by Scott Bury
“They live in the desolate lands, you know,” the old man was saying. “The far north, the north-east; and in latter days, many have been coming from the east toward the north-west, around the edges of the civilized world.”
“Why?” asked Javor, surprised at his own interest.
“Civilization is abhorrent to them,” said the old man, delighted to have an interested audience at last. “Civilized men learn how the world works, which gives them power over darkness and ignorance. The monsters know this and hate it. Their power is based on fear and ignorance.”
“Why? What difference does civilization make?”
“Knowledge, my boy. Knowledge banishes ignorance, banishes fear.”
“I don’t see how knowing about monsters makes them any less powerful or fearsome,” Javor answered. He was getting angry. He still did not know whether he believed the story about a monster. But then, what broke those heavy timbers? It took four men to move those.
“Knowledge erodes their power, my boy. First, and most obviously, the more we know about our enemy, the easier it is to defeat him. We must learn the monster’s weaknesses, you see.”
Photius stopped walking and swung his pack off his back, then sat on a rock. “Tell me, do you believe in gods?”
Javor stopped, too. “Well, yes, like Perun and the Dazhbog and the Chernobog.”
“Why?”
Javor opened his mouth but could think of no answer.
“Is it because your parents told you they were real? They told you all the stories, and the headman and the shaman and all the other people you know repeated them. So, why can you not believe in monsters?”
“I have seen Perun’s lightning and the dawn of Zaria. And I have lost brothers and sisters to the Chernobog.”
“Ah—the dark god. You refer to the pestilences.”
Javor nodded. “But I have never seen a monster or anything like one.”
“Do you believe in bears? Wolves? How often have you come face-to-face with one?”
“I have seen a bear and I have seen what wolves do. I have seen a whole chicken coop ripped apart and all the chickens killed by a fox, I have seen the bones of deer in the forest after they’ve been killed by wolves. But I have never seen any sign of a monster.”
“Until now. Javor, how else could you explain the effects you saw on your own home? Or what your own people are telling you?”
Javor was getting angry. What does he want from me? “People are stupid. My people are stupid. They could have fought off those raiders if they had stood together. And they tell each other tales and then believe them! One man catches a small deer, but by the time the story gets around the village, it’s a herd of wild oxen! So, no, I don’t believe my people!”
“True. If you talk to three different people in the village, you’ll get three different descriptions of the monster. That’s the way it is with people, and evil things everywhere thrive on that. So do the gods, mind you. No one knows where they come from or what they want, or how strong they really are or what their weaknesses are. Soon the rumour of them is greater and far worse than they are themselves. A man in your own village, Borys I think his name was, told me about a dragon that ate a whole village in the south. I have heard that tale in other villages, too. But the name of the destroyed village always changes, and with each telling, the beast does something worse and gets bigger and stronger. And if the monster’s reputation is so fearsome, soon it doesn’t have to do anything but show up to make people run in panic, and the monster can take what he wants without any bother.”
“Are ... are you saying the monster that killed my parents isn’t so bad?”
“No, unfortunately, my lad, in this case we’ve seen just how bad it is. But we’re going to find out its weaknesses.” He set out along the trail again, and Javor followed.
By midday, they were climbing the steep, rocky slopes of a grey mountain. The air grew steadily colder and the clouds got lower and darker. Above, Javor could see only grey: grey rocks reaching dizzyingly upward, grey skies. No white or green.
They stopped for a rest at a small ravine cut by a mountain stream. Photius sat against a rock and shared some of his wine and his mysterious, invigorating bread.
“We are now about to enter a truly dangerous area, my young friend,” he said, gazing calmly up the mountain.
“How do you know?” Javor didn’t see anything about the slope immediately above them that set it apart from the part they had just climbed.
“The aura of this place is black, dead. There are loathsome things ahead.”
Javor let his pack slip to the ground and looked at the old man. He was sitting on the ground, leaning back against a boulder, and from Javor’s perspective it seemed the rock was almost a continuation of Photius’ head.
Then Photius’ head seemed to move. It got longer, higher, and something black rose over the top. No—some animal, a huge snake was rising from behind the rock. In an instant, it towered over Photius. Covered in gleaming black scales, it curved its hideous neck downward again in a fluid motion, opening its maw wider, wider, so wide that Javor thought he would lose his mind. Slime dripped off its lips and teeth like daggers grew outward from the jaw.
Sound faded and time slowed for Javor. Photius looked up, eyes widening in horror. The snake, or whatever it was, lowered its head as if to swallow the old man whole. Javor’s body seemed to know what to do without his mind telling it. He realized that his father’s small hatchet was in his hand and that he was raising it over his head. He took two long, fast steps and sprang upward, swinging his arm down as he rose over Photius. The axe came down hard onto the snake’s skull, and he could feel its blade digging into flesh and bone. There was a horrible wrench at his shoulder, and he let go of the handle, and then his feet were on the ground again. He bumped into Photius, sending the old man sprawling.
Javor became aware of sound again, of Photius yelling incoherently and the snake-thing roaring, tossing its head back and forth with the axe embedded in its skull, spurting slime and blood that hissed when it struck the rocks around them.
Across the ravine, miles of tail writhed and tossed in rings and loops among the rocks. The snake-thing brought its head down hard on the ground right beside Photius, then heaved up again.
Javor scooped the old man up in his arms—he was surprisingly light—and leaped up the hill, away from the snake’s death throes, just as it brought its head down again into the ravine. Half-carrying Photius, Javor scrambled up the slope. When they had climbed far enough that they could no longer see the snake-thing among the boulders, Javor halted, panting. “Was that the monster that killed my parents?” he gasped.
“No, Javor,” Photius gasped back. He looked bad. His face was gray and he seemed to be trembling. “No. That was a mere minor beast, a cold-drake of some kind. It was much smaller and weaker than the thing that killed the people of your village and all those warriors.” Javor was beginning to get his breath under control.
Javor started back down the slope again, half-sliding on his backside.
“Where are you going, boy?” Photius asked, panic around the edges of his voice.
“To get my axe back.” It was still embedded in the monster’s skull. Despite Photius’ incoherent admonitions to stay away from the drake, Javor skidded and slid back to the ravine where the thing’s body lay strung out like an unravelled skein of wool. Its tongue now hung out of its mouth, draped over a dead log. As if it isn’t long enough, already, Javor thought. Stinking steam rose from it. Javor reached for the axe handle, embedded deep in the fire-drake’s skull, and pulled hard. It would not budge until Javor tugged several times, and then all it once it came out of the monster’s head with a sucking sound. Javor watched in wonder as the drake’s blood—if that’s what it was—evaporated in steam until the axe blade was completely clean. He shuddered, then tucked the axe handle into his belt and climbed back up to Photius.
Chapter 5: The cave
By afternoon, Ja
vor was panicking with every step as they crept along a ledge narrower than his shoulders. The ledge was covered with a thin layer of tiny pebbles, and each footfall slid and crunched and pushed a puff of dust over the edge.
Cliffs rose almost straight up on their left and dropped so far on the right that Javor felt dizzy if he looked over. It did not seem to bother Photius, though, who walked carefully but steadily forward and up.
There was no sound but the wind. Above, the sky roiled with gray clouds. Clouds don’t move like that, Javor thought. He pictured rocks falling from the top of the cliff, crushing them or hurling them down the slope to be smashed against yet other rocks.
“How do you know where we’re going?” Javor asked when they paused. The sun was getting lower, sinking behind his shoulders. He hadn’t seen a footprint or a trace of any living thing since the cold-drake.
“There are signs for those who know how to see them,” the old man answered. Javor was getting tired of Photius’ enigmatic statements. Why was he in this part of the country, anyway, and why did he arrive just at the same time as this monster?
“Do you have a plan, Photius? You said the more we know of this monster, the better we can find its weaknesses. What do you know? When we find this monster, do you have any idea of what to do then?”
The old man smiled a little. “I was beginning to wonder if you would ever ask, Javor. Well, this monster appears to live in a desolate place, so that means it doesn’t need to eat very often. A human or two every few weeks seems to suffice.
“Also, with all these rocks about, it must have a tough hide. So probably your father’s little hatchet there won’t even cut it.”
“Then why did you bring me here? What’s the point of this chase, if I haven’t a hope of killing this monster!”
The old man seemed to smile, but with the sinking sun shining into his eyes, Javor couldn’t be sure. “You came here freely, Javor. Remember, I only came after you. The question is, why did you come?”
“You’re the one who’s tracking this monster! You’re leading me! And to what?” Javor screamed. “What do you want from me? Why have you brought me to this place?”
“For what you wanted, Javor,” said Photius, and still his voice was even and soft, gentle. “For revenge.”
Is this old man crazy? “How am I supposed to get revenge on a monster that can’t be hurt?” The old man’s calm was getting on his nerves. “How do I know that you don’t intend to have the monster kill me, too?”
Photius looked disappointed, not offended. “Now, Javor, do you really believe that I would go to all this trouble, walking for days in this desolate place, if all I wanted was merely to achieve your end? I think there would be easier ways to accomplish that.” He chuckled when Javor grasped the handle of his axe. “Now, Javor. Look at me, and then trust what your own heart tells you: do you believe that I intend you any harm?”
Javor looked at Photius, and somehow knew that he could trust the stranger, this old man from a far-off civilization, who seemed to know his thoughts before he did. He let go the axe.
“Come, Javor. We can’t stay perched on this narrow ledge. Besides, I don’t believe we have much farther to go.”
They scrambled with hands and feet up a slope that was slightly gentler only when compared to the cliffs they had passed. Javor’s fingertips were bleeding by the time they reached a small, flat area covered with loose stones. There was no going farther. Ahead, the cliff rose sheer again, straight up to a height Javor couldn’t guess at. Behind, getting darker already in the setting sunlight, Javor could see the country stretching out, rivers like ribbons, trees fading into meadows and pastures.
They put their packs down on the plateau. Where now?
Photius just stared at the rock wall. It seemed deeply scored, as if it had been raked by claws the size of oak trees. To one side, a thin stream fell from the shadowed heights above, falling with a tiny sound far below. Other than that and the wind whistling around the crags, the silence was complete. No bird sang, no insects buzzed. Javor couldn’t even bring himself to speak for fear of breaking the silence.
Photius lifted his arms over his head. He spoke in a strange language—not Greek, or not what Javor believed was Greek. It sounded, somehow, very old, ancient as the rocks in front of him. “Ad natha rim bach, al nath roh-on!” he cried. And then, among the cracks and striations on the rock wall, Javor saw a deep cleft.
“Hey! Is that a cave there? Why didn’t I see that before?” He realized that he was whispering.
“Hush! I have opened the monster’s lair. It is within.” Photius put his hands on Javor’s shoulders and spoke more words in that ancient language. “I have put such spells of protection on us both as I know,” he said. “They may not do much against the monster’s claws or teeth, but against any foul magic here that may cloud our eyes or our minds or prevent us from entering, or worse, leaving, they should protect us for at least a short time. Now is the hour, my boy. Now is time for you to attempt your revenge. For this monster is not invincible, not immortal. It can be killed and sent back to the pit that spawned it, if the right man attempts it. Are you such a man?”
Javor’s knees felt weak, his stomach churned, even his testicles felt cold and vulnerable. I can’t do this. I’m not a warrior! The cave gaped like a beast’s maw, and for the first time, he believed the story of the monster that killed his parents and so many others in the village. Involuntarily, he took a step back. His hands shook.
But then he saw his father’s body across the threshold, his mother broken in front of her own oven. He lifted his axe.
“No, Javor. Not the axe. The old knife. Your great-grandfather’s knife.” Javor drew it from its sheath and looked again at the strange markings on it. They gleamed, catching the light of the sinking sun like running fire.
They heard a shriek from behind them. Javor spun to see a dark, winged something falling toward them from the sky, filling more and more of his vision. A saurian maw gaped to show long, terrifying teeth. “Dragon! Run!” shouted Photius, and together they flung themselves into the cave. Javor scraped his chin on the cave floor, and turned just in time to see a long, reptilian shape sweep past the entrance to the cave, screaming in rage and frustration.
“Was—was that it?” Javor panted. “The monster that killed my parents?”
“No,” Photius panted in reply. He was as shaken as Javor. “No, that was a dragon. They often live in mountains. I did not know there was a dragon in these parts. However, the monster that we seek is within this cave, so we had best keep our voices down.”
You are the one doing all the talking, old man.
The cave was narrow, so Javor went in front. The last of the dying daylight did not penetrate very deep, but a strange pale light came from the top of Photius’ walking staff. They could see the sides of the cave were wet, dripping with a foul-smelling moisture. “Do not touch the wall, Javor!” Photius warned. Javor tried to draw his shoulders in. His skin crawled when he thought of the liquid on the cave wall touching him.
There was a heat coming from within, and soon he was sweating. He could see a dull red glow ahead in the tunnel. A dark mist coiled about them.
The tunnel opened into a wide cavern, and the ceiling receded to a height Javor couldn’t guess at. The red light and the heat came from a gaping chasm at the far end. Strewn about the uneven floor were bones—human bones, and armour and weapons and coins that glimmered dully in the red light.
All this Javor took in within a second, for crouching in front of the chasm was the proof of the story: man-shaped, but far, far larger. It was hideous, covered in a dull grey, leathery hide. Its impossibly wide, pig-like mouth was chewing something. Glowing red eyes shadowed by a stony brow glared at him with an alien expression for less than a heartbeat, and then it was reaching for Javor, right in front of him, filling his field of vision, roaring so loudly that Javor’s ears hurt. Its claw slashed at his head. Without thinking, Javor lunged forward, between the
monster’s legs. The monster hit the cave wall and bits of rock flew in all directions.
Javor rolled and sprang up. If he had time to think, he would have been surprised to find his grandfather’s dagger was in his hand. The monster had Photius trapped against the wall. It seemed to be wary of his glowing staff, squinting against its light.
Javor screamed as fearsomely as he could and sprang forward, slashing the knife downward. He aimed at the monster’s back, but with agility surprising in such a large creature it twisted out of the way, and the knife bit into its arm. The monster roared again, a sound that froze Javor’s heart, and then with awful strength flung Javor across the cave. He rolled to the edge of the chasm. For a second, he felt as if he was going to tip over and plunge in; below was only a dull red light in a deeper blackness and a foul odour. He knew there was no bottom, only an endless drop that called to him; something in Javor’s mind yearned to lean over and fly into the chasm, to give himself to the infinite fall.
With a huge effort, Javor twisted away from the edge. He gripped his knife but the monster grabbed him in one huge claw and lifted him off the ground, pinning his right arm against his side. Its mouth opened, revealing row upon row of triangular teeth, and its hot breath stank.
Then Javor looked down, and saw that in its other claw the monster was holding the amulet—his amulet, the one his mother had inherited from her grandfather. But the monster’s grip tightened and drove all thought out of his mind. Javor struggled to breathe and his right arm felt as if it would break. The claws started to dig into his skin.
Javor’s focus narrowed to three brightly shining points: the monster holding him; the dagger clenched stubbornly in his trapped right hand; and the amulet in the monster’s left claw. Everything else faded, slipped back as if into a great distance.
That claw rose to maul him to pieces. Something in Javor’s mind called out, and he saw the amulet rise from the monster’s grip, as if it had jumped, and sail into his outstretched left hand.