Dark Valentines

by Mark Onspaugh

  Todd drifted off to the sounds of a tropical rainstorm, thinking of his father, his dinner with Mandy, and custard pies, his most favorite dessert. Something large and dark flew across his memory, and then was gone.

  Soon Todd was asleep, and they could all hear him snoring, a ratcheting worthy of a frontier logging camp.

  Derrick locked the tanning bed securely and turned the temperature up to 350°F. Mandy put out the “Closed” sign and locked the front door, then began setting the table in the employee lounge. Lila called the rest of the clan at various salons in the Valley.

  They arrived quickly. Clients like Todd were all too rare, even in a big city like Los Angeles.

  Like Mandy, Lila and Derrick, they were all tanned and dark, with fine physiques and easy smiles. Contrary to popular legend, they weren’t bald, or scabrous, or pale. They didn’t lurk around cemeteries or avail themselves of raw flesh. Oh, they had certain cousins who practiced this, some even sophisticated enough to act as though theirs was a refined palette, like a Japanese noble dining on sushi.

  Disgusting.

  They played the old songs and games, and some moved off into other rooms for liaisons with cousins not seen in many months.

  Soon Todd’s snores stopped, and a delicious aroma filled the salon. Everyone laughed when Mandy drooled on her new blouse, and she was the subject of good-natured ribbing for much of the afternoon.

  Then came the ritual “Baring of the Teeth”, where they removed their carefully crafted bridgework to reveal strong white teeth filed to points. They played Slash Tag and Bite the Blindman for another hour, then got down to serious drinking and carousing.

  Twelve hours later, with hula music playing and all the guests happily drunk, Derrick opened the tanning bed with a flourish.

  Everyone stared.

  Todd was gone.

  In his place was a six-foot lozenge of copper-colored chitin, rounded with hemispherical protrusions at one end, tapered and segmented at the other. It looked like a kind of sarcophagus.

  “What the…” Derrick exclaimed, but by then the pupa was splitting open, and new Todd emerged. Famished from his change, he devoured every screaming one of them, his stinger paralyzing them, then his razor-sharp forelegs and crushing mandibles more than equal to the task of devouring flesh and bone.

  Todd saved pretty Mandy for last, her blue eyes wide with a terror that seemed to his new eyes like love. His venom turned her organs and bones into jellied confections, sweeter than anything he had ever tasted…

  Even custard pie.

  THE KNIGHT’S TALE

  Not many knights came to the Red Lion. In fact, Innkeeper Helmut Zauberwald couldn’t remember when a knight had last been through the region. The Prince’s Royal Guard, certainly, and some mercenaries, but very few Knights, particularly from Camelot and the Round Table.

  His name was Sir Giles of Coventry and he was a giant of a man, taller by a good two inches than both Gustav Kline the Woodcutter and Jürgen van Vogt the Huntsman. Broad in the chest, Sir Giles had massive arms and legs, and a face that was both handsome and noble. His horse was a Great Percheron named Valiant, as black as jet and so tall it barely fit in the stable.

  On Sir Giles’ chest was a device of a unicorn cleaving a snake with its horn. Underneath it read, In sanctimonia est vires (“In purity is strength”). He was far cleaner than many of the villagers that patronized The Red Lion, and both Helmut’s daughter and his wife gazed on the paladin with appreciation.

  Helmut took all this in good stead and offered the young man a flagon of ale. The Knight held up his hand and said he would prefer water, but that he would happily buy ale for any man who could give him information on the forest to the north.

  Helmut pointed out Gustav the Woodcutter and Jürgen the Huntsman, old friends who had run into one another in the village and come in to slake their thirst. Both men had found wives in recent years and were now at the inn less often. Helmut felt the place was poorer for it, but he was happy his friends had each found companionship.

  Sir Giles strode over to their table and bowed slightly. “My good fellows, I would consider it an honor if I might drink with you.” His German was heavily accented, but passable. As neither Gustav nor Jürgen could speak English, the three men relied on Sir Giles’ German, gestures and pantomime to communicate.

  “You are a long way from home, Sir Knight,” Gustav said, “You’re British, yes?”

  “Indeed, I serve King Arthur, long may he reign.”

  Dorothea brought them their drinks, water for Sir Giles and ale for his guests.

  “Do you dislike German ale, Sir Giles, because I can assure you you’ve never drunk anything like what Helmut serves,” Jürgen said.

  “Rumors are it’s enchanted,” added Gustav.

  “I must keep myself pure for my quest,” said Sir Giles.

  “I am not sure I could honor a quest that allows no drinking,” joked Jürgen, and Gustav laughed. Sir Giles smiled thinly.

  “I will not judge you, my new friends. We all must make our way in the world, and not all of us are charged with a holy task.”

  At this Jürgen bristled slightly. “This forest is my church, sir, and I find it a most holy and restorative place, more so than any edifice or tent.”

  Sir Giles nodded and raised his hand peaceably. “I meant no offense. I was hoping you good gentlemen would provide me with information of the lands to the north.”

  “What is it you seek?” asked Jürgen, who wondered if this was yet another fortune hunter searching for the treasure of the Lutzelfrau, his wife.

  Sir Giles reached into a pouch on his belt and removed a small object and placed it on the table.

  It was golden and irregularly shaped. At first Gustav thought it was a gold nugget, such as were sometimes found in the riverbeds.

  It was Jürgen who recognized it for what it was. “That’s gold – cast in the shape of a finger bone!” he said.

  “Not quite,” answered the Knight. “It is a finger bone that was transformed into gold.”

  “By what wizardry was such a thing done?” asked Gustav.

  “You are a woodcutter,” replied Sir Giles, and, pointing to Jürgen, “And you are a huntsman, yes?”

  The men nodded.

  “Again, I mean no offense, but yours are rather prosaic occupations. I doubt you have seen much in the ways of magick. “

  Jürgen and Gustav looked at one another. Both of them had married women of powerful enchantments, a secret they had only shared with one another and their friend Helmut.

  “Still,” said Gustav slowly, “we are curious fellows and would learn more, good Sir Knight.”

  Sir Giles beamed. “Yes! The greatest journey is that which opens the mind!” He picked up the golden bone and turned it. It caught the lamplight and gleamed. “This is what becomes of a man when he is consumed in dragon’s fire.”

  The two friends looked at him in disbelief.

  “You’re saying the fire of a dragon turns a man’s bones to gold?”

  “Aye, I have it on the word of Merlin himself.”

  Of course they had heard of Merlin. Hadn’t he visited this same tavern twice in their lifetime? But still, neither one had ever seen a dragon, nor had heard this preposterous notion that a man’s bones might be transformed into gold.

  “I myself have never seen a dragon,” admitted Gustav.

  “Nor have I,” said Jürgen. “If such creatures do exist, and I am not saying they do, then such beasts would be many days ride from here, far from the villages of Men.”

  “And while you may not see a dragon for much of that journey,” Gustav said, “there are other creatures in the forest… Creatures who do not take kindly to unwelcome visitors, or who have learned that the flesh of Men is sweet and easy to procure.”

  Sir Giles rested one hand on the pommel of his broadsword. “I am not afraid, my friends, for my sword bears an enchantment from Merlin and my heart
is pure. I shall prevail where others have failed.”

  Jürgen glanced at Gustav and it was clear he felt the Knight’s own hubris would doom him.

  “Mayhap I know a wise woman who might advise you further, Sir Giles. As you can see, my friend and I are woefully ignorant of dragons and their ways.”

  “I know what I seek is to the north, friend Jürgen, and I doubt your grandmother has knowledge of use to me. And, if she be a witch, I shall have no truck with her.”

  Jürgen bristled at this, but said nothing.

  “Let me show you some magick,” Sir Giles said. He withdrew his sword from its scabbard and it seemed to hum slightly as it was brought forth. He laid it across the table in front of them, and they could see cunning runes had been etched into the blade. The light of the lamps seemed to caress the weapon, and it glimmered in the glow more beautifully than the gold.

  “This is Myrann’dir – ‘The Singing Sword.’ When the beast draws near, the sword will hum and thrum, like the plucked string of a lute. Dragons are fearsome, but they are slow in close quarters. I shall outmaneuver the great serpent and cleave his head from his body.”

  “And then you will claim the golden bones of all who have gone before?” Gustav asked.

  “Such riches are for my King and his wizard. Although I will be entitled to a small share,” Sir Giles said modestly.

  “Even a hand or a rib would be worth a fortune,” mused Jürgen. He looked at them. “Mind, I have no use for such things, but I have seen terrible things done in the pursuit of fortune.”

  Gustav nodded solemnly, but Sir Giles only laughed heartily.

  “My friends!” he said, “I am not on such a quest for fortune, nay not even for fame. True, my exploits shall be the stuff of song and fireside tale for many generations to come, but I seek the greatest prize of all!”

  Jürgen and Gustav looked at him.

  “Love!” he said, beaming. “It is said that the dragon I seek often keeps a maiden prisoner. One provided for him by villagers who wish to keep the beast from blasting their homes and shops. It is said his current prisoner is more beautiful than the Faerie Queen herself. She is pure and good, and will give her hand to the righteous man who frees her. I will be that man.”

  “Surely if such a thing is true, then she is already dead,” Jürgen said quietly.

  “A dragon only feeds when there is no moon,” said the Knight, “I have two weeks in which to rescue her.”

  “Brave Sir Giles, I must ask you,” said Gustav, “if there be magicks to face and overcome, why is it Merlin has not accompanied you?”

  “Or at least provided you with knowledge as to the dragon’s location and strengths.”

  Sir Giles waved them off. “You are good fellows, but know nothing beyond the cutting of wood and the skinning of rabbits. A quest is a test of a Knight’s purity and nobility, as well as his strength and agility. If everything were presented to me as a gift, I would prove nothing and will never win the fair maiden’s hand.”

  Sir Giles drained the last of his water. “And now, I must bid you good night. I will depart at first light. If I see you again, I will count my good fortune – if not, I pray your lives are long and full.”

  Jürgen and Gustav bade him goodnight, and then each went home to tell his wife of the brave Knight and his foolish quest.

  When Sir Giles rode out the next morning, he was in high spirits. He was well-rested and felt sure both the Merlin’s magick and the blessings of the Lord would stand him in good stead on his quest.

  He had no idea he was flanked by two large wolves, one white and one black with a tuft of white near its left ear. They shadowed the Knight, moving as silently as smoke through the trees.

  In addition, the Yule Witch, the Lutzelfrau, had sent word to many of the Nachtsleute that the Knight should make his way unhindered and unmolested. And so, even though his journey took him near their realms, neither the faeries nor the gnomes pursued him. No will-o-the-wisp led him off the path to certain death, and no trap set with venomous spiders or bog spirits was a prelude to his doom.

  Other creatures of the forest could not be so easily reasoned with, or threatened into turning a blind eye to the prospect of dining on so fine a specimen as Sir Giles and his horse. Ogres in particular were ill-tempered and greedy, and the wolves had to fight off one particularly loathsome fellow with two-heads, both of them ravenous for man-flesh.

  Hearing the sounds of wolves and ogre in battle, Sir Giles patted Valiant and said, “Listen! Beasts and some monster wage war! Mayhap we will chance upon the victor and we will have a fine trophy!”

  After a week’s travel north, Sir Giles was reaching the limits of the Yule Witch’s influence. Beyond lay blasted lands and beings that might prove too much even for her considerable skill. Knowing this, Jürgen and his wife Hexe waited in a clearing not far from where Sir Giles had bedded down for the night.

  The wolves padded softly into the clearing and transformed into Gustav and his wife Elsbeth, a shape-shifter who had married the Woodcutter and made him a shifter, as well.

  “He means to continue,” Gustav said, “we heard him tell his horse.”

  “He talks to it so often, I half expect it to answer,” Elsbeth said, chuckling.

  Hexe shook her head. “I fear we have made the way too easy for him. He means to continue and none of us has any say in this benighted land.”

  “What would you suggest, my wife?” Jürgen asked.

  “I say we let him go and perhaps the world will be less one self-righteous prig!” said Elsbeth hotly. “He was bragging how he’d find us and put our heads on pikes!”

  “He doesn’t know we’re shape-shifters, Beth,” Gustav said.

  “Ha – do you think he’d change his tune if he did? He hates witches and demons. To him, we’re one or the other or both.”

  “Perhaps an old lady might convince him to forego this search,” Hexe said, and transformed into the aged crone most knew as the Yule Witch. She smiled and once again became the raven-haired beauty who had won Jürgen’s heart.

  “I don’t like it,” Jürgen said, “he may run you through with that damned sword of his.”

  “Then you can accompany me, and show him he has no reason to fear me.”

  “And we will be nearby,” Elsbeth said. “If he so much as reaches for his blade, I will tear his throat out!”

  The next morning, as Sir Giles prepared to continue on his way, Jürgen approached his camp with Hexe, once again a beldam. Jürgen carried a stout bow and a quiver of arrows.

  “Heil, Sir Giles,” Jürgen called out.

  “Jürgen, heil!” the Knight called out. “How is it you are so far from your village?”

  “I have brought the wise woman I had told you about,” said Jürgen. “This is Elfriede, who has seen and heard much in her many years in the Black Forest.”

  Hexe stepped forward. It was no lie that Jürgen had voiced, for her name as the Yule Witch or Lutzelfrau was Elfriede. She smiled and extended one gnarled hand.

  “Good morrow, Sir Giles.”

  “Good morrow, Old Mother. You have knowledge you wish to impart?”

  “Indeed.”

  “I have broken camp and have nothing to offer you. However, I can perhaps find game or fish for you to break your fast.”

  “I have eaten, but I thank you. Brave Sir Knight, I know your quest to be a fine and noble one, but I must ask you to reconsider.”

  “Why is that, Old Mother?”

  “Because the region before you is perilous, filled with many deadly and wicked obstacles. And should you best them, I am afraid the dragon you seek may have you in his belly ‘ere long.”

  “I thank you for your warning, Old Mother, but you are an old woman, and your guide a mere Huntsman. I am a Knight of the Round Table, and I tell you the worst thing I have encounter on this journey is mosquitoes near the marshes a day’s ride back.”

  “That you have t
raveled unharmed is a testament to my bargains with the Nachtsleute.”

  Sir Giles shook his head. “I am unfamiliar with that term.”

  “The ‘Night People,’ which includes all manner of Faerie and enchanted being.”

  “Then you are a witch!” Sir Giles exclaimed, and reached for his sword.

  “Hold!” shouted Jürgen, who now nocked an arrow. “This woman means you no harm, you insolent pup! If you draw that sword I promise you my arrow will pierce your heart before you have raised it to strike.”

  Sir Giles glared at Jürgen, but moved his hand from his sword. “I see the vilest creature in these woods is still Man, for only a man can commit treachery against his fellows.”

  “Call me enemy if you wish, Sir Giles, but we only wish to save you from peril.”

  “I am pure of heart!” roared Sir Giles, “Take this foul hag and go. And the next time we meet, it will not be ale that fills your belly, but the cold steel of Myrann’dir!”

  The Lutzelfrau smiled and curtsied. She had seen too much over the years to be rankled by a child like Sir Giles. She gently took Jürgen’s hand and led him from the Knight’s camp. Twenty feet away, hidden by underbrush, the two wolves slunk silently after their friends.

  His enemies driven away, Sir Giles continued on his way, dreaming of the prize that awaited him.

  Late that night, an ogre came to visit, drawn as much by the scent of a man and horse as by the rabbit Sir Giles was roasting over hot coals.

  It was a loathsome beast, stinking and filthy, with an oversized mouth filled with broken teeth as big as tombstones.

  It was big and powerful, but somewhat clumsy, and Sir Giles was able to sever one of its hamstrings with a mighty slice of Myrann’dir. The creature went down shrieking, and Sir Giles was ready to remove its head when he saw the first rays of the sun.

  “I’ll let the sun cleanse the world of you and your wickedness,” Sir Giles proclaimed.

  “Please,” the ogre croaked, trying to crawl from the clearing. “Kill me, please.”

  Sir Giles ignored him and mounted his horse. As he rode north he heard the screams of the ogre as the rising sun slowly turned it to stone.