Jala and the Beast

Jala walked up the wooded slope of the fog-shrouded mountain, eyes moving quickly side to side. She knew that as the forest thickened, so did the risks. Both the risk of being attacked and the risk of being stopped. She'd worked hard to achieve her position in the Order of the Wardens. "Briar-Knight" didn't sound too impressive, she admitted, and she knew that she did not look like much like the latter half of her title: short, wiry, worn green cloak covering well-used deerskin trousers and shirt, hood covering her unevenly cut dirty blonde hair, pack slung casually over one shoulder, small heavy-bladed sword at her hip (as useful for clearing brush as killing men), and of course, her bow, unstrung, on her back. She looked more like a poacher than a tested defender of the peace.

But Jala was a defender, and if her oath did not allow her to take this act in defense of another, then she would gladly break it. From the moment that she heard word of the Rurik's disappearance, she had tracked the beast's movements. His movements. He was still a man, even if he could no longer think like one. One of his last conscious acts had been to come out here, straight into the middle of nowhere. She knew why he had done so. He was dangerous now, and wanted to be far away from the most vulnerable prey, the villagers in the valley below.

Jala had been well drilled in keeping her sinew bowstring dry and keeping the bow itself unstrung when it wasn't needed, to maintain its elasticity and the strength of its pull. But now she was in danger, at least as she understood it. She could feel the presence of the great predator here, even if it was still miles away. There wasn't any birdsong, and the squirrels and ground game were sparse. The only sound was the soft patter of the cool drizzle. The lack of the animals made her tread on the soft pine needles seem loud to her, and the conifers themselves felt like lonely towers guarding nothing in particular. She had decided, however, that she would ignore this evidence, and her gut feeling. She didn't want to be tempted to shoot if the great beast himself showed up. That wasn't why she was here.

Besides, walking into the forest prepared for battle would piss off the Druid, who was the other problem.

Technically, the Order of the Wardens answered to the druids. In practice the strange men and women of the woods merely provided "guidance" most of the time, save in times of war with the unnatural or in situations where their occult knowledge would prove more useful than tactics or stealth. But, the Druid of Stone Peak had formally told the local village headman that the mountain itself and all creatures that dwelled on it, natural or otherwise, were under his protection. On the bright side, that meant that no 'lucky' huntsman would kill the beast before Jala got there. On the down side, it meant that, technically, she'd need the Old One's permission to act. Normally, Jala would just do what she came here to do and beg forgiveness if she lived, but the Druid might interfere, and that could prove fatal in and of itself. She shuddered, thinking of how that could work out, of the things that a mage might do if they thought they were helping.

So, Jala had to approach the Druid, and either tell him the truth or tell him a lie. Neither was particularly appealing to her. Both had their risks. Putting off her decision, she kept her eyes moving and focused her perceptions, opening her mind to nature. The magic of the Order of the Wardens was subtle, but it had its own power. She was a forest ghost, and had any witnesses been there to see her, they may not even have noticed her despite the fact that she took the path. Such were her skills that she had drifted right in front of wide-awake sentries before without being seen. This time, however, she was simply trying to prevent herself from being ambushed. She knew that the Druid would sense her long before she found him, wherever he was.

As it turned out, she required neither caution nor alertness. The Druid's hide tent, well kept and semi-permanent, was right at the end of the path. There was no way that anyone could miss it. Beyond it lay the forest proper, and then the steep mountainside and the snow-capped peaks. Smoke issued out of the hole in the top of the tent, and something spicy was being cooked within. Druids did not have to worry about rain putting out their fires.

"Hail, Old One," Jala said, not quite shouting the traditional greeting, but putting enough force in her voice to show her confidence.

"Hail, Young Wanderer," a hearty voice answered. "Come in, eat, and rest by my fire."

It wasn't entirely the traditional response, but it was close enough. Jala slipped inside the tent. She set her pack down, and gently placed her bow beside it, then unstrapped her sword (still in its sheath) and put it down, too. The formalities of greeting and disarming aside, she approached the figure who sat near, but not at the fire. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could make him out better.

The druid was not as old as she had expected, just beyond five decades, more than twice Jala's age. His brown hair was a bit wild, but had no grey in it. He wore a simple brown tunic and pants, and his face was partially hidden by a great beard. What skin she could see was weather-beaten but not as dark as Jala's. His eyes were deep and sorrowful. She felt herself exposed to him, all her secrets laid bare in his gaze. She grudgingly decided that she would have to tell the truth.

"Welcome. I have clean water for you in the pail there, and some dried fish and berries to break your fast if you wish."

"Thank you," she said, sincerely, seeing the wooden bucket with a cup beside her. She drew forth some water with the cup and drank it. It was fresh and crisp and cool, probably pulled from a nearby stream. As she did so the man busied himself going to other parts of the tent and finding a rough wooden plate, which he covered with a variety of foods. Not just the fish and berries that he promised, but also some recently gathered herbs and roots.

For a few minutes, Jala ate. She did so quickly, but not rudely. The flavors were good, and although the roots and herbs were bitter she knew that the druid had included them for her health, so she consumed them. To do otherwise would show distrust and disrespect. Finally done, she set the plate down in front of her.

"To business then," he said. She simply nodded. "I am Tored," he continued, "and I hold dominion of this mountain in service to the Old Gods."

"I am Jala, and I am here...I am here as a Warden, but not in their service."

Tored raised an eyebrow before replying.

"I know you must hold your duties sacred, but I will not allow you to hunt the beast that lives on this mountain. I have given him permission to reside here so long as he harms none, and therefore he is in my care."

"You know as well as I do that it is only a matter of time before he kills. He'll go down through that valley and into the village. There will be more corpses than living souls there after a few nights."

Tored sighed, then nodded.

"I cannot disagree with your assessment, Warden Jala, but I still will not allow any hunt."

"I...I'm not here to hunt him. I'm here for the rite," Jala said, feeling the heat rush to her face.

"For the rite?" Tored asked, as if he did not know. The infuriating old man was going to make her say it out loud.

"Yes. The Rite of the Wolf-Priestesses. What...what they did to solve problems like this."

"You are no Wolf-Priestess," Tored pointed out.

Jala scoffed.

"Maybe not, but we both know that there wasn't much nuance to what they did. They called it sacred ritual, but it was a lot simpler than that."

"Hmm. Perhaps it is simple, as you say, but it is not easy. They had years of training and secret arts to guide them, and even then they still did not always survive the...experience. What makes you think that you have even the slimmest chance of success?"

Jala reached inside her shirt and took her medallion, tossing it to Tored, careful not to break eye contact with this damned irritating old man. It was the only symbol of her rank within the Wardens

"That's how I'll survive it. I'm not some damn little Stripling Seed that you can shoo from your peak, old one. I'm a Briar-Knight and I've faced beasts the likes of which you've only read about in your tattered scrolls. I'm not going away and I'm not giving up on him. So make up your mind. Will you help me or will you hinder me?"

Tored held the medallion up and for the first time Jala could see how worn his hands were. They were gnarled and covered in scars and lines, appearing much older than his face. He flipped the medallion around in his hands, noting its shine in the firelight, seeming to take in every detail. Jala knew that he was thinking, and that he would not speak until he was ready, if ever. Well, she could be just as stubborn if she had to.

Finally, Tored handed the silver amulet back to Jala, a small smile on his face. He sighed.

"I have no urge to hinder you. I applaud your efforts, and admire your courage. I think that, were you to succeed, the result would be preferable to the state of things as they are, or as they could otherwise be. But tell me, if you failed, or worse, you half-succeeded and did not live to see the result, how do you think he would react? Do you think he would thank me for allowing you to try?"

"I...it doesn't matter. I'm going to do it. He'd do the same for me, and he knew that I'd come if I could. That's why he hid himself in this godsforsaken place."

"Nowhere is forsaken by the gods. Only man forgets his responsibilities. Very well. I will do what I can. I can provide you with food and other provisions. I have a concoction that will grant you stamina and the ability to heal quickly, although you will need to eat large meals tonight and tomorrow to use it safely. I can give you herbs and unguents to make your scent stronger. The first full moon is tomorrow. If you are set on this path, then you must be ready tomorrow at twilight."

"Th-thank you," Jala said, quietly. She had more to say, much more, but she found words difficult, so she kept her peace.

* * *

The first time Jala realized that Rurik was for her was almost ten years prior. They had been close to their apprenticeships. Rurik, she knew, would take over for his father, Andan. Rurik was already an expert wood-worker and carver, as capable of making small boats good for navigating the marshes around their home village as producing sturdy homes or even fine statues for their simple shrines to the gods. Jala herself would be expected to marry or to apprentice with one of her aunts or uncles. She had nine siblings and four of them had already entered the family business of ale-production. There simply was not enough work for all of them.

Jala, however, had other plans. She hadn't told anyone, not even her closest friend. So, like many summer nights before, the two of them would sneak away to go walking through the forest paths by the river, listening to the insects and watching the great marine serpents make their lumbering way back to the ocean, all under the watchful eyes of the stars that were said to govern the fates of everything.

This night was special. She had turned fifteen three weeks prior, and he was about to do so himself. Fifteen was the age when every child was expected to start truly training for their trade.

"What's wrong, La?"

Jala turned and smiled at her friend. They had been walking in silence for too long, and Rurik knew her too well. Normally she'd have been talking his ear off.

"Nothing's wrong. I mean...well..."

"What is it?" Rurik said, turning to face her. Even at fifteen, he was almost six feet tall. Jala could not make out his eyes, but she felt his gaze, felt herself responding to it. She was old enough to know what it meant, and why she had to tell him and make him understand.

"I...I got an apprenticeship."

"Congratulations," Rurik said, but his voice was reserved. He knew there would be a catch.

"With the Wardens," Jala added, belatedly.

"Oh," Rurik said, shoulders slumping, eyes misting over just slightly. How could so much emotion be in one simple word? He could hide nothing from her, not that he truly tried, but this was almost too much for her to bear.

"I'll miss you," Jala blurted out, getting everything backwards. "I mean...I'll come back. I just...I have to do this. I want to. I'm good with a bow, and I can track and hunt, and they pay real money. Not copper but silver! And...and..."

"And?" Rurik said. Jala could see his despair.. He thought she would be leaving forever. He did not understand her true intent.

"And...and maybe even land and title. But the pay would be enough."

"Enough for what?"

"Enough for me to come back for you and..." Jala ran out of words, then. There was silence. Rurik stepped towards her, saying nothing, giving her time to form her thoughts. Then he reached out and tucked some of her ever-stray blonde hair back behind her ear. His touch shocked her like lightning. As always, she acted without thought, stepping up on her tip-toes, and kissed him. He was stunned for a moment, and did not react, but when he did, his arms wrapped around her, pulling her up towards him, crushing her wonderfully against him. She felt him grow against her. He was...big. Would this be the moment? Then, his hug weakened. He swayed, no longer supporting her but relying on her for balance, then he stumbled to his knees.

"Not...not now," he whispered.

"What's wrong? Are you sick?"

"Don't worry. It...it happens sometimes to me...it's just so damn embarrassing," Rurik said, trying to stand and falling, almost. Jala steadied him, though, kept him upright, her size belying her strength. He could lean on her all he needed.

"Come on, Rur. Let's get you home."

* * *

Jala led her friend home, silently, and slowly as they walked, he became a little bit steadier, but it was obvious that he was still quite weak. He wouldn't stop apologizing to her, which was a bit irritating, but she understood that he had enjoyed the kiss as much as she had, which made her smile when he wasn't looking. Soon they had made it to Rurik's house. His father was away, working on a greater project for the baron, but his mother Haela greeted them at the door. She did not seem surprised nor overly worried, which reassured Jala a little. Jala waited patiently in the small kitchen while Haela led her son away, and got him to his own bed, before she returned to start to boil water for tea.

"Is he going to be alright?" Jala asked.

Rurik's mother just finally seemed to notice that the girl was still there, and she smiled wearily.

"Yes, Jala. Yes, he will be fine. It's just...it's his blood that makes things difficult for him."

"His blood?"

Haela looked at the girl then, almost in an appraising way. Jala felt that she was being judged, but for what, she could not say. In the end, whatever mental evaluation was going on, Jala had apparently passed because Haela sat down at the bench and gestured for Jala to sit across from her. As one woman visiting another might, not as just a friend of her son. Haela poured tea for both of them, and then continued.

"His blood runs strong. Just as yours does, Jala."

"Mine?"

Haela smiled.

"Yes. Your mother is fiery. She has a temper and the village can hear it when she fights with your father. But she also calms quickly, and forgives, and loves strongly. The village can hear that sometimes at night too if they happen to be walking by your parents house."

Jala blushed, having learned long ago to ignore the sounds of her parents' lovemaking, but unsure as to why Haela had brought it up.

"So, you mean like I inherited my mother's temper?" Jala said, desperate to change the subject.

"Yes, but you also gained her intense devotion, her loyalty and intelligence. You have the good and the bad. Rurik is the same. His father...well, his father is a good, calm, strong man, as were his ancestors. My mother, however, was a Wolf-Priestess. One of the last. And she performed...the rite, with my father, Rurik's grandfather. He was one of the last of the Beastkin."

Jala's eyes grew wide. The Beastkin and the Wolf-Priestesses were things of stories, not their boring village.

"Rurik never told me," Jala said, feeling hurt. She'd thought they shared everything.

"Because I told him not too. I told him specifically not to tell you because I knew that he would have otherwise. I'm sorry. I thought I was protecting him but of course he could trust you not to spread such things."

"So...is Rurik...Beastkin?"

"No," Haela answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Or at least, I don't think he is. I had nothing but some dreams, which are common in those who carry this bloodline. In the old days I would have become a Wolf-Priestess myself, but my mother saw no need for such devotion. My father was, after all, the last of the Beastkin that she had ever met, so the training would have been excessive and wasteful. Instead she passed her knowledge of healing to me, and recorded the rest in scrolls and books, in case a future woman would need this wisdom."

"Oh," Jala said, almost disappointed. It would have been something if Rurik would have been Beastkin. For a moment, Jala imagined her large, strong, and gentle friend as an animal that walked as a man. A huge, rampaging monster of legend, that could only be appeased by...by the love of the right person. Jala shivered for a moment, almost uncontrollably, and felt something deep within her respond to the idea. It surprised her with its intensity but it did not shock her. If nothing else, watching him collapse had convinced her that she wanted to be more than his friend. She wanted to be his wife.

"Rurik has shown few of the signs of the Beastkin...yet," Haela went on. "He does however have dreams far more intense than mine. He will not speak of them with me, but I know that they are nightmares."

"He tells me about them," Jala said, suddenly, feeling a bit more confident, "but nothing...nothing too detailed. He mostly just says that the things that he does in his dreams scare him."

Haela nodded as if it made perfect sense for her son to confide in Jala. Perhaps it did.

"He also suffers from the blood-sickness."

Jala's eyes grew wide.

"Will he be all right?"

"Yes, yes. It sounds worse than it is. The spirit of beast and man do not always sit in balance, and so it can make him grow weak or pass out at times. He feels so embarrassed about it, but I tell him that there is no shame in it. All he can do is rest a bit more, eat a bit better, and by the next day he will be well. It is his burden to bear, and it may last his entire lifetime. In any case, I am grateful that you were there with him when this happened. He would have made it home, I am sure, but you made things much easier for him."

"He felt ashamed when he grew ill," Jala said, "but he doesn't have to be. Not in front of me. Not ever. Will you tell him that, when he wakes up?"

Haela smiled.

"I will, but you can tell him yourself as well."

Jala had much to think about as she ambled home that night. She had not changed her mind. She would go into the Wardens, earn her keep there. She would come back then, for Rurik, and ask for his hand. If he would give it, then they would find a place to be together. A Warden could earn a good salary even if she did have to travel much. In fact, if she did well enough, she could have lands of her own, then she could call Rurik to her and make a whole forest her dowry. She smiled at the thought.

* * *

Jala cleared her mind. Such memories could be dangerous. They might make her underestimate the beast that she had come to face, which could lead to her death. On the other hand, they reminded her of why she was there. Of what she would do for Rurik. She smiled bitterly as she considered the changes that she herself had gone through. She had more scars than most women ever would, and was athletic and lean rather than voluptuous as men preferred. And of course she had been gone longer than she had planned. He might reject her. He might still be mad at her. He might be in love with another already.