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Not Everything Dies
Not Everything Dies Read online
Not Everything Dies © 2017 by John Patrick Kennedy
Special thanks to Kindle Press for this amazing opportunity.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2017
Amazon, the Amazon logo, Kindle Scout, and Kindle Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
Cover art by Carlos Quevedo.
Interior layout and design by Colleen Sheehan of Write Dream Repeat Book Design
All rights reserved
First Edition
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You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.
— Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
HUNGARY, 1609
THE BEAST WOKE in darkness.
For any other creature, the room would have been pitch-black. For the Beast, the stones themselves emitted light, turning the black to a deep gray that showed the length and depth of the prison cell. The room was scarcely higher than the Beast, if the Beast stood. It rarely did that these days, preferring to lope on hands and feet in a springing run that kept its nose closer to the ground—the better to sniff out prey.
The Beast had looked different, once.
Long ago it had stood on two legs all the time. Necessity had changed its body. The more it relied on scent to hunt, the more time it spent on all fours. Its arms had grown longer, its legs shorter, to compensate. Its toes grew stronger, able to flex the talons on their tips and dig them into the ground as it hunted. Its pale white skin was covered in dirt and mud, the better to be unseen in the woods. Its hair, long and red, became matted and filthy, but no longer fell into its eyes. Its neck twisted so it could easily look up when it ran. Even its breasts had changed, shrinking and clinging tighter to its body, so as not to be in the way.
The Beast paced. The room was twice as wide and four times as long as the creature. Metal bars, deeply embedded in the floor, blocked the only way out. The floor and walls were flat, cut stone, so different from the rough, natural cave wall of the hallway beyond.
It hated this place.
It didn’t know how many times it had slept and woken in its prison. It didn’t know how long it had been there. The Beast counted time by sunrise and sunset, and in this prison, it could see neither. It hated the unending darkness and the unchanging scent. It wanted the woods and the smells of the animals it fed on. Wanted to sniff the deer and the bears and wolves. Wanted to run thought the night, chasing down prey and drinking it dry.
It wanted out. Now.
The Beast snarled and sniffed the stale air. The musty, dank smell of wet rock permeated every surface. Beyond that, the Beast could smell the mold in its straw nest and the sharp, tangy smell of the metal bars. Beneath it all was the thin, faint scent of blood.
Not fresh, drinkable blood, but old from deaths past. The smell drove the Beast mad with hunger.
The Beast’s talons scraped against the floor. It crouched low and glared at the bars. The Beast sprang forward, turning at the last moment to smash its shoulder hard against the bars. The cold metal clanged and shuddered, hurting the Beast’s naked flesh, but the bars didn’t give way.
The Beast hit the ground, loped back to the end of the room, and charged again. Over and over, it threw itself at the bars, heedless of the damage to its flesh. The sixth time it twisted too far and its side hit the bars.
There was a dull crack as one of its ribs broke. Agony blossomed within.
The Beast howled. It closed its eyes and waited as the ends of the ribs ground against each other and clicked back together. The pain halved, then quartered, and then faded to nothing.
The Beast smelled humans.
It scuttled to the back of the room and sank into its nest of straw. There were eight coming—six male, two female. The males’ scent of musk, clean wool, and sweaty flesh was nearly hidden beneath the smell of the metal they wore. Their metal didn’t smell like the bars—rust and dust and old iron. Their metal smelled of oil. From where the Beast lay, it felt the beat of their hearts and the blood rushing through their veins. The blood was a song, like the outdoors, like wildness. It called to the Beast, fixing its attention.
It had been given human blood when it first woke in this place. Human blood smelled and tasted so sweet. Sweeter and more complex than any deer or rabbit, richer than a fox’s or a weasel’s or even the bear the Beast had once fought. Each creature’s blood had its own signature: once smelled or tasted, it was never forgotten.
Then they had switched, giving it rabbits and pigs. The Beast, starving, had drunk them all. It was used to animal blood, had fed on animal blood as long as it could remember before it came here.
The scent of humans reminded it of the sweetness of their blood, made it crave it. The Beast crouched on its haunches, hoping for a chance to drink one of them.
Two women, a light one and a dark one, stepped in front of the cell.
The light one smelled of flowers and other things the Beast couldn’t name, though it thought it knew them once. The memory of those scents lingered somewhere inside, though so deep the Beast didn’t bother searching for it. The dark one smelled of sweat and dirty clothing and of another woman and a man.
Both carried a faint hint of old blood on their flesh. It lingered on them, the way it did in the stones. It clung to them beneath the smells they had used on their skin: lye and ashes on the dark one, flowers and oil on the fair.
The Beast watched and waited.
The six men approached the bars and drew more metal from their sides. The Beast recognized the object and snarled. It was as sharp as the Beast’s claws, and it hurt. The last time they had come, the Beast had grabbed the arm of one of the males, pulled it through the bars, and tried to bite through it. The metal on the man’s body protected him, and the sharp objects the others wielded drove into the Beast’s flesh over and over until the pain grew too much and it let go.
Now the Beast watched and waited as the men pointed their metal toward it.
“She isn’t any better?”
The Beast heard the fair one’s words but didn’t make sense of them.
“Not at all,” one of the men said. “We switched her to animal blood as you asked. Since then, there have been no more improvements.”
“As I expected. The animal blood makes her an animal. We will switch back and see what happens.”
The fair one nodded at the dark one. The dark one walked away. From somewhere nearby came the sound of wood scraping on stone, then the sound of leather striking flesh. A girl screamed, and the scent of her fear hit the Beast’s nose.
It shifted in its corner, watching.
“Here.” The dark one shoved the girl at the fair one. The girl began weeping, and urine ran down one of her legs. The fair one grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up to balance on her toes, then nodded to the men. All six stepped back from the bars, though their metal remained pointed at the Beast.
The dark one took a small piece of metal—old iron and rust, like the bars—out of her pocket and put it to the square in the bars. The square gave a loud click. The bars swung open with a creak and a groan. The Beast tensed and crouched. The men stepped forward, their metal pointing directly at it. It would hurt to charge them, but the Beast didn’t care. If it killed the men, it could escape.
The dark one shoved the bars shut. The six men leaned against them. The Beast charged, ramming its shoulder against the bars. They bounced back, but the combined weight of the men forced them shut again. The dark one struggled with the metal in the square. The Beast tried to slash at her. One of the men blocked the way. The Beast howled and drove its talons forward into the slot in the metal on the man’s head.
Flesh gave way deliciously. Blood spurted from the man’s face. He stumbled back, screaming. The square gave a sharp click and the others all jumped back. The Beast tried to grab the dark one, but she was out of reach. The men knelt to help their screaming, bleeding companion. The fair one stood still, watching.
Blood poured from the man’s eyes and down his face. The smell filled the cell, shimmering with power. Life. The Beast howled and tried to reach through the bars to grab the man. One man shoved his metal at it. The Beast jumped back with a snarl.
The girl in the cell whimpered.
The Beast turned. The girl was bleeding from the twin cuts on her bare breasts. The Beast’s lips curled up, revealing long and sharp fangs. The girl shook, her entire body vibrating with fear.
The girl’s blood was different than the man’s, but just as sweet. The Beast crawled forward, a string of drool oozing from one side of its mouth.
The girl sat still, weeping until the Beast sank its teeth into her neck. Sweet blood flowed into the Beast’s mouth, bringing bliss. It drank until the last of the blood drained from the girl’s body.
Then the world turned white and faded away.
The Beast woke in darkness.
Its stomach rumbled with hunger. It sniffed deeply. The blood no longer smelled fresh, but stale and dry. The Beast looked around.
The girl’s body was gone’ leaving only stains behind on the stone floor. The women and soldiers were gone.
SOLDIERS. The men in metal were called soldiers. The Beast knew that now. It also knew that it felt stronger, that its mind was clearer. Before, where there was only desire, now there was thought.
ESCAPE. It glared at the bars of the cell and snarled. BREAK! DESTROY!
It charged across the room and leaped at the bars. The impact hurt, and the Beast yelped in pain. The bars shook more than they ever had before. The Beast retreated, ready to jump again.
“It’s awake!” someone shouted nearby. “Fetch the lady! Quick!”
A soldier ran from the hallway, sword in hand. The Beast rushed forward, and the man jabbed the its metal through the bars.
SWORD. SHARP METAL.
The Beast changed its course, bounced off the wall, and landed on all fours in a crouch. The man stepped back. The Beast smelled fresh sweat, ripe with the stink of fear, coming from his flesh.
BREAK. ESCAPE.
The Beast paced. The man’s eyes and blade followed it.
KILL.
It rushed twice more. Each time the man jabbed with his blade to keep the Beast at bay. The Beast snarled. It slowly approached the bars and rose. The soldier’s eyes went first to the Beast’s breasts, then to the red hair above its sex. He swallowed hard and looked away.
The Beast shoved its arm through the bars, trying to catch the man’s armor or helmet—anything—to drag him closer, but he stayed out of reach. The Beast screamed and reached with both arms.
The man stabbed the Beast in the stomach.
The Beast shrieked and jumped back. Silver blood poured from its belly. Almost at once the pain receded, and the blood slowed to a trickle. The Beast’s lips turned up in a grin. It hadn’t been this strong in . . .
Something tickled the back of the Beast’s mind, something about how long it had been and why. The Beast shook its head and snarled. It didn’t want to think.
ESCAPE!
Boots clomped in the hallway, the sound echoing through the small room. Seven soldiers, as well as two other men and the two women from before, crowded by the door. One of the men stank of the prison and had manacles on his hands and feet. The other man smelled of strange, harsh chemicals.
“Good work,” the fair woman said, and this time the Beast understood the words. “What has she done?”
“Attacked the bars,” the soldier said. “Then it tried to lure me closer by showing its body.”
“Her body,” the fair one corrected. “She is a woman.”
“She is a mystery,” said the man who smelled of chemicals. He stepped closer to the bars. “Where does she come from? Who is she under that dirt?”
“Begging pardon, sir,” the guard said. “If you stand that close, she’ll kill you.”
“Step back, Kade,” said the fair one. “Dorotyas, the door.”
The dark one took out the small piece of metal and put it in the square.
KEY. LOCK.
Six soldiers formed a line and pointed their swords, ready to stab the Beast if necessary. The other two grabbed the man who smelled like the prison. The dark one clicked open the lock, and the door swung back.
The Beast charged.
It nearly made it to the door, but the two soldiers threw their prisoner into its way. The prisoner fell on his face. The Beast swerved to avoid him. The door clanged shut, and the Beast howled. There was rage, but the hunger was stronger. The Beast thrust its talons into one of the prisoner’s legs and pulled him back from the bars. The man screamed, then gurgled as the Beast’s teeth went into his throat.
The Beast stood on its feet and threw the man’s lifeless body at the door. It hit hard, the skull cracking and an arm breaking. The soldiers flinched. The fair woman didn’t.
“As soon as it is unconscious, you can go in and do it, Kade,” she said.
The Beast’s world started turning white again.
“Can you hear me?” The fair one’s voice was sharp with excitement. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
The Beast collapsed to the floor, and the white faded to black.
The Beast awoke to the flickering of torchlight.
HUNGRY. NEED FOOD. NEED . . .
NEED?
NEED PEOPLE. FEED.
NEED ESCAPE.
Why?
The Beast snarled and jumped away, searching for the owner of the voice. It pressed its back against the wall. Two guards, standing on the other end of the bars, jumped in surprise. One turned and ran. The other drew his sword. The Beast did not care. Its eyes darted back and forth. There was no one else near.
Why must we get away?
The voice came from inside the Beast’s mind.
NO!
Space that had been empty in the Beast’s mind filled with the other. It shoved at the Beast, trying to control it. The Beast grabbed at its skull and howled. It smashed its head against the wall.
Stop, the voice begged. Please stop.
OUT!
The Beast slammed its head against the wall again. Pain lanced through its skull, and the voice went silent. The Beast crouched, cradling its head as silver blood poured down its face and into its eyes.
It didn’t move again until more soldiers and the two women arrived at the cell. The Beast rose and advanced to the center of the room. Its eyes were fixed on the door, its entire body tense.
“Why is it bleeding?” the fair one asked. “What happened?”
“It grabbed its head like it was in pain, my lady,” the guard said, “and smashed it against the wall.”
“It’s insane,” the dark woman said. “My lady, we need to stop trying to tame it and break it instead, like a wild animal.”
“No,” the fair one said. “It wouldn’t work. Not with this creature.”
“But it would be fun to try,” the dark one said, looking at the Beast. She licked her lips. The Beast smelled her desire. The dark one wanted to dominate the Beast; to become its pack leader and to c
ontrol it, The Beast snarled at her.
BREAK. KILL. EAT.
“No, Dorotyas.” The fair one’s tone clearly said enough. “Get the food.”
Dorotyas disappeared down the hallway. The fair one turned back to the cage. She didn’t come closer, much to the Beast’s annoyance.
“Can you hear me in there?” she said. “Do you understand me?”
I do.
The response came from inside the Beast’s mind, though never left its mouth.
GO AWAY, the Beast screamed within. GO AWAY! DIE!
The voice went silent.
The fair one waited. The dark one returned, dragging a girl. The Beast’s fangs descended. It was ravenous. It watched the fair one take out her knife and slash the girl’s breasts, as she had with the last one.
FEED. KILL. ESCAPE. .
No, the voice begged. Please no, they can help me.
The Beast screamed and ran at the wall, smashing its head against it as hard as it could. Bone cracked, and the Beast fell to the floor, howling.
When it looked up, the girl lay on the cell floor, and the door was closed.
The Beast charged the bars, screaming its rage. The men drew their swords and thrust, pricking its skin repeatedly and driving it back. Finally, the Beast slunk back to the middle of the cell and glared at the girl on the floor. The Beast knew that as soon as it drank, it would vanish again.
But the girl’s blood smelled so sweet.
The Beast resisted for half an hour before jumping on the girl and tearing her throat open. Blood sprayed, and the Beast clamped its teeth down hard, drinking and drinking until the girl’s life fled.
The fair one stepped forward and spoke, her voice quaking with excitement. “Do you remember me?”
The girl in the cell rose to her feet, wiping the blood from her chin. Her neck twisted and clicked and realigned. She grimaced at the pain of it. Her arms pulled in on themselves, the bones shrinking. Her thighbones stretched and lengthened.
“Countess Elizabeth Bathory,” the girl said, “and with you is Dorotyas Semtesz, your servant. And my name is . . . Ruxandra.”