan half rolled, half flipped to his feet away from the creature. His rapier swooshed as it cleared his scabbard and slashed out at the boney hand already reaching for him once more. The blade cut away a hunk of gray skin and chipped the thing’s exposed bone. Even though it had no mouth, its cry seemed to shake the very ground on which Stefan stood. He ran then without looking back. He darted out of the alley, sprinting for the church of Hexus. Only when he realized there was no sound of the thing pursuing him did he dare a glance over his shoulder straight into the monster’s glowing eyes. He felt its putrid breath flowing from its palms in the second before they clasped onto his cheeks and lifted him effortlessly into the air where the thing floated. Stefan screamed. His body felt as if it were turning to ice. Then suddenly, Slythe was there. The curved blade of the snake-man’s sword severed the Yagsdill’s hands at the wrist.
Stefan toppled to the cobblestones but Slythe jerked him to his feet. “Run, boy!” he spat as a fine mist sprayed from the monster’s wounds at its wrists and began to coalesce into new hands.
The Yagsdill lunged at Stefan wanting more of the sweet taste of his soul but Slythe was between the beast and its prey. It ripped the snake-man in half, like a child would a doll it had grown tired of playing with and wanted no more. Stefan heard the wet sounds of Slythe’s entrails splattering across the street behind him but he was already running again determined not to let Slythe’s efforts be in vain.
Banenach stood in the doorway of the church of Hexus urging him inside as he approached. “Slythe is dead!” Stefan warned the wizard as he leapt past into the building to land beside one of its large stained glass windows.
The Yagsdill flew towards them, its voice howling inside their very minds with fury. Banenach was muttering words in some long dead language that Stefan could not understand as the Yagsdill flew through the doorway and several things happened at once. The entrance cracked with bright energy lighting the night as the portal opened within the frame of the doorway and sucked the monster back the flaming depths which had given it birth. Banenach burst into flames, screaming as his wrinkled flesh melted from his body, caught in the backlash of his own spell. Everything seemed to explode around Stefan. The force of the released magics hurled him through the church’s window, out into the street. Shattered glass clinked down all around him like rain before the whole building caved in on itself.
When Stefan woke up, he found himself in a cushioned bed. On the table next to it sat food and a pitcher of wine. Both his rapier and Slythe’s blade rested against the table. The king sat across the room from him as if he had been watching Stefan and waiting on the boy to come to. He smiled at the young man as Stefan began to speak but cut off the lad’s words saying, “You did well, Stefan Chelswin. All is forgiven this day and you are free to go. The swords are yours now. Use them well.” With that said the king got up and walked out of the room, leaving Stefan staring after him. The Yagsdill was gone and the plague was over but as Stefan looked at the blades near his bedside and the king’s words replayed in his head, he couldn’t help but feel that his own life was just beginning.
“Beginnings” first appeared on http://www.sciencefictionfantasyhorror.com and was reprinted in the collection Waking Nightmares. It is copyright © 2005 Eric S. Brown and appears here with the author’s permission.
Eric S. Brown is the author of the zombie novel, Cobble, and the zombie novella, “The Queen.” Both are available from Amazon.com along with five paperback collections of his short work gathered from the magazines The Book of Dark Wisdom, The Eternal Night, The Edge, Story House, and many others. His short fiction has been published over 300 times in over 100 markets. He is also the author of eight chapbooks including Zombies: The War Stories, As We All Breakdown, and Viruses and Vamps. He is 31 years old and lives in western North Carolina with his wife and son.
