Jaclyn and the Beanstalk

by Mary Ting

  “Yes, Father.” I swallowed a piece of meat I hadn’t chewed well enough, surprised at Father’s unexpected news. “How long will you be in town?”

  “Just a day. But it will be a day’s travel to reach town and another to return home.” He took a sip of his drink.

  Mother smiled at Father, her eyes gleaming in the firelight. “We’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about us. Jaclyn, you didn’t know, but I’m skilled with a sword myself. Who do you think trained your father?”

  I spat milk out of my mouth. I covered my lips with my hands in shock at Mother’s teasing and horror for what I’d done.

  “I’m so sorry,” I mumbled against my palms.

  The look on Father’s face made me laugh aloud. His pride was plentiful enough to fill the room, and for Mother to belittle him—there were no words for his disgruntled scowl. Mother went to get a cloth to wipe up my mess, and Father roared with laughter.

  “Your mother is right. She taught me everything I know.” He winked and then bestowed upon her a charming leer.

  Grace of God.

  Moments like that, I turned away and pretended not to know.

  My parents occasionally stole a quick kiss in front of me, but when they shared intimate moments, thinking I would not notice, it turned my stomach. The thought of them doing what was natural—enjoying the marital pleasures between a husband and wife—made me want to live in a house of my own. But children lived with their parents until they were wed. With no suitors and none likely to appear, I would live with my parents, no doubt, for the rest of my life.

  After supper, I sat by the fire. With a blanket keeping me warm, I drank hot apple tea Mother had made with fresh apples. She’d added some spices, making it sweet and delicious.

  Some nights Father would read the Bible, or I would sing songs. Other nights, I would entertain them with my tales.

  Father cleared his throat. “Since we read the Bible last night, Jaclyn, would you like to share a story, or shall you retire to your chamber?”

  “Indeed, I have one in mind.” My heart leaped for joy and I wrapped my fingers around the cup for warmth.

  “Let us hear it.” Mother adjusted her blanket higher to her waist.

  My mind wandered to the barn, recalling the lance. “There once lived a girl, fair and innocent. Her hair flowed like golden silk and skin was soft as rose petals. She lived in a town with her sister and her parents.”

  My parents smiled, their eyes eager.

  “One night, monsters invaded the town. Skilled with weaponry, taught by her father, she slayed the monsters.” I swung my arm as if I held a sword and dropped my voice lower. “But even still, night after night, the monsters came.” I paused for dramatic effect. “Then one day, the girl dreamt of a special weapon, hidden nearby. She searched the town for the lance—a lance made of pure gold.” I recalled the golden streak snaking up the lance’s long point. “When she found it in a church, she told the priest about her dream. The priest let her take it without further questioning, for he had heard of a legend that a girl would save the people.”

  I took a sip of my tea and continued as I watched my parents’ stunned expressions. “When the monsters came back, the girl slayed the master of the monsters with her lance. When the master died, all the monsters ignited in flames and burned in Hell. The king paid her for her service, and their family lived wealthy and well. The end.”

  Throughout the story, I had kept my attention mostly on Father, who seemed fascinated at first, but then his expression changed to alarm. He’d frowned when I mentioned the lance.

  Had I said words to offend? Surely he would not know I had found his secret weapons. My parents normally clapped and told me I had an imaginative mind, but no praise escaped their lips.

  “Did my story not entertain you?” I asked, baffled.

  I’d told a different tale than the usual ones of girls who go to castles and meet princes. I thought Father would enjoy hearing one in which the father trained his daughter, who put the skills to good use.

  Father blinked and stood in haste. He tried not to show his disapproval, but his forehead creased, and his jaw clenched. “I thought it ... entertaining. I’m overtired this night. Don’t delay your sleep. Early morning chores await.” He stretched to yawn after changing the subject.

  “’Tis late. Sleep well.” Mother did not pay me any compliment, and gathered each end to fold the blankets.

  My heart sank to my feet. I nodded, picked up a lantern, and paced to my chamber with my head down and shoulders slumped.

  I shall never repeat such a tiresome story again.

  “Say your prayers, Jaclyn.” Father’s voice muffled through the closed door.

  “Aye, Father.” The words came out sluggish and disappointed.

  I pondered again why no praises had been given. I’d thought it a clever tale. When I heard whispers, I pressed my ear to the door.

  “Richard,” Mother began. “You mustn’t ... lance...”

  Lance? What about it?

  “Shall not ... worry...” Father muttered.

  Mother is worried. Why?

  I pulled away when their words faded to murmurs and I socked the door out of frustration. Pain shot to my bone. I tried to rub the soreness away.

  Stupid thick door.

  After I placed the lantern next to my bed, I undressed and gently brushed my finger over my birthmarks.

  Small, dark circles stained the middle of each wrist and on my feet at the places where the nails had pierced Jesus on the cross. When I had asked my parents about such strangeness, they’d told me the spots were birthmarks, of which I should not be ashamed, but some people could believe me to be a witch or a miracle.

  They feared either the church or the meddling neighbors might take me away. I had been told not to show or speak of my marks around others.

  People fear what they do not understand.

  I blew out the candle inside the lantern and slid into bed after dressing in my thick chemise. Shivering, I hugged the covers.

  My mind drifted to the lance, recalling how it had pricked me, and the flash of something unexplainable that followed it. Whatever it had been, there wasn’t anything angelic about it. Maybe the devil had showed himself to me.

  Rage and pain had gutted me during the brief vision. The image and the feeling haunted me. Something extraordinary had happened. I sensed it in my deepest soul.

  I wished I knew what it meant. Perhaps nothing at all, but the possibility it could be the devil’s work did not sit well. Before I attempted to gather my thoughts to pray, my exhausted body and mind found sleep.

  Chapter Five

  Monsters Are Real

  My eyes flashed open and I folded my arms. A murky vision of a demon with teeth like knives and blood-red eyes had disturbed my sleep.

  The monster tale I’d told haunted me. I must never speak of it again. Trembling, I told myself I was safe and released a sigh of relief.

  Darkness blanketed my room. How long had I been asleep?

  Lying silently, I listened to the leaves fluttering in the strong breeze. Peace filled the night until thunder boomed. I jerked and gasped in fright. Then my stomach growled in hunger.

  I debated whether to fetch cold stew from the pot, but when the urge to relieve myself came strong, I had only one choice.

  Cursing under my breath, I shoved my feet into my boots and wrapped the coverlet around me. Feeling my way out of my room, thankful for the embers’ lingering light, I made my way out the front door with my lantern.

  The crisp, icy wind slapped my face and prickled under my skin. I quickened my steps to the back of the house, but the chilly breeze and the muddy soil from the earlier rain made it difficult. I almost slipped several times from the mushy mud.

  After I did my business, I sprinted toward the front, but a flickering light caught my eye from the barn. My parents were asleep in their chamber. So who dared to linger in the middle of night?

  I should have awakened Fat
her, but curiosity filled my mind when I spotted a dozen horses tied up. The strangers might hear me or leave before I woke Father. I had to know why and who was there.

  No, no, no, Jaclyn. Don’t be a fool. It may be dangerous.

  Just a quick peek and I would leave. Curiosity always won over the possibility of being scolded.

  The light brightened and the whispers grew louder as I approached. I settled by a crack near the side of the barn. Tucking my knees to my chest as I lowered to the ground, I shielded my head with my coverlet and huddled to keep warm as I peeked through the hole.

  A dozen lanterns formed a circle, flooding the area in a golden glow around a group of men. I gasped at the sight of my father standing among them, leaning against Daniel’s stable door. Some stood and some sat on bales of hay. Most of the men were my father’s age, but several looked younger.

  The men dressed alike—dark tunics, pants tucked in boots, and thick, black capes. Hats blocked some of their faces. I did not recognize any of them, but we hardly had any visitors.

  Why would Father hold a gathering there and so late into the night? Were they going hunting? He would have told me. Perhaps they were planning a trip to town together?

  “The danger grows worse. Our flocks have dwindled. We must find the predator taking our sheep,” a red-headed man with a round belly hanging over his trousers said.

  “Mayhap you lost them?” One snorted. “They run faster than you. Or mayhap you ate them and don’t remember. Your belly is showing your guilt.”

  Chuckles filled the air, but Father cut it short by raising his hand.

  “’Tis not the time to laugh. Aldwin is right. People all over the shire say the same. We must find the reason.”

  A tall man, built like my father, stepped forward. He had his back turned to me, so I could not see his face, but when he slightly angled his head I saw he had a beard.

  “I know the answer, but you won’t believe me.”

  His tone declared confidence, but I detected a note of fear.

  Another man stepped forward. “I might know what thief steals our sheep, but it’s ... it’s ...”

  With dark hair and green eyes, he looked familiar. When he craned his neck, I got a better view of him. Jack’s father.

  Jack was a year older than me. Our families used to meet for gatherings in my younger days, but I hadn’t seen him in two years or so.

  “Speak, William. It’s all right,” my father said.

  A long stretch of silence filled the air. The men became still and quiet, leaning closer with anticipation on their faces. Blowing breath on my hands, I too waited.

  William gathered his cape tighter. “We’ve all heard of the night monsters. If you have not, let me enlighten you.” He paused and gazed at each man. When no one stopped him, he continued, “It is said the horrendous sounds first vibrated through the villages near Black Mountain about sixteen years ago. I—”

  “I’ve never heard of such a place. Where is this Black Mountain?” A young one adjusted his hat and scratched the back of his head.

  William furrowed his brow and glared at him. I would too for interrupting. But William continued to be a noble man.

  “It’s almost a day’s travel from here, past the market town, Hampton, and past the thieves’ forest most people fear. As I was saying, the torturous sounds filled the night, often three times or more within a month. Tales are abundant, but not a single soul knew for sure the reason. No one in memory dared to venture or examine the truthfulness of the tales, even with the promise of treasures beyond imagination up on Black Mountain.”

  “Treasure?” The man sitting on bales of hay leaned closer.

  The man with dark curly hair licked his lips hungrily. “What kind of treasures?”

  William held up a hand. “It’s not worth the risk of our lives, Peter.”

  “Gold?” a man who hadn’t spoken until that moment asked.

  “Treasures of gold and silver and jewels beyond imagination are said to be hidden in the cavern. But those are only a tale,” William said. “There is no proof.”

  “What do these monsters look like?” another one asked, shuffling his feet.

  “Perhaps they are humans possessed by demons?” one said.

  “They say the night monsters are taller than life, have claws like a beast, and teeth as sharp as knives. They thirst for blood and kill for sport. Some say they look half-human and half-beast, an abomination of God’s creation,” William answered, his voice thick and low.

  Eerie chills ran up my spine, and my heart drummed mercilessly. I looked over my shoulder, making sure no such monster crawled behind me. But when William mentioned the torturous sounds filling the night, at least three times or more within a month, I’d lost my breath and clutched my blanket tighter.

  Surely there was no connection to the sounds I’d heard in my dreams. William had admitted his tales were merely legends, and the sounds were in my head. No one else heard them. They were just ... What could they be?

  The man whose face I could not see laughed. “These are all lies. We’ve all heard tales of werewolves and vampires. There are no such creatures. Tales are just tales, to keep the young from going out late at night. My parents used to tell me the same tales.”

  The argument exploded.

  When Father raised his hand, I expected everyone to stop, but the men involved in the heated conversation ignored him. Father whistled between his teeth. Daniel and Angel snapped their heads up. Then Father finally caught the men’s attention.

  “You may think it only a tale, but some of us know the story isn’t just a tale. It is real.”

  I gasped and then shoved my fist to my mouth to keep silent.

  More voices erupted.

  Father raised his hand again. “Please, allow me to continue, and then you may decide.” He waited until everyone settled. “Some of you are too young to recall, but the night monsters were the reason people from Riverway, Woodmont, and Forestway—the villages once closest to Black Mountain—moved away. I did not know of such demons when I built our home. It seemed like the perfect place. A clear stream flowed nearby. The land was green and trees plenty. If I thought it odd so few villages were in this area, I thought only God had provided. And the king thought the same. That was one reason he asked William and me to look after the land and the people near Black Mountain.”

  “Lies,” the young one with blond hair accused. “Why would the king excuse you from service in his army while so young?”

  Father frowned and tightened a fist like he wanted to punch the youngling. “William and I fought bravely in many battles, long before you were born. The king gave us land and excused us of our duty. We were to live there and keep watch over the villages in his name, and that is all you need to know.” Father looked upon William with sadness in his eyes.

  Father had fought for the king?

  It was how he’d gained such skill with a sword. I’d learned so much about Father in a few minutes. What else has he not told?

  William nodded, as if they had some sort of unspoken exchange of thoughts, and then began to speak.

  “Richard spoke truly. We once lived in the same town, though we were not as close to the mountain as the other villages.” He jerked his head toward a man standing on the right. “And so did John.”

  “Aye,” John said.

  “All was well.” William’s green eyes dazed as if he could see the monsters from the years past. “Until ... one night, a year or more after I arrived, demonic screams echoed into the mountains and traveled to our homes. They disturbed my sleep and filled me with terror. I imagined the worst: people suffering, their limbs being ripped apart, and being eaten alive. And the rumors I’d heard from other villages came true.”

  I shivered and pressed my hands to my forehead. Twisting grimaces marked each of the men’s faces, at least the ones I could see.

  Father cleared his throat. “Indeed they did. When I visited the other towns closest to Black Mountain t
o trade, I learned something had been preying on their sheep. People from those towns claimed friends had also gone missing. They described the monsters just as William told you. And eventually, they moved elsewhere. Soon after, all the towns nearest to Black Mountain became desolate. We were the only town left. And just as William described, we too began to hear the cries. We could bear it no more. We scattered away from Black Mountain.”

  The stocky, red-headed man named Aldwin, rubbed his throat. “I do not believe this man who claims to have seen such abominations. There are no such things. I believe it to be men possessed by the devil.”

  A man sitting on the hay stood as he spoke, pointing a challenging stare at Father. “I lived in that same town, William, but I recall Richard leaving before his daughter was born.”

  Father stood taller, returning a bold and unyielding gaze. “I left for other reasons I do not wish to share. I fled with my family when everyone else did. But I did not go far. The town business was my business. My group of men kept everyone safe during the journey to new homes. I wish not to be mocked.”

  The man shrank back.

  Father had never told me about when he and Mother lived in town. He’d never discussed the events of his life before I was born, or even soon after. The only life I’d known was our home, isolated from everyone else.

  I understood why we had moved now. I had thought we lived so far from people only to hide my birthmarks as long as possible. It seemed natural to have such thoughts when we did not attend church like other families. Instead the priest came to our home, and we rarely went to town ...

  No, I rarely went to town.

  The thought of moving away because of night monsters—ones Father claimed to be real—was a shock to my soul. I pressed closer to the wall, straining to hear the men.

  “What is our plan?” Aldwin’s jaw clenched. “We can’t let them take our sheep, be they monsters or possessed men. What will happen next? The cows, pigs, and then we are next. Perhaps they’ve already taken people.”

  “We must kill it.” A man raised a fist.

  “Nay.” The wrinkle on Father’s forehead creased deeper. “If they are truly men, even men possessed, we cannot kill them. How can we think ourselves made in the likeness of God when we act worse than beasts? I want to see for myself. I’m going to bring a few of my sheep. I’ll meet you at my old town in three days, where the church once was. We’ll use my sheep as bait. We’ll keep a watch until it comes for them.”