Beast - Jay Mirano (motivational novels for students TXT) 📗

Celia

I curl my fingers around the hilt of my blade and hold my breath, listening intently. Under the howl of the wind and the soft patter of rain, I can definitely detect the sound of someone – something – moving in the woods. I raise a closed fist, a signal for my brothers to wait, and unsheathe my knife.
My brother Caleb drops the slab of meat we’ve brought as bait on the dew-slicked grass, and we all disperse into the inky shadows of the forest.
The full moon overhead casts a sallow glow that lights up everything with a dream-like quality. For a few moments I almost think I am dreaming. I have no doubt that the creature moving in the woods is a werewolf, a beast of the night. I’ve waited so long to finally kill it, and end its reign of terror over the village.
Sure enough, a large snout pushes its way through the underbrush, sniffing hesitantly at the air. It snarls softly, revealing a row of bone-white teeth. It steps into the clearing, making its way over to the meat. I position my blade and prepare to attack.

Axel

You may find this hard to believe, but I’ve never held night in very high esteem. The muted glow of the moon, which to others may seem ethereal and beautiful, has always haunted me. The fact that it’s merely the reflection of sunlight may be the reason. And yet I’m trapped to always be one with the night, our fates forever intertwined like two threads in a rope.
I can’t remember how it all started, not completely. I was very young, still with the wonder of young life clinging to me. My father was long dead by then, most likely killed by the elder hunters of the village. My mother, fearing for her own life, took me to the precipice of Hanging Rock, where it’s said that the spirits of old still linger, passing their gifts on for another generation. The people of the village had found out about her relationship with my father – and outcast – and the illegitimate child she had borne. Me. In their eyes she could no longer live. Her unusual way of life frightened them, and the only possible explanation they could conjure was that she was a witch. Yes, she lives on the outskirts of town to brew her potions in peace, they claimed. To put curses and hexes on us without being seen. So on that fateful evening, my tiny, swaddled body pressed to her chest, she sacrificed me to the spirits of Hanging Rock and prayed they’d accept me. She prayed I would be able to protect her. I wish I could have.
“You have the light of the moon running through your veins,” she’d whispered, her eyes round and dewy. “Just as your father did, and his before him. Please, stay here. Be good.”
She gave me one, final kiss on my forehead. I remember reaching out for her, beckoning for her to return with my chubby fingers, but she merely shook her head and made her way back down the cliff.
Before night had fully fallen, the villagers had found her. I could hear her screams from Hanging Rock. They travelled upwards to me as if caught on a gentle breeze. And that morning, the bonfire they’d made was still staining the sky with its grey smudge.
The first few days were the hardest. I barely knew where I was, let alone how to care for myself. All I could seem to do was curl up into a ball and cry for my mother.
On the fourth night, a full moon rose. By this time I was delirious with thirst and hunger, but the apparitions that appeared before me were as real as flesh and blood.
The first spirit to come was my father, his broad shoulders draped in a cloak of auburn fur. His forehead creased when he saw me, and he stooped to lay a hand over my own.
“So young,” he murmured, his mop of hair tumbling over his creased forehead as he bent to examine me. “Too young.”
He stood once more, casting a hesitant glance to the watchful moon overhead.
“I can’t do it,” he whispered to himself. “It’s not fair.”
“Papa!” I’d gurgled, wanting more than anything for him to scoop me up into his arms and take me home. Take me somewhere warm.
He looked at me once more, a single tear glistening on his cheek.
“He’ll die otherwise,” another voice said, so soft and lilting it could have been the rustle of trees nearby. A second figure appeared from the moonlight, his shadowy form wavering in the breeze. Despite the fact I’d never seen him, I knew he was my grandfather. “Give him the gift.”
My father nodded. He reached around his neck and extracted a small pendant. It glowed against his ghostly fingers, and as he placed it over my head it seemed to grow in clarity until it was no longer transparent like my father, but solid and hard to the touch. I examined it closely, a little scared to see it was a wolf’s tooth, carved with ornate patterns and speckled with gold. I wrapped my little child hands around it and smiled.
“Keep that close to your heart,” my father said, stepping away. “And I’ll always be with you.”
And then he was gone, faded into the night.
I didn’t know it then, but the pendant my father had given me contained the essence of the moon spirits. It passed onto me their “gift”, although I prefer to see it as more of a gift. I had been born with the light of the moon in my veins, as my mother had said, and so my transformation was near instantaneous. The first few patches of fur that grew were downy and soft, and my claws had been little more than long fingernails. But as the months progressed, my fur became more rugged and long, my fangs extended and my claws were almost knife-like in their strength and sharpness. I was a monster.
I suppose I should have been thankful that the full transformation only occurred under the light of the full moon. At all other times I was human, or close to it. I longed more than anything to return to the village, but I knew I’d never be accepted. Even in my human form, my eyes glowed a pale amber colour, and my teeth never lost their fang-like shape. I didn’t fit in anywhere, not with other moon spirits, and not with other humans. I was alone.

Celia

The beast lingers at the edge of the forest, casting wild glances in every direction. I have to wait until it’s found the bait; otherwise he’ll make a run for it, or worse. I’ve seen first-hand what one of these things can do when threatened, and I don’t want a repeat. But I don’t want to think about my father’s death right now.
My brothers seem to have slackened their tense poses as well. Caleb has lowered his bow, and Curt has loosened his grip on the net held in his hands. Just to be safe I issue a low owl hoot, our signal to stand down. They nod in my direction.
The beast inches closer towards the meat, and I suddenly notice the stark outline of its ribs poking out from beneath its sable fur. I distractedly wonder how long it must have been since its last meal, but I snap back to attention. I can’t let my mind wander, not for a moment.
The wolf looks up at the round moon, catching the light of it in its eyes. They glow so brightly that my breath catches in my throat. Despite my hatred for the thing, I have to admit it’s beautiful. But I suppose even beautiful things can be evil.

Axel

The first time I saw you, you were just a child. You could even say I was a child, too, but my childhood had long since been destroyed.
You were playing in the cornfields that outlined the village, using a pair of dead stalks as swords. I’d been hoping to steal a couple of cobs to eat, but I’d been so entranced with your game that the roars of hunger that issued from my stomach went unnoticed. I didn’t think I’d ever seen anything as beautiful as you; your golden hair caught the sunlight as you ducked and swirled, making it glimmer and glow. Your pale cheeks were flushed the colour of roses, your blue eyes bright with excitement. I wanted more than anything to join you, and I even picked up my own stalk to use should I garner the courage to ask if I could. But a single glance at my muddied and torn clothing quashed those hopes. I looked like an urchin compared to you. And I suppose I was.
So I shrunk further into the corn, watching you from a safe distance. You continued your swordplay well into the afternoon, slaying “foul beasts” and rescuing their captives. It wasn’t until your mother called your name – Celia – that you ventured back indoors.
From that day on, I visited you often. Sometimes I thought you may have noticed, because you’d pause for a moment and peer wonderingly in my direction. I don’t know what I would have done if you had seen me. Maybe I hoped that you would.
In a way I grew up with you. When you laughed, so did I. When you scraped your knee, I felt your pain. And when you grieved for your father, I grieved too.
I wish I could have saved him. I would have given anything, even my life, to do so. But the moon spirit that took him was rouge, passing through the area in search of new territory. I’d seen him that morning, scouting Hanging Rock. We were both in our human forms, but there was no mistaking those tell-tale eyes. I’d slipped behind an out-cropping of rock, and he passed by, seemingly not noticing me.
The night of the full moon, I’d gotten as far away from the village as I could. I was still a young moon spirit at this time, and my lust for human flesh was as yet hard to control. In future it’d be easier to control, but to be safe I always distanced myself from the village. I distanced myself from you.
But the scent of fresh blood travels far, and to my senses was irresistible. I knew at once it was your father; it was a scent I’d experienced many times before, but never this potent.
By the time I got there he was already dead, the rogue having dealt with him callously and without mercy. I saw him hunched over his body, and as he heard my approach his head snapped up. He let out a low growl, deep and menacing.
I knew you were still nearby; I could smell you, and you seemed to be moving closer. For once my curse didn’t urge me to hurt you, as it so often had when I was in my moon spirit form. Instead, I felt a fierce need to protect you. I lunged at the rogue wolf, ripping at the soft flesh of his throat. I was surprised by my strength, and it wasn’t until much later that I noticed the deep gashes he’d left on my shoulders and arms.
By the time you’d gotten there, the moon spirit