Chapter 51: Feed the Beast
The Hollow Mirebeast roared.
The sound tore through mountain path, shaking loose snow from surrounding cliffs, shaking loose rocks that had been stable for years, shaking old snow off old statues that lined road. Its six limbs dug into stone, claws grinding, scoring deep lines, as its three red eyes fixed on three humans standing before it, small, warm, loud-hearted.
Danny’s legs trembled, not from cold now, from something deeper, something that made knees water, that made teeth want to chatter even though jaw was clenched.
He wanted to run. Wanted to hide somewhere monster couldn’t reach him, under rock, under snow, anywhere, hole like mouse. But there was nowhere to go, and grey-haired man still stood between him and certain death, broken sword and all, back straight.
Path behind them had already collapsed, avalanche of wolves and snow had closed it, blocked with bodies and ice. Path ahead was Mirebeast, was death, was wall. Snow kept falling, light and slow, and it made whole thing feel quieter than it should have, like dream, like bad dream where you can’t wake.
"If someone has to die here... it won’t be the boy."
Words echoed in Danny’s mind, looping, not making sense, like phrase in other language.
He didn’t understand man.
Why protect him? They had met only recently, in forest, then gate, then wolves, not even two days. Danny was burden, weak boy who couldn’t even fight properly, who needed rock to kill wolf pup, who needed saving twice. Grey-haired man had no reason to risk his life for him, no blood, no debt, no promise to keep.
Yet he had made his choice. He had stepped forward without looking back, broken sword loose in hand, as if that was enough to stop mountain, as if will was weapon.
Danny swallowed. Throat dry, tongue stuck to teeth, cold.
Unfortunately, thin prisoner had made his own choice too, different kind, opposite.
"You’re insane!" man shouted, voice cracking like ice under boot, like thin ice when you step. "Both of you! You’re going to get us killed! You’re insane old man! You want to die for stranger!"
His voice echoed slightly off cliff, off stone wall. He was pressed against cliff wall, both hands flat behind him like he could push through rock and disappear into mountain itself, become part of it.
"Shut up," grey-haired man replied without looking back, eyes on beast, sword up, still between.
The Hollow Mirebeast lowered its crooked head, vertical slit opening little wider, wider, teeth spiraling, red eyes pulsing like heartbeat, like three hearts inside mouth.
Click. Click. Click.
Its claws scraped against stone, each click sent little puff of snow up, little cloud, white against black. It was testing ground. Or tasting it. Or counting heartbeats, deciding which to stop first.
Then it moved.
It was faster than anything that size should be. Physics broke, logic broke. One moment it was crouched, six limbs coiled, snow on back, next it was half distance closer, middle limbs lifting, shadow falling over them like night falling early, like eclipse.
"Down!"
Grey-haired man shoved Danny aside, hand hard on shoulder, shove that saved and hurt, as massive claw swept across path where Danny’s head had been, where his neck had been.
Stone exploded. Not cracked — exploded, like bomb, like mine going off under road. Old imperial road that survived empire, that survived hundred winters, shattered like glass, like cheap plate. Shards flew twenty meters.
Danny hit ground hard and rolled through snow, mouth full of ice, nose full. Pieces of shattered rock struck his back, sharp, and pain shot through shoulder that had been hurt before, same shoulder, old pain woken. Cold snow went into collar and mouth, burning, melting then freezing.
He barely had time to lift head before another impact shook mountain, second claw, other side, trying to box them in, to fence them with gouges.
Grey-haired man darted away from creature’s claws, broken sword raised uselessly in hand, bent blade almost folded. Sword did not even reach Mirebeast’s knee, not even ankle properly, man too small. He cut anyway, at ankle joint where bark plates overlapped, where maybe flesh was soft, and sparks came off black hide, orange against black, like striking anvil, like striking mountain.
He couldn’t hurt it. Not with that sword. Not with that fire left, not with Echo gone thin as paper.
They all knew that, even Mirebeast knew, and it knew they knew, and it enjoyed knowing.
The thin prisoner stared at monster, face twisted with terror, whole face white except eyes red from tears and wind. His breathing grew faster as he watched grey-haired man dodge another strike by hair’s breadth, snow spraying, old man sliding on knees. Claw left deep gouge in path where old man had been, gouge deeper than grave, gouge that filled with snow quickly.
"We’re going to die," he whispered, not to anyone, to mountain, to gods who made mountain. "We’re going to die here. No Fort Haven. No flat land."
Nobody answered him. Wind moved snow across gouge, filling it slowly, erasing.
"We’re going to die here! We’re going to die because of him! Because of boy! Because old fool wants to be hero!"
His gaze suddenly shifted toward Danny, slow, like head turned by string, like puppet turned by monster’s will.
The boy was struggling to get back on feet, one hand pressed against aching shoulder, knees shaking, snow stuck to cheek like white blood, like paint.
Something changed in prisoner’s expression. Eyes narrowed. Mouth set in line that wasn’t fear anymore. Lips thin.
It wasn’t courage.
It wasn’t desperation to fight monster, to grab rock and help old man.
It was decision. Small, ugly kind of decision that comes when man stops looking at monster and starts looking at who is easiest to feed to it, who weighs least to carry and throw, who no one will miss.
"Sorry, kid," he muttered, not sorry at all, voice flat, already making excuse in head.
Danny heard him, ears ringing from roar but heard, heart hearing that word.
He turned just as thin prisoner lunged toward him, hands out, grabbing, thin arms but desperate strong.
"HEY!"
The man grabbed for Danny’s collar, fingers thin and strong, nails cracked from mountain cold and mines, black with old mine dust, intending to drag him toward monster, to throw him like meat, like offering.
Danny twisted away, survival twist learned from wolves, from fighting boys in Ravenfall, from being grabbed before.
Prisoner’s fingers caught only edge of his torn clothing, prisoner garb already ripped from wolves. Cloth ripped more, loud tear, thread screaming. He stumbled forward, momentum carrying him several steps closer to Mirebeast, close enough that he could see steam coming off its chest, close enough to smell rot inside bark, close enough that red eyes looked straight at him now, not boy.
"What the—"
Danny scrambled backward on hands and feet, snow burning palms, knees scraping stone, away from both, from man and monster, small crab walk.
"You bastard!" he shouted. Voice broke, angry and scared at once and it came out as both, child and animal, scream that tore throat.
"You bastard!"