Authors: Brian Falkner
“No!” Willem screams, but it is already too late.
The crossbow twangs and silver flashes in the sky. There is a grunt of pain from the beast and the end of the bolt is protruding from its upper jaw, close to its eye.
The head of the great lizard swings toward them, so close that the disks of the eyes are like twin moons in the night sky.
“Move,” Willem yells.
Jean turns and starts to run, but slips on the thatch, sliding and disappearing over the edge of the roof. Willem hears a thud from below.
“It is a creature not of this earth,” Fran
ç
ois says, unmoving. “It is a demon from the depths of hell. We have sinned. Our mayor has sinned. This is God's wrath visited upon us.”
Fran
ç
ois seems spellbound by the sight of the huge head that is now swinging toward him. Willem pushes him and he falls, the hatchets slipping from his grasp and sliding over the edge of the roof. Fran
ç
ois follows, hands scrabbling for purchase, then he, too, is out over the edge, and Willem hears another thud and a curse as he hits the ground.
Willem runs for the ladder, but the creature is upon him and he can only dive and slide headfirst over the edge of the roof, falling, landing on Jean in a tangled cluster of arms and legs. On the other side of the cottage the giant saur bellows again, in frustration.
“Run!” Willem yells, and does not wait to see if they listen.
The beast moves past Antonescu's cottage into the road. It steps through the village, untouched and untouchable as people scatter out of its path, hiding behind houses, or just running. The creature seems in no hurry, aware that there is food all around it, and content to take its time. It is dark of skin and with no moon it is visible only by how it blocks out the lights of the burning brands and the lamps behind it.
The dogs chained at the gate of the church begin to bark, then to whimper. They tear at their chains, again and again until their necks are bloody, finally wrenching the wooden stake out of the ground and running together, yelping into the night.
It is then that the mighty tail of the creature swings around, accidentally it seems, and smashes into the church. A wall collapses, exposing the innards of the church: pews, drapes, and finery, along with a crowd of women and young children.
The nostrils of the creature flare and it turns back in that direction. The air fills with the sound of children screaming, trapped in the rubble. Mothers covers their children with their own bodies. Father Ambroise steps forward, blood streaming from a cut on his head, a cross in his one good hand; Willem doesn't need to see his lips to know that they are moving. He is praying. Invoking the name of the Lord to ward off this evil demon. The beast does not seem to hear.
But when all is lost there is sudden movement. By the light of the lamps that still festoon the church they see the schoolmaster, Monsieur Delvaux, brandishing a sword that gleams brown and rusty in the lamplight. He charges at the creature, screaming incoherently in a voice hoarse with madness.
Then Willem remembers: Cosette is in that church. He remembers the softness of her lips on his cheek and it is like gravity, pulling him in that direction.
Monsieur Delvaux actually gets within striking distance of the great head before the snout of the creature flicks to the sideâa careless movement, nothing moreâsending the schoolmaster flying sideways into the graveyard, where he lands at the feet of a statue of an angel. The angel looks out at the demon over the fallen man, who shudders and tries to rise, then collapses.
Another scream rends the air. It comes from the church, and a figure is running toward the graveyard. Willem recognizes the dress and the hair. Cosette is running to her father.
The meat-eater wavers for a moment between the children cowering in the church and the girl and her father, exposed in the graveyard.
It turns toward Cosette.
Willem himself is now a statue. He watches, unable to move. The huge clawed feet of the beast shake the ground as it moves toward Cosette. She shrieks again and again, but makes no move to flee. She covers her father's broken body with her own. He is pushing her away, wanting her to save herself, but still she clings to him.
Willem's hand touches the apparatus in his leather satchel. But his feet will not move. What use would it be anyway? What works on a microsaurus and a firebird could not possibly have any effect on this behemoth.
He knows he should try, that he can't just watch as those dreadful jaws close on her gentle flesh. But still he does nothing, paralyzed by fear.
Jean has his foot in the stirrup of his crossbow, drawing back the string to reload the weapon. Behind him, he can hear Fran
ç
ois praying.
Cosette screams once again, a shrill, primal, piercing sound, and now the beast is upon her. The long, crocodile-like snout swoops down toward her.
But there is another movement, and a flickering light bound with the screeching of a feral animal. Some kind of small creature scuttles over the ground toward them. At first Willem thinks it is a dog or a small saur with a burning brand in its mouth, but then he realizes it is a human. It is the wild girl, H
é
lo
ï
se, a flaming torch in one hand, running with the other on the ground like an animal.
The beast turns, its eye drawn by the flame, and H
é
lo
ï
se hurls the torch at the creature's head, where it impacts with a shower of sparks. The saur snaps at her but she is too quick for it, rolling along the ground beneath its jaw and between its massive legs, then running toward the gap in the fence.
It almost works. It almost turns to chase her, but then some part of its brain remembers the easy pickings in the graveyard.
Cosette has somehow dragged her father to his feet and together they are stumbling away, but now it is back on their scent. It takes a step forward, the huge clawed foot crushing gravestones and flower beds alike.
It takes another step, but this time Willem is there, and Jean is right behind him.
Somehow Willem's feet have found the will to move. Perhaps it is the sight of H
é
lo
ï
se, or the way the saur's eye followed the flaming torch.
He is terrified, shaking, almost unable to stand. His heart thuds painfully in his chest, but he steps toward the awful creature with a shout and a wave of his arms.
The snout turns toward him and the eyes blink once, slowly, as the creature evaluates him.
“Don't fire your weapon,” he says to Jean. “Stay behind me. Do exactly what I tell you to do.”
The beast growls, not the undulating bellow of before, but just a deep rasp from its throat. It sounds like a laugh.
The breath of the creature brings forth the stench of death. Of putrefied flesh and the sweet odor of decay.
It growls again, perhaps unsure what to make of this fragile man-thing that steps toward it, seemingly without fear. A beast such as this must never have encountered such a thing, for even in the remote depths of the jungle there could be no creature that would not flee, gasping and screaming, from these teeth, these claws, these cold, dead eyes. Even the breeze sputters to nothing, as if not daring to approach the creature.
It shuffles its feet, the movement shaking the earth so much that Willem is unbalanced and nearly falls.
The meat-eater waits. Its prey is coming to it. The tongue is ridged and pointed and drawn back in the open mouth. A cluster of mottled white teeth at the end of the jaw are larger than the rest, each longer than Willem's forearm.
The creature draws in breath, preparatory to a strike. But there is a clap of Willem's hands and a flame appears between his palms, burning bright yellow in the blackness of the night.
The meat-eater pauses, watching the flame. Willem steps closer. Within easy range now of those long, evil teeth.
He separates his hands and the flame leaps from one palm to the other, then back. He moves his hands in a circle and each time they cross, the flame jumps to the other hand.
The meat-eater watches, transfixed, mesmerized by the flame dancing in Willem's hands. Its giant head moves closer.
William begins to whistle, gently, and the creature cocks its giant head.
The flame leaps to Willem's left hand and stays there as he brings it closer and closer to the eye of the creature, now transfixed, unmoving.
He can scarcely breathe, so pungent and foul are the fumes that envelop him from the creature's throat.
“Jean, get down on the ground,” Willem says, in a singsong voice.
Behind him there is a rustle of clothing as Jean drops down.
“Move forward slowly,” Willem says.
Willem loses the eye of the creature as it notices the movement but he catches it quickly with the flame, weaving a glowing spell in the night air.
Jean has passed him now, crawling forward beneath the massive jaw.
The creature snorts and the flame in Willem's palm goes out in a whirl-storm of droplets. Willem coughs and chokes, panicking and fighting the urge to turn and run. He holds himself in place, just barely, and manages to clap his hands together again. The eye of the beast is once more caught by the leaping flame.
“The skin is soft where the jaw meets the neck,” Willem says, in the same singsong voice.
Jean says nothing. Crouched on the ground beneath the jaw of the beast, he aims his crossbow upward. The beast tilts its head to one side.
“Wait for its head to straighten, then fire straight up, into its brain,” Willem says.
Jean nods silently. The head stays on its side, then cocks the other way. Willem makes small, intricate movements with the flame and slowly the head returns to level.
There comes the twanging, punching sound of the crossbow firing, and the creature rears up, bellowing in pain, a long, agonizing rattle of sound. The crossbow bolt is nowhere to be seen, but a trickle of blood marks a small hole on the underside of the beast's neck.
Jean has rolled to the side. It snaps at him but misses, then turns back to Willem, who falls and grunts as the hard earth slams into his back.
The terrifying jaws close together millimeters above Willem's prone form, the long front teeth grazing his smock, then as the head raises again, the creature seems to stiffen. It staggers. The damage is already done. The bolt has entered its brain. It is dead, but not yet aware of it.
The head of the creature begins to fall. Had Willem been underneath, the creature would have got its revenge, for the weight of the skull that crashes down where Willem had lain is far more than enough to crush the life out of him.
But a strong hand has grasped his arm and hauled him out of the way.
A few meters away Jean is just getting back to his feet.
It is Fran
ç
ois whose hand is on Willem's arm.
The chest of the beast moves for a few moments with the beating of its heart, then is still.
Willem tries to stand, but his legs collapse. Fran
ç
ois has him, supporting him with a strong arm under his shoulders.
Around them people start to gather, slow and cautious, not yet convinced that the creature is dead.
Monsieur Claude stands with a musket aimed directly at the eye of the beast, as if it will suddenly rear back to life. Glancing around, Willem sees the looks on people's faces. They see Monsieur Claude standing over the head of the beast like a hunter standing over his kill. He does nothing to dispel the idea that it is he, the mayor, who has saved the village.
Over in the graveyard Willem sees Cosette crouched by her father, who is being tended to by the mayor's wife. Madame Gertruda has yet to unbarricade herself from her cottage. Monsieur Delvaux seems to be having trouble breathing.
Willem finds his legs, and with a quick thank-you to Fran
ç
ois, who deserves more than that, he moves across to the graveyard.
Cosette strokes her father's forehead and in that simple touch of love from a girl to her father, Willem sees that the crazy man who has been making his life miserable is no more than a father, grieving terribly.
Cosette senses him behind her and looks up.
“How is he?” Willem asks.
She does not answer but rises suddenly and wraps her arms around him, enveloping him in an embrace that exceeds all bounds of propriety.
Then she turns back to her father.
Monsieur Delvaux is conscious but clearly in great pain. He looks up at Willem and nods mutely. He says nothing, and yet says everything.
Then his eyes close, but not before Willem catches a glimpse of such agony and suffering as he has never seen before.
Before, he had Willem to share the blame for what happened to Ang
é
lique.
Now he only has himself.
“Willem!” It is Jean's voice.
He is with his father and a group of other men who are gathered around the creature.
Willem touches Cosette briefly on the arm to let her know that he is going, then crosses over to Jean.
The creature is no longer in darkness. People have appeared from everywhere with lamps. It lies on its stomach, one of its front legs splayed out to the side, the other caught underneath its body. The rear of the animal is on its haunches as if it might at any moment rise and resume the battle. The jaw is closed, but even so the huge teeth are terrifying. The eyes are glazed and the pupils have narrowed to slits, like cats' eyes.
Monsieur Lejeune is examining some rags, remnants of cloth that are caught on the bony protrusions at the top of the creature's spine, at the base of the neck. Not just fabric, shreds of leather as well. It makes no sense, and all Willem can think is that it is the remains of the clothing of another victim.
The beast shudders once as Willem leans forward, and he jumps backward, but it is just a death rattle.
“What is it?” Jean asks.
“Look at these scratches,” Monsieur Claude says, pointing to deep gouges on the skin of the beast around where the fabric is caught.