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Yet I still linger here, shunned and alone once more, lost in the madness that ended my people.
Chapter
Sixteen
KAI
The next morning, the black horse beast still lingers in the shadows of the trees. He stays out of the clearing, as if being in the open frightens him, but he doesn’t fall so far back that I can’t see him from the open window. Those red, glowing eyes hold darkness and fear, and something inside me aches to reach toward it. It’s a familiar pain, as if we would both understand each other. Something about this beast is so very human despite the skin it bears. He’d spoken, so I assume he has some humanity, but he holds his form. Perhaps that is what he is, what he always will be. Regardless, though, he’s massive and imposing, but I’m not scared of him as he watches our cabin. Instead, I want to walk out there and talk to him.
Which is silly.
I’m already living in a cabin with two monsters. Why add a third?
Why not?a little voice whispers to me.
Kaito watches the beast the same as I do, but there’s a nervousness to his countenance, as if he doesn’t recognize what the beast is. Weyland, in contrast, looks less confused but evenmore afraid, as if he recognizes the beast in some way and that makes him even more scared.
“What is he?” I finally ask when I can’t stand the nervous silence any longer. “Why do you look as if you’ve seen a ghost?”
Weyland glances at me, at the way I stand unafraid despite the clear danger of the creature. “Because he might as well be a ghost, spoken about in hushed, frightened whispers where no one can hear. We used to tell stories about such beasts around the fire, a tale to scare the pups, nothing more, and yet here death stands as if he’s waiting to carry us away.” He’s tense, so tense I can see the corded muscles in his neck as he moves. He doesn’t hide his fear, but his words feel as if they were meant to unnerve me.
They don’t.
“How is he death?” Kaito asks. Whatever tale Weyland knows, it does not appear that Kaito grew up hearing the same stories.
I can feel that knowledge, the death song floating on the wind as the beast lingers. It’s as if he comes to take your soul and carry it to whatever lies after, but it doesn’t feel malignant. It feels . . . peaceful.
“The warhorses of the old world were feared in battle. They were great, hulking beasts lost to their madness with the first scent of blood and clang of war drums. They charged into battle, tore creatures limb from limb, and skewered them with their horns. They showed no mercy. They are not capable of it. They were created for war and nothing else,” Weyland murmurs, his eyes on the beast outside pawing at the ground.
My head tilts in wonder. “And yet, he did not attack us when I stepped before him,” I point out. “That doesn’t seem so monstrous as what you’re describing.”
Weyland frowns, thinking over my words before replying, “You’re right. It doesn’t.”
Which means some of the stories aren’t entirely true. I don’t doubt that this beast is dangerous, I saw what he did to the furry creatures that attacked us, but some part of me doubts this creature is a cold war beast with no thought. I heard his voice. There’s pain in his eyes, but he is not completely lost. Not yet.
I don’t know when I consciously make the decision. I just know one moment, I’m watching him through the window, and the next, I’m heading toward the door. Weyland and Kaito immediately spring into action, rushing forward to keep me inside where it’s safe, where I can’t be hurt.
But I’m tired of being afraid.
“That’s not a good idea,” Kaito says, his hands in front of him as if he’s trying to reason with a child. “We know nothing about that beast out there—”
“We know he didn’t hurt me when he had the chance. He didn’t hurt any of us,” I reason.
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s not free to change his mind,” Weyland growls, his shoulders filled with tension. “Stay inside where it’s safe.”
“I’m tired of trying to be safe. I’m tired of hiding,” I retort, gesturing for them to move. “If you’re so worried, come with me, but something tells me that I need to go out there and speak to him.”
“Warhorses don’t speak,” Weyland replies, shaking his head in frustration. “They maim and kill and battle, but they don’t speak.”
“This one did,” I argue. “He spoke to me before.”
Weyland and Kaito share a look between them as if I can’t see their disbelief through their coded glances.
It’s Kaito who meets my eyes and studies me closely. “Are you certain?”
“Yes,” I respond. “I heard his voice as clear as day. Didn’t you?”
Another glance. “No,” Weyland says. “We didn’t.”
