Prelude
In which, a monster is introduced, as is a witch, and certain issues are brought to light.
###
I am called monster. A name given to me by others. Although, all things considered, it is rather apt. Yes, it is true, I have taken sheep and goats. Cattle too. And pigs. We might add ducks, geese, cats, dogs, chickens and people. If they’re left wandering, unattended, who can blame me? A person’s got to eat. Now hush. We will talk again later. See there? Someone approaches.
###
I settled myself more comfortably against the tree, making it creak in a most alarming fashion. Since it was my second-to-favourite tree for sitting under, I shifted my weight forward as I watched the woman picking her way through the sunlit wood. An air of witchiness hung about her. It was clear from her face she had something to say. Most likely to me. I find one should listen when witches speak, so I waited.
Stopping some five paces distant, she set her hands on her hips. “I would have words with you.”
See? I was right. I have a knack for these things. You humans are easy to read after a bit of practice. I roared at her. “Begone, vile hag.”
As far as I could tell, she was neither vile nor a hag. She looked quite young and, it has to be said, rather tasty. But I never eat witches. They have a peculiar flavor. Must be those herbs and unctions they’ve got their hands in all day. Yes, I said you should listen to witches. I never mentioned showing them respect.
She stamped her foot. Why, I’ve no idea. Hardly likely to change my views on anything, is it? “Hold your tongue, beast.”
Beast, is it? Oh-ho, I like this one. I stuck my tongue out, pinching it between my thumb and one finger, while I made eyes at her.
“Ha-ha. Very funny.” She scowled, then flounced to the ground. Sitting cross-legged, she dug in the pocket of her skirts, producing a needle and thread, which she took to a hanging-loose patch on the very same skirts.
Her furrowed brow and pinched lips told me she’d be happy to do this until the sun went down. I didn’t want to wait that long. With the preliminaries between us settled to mutual satisfaction, it was time to press on to the heart of the matter. “What brings you to me, meddlesome crone?”
She jabbed her needle at me, punctuating her words with its point. “I am neither meddlesome nor a crone. You might not favor me, but at least acknowledge the badge of office.”
“Fine.” I stretched out my legs, close enough I could poke her with a toe if she got too uppity, then settled my hands on my belly. “I recognize the sanctity of the witch in acting as a go-between in the affairs of humans and the otherworldly. There? Will that straighten your gurning face, or do you want more?”
She set her sewing to one side. “It’ll suffice, I suppose. Here’s the deal. The villagers are sick of you eating them and their belongings. I come to warn you. Three dooms you will face. Each more terrible than the last. There. Notice duly served.” She stood, brushing at her skirts.
I thought over what she’d just said. “What’s their problem?”
A shrug of her shoulders. “This is their land.”
She strode off, leaving me to consider her words. Which I did. Because they bothered me more than I’d have liked. Their land? What does that mean? Do you have any ideas? Hmm . . . I’ll ask the witch, next time I see her. For now, it’ll have to wait. If I’m not mistaken, I hear the sound of footsteps. Marching footsteps. A lot of them.
###
The First Doom
In which, wholesale slaughter ensues, and certain matters are further expounded upon.
###
If in doubt, climb a tree. I can’t remember who gave me that advice, but I’ve cleaved to it ever since, and it’s stood me in good stead. Up a tree, you can see forever. You can hide, snooze unmolested, and indulge in some spur-of-the-moment hilarity by peeing on unsuspecting passers-by. No downside there, then.
Also, good place to ambush from. This band of miscreants will be the first of those dooms. They’re certainly well-armed, and they seem competent enough. Plenty of body piercings, studded leathe,r and tattoos in evidence. I wonder what they do in their spare time? Doesn’t bear thinking about. Here we go. Nearly upon me. Now, do we go for the classic ‘land in their midst,’ or the slightly riskier, though far more aesthetically pleasing, ‘land in front, tear their leader in two, then shout, “Who’s next?”’ approach? As I always say, if you’re going to be a bear, you may as well be a grizzly.
###
I landed hard on my gammy ankle, which got me roaring and hobbling and sucking in my breath. Not for too long, though. A monster falling from a tree tends to have the element of surprise. Making full use of it, I grabbed the leader. Or, at least, the one unlucky enough to be at the front. I’m told, in military circles, this person is called ‘the point man’. I’d say ‘first victim’ was more correct, but what do I know? Anyway, I fumbled that bit of the ambush too. Scooping him up to rip him in half, I only managed to get an arm off before I had to chuck him away so I could start on the rest. What I should have done was throw him at the rest. Things were not going well. Another blunder and we’d be on the slippery slope to down-right amateurish.
I was distracted. That was the problem. What the witch had said. Their land. I couldn’t get my head around it. I pondered the idea while I dodged spears, stoves in heads, and left people with fewer limbs than they’d woken up with that morning. Like as not, it wasn’t how they’d envisioned ending their day, but oftentimes you have to take what you get.
A short time later, it was all over bar the shouting. Also, the screaming, moaning, and wailing. Some well-placed stomps got us back to peace and quiet. I had a bite to eat. I mean, why waste it? And it’s best to get in before the crows do. Filthy creatures. Never know where their beaks have been. Then I settled down for a nap. It was getting on for evening when I came to. I was picking arrows from my hide when I heard a voice.
“Bloody hell,” the voice said, “What happened here?”
I looked up. The witch was back. “A frank and open exchange of views.” An arrowhead was stuck in my shoulder. I couldn’t quite get my fingertips to it. “They were of the view I should be dead. I had to disagree.” Huffing with frustration, I turned my back on her. “You couldn’t oblige, could you?”
I got on my knees, she braced her foot on my back, grabbed the arrow, and heaved. Out it came. She went with it, landing on her backside. “Ouch,” she said.
I offered her a hand up. “What did you mean earlier when you said this is their land?”
She grimaced as she rubbed at her injured part. “Just what I said. Their land. It belongs to them.”
I stared at her, then burst out laughing. “Where did they get that dumb idea from? Own the land? Are they going to take it with them if they leave? Who gave it to them in the first place? Why am I even asking this? You’ll be telling me next, they own the sea and the sky too.”
“The king gave it to them.” She paused for a moment. “I say ‘gave it to them’. Lent it would be more correct. In exchange for money.”
“What king?”
The witch gestured round. “The king who owns all this. His kingdom.”
I was struggling with this, so I sat down. The witch sat opposite me, taking out her sewing. “Right.” I flapped a hand at our surroundings. “How did this king come by his kingdom?”
The witch squinted at her needle. “He was born.”
I shrugged. “It happens. Not an uncommon occurrence. Then?”
“His dad died.”
“Again, not entirely out of the ordinary.”
The witch said nothing. The tip of her tongue poked from the corner of her mouth as she executed what seemed like a particularly tricky stitch. I scratched at a bothersome itch, where someone got me with an axe. “I don’t follow.”
“Dad dies. Son gets the kingdom.”
I let it simmer for a bit. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Why don’t they behave like decent folk? Divide it amongst everybody, pick a new king, and let him start over? And how did the dead king get it in the first place?”
The witch wet the end of her thread. “I suppose he turned up and said it was his now.”
“You can do that?” I fair goggled at her.
“Apparently. If you were here first.”
“But I was here first. Me.” I poked a finger at my chest. “Before anybody else.”
She ignored my plaintive cry, pointing with her needle at the entrails and body parts strewn hither and yon. “This won’t stop them. They’ll keep coming after you.”
I huffed out a breath. “You already said.”
She left. I was none the wiser. Witches can be more bother than they’re worth.
###
The Second Doom
In which, red-handed carnage and matters philosophical are pursued.
###
I heard the jangling of horsy bits and pieces, along with the thump of hooves, and sank my head into my hands. Not one of them, surely? Here we go again. I hauled myself to my feet. Might as well get it over with before the day’s entirely ruined.
###
Knights errant. Do not get me started. Can’t these people get a proper job? Time was, you could go about your business unmolested. Without some blood-thirsty half-wit on a stallion trying to stick a lance through you. Happy days, eh? And what was this money-stuff the witch mentioned? I’ll need to ask, the next time I see her. Honestly. You sleep for a few ages, you wake up in a different world. Now, you’ll have to excuse me. Again.
###
I could have dropped on him from the tree. But it would have been too easy. These people need to be taught a lesson. You can’t go riding around the countryside skewering whoever you fancy. It’s not right. Standards have slipped, and I, for one, was not having it.
I sat under the tree. The assorted body parts were gone by this time. Pity. It would have made for a more dramatic scene. Ah, well, bluebells and buttercups would have to do. I made like I was asleep. Little risk there. Knights errant have this daft notion of chivalry. A fair fight and such. In my experience, it’s best to end a fight before your opponent realises it’s begun. Hit him while he’s still lacing his boots. Or in his bed. Or, indeed, before he even understands you’re his enemy.
The horse galloped to a halt and let loose a neigh. By the sound of it, a touch of rearing on hind legs and mane-shaking also went on. So far, so predictable. A muffled voice called forth. “On your feet, monster, and meet your fate.”
I didn’t doubt for an instant the features attached to this voice would be square-jawed and handsome. Rough-hewn, perhaps. With a roguish charm some ladies of a certain type find utterly beguiling. Some men too. Which is fine by me. It takes all sorts to make a world. Including people who insist on making poor life-partner choices.
I cracked open one eye to peer at him. I fancied his breastplate for a new roasting dish, and his helm would make me a capital gravy boat. “Can’t hear you.”
“What?”
“Can’t hear you, mate.” I tapped at one ear. Pointed at his head. “What with the helmet and all.”
“I SAID—”
“Sorry, chief, still no use.” I gave a slow shake of my head.
This is how thick he was. He took the helmet off. Propped it under his sword arm, judging by the side his sword was buckled on. Since he couldn’t manage the helmet with his shield hung on one arm, he took it off first, slinging it from his saddle. I’d managed to effectively disarm him, and I hadn’t gotten to my feet yet.
I did so now, crouching over to wipe at my legs, disguising the fact, if I stood up straight, I’d be looking down on him. No sense in spooking him. It pays to take risks, not to be reckless. “What can I do for you, boss?”
“You can die, monster,” says he.
“Well,” says I, “Since you put it like that . . .”
###
“Shame,” the witch said, perusing what was left. Which wasn’t much more than a pile of buckled metal. “He was good-looking. In a rough way.”
I glanced up from my cooking. “Not you too?”
I do believe she blushed. Quite fetching it was, but since I’m polite, I made out I didn’t notice. Spearing an especially fine cut, I lifted a dripping hunk of meat from my new roasting dish. “Want some?”
Now she’d gone quite pale. “No, thank you.”
Witches are such fickle creatures. And I know what you’re thinking. Shame on you for even considering it. I didn’t cook the horse. He was a noble animal. After a good natter with him, I let him go free. “Please yourself. Since you’re here, you can fill me in on this money-thing. Start with ‘what is it?’ and work from there.”
She poked at the remains of the knight’s armor with one foot. “Money is these little metal discs. Bits of copper and bronze we pretend are worth far more than their actual value. We swap them for stuff.”
“Last time I was here, people made do with swapping their stuff for other stuff they fancied. Or a promise to make good on the same.”
“Times have changed. Now we have accounts. Treasuries. Fiscal policy.”
“Where do the discs come from?” I sucked at a finger I’d burned in hot fat.
“The king makes them. They belong to him.”
I had to laugh at that. “Him again. Lends them out, does he? In exchange for more money?”
“Actually, yes. And there’s taxes. A tax is where you give him money for whatever he decides needs a tax on it.”
“Like what?”
She hunched a shoulder. “All sorts, really. Doors, roofs. They’ve been taxed at one time or another. Growing certain things. Not growing certain things. Keeping cats. I wasn’t much keen on that one. Wearing hats. Things you buy. Things you sell.”
I pointed with the rib I was holding. “You’re saying the king takes money off you for living on land he says he owns because he was born, takes more money from you when you buy something with money he’s lent you, then takes even more money off you because it suits him. What does he do with all this money?”
The witch picked at her nails. “Castles to be built, armies to be raised.”
“And he needs those for?”
“Sometimes to see off other kings, but mostly to put down uprisings.”
The chill despond of inevitability had taken roost about my head and neck. “These uprisings, they’re done by?”
“Tax payers.”
“Couldn’t the king just make do with less money?”
She stared at me the way some people stare sheep: pity, sprinkled with ill-concealed contempt. “Really?”
I could feel a headache coming on. “All this, for the sake of a few coins?”
“The coins are simply the physical manifestation of a collective belief in an imaginary concept which is fundamental in ensuring the efficient, ongoing functioning of a highly interconnected society.”
She looked sad when she said this. Sad and lost, like she was watching all the joy drain out of the world, down a plughole made from imaginary concepts too complex to comprehend.
“People, eh? They care so much about so little and so little about so much.”
“You might have a point.” She gathered herself up. “Take care, monster. The villagers grow angry. The next doom they send will not be so easy to defeat.”
She was right, of course. Witches seldom say things needlessly.
###
The Third Doom
In which, matters of the heart arise.
###
The villagers were not as green as they were cabbage-looking. They’d learned their lesson. This time, they meant business. No more messing around with thick-set men possessing poor hygiene and missing teeth, wielding wooden poles with sharp bits of iron attached. Not a halberd, spontoon, partisan, ranseur, or bardiche in sight. No warhorse-mounted juggernaut in full-plate armor, thundering across fields, crying havoc, either. This time, they sent a girl.
She wore a plain dress of green linen. Her slender waist was girt with a girdle of silver. A wreath of rowan leaves sat upon her chestnut hair. As she walked through the wood, butterflies lit on her shoulders, before fluttering off again. All about her was wholesome and pure. I was in some serious trouble.
Stopping before me, with bowed head and clasped hands, she spoke. “Savage beast, I have been sent by the village elders, to offer you my body and my blood, in the hope, with this offering, you will trouble our village no more.”
The next words out of my mouth came of their own volition. It was like someone working me from the back. “Are thee chaste, fair maid? Are thee pure of heart?”
I was saying ‘thee’. Nobody ever says ‘thee’. This was horrible.
She lifted her hands to her breast. “I am chaste. And I believe I am pure of heart. I have only one boon to ask before I meet my end.”
“Ask, fair maid. I will grant your boon.”
What was I saying? I don’t talk like this. This was terrible.
She lifted her pretty chin. Her eyes shone with tears as she spoke. “I ask only to be allowed to sing.”
Oh no. That was it. I was finished.
I won’t take it away from her. She had a decent singing voice, and she could hold a tune. A few too many trills and fa-la-la’s for my liking. Still, it would be churlish to complain when she was clearly making an effort. When she finished, she bowed her head again and made with the clasped hands. “I’m ready now, to meet my fate.”
“Fair play,” I said. “Where do you want to get married?”
Her head shot up. “Married?”
“Ye-ess.”
“You’re not going to eat me?”
“No-ooo.” I cocked my head at her. “What exactly did the village elders tell you?”
“How you would take me, body and soul.”
I gave my head a scratch. “Well, they didn’t exactly lie to you. Are these village elders all men by any chance?”
She snapped at me. “Yes. They are.”
“When did men start to run the show? Honestly, it was better when your lot were in charge. Still, no sense in putting it off longer than we need to. Let’s go find the witch. She can do the honors.”
I reached for her, but she held up a hand. “Wait. I don’t understand. Why are we getting married?”
“Don’t they teach you anything these days? Your chaste purity has tamed my savage heart. The song was the clincher. If we marry, I will be beholden to you, shall do as you wish, and nevermore blight the lives of innocent villagers.”
I’d uttered a sentence with ‘nevermore’ in it. Way worse than ‘thee’. Talk about your bad day.
“How can we be married? I’m a person. You’re . . . Whatever you are. Big, mostly”
A haughty sniff escaped me. “I’m a person too, you know.”
“There is something else.”
“What?”
She’d turned the same shade as a raw beetroot. “I may be chaste, but I am aware of conjugal matters. How will I . . . How will we . . .”
Folding my arms, I gave her an enquiring stare. “Go on.”
“How will we be as man and wife when you’re . . .” She rushed to finish. “The size difference alone is giving me the collie-wobbles.”
I waved her objections away. “Don’t panic. There won’t be any sordid doings between us. Our love will be untainted by such unseemly goings-on.”
“You have no idea what a relief that is.”
“Besides, you’re not my type. You might be, roasted and served with a nice selection of veg. But not where my love-spuds are concerned. Now, to the witch.”
Picking her up, I tucked her under one arm. There was a shape under the back of her girdle. A suspiciously dagger-shaped shape. Heedless of her protests, I fished it out then set her down. A small piece, nicely done in silver. A cautious sniff at the blade told me all. “Poisoned. You saucy minx. Likely this was going in my ear after I fell asleep.”
She folded her arms before producing an epic pout. “A girl has a right to defend herself.”
“True.” I cocked an eyebrow at her. “But if you were contemplating murder? Knocks the whole ‘pure of heart’ shtick into the long grass, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose. I had to try. It was this or marry some oaf from the village who talks to his cows like they’re real people.” She breathed a sigh. “What now? And can you make it quick and painless?”
I stared at the little dagger for a moment. For no reason I could name, it felt like the sun had gone behind the clouds in my heart. I chucked the dagger away. It spun into the distance. I watched it go. “Off you pop.” I turned to her. “Go on. Leave.” When she showed no inclination to move, I drew out a leather pouch. It clinked and rattled. What I’d acquired from the previous two dooms. I’m not as green as I am cabbage-looking either. “Take this with you.”
She pushed my hand away. “I can’t.”
“You can.” I closed my hand over hers, pressing the bag into her grip. “Take it. Go live your life.”
“Thank you.” To my utter surprise, she caught me round the waist, pulling me into a hug, leaning her head against my stomach. “Perhaps you’re not such a monster.”
###
Denouement
In which, the witch faces the monster and matters are resolved.
###
The witch was back. “You’re back,” I said.
“I am.”
She was keeping tight-lipped. This didn’t bode well. I had an awful suspicion. “The village elders, they’ve hired you to see me dead, haven’t they?”
“Yes.”
“Couldn’t they have done that in the first place? Saved us some trouble?”
She gave a wan smile. “You think a bunch of powerful old men are going to ask a young woman for help?”
“They’re not going to stop, are they?”
Her smile faltered. “I did warn you. No, they won’t ever stop. Not until you’re gone. Like the fire wyrms, cave bears, trolls, and aurochs. To name a few. Gone now. Hunted to the edge and beyond.”
“I don’t have a tribe or a clan or a people. There’s only me. Once I’m gone, all of me is gone.” I looked around. “I don’t understand this world anymore.”
“Who does?”
I caught her eye. “How do you want to do this?”
She cast her gaze to the ground. “I don’t.”
“So, what will we do?”
Her words were steeped in weariness. “Go to sleep, monster. For a long time. Maybe when you awake, the world will be a gentler place.”
She was right, of course. Though we still had one problem. “What about the villagers? They’ll want proof. A head on a stick. You know what they’re like.”
A wicked grin stole onto her lips. “Let’s find a big boulder. I’ll tell them I turned you to stone.”
“They’ll buy that?”
Her grin grew slanted. “These days? Are you kidding me? Say it loud enough and often enough, people will believe anything.”
