The Tears of the Beast

Her hands shook with fear-induced adrenaline. Or was it just magic among her fingers, brimming and anxious to destroy?

Jane Chatwin didn’t know anymore; the two had become so entangled that it was impossible to tell them apart. She shoved her hands in her pockets and forced a confident smile. She couldn’t afford to let people know she was terrified.

“Last time, Quentin,” she said. “Tell me what your steps are.”

The darkness was pregnant with dawn. Chilly air and fantastic birds sang throughout the trees. It was a shame that such a beautiful night would give birth to a day such as the one that awaited them.

“I know the steps, believe me,” said Quentin, irritable and nervous under the influence of stress. “There’re only three steps. I’m not worried about that; it’s… it’s just…” He sighed, tucked his hair behind an ear, and sat on a stump. “I just wanted more of Fillory before… before it became the place where I killed someone.”

Jane stepped close and got down on her haunches. “You know that we have to do this. There’s no other way, Quentin.”

Jane had been telling herself that a lot lately.

“I know,” said Quentin. “I do. It... Still doesn’t make it easier.” He winced, and said in a softer tone, “But why am I complaining? It’s your brother that’s going to die.”

Jane stood mechanically. She drew the ghostly blade that she had been carrying on her hip and proffered it hilt first. “Take the knife. Don’t think about me when you drive it in. Martin died a long time ago; all we have to worry about today is a monster… a monster in my brother’s body.”

Quentin took the knife gingerly, as if the thing disgusted him.

“You could always let someone a little less girly do the job,” came a voice from a nearby pine.

Quentin rolled his eyes. “Penny… how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” said the other magician, approaching. “Enough to get really worried about whether we’re going to pull this off or not. Go to the bathroom while you can; you don’t want to wet yourself the second you see this guy.”

“Enough,” said Jane wearily.

Quentin bristled, standing. “I didn’t know it was a bad thing to be a little reverent; you know, when you're about to kill someone!”

Penny snorted. “So long as you stab him in the end, you can cry all you want.”

“Enough!” Jane shouted. “Penny, you’re not helping. Can you see that?”

“All I’m saying is—”

“You’re not helping,” said Jane. She rubbed her eyes, hoping to squeeze the fatigue from them. “I chose Quentin. He’s the only one aside from me that can hold the blade, and he’s the only one I would ever want to. It’s too late to change things now. We’re  going through with our plan. Go wake the others up.”

Penny did the math and decided it was best to obey. He left with a scoff.

The others hadn’t slept much either. Elliot, Margo, Alice, and Julia showed up in silence. Without so much as a word, Jane led them off through the woods.

They arrived at the shack of the beast an hour later, as dawn washed the terrain in a soft pink and orange light.

“Take your places, everyone,” Jane said, and the magicians spread out. “Quentin, don’t forget our greatest advantage; the beast doesn’t know about you.”