Beastling : Chapter 3

Chapter 2.1 - for my LMS, 1400 words-ish. All spellings are British English!

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      And Ashka created the beastlings, horrific creatures in the image of humans, so as to reveal how great his first creations wer- Linna snapped the book shut and made to throw it to the other side of the storeroom, then thought again and placed it back in the crate with a frustrated growl, biting her lip. She hated the religion of this place, how it didn't allow her to have a normal life, one like a human. She tried periodically to read the millenia-old scriptures, but had never managed to finish them. They made her feel filthy, unnatural. There were days she wanted to be rid of her ears and her tail, just so she could be normal. So she could be like a human.

    She didn't despise humans, unlike most of her kind. She could understand their revulsion when they saw the ears, the tails, the slitted eyes, the fur next to smooth skin. She felt it herself when she looked in the mirror in the morning and the evening. It wasn't a comfortable feeling, knowing that she was only looked at with a normal gaze because she presented herself as a human. If she thought about it, then she could remember the glares and the stares and the insults she had received as a child – but no, she didn't think about it. She didn't need the memories. She didn't want the screams in her mind.

    And yet still, they came. It was the imperative imposition of memories, she thought, that if you had a stray thought, they would latch on and leech off of you until you were all memories and no thought. As she was dragged into the past, it wasn't the first time that she despised her own mind.

     Rattling. That's what her young mind had chosen to remember. The rattle and clatter of their primitive caravan as they made their way through the forest. It focused upon the small things – the things she knew she could handle. So she remembered the sliver of light peeking through the door that they could never fully shut, and the vibrant colours of their quilt that she had lain on, sulking. Well, she thought she had been sulking, at least. She wasn't sure. But she was inside, and that was where she stayed. Her parents were outside, and the murmur of their voices barely disturbed the noise of creaking wood. They had been hushed, her parents – hushed movements, hushed words. Quiet. Now she was older, she recognised the actions of the hunted. Before she could linger on it, the memory swept her along again.

    Her mind was no longer sure on how long they had been traveling, but now they stopped, halted by a harsh call. She made to come out of the caravan, but there were three knocks on the ceiling. Even years later, she could remember the meaning of that – humans. That meant danger. That meant don't come out. That meant hide, and do not show yourself until they had left. So she hid. She pressed her tiny, thin body into the hidden compartment in the wall of their home, and waited, pressing her ear against the wood to try and hear.

    “Dismount from the vehicle, please.” Their voices were polite, but harsh. Innocent until proven guilty was the policy for humans. Only once they were sure that they were dealing with beastlings would it be guilty, with no chance of being proven innocent.

    Her small hand, still possessing nails that looked like claws at that point, was laid flat against the wood, and felt the vibrations of her parents carefully descending from the caravan.

    “The hats. Take them off.” There was an overwhelming silence in which Linna counted the heartbeats echoing in her head. Her name hadn't been Linna then, but she couldn't remember what it was. Boom. Badum. Boom. Badum.

    She heard rapid steps – someone running away – then two pairs of steps, and then the clanking as the soldiers (at least that was what she assumed) made chase.

    And then they were gone.

    She couldn't remember the last words she had said to her parents, but she could remember the last sounds she heard from them, a muttered message to “Stay there. Stay hidden. Then run.” that she knew the humans wouldn't have heard.

    And then the scream.

    She sucked in a breath as she stumbled from the memory, unsure as to whether she was truly falling, or whether it was the subtraction of the sensory input that left her reeling. Staggering through the doorway into the shop, she perched herself on the stool behind the desk, leaning on it to stablise herself. One breath. Two.

    The door to the store opened, framing the shop's owner. Linna started from her chair, hurrying over with a large smile.

    “Helzo! How was the trip up north?” Her rattled nerves settled as the large man returned her embrace with one arm a large suitcase occupying the other. As he let her go, he lifted the suitcase and shook it at her. There was a series of heavy thumps and her face lit up. “More books? You're amazing!”

    He chuckled in response, opening up the suitcase and handing her his new finds. “How have sales been?”

    “Perfect! The new shipment of books came a couple of days ago, and I've been sorting it out between sales.” She ushered him into the storeroom, to show him the crates, trailing off into a babble of conversation.

*****

    The first note of change was when the man came through the door smelling of gunpowder. It wasn't the light, tickling scent that came after gentlemen who carried guns – this filled the room and forced itself down her nostrils as if it wanted to ignite her from within. She barely dared breathe for fear that she would cough. She didn't know if the owner could smell it, but she hid it, not wanting her sensitivity to give her away.

    “How may I help you, sir?” she asked, her voice sounding almost strangled to her ears. She fixed on his welcoming features and jet black hair, those midnight eyes that drunk in the light and demanded more.

    “I'm on official business, I'm afraid. I'd just like to ask a few questions.” He used a clipped, military tone, and her eyes finally moved past his features to his attire, stopping on the insignia that marked him as a corporal and on the crisp folds of his uniform. His posture, though relaxed, was impeccable, and she couldn't help thinking that they did indeed train them well.

    “I'll try my best to help you, sir.”

    “We're investigating rogue beastlings.” A spike of icy fear rammed itself into her stomach, irradiating anxiety down her limbs, urgent enough to hurt. “Would you have heard of anything helpful?” He held a notebook in hand, pencil at the ready, unaware that he had just thrown her into a contained panic.

    He met her eyes gravely, seeming to drink in more than the light, but her secrets and her past, and everything that haunted her on the days she walked through crowds of humans, pretending to be one of them. It was if he saw the tail and the ears, knew she picked up every sound from across the street and smelled the overpoweringly dusty odor of gunpowder.

    But gunpowder. Her mind spluttered to a halt, then raced forward again. The lady had smelled of gunpowder – such a strange scent for a lady to be carrying – and now there was this man, who seemed to have bathed in the hateful stuff. She glanced at his hands, seeing fine black particles lining underneath his nails. Maybe he was a gunman. Maybe there was something else at hand here. She made herself a note to check whether she was ready to flee. It could never do any harm.

    She let her eyes widen in fear, holding her hand to her chest in a picture of consternation. “Rogue beastlings? Without masters? How horrific!” Sitting on her stool, she allowed herself to appear faint with worry, a harmless shop-girl with little knowledge of the world outside. “I haven't heard of any rumours around here. I should hope not! This is a respectable place.” Her hands fluttered nervously.

    The man smiled genially. “Don't worry, ma'am. We're just investigating possibilities. You're at low risk here.”

    She nodded, relieved. “If possible, maybe could you...” She shook her head. “No, it's silly.”

    “Ma'am?”

    “Well, I was just wondering whether you would mind terribly, when you continue your investigation telling me if you do hear any rumours. Else I won't be able to sleep at night for fear of one of... those attacking me.”

    He nodded. “Of course, ma'am. We'll publish the results of our investigation anyway, but if it reassures you...”

    “Oh, it would.” She allowed herself to look relieved, though she wanted nothing more than to run, run, run to the ends of the world and hide. To be rid of the fear.

    His eyes slid over her with something less than welcoming, his eyes swallowing her for a moment in time, but before she could catch a hold on it, he tilted his hat at her. “Have a lovely day, ma'am. If you do hear something, just report it to the constabulary. They'll handle it.”

    A nod brought her head up, then down, but inside, she was far away, a child hearing the screams of her mother again. The door shut with the light jingle of the bell above it, and she slid off of her stool. Into the storeroom and up the stairs – mechanical movements, requiring no thought. Five steps down the corridor, first door on the left. The snick of the key in the lock as she shut the door was the final card on a deck piled too high. Her fear billowed out, tearing a sob from her chest, sliding her to a crouch on the balls of her feet. Another rocked her forward. She didn't want to die.