The Devil's Grasp

by Chris Pisano

  “Bale!” screamed Phyl, his face puffed and wreathed in a shade of vermilion that he would have thought to be rather suiting had he the ability to see how fabulous it made him look. “Why am I stopping?”

  “You wanted to stop!”

  “Not by myself, I didn’t”

  “Shut up, Phyl!” yelled Pik. “Bale can barely hold one conversation, let alone two.”

  “I think I did quite well, actually. I talked to both of you while telling neither of you nothing!” At this, the ogre thumped his pride-swollen chest with one of his fists. “Since you all want to stare at me openmouthed instead of hiking, then why don’t we set up camp under those trees? It’s hot here and those trees make good shade. Pik, the map is safe. It’s … well … anyway … the map is safe. Now, I’ll go look around at those mountains and see if I can figure out where we should go from here.”

  After his speech, Bale stared at the other members of his monstrous troupe with his eyebrows peaked. The other nonhumans shifted from side to side while they tried to get their minds around the incomprehensible clarity from such an unlikely source as their ogre leader. As was befitting his race, Pik was the first to recover his wits. “Bale, I think I speak on behalf of the entire group when I say that we apologize humbly for any instance where we may have been condescending towards you.”

  Ever the quick wit himself, Bale responded with the trademark alacrity for which he was known. “Pik … I … uhhh … what were we talking about?”

  And with that, life changed from surreal back to normal for the little group. Those charged with the task of setting up camp set about passing their individual tasks onto the members who were lower in the group hierarchy.

  Bale dropped his pack, large enough to hide a small family. Zot and Pik each had a pack as well, complete with bedrolls, a tent, and half-a-day’s supply of jerky. Phyl had been relegated to carry the cooking pots and pans, since he demanded that he needed each and every one of them to cook properly. He also seemed to be the only one who could figure out the proper way to return them to the bag, or the only one fastidious enough to care about such things.

  “Zot, take this bag and set up the tent,” Pik ordered.

  “Zot do this. Zot do that,” the hunchback orc mumbled. “One of these days, hobgoblin … Phyl, grab this bag and set up the tent while I find the frying pan.”

  Phyl huffed, “Why do you need the frying pan right this second? Why can’t you help me out? You never help …”

  “Zot help Phyl,” chastised Pik.

  “You help Phyl.”

  “Somebody better get over here and help me,” Phyl whined. “I’m sick of always having to do it all. Zot, stop making a mess. Look at yourself! You’re dumping stuff all over the ground.”

  Zot slammed the frying pan to the ground. “You pick it up, Phyl. Pik stop looking at me like that …”

  “Pik, come over here and give me a hand with this tent.”

  “Phyl, I’m not helping you do anything. I’m busy over here getting some wood for a fire.”

  “A fire! It’s summer, you dolt. And those sticks you are picking up are nothing more than kindling. You’re just being lazy.”

  “Lazy? I’ll show you lazy,” shouted the hobgoblin as he began to throw sticks at the satyr.

  Sneaking in from around the other side, Zot had a finger full of nose secretion and reached for one of Pik’s shoes as Bale watched dumbfounded, more dumbfounded than his usual state.

  “Um, I’m gonna go … oh, forget it.” With a wave of his hands, Bale left the rest of the group to their infighting. He was pretty sure they were unaware of his absence, but he didn’t really care. He enjoyed a good fight and appreciated the doctrine of rule by strength even if he couldn’t explain it intelligently, but when he was not involved, it tried his patience. And even as obtuse a creature as Bale Pinkeye knew he needed to be at his least aggravated if he hoped to survive an encounter with a dragon.

  Bale stalked off from his friends and meandered at a slow pace. The ogre still covered a great deal of ground in a short period of time due to his huge stride.

  “I wonder what the dragon will be like. Maybe I shouldn’t have bathed. I should make myself taste really bad in case he wants to eat me. Maybe those wizards will show up and send me back to the Fecal Swamps. No … wait … that’s a bad thing, because I hate it there. Maybe I’ll just run and sweat a lot. I get pretty stinky, so I should taste pretty bad then. Stupid dragon. Oh!” Bale stopped to a dead halt, surprised to see he had found what he was looking for. Tearing into the sky like teeth, a small mountain range lay in the distance, just as the map dictated. “The mountains. Okay, Bale, look for a cave somewhere. That was on the map. A cave. It was marked with an X, a big X, so I guess I need to look for … oh, wait, that’s silly. Stop being stupid, Pinkeye, or you’ll wind up being a dragon snack.”

  He stopped for a minute and stared at the mountains on the horizon. Not used to being smaller than anything short of a two-story house, for the first time in his life, Bale Pinkeye was in awe. Certain peaks stretched up beyond his view to heights he couldn’t even imagine. However, before he could have an epiphany, he felt his attention wane.

  “I wonder what those stupid guys are doing back at camp. Probably all yelling at Phyl while he’s running around cleaning stuff up all nicey nice. Ha! Silly Phyl. Good thing those stupid guys aren’t here. They’d make all kinds of noise and get us all eaten by the dragon. Still it would be nice to have some company out here. Oh, hey! A bunny. He’d make a great pet.”

  Bale reached down to scoop up the rabbit in his hands. However, the rabbit did not appreciate such a fate and hopped out of the ogre’s reach. Bale tried again, but this time the rabbit ran, prompting Bale to give chase. So enthralled with his prey, the bumbling ogre never noticed that he ran straight back the way he came. Still hunched over, hands cupped together, he collided with Phyl, sending the unsuspecting satyr into the pots, pans, and bedrolls. Pik and Zot wanted to laugh, but upon seeing the rabbit zip through camp, they made their intentions known by yelling, “Food!” As if playing a game, the rabbit zigged to make Pik miss as he dove headfirst into the ground, then zagged to get Zot to commit the same act. All four friends regained clear vision just in time to watch the rabbit run into a large cave opening.

  “Ummm, who put the cave there?” Bale asked, standing.

  “You mean to tell me we set up camp and no one noticed a large cave right in front of us?” Phyl asked as he brushed dirt from his leg fur.

  “Well, if you wouldn’t be so damn difficult all the time … hey! Look! The rabbit!” Zot said, pointing to the cave entrance.

  All eyes followed his finger to the rabbit sitting on its hind legs at the edge of the cave’s darkness. The rabbit then coughed into one of his front paws, “Ah-hem! May I suggest that you four vacate the premises?”

  “Did … did … that bunny just say, ‘ah-hem?’” Bale asked.

  “Yes. Yes, I did,” the rabbit replied. “Now, I must ask you again, please leave, for your lives are in peril.”

  Bale’s eyes fell straight to the ground as he lifted his feet, almost dancing. “Perils? Where? I didn’t see any.”

  Pik rolled his eyes. “‘Peril’ as in danger, not ‘pearl.’ And, Sir Rabbit, why, may we ask, are our lives in peril?”

  “Simple. This is the cave of the Mount Pyrous dragon.”

  “It is?” all four friends said in unison.

  Bale shoved his thumb between his bulbous belly and tattered pants. He pulled them from his waist, just enough to look inside. So confused by his actions, the spectators could only stare in horrified amazement, even the rabbit. But they all bellowed and fought hard to keep their breakfasts in their stomachs as Bale used his other hand to reach inside. Tensions eased back to horrified amazement as he pulled out the map and unfurled it, mumbling, “Okay, we started here.”

  As Bale talked to his finger while tracing their trek, his three friends turned their attention back to the rabbit as
he hopped back into the cave. He reappeared. However, this time he stood atop the forehead of a dragon.

  “Did we pass through a field of whistling willows?” Bale asked, unable to move his finger until he received a response.

  “Yes,” came in chorus from the other three as they watched the dragon’s head emerge, blue scales shimmering, but glinting green in the sunlight.

  “Hmmmm,” Bale moaned, his finger gliding across the map again. “Did we pass through a forest where all the trees look like witches?”

  “Yes,” his three friends answered again, watching the dragon’s saliva drip from its mouth, forming small pools on the ground. It smelled a great deal like lantern oil and the fumes caused the air to ripple. Taking an aggressive stance, the dragon stepped forward from his cave and raised his head high to stare straight down at the intruders. His upper lip snarled, exposing rows of pernicious teeth, and released a slow, deep growl.

  Bale patted his tummy thinking the rumble came from within as he continued to follow their trail along the map. “There, there, belly. I’ll find you food soon enough. Did we pass by a stone that looks like a turtle?”

  Dodging droplets of the dragon’s flammable drool, his friends again answered, “Yes.”

  “Humpf!” Bale snorted. “According to this, we should be standing right in front of the dragon’s cave. You guys think this cave is his?”

  “Yes!” The three could do nothing more than quake in uncontrollable fits as the dragon opened its mouth, its serpent like tongue flicking towards its next meal.

  Bale continued to study the map while massaging the tuft of hair atop his pointed head. “Okay then. Let’s go inside and talk to him.”

  The dragon’s breath was heavy and hot, close enough to frizz Phyl’s fur. It was ready to enjoy a nice satyr snack until the rabbit yelled, “Wait!”

  The dragon reeled its head back, confused. He growled, his frustration obvious. “Why?”

  “Didn’t you hear?” the rabbit asked. “He said they wanted to talk to you. I think they’re looking for the … the … you know what.”

  “What?” Bale asked, finally prying his eyes away from the map. Of course, he had no idea that he would then be staring at a dragon large enough to swallow him whole. His natural reaction was to scream, and Bale was not a creature to fight nature, even if he knew how. “AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!! Dragon!”

  “Aaaaaaaaaahh!!” the dragon replied, taking a step back. “Why must my food always scream at me?”

  “I always knew Bale was scarier than a dragon,” Phyl whispered to Pik.

  “Well, they’re not food yet,” the rabbit replied.

  “’Tis a formality.”

  “But it’s part of the oath. You must put forth a riddle to anyone who asks. And since there are four of them, that means four riddles.”

  “Baaaah! They won’t solve the riddles. None do.”

  “Excuse me?” Bale interrupted. “Riddle?”

  “Yes,” the rabbit answered. “Those who are looking for the … ummmm … those who wish to speak to the dragon must answer a riddle. If they answer correctly, they are rewarded. If not, then …”

  “Then what?” Bale asked.

  “Well, two hundred years ago, I was the first to ask, and I did not answer correctly, so he turned me into a rabbit. I’ve been his herald ever since.”

  “So if I answer wrong, I’ll be turned into a rabbit.”

  “Not exactly. Every person after me he’d simply eat.”

  “Let’s do get on with this, please,” the dragon moaned. “I am quite peckish.”

  Bale could only give a quivering whimper as a reply.

  “Very well. I can be full, but never empty. I can be new, but never old. I can …”

  Bale stopped quaking, but his friends quaked for him, not comprehending how he could possibly stop. And they certainly could not comprehend how he thought it was his place to interrupt a large, salivating dragon. “Why are you talking about the moon?”

  The dragon scowled, ready to strike the ogre dead, but realized what had happened. He rolled his eyes, trying to look at the rabbit sitting atop his head. “Does that count?”

  “I … I … believe so?” the rabbit replied.

  “He interrupted me!”

  “But he did get it right. Try another.”

  “Oh, very well!” the dragon huffed, misting spittle and fumes. “I have three feet, but cannot walk. I …”

  “Now you’re a yard stick?” Bale asked, oblivious to the blatant signs of agitation the dragon displayed, his drool flowing faster.

  “I first walk with four legs, then two …”

  “Man!”

  “I have eyes …”

  “Potato!”

  “I …”

  “A three-toed, flat-billed, golden-spotted, Albathian field grouse!”

  “Ah-ha! You’re wrong!”

  “I am?” asked Bale.

  “How quickly the tables turn …”

  “A roulette wheel!” shouted Bale, raising one of his crooked fingers skywards.

  “Stop that! We’re through with riddles.”

  “Wait! He isn’t wrong,” yelled the rabbit, his nose wrinkling in confusion. “The answer to the last riddle is a three-toed, flat-billed, golden …”

  “It is not, Rabbit, I … uh … uh …,” stammered the dragon.

  “It is too!”

  “I changed the question.”

  “You can’t change the question. It’s part of the oath. And I’m here to keep you honest.”

  “You’re here in case I get hungry. Now shut up!”

  “No, you shut up, Dragon! Do you think it’s so wonderful to be your herald?”

  “Are you saying you’re unhappy?”

  “Hello! No one in the history of anything ever asked to be a rabbit!”

  “Well … hey, how do you know, anyway? It is very possible that the first turtle would have preferred something a little different.”

  “So do I! A small change would do us both good,” said the rabbit. With that, he turned his back to the dragon and began cleaning his fur.

  “Don’t be like that. What can I do? I can change,” the dragon began, his voice filled with regret.

  Seeing that the dragon’s attention was captivated elsewhere, Zot took off at an ambling run, his arms windmilling as though that might help him pick up more speed. Pik had quietly and discreetly crept away. Phyl hopped in another direction, his morningstar anklet tinkling, after he had picked up most of the necessary parts of their tent. Bale, scared as he was, stayed mesmerized by the exchange that was taking place.

  “I’m not talking to you,” the rabbit said. “You always assume your way is right and that everyone else is happy to follow your lead. I had plans once, too, you know.”

  “I’m sorry, Rabbit. I had no idea you felt this way …”

  “And my name isn’t rabbit … it’s Lapin!”

  The dragon sighed. “I know. I promise to always call you that from now on. And you were a knight! Your plans were to slay a dragon! Why you treacherous little …”

  “I was not a knight. I was a thief, and I had an eye for some of your treasure. The horse and armor were a disguise.”

  “A thief! Just like that no good Nevin,” Bale muttered. “I should mash this little rabbit. Let me find a stick or a rock or something,” he said and began trundling around in search of a suitable weapon.

  “Oh, get over it, Dragon,” Lapin said. “In the years since then I have served to keep your honor intact. I have been your footstool and your napkin. Just look at this fur! I still find bits of last month’s meal in it. And your spittle gets it all nappy! How am I supposed to fluff this out?”

  “Yeah, and you have it real bad,” the dragon replied. “You get a place to stay and full meals every day. In fact, here … have a carrot. Have all you want. There’s some potatoes over there, too. Oh, and don’t forget the celery. So you see,” he mumbled around great mouthfuls of drool, “you don’t have it all tha
t bad.”

  Bale’s search led him from one stick to another, all of which he discarded in favor of a heavier cudgel, but each was doomed to fail his “see-if-it-will-break-over-my-knee” test. Without quite realizing it, he had made his way into the cave that served as the dragon’s lair. He huffed and puffed his way around the expansive area rooting through a heap of moldering clothing, then sifting through a massive heap of gold and silver coins. Finally, he stood with his hands upon his hips surveying the entire area, tunnel after tunnel, from as close to the top of the mound of coins as he could get, but still he could find nothing he considered suitable to strike a blow.

  “Nothing here, Bale,” he said to himself. “Well, I better get back before I miss the whole thing.”

  Resigned to the fact that nothing useful was lying about, he began his way back toward the cave exit.

  “Hope that thief gets what he deserves,” he muttered, his hands dragging across the ground as he walked. “Nothing worse than a thief. I hate thieves! Especially when they come in threes.” Spittle flew as he gnashed his teeth on his words. Acting on its own volition, his right hand scooped up a stone lying about. It was smooth and tiny between his oversized fingers. He began to fondle it absently in his anger. “If I had the chance, I would just,” he smashed his fist into his empty palm, grinning his rotted smile as he walked back towards the feuding dragon and rabbit.

  “Oh!” said the rabbit, “so we’re back to that are we? Well, you just go ahead and eat me, Dragon. I hope you chip a tooth!”

  “Bah, you’re barely a taste. There’d be more spit than meat!”

  “Here,” said Bale absently as he strolled back amidst the yelling. “Hit him with this, Dragon.” He stretched out the hand with the stone between his fingers, still caressing its smoothness.

  “I’m quite capable of handling this myself! And besides … my claws are too big, you dolt!” He demonstrated by rearing up and waving his front claws at the ogre.

  “Here we go again,” said the rabbit. “You, you, you. You know best, you think better than everyone else, you fight better than everyone else. You never listen.”

  “Watch yourself, Rabbit. I’m losing my temper!” shouted the dragon, his sides stretching and expanding as he began to pant his words, rage inciting labored breathing. His chest heaved as his internal bellows stoked in time with his mounting ire.