The Beast of the Woods

The village was in trouble. The fields had not yielded any healthy crops. The well had become contaminated, and only recently had the village physician declared it clean. That was his last act, as the next day they found him keeled over in the middle of the street. The pox had claimed him. Now there were fears it would spread, and the supply of medicine in the village was low. Gravely, they buried the physician and two strong men guarded the medicine chest, only distributing under the direction of the village head.

There was hope, however. Next month, Carter would visit the village. Who was Carter? No one knew anything about him, except that he was an extraordinarily wealthy merchant would pay in gold for goods. Where the man, or more importantly his riches, came from, nobody knew.

Not that anyone cared. Their only concern was that they find goods to sell, so they could buy the supplies they needed for the oncoming winter.

In the village square, everyone gathered to discuss their situation.

I have my mother's dresses!' one woman called. 'I can sell them for three gold pieces!'

'I have my scythe!' called a farmer who had been let down by this season's crops. 'I can sell it for four!'

'I have a jar of beetles!' yelled a small boy. 'I'll sell them for ten!'

'People, listen!' the village head cried, trying to keep things under control. 'Trinkets will not sell for enough gold, and we mustn't give up the tools of our trade!'

'Then what should we do?' demanded the village innkeeper. 'Offer Carter our blackened stalks or rotted vegetables? I don't see you offering anything, head. And you stand here in finer clothes and with a wider belly than anyone here!'

There was a noise of agreement from the crowd, and someone shouted, 'Strip him!'

The head glanced nervously behind him, and another man strode forward.

'Friends, do not take your anger out on him!' he cried. 'I have a proposal!'

The crowd quietened down and listened. The man's name was Beckett, and he was the orchard keeper. With his powerful build and booming voice, Beckett commanded respect from the other villagers. He had fared better than most during the crop failures, but the strain of the past few months was visible to everyone who saw him. Yet he still stood tall.

'My crop has had some results this year, but not enough to save us,' he said to the crowd. 'But if we pool together every scrap of food we can spare, every horseshoe, every piece of lumber, we can present a haul to Carter who will give us enough gold to see us through the winter.'

'But we'll starve if we give all our food!' the innkeeper called.

There was a murmur of agreement.

'I cannot demand you to give up your private stocks,' Beckett held out his hands. 'But we can do this if we do it as a village. Neighbour must help neighbour, and we will survive. And to the one who offers the most, I can provide a reward.'

The crowd's interest visibly sharpened.

'I will present to the one who provides the most,' cried Beckett, 'my daughter, Elise's, hand in marriage!'

There was a noise as everyone began talking at once eagerly.

'My daughter,' Beckett called, 'is only eleven years of age, but as anyone can see, she will grow to be a beauty. When she comes of age, she will be happily married to the one who contributes the most to save our village. Give your hauls to me, friends, and I will judge the winner!'

There was a roar of approval, and the crowd dispersed, talking excitedly.

At the back of the crowd, Callum was thinking.

No one had noticed him, which suited him fine. If they did, they were likely to sneer at him. Callum was shorter than all the other boys his age, and instead of the sandy blond hair the rest of the village boasted, Callum sported a head of messy light brown. So he was something of an oddity, and many jeered at him for his small build and hair which they took as a sign of low intelligence.

But Callum was deep in thought right now. He was thinking of what Beckett had said.

For the girls of the village, once they came of age, they were often married off and only then considered true village women.

However, the boys had a different rite of passage to adulthood.

Even when they came of age, they would not be considered men until their first successful hunt in the woods.

As it happened, last week was Callum's 18^th birthday and there had been snide comments on how he would likely never succeed in catching even a wood pigeon.

Callum had been furious and fantasized about striding back into the village with a whole herd of deer on his back and seeing everyone's faces. Or perhaps a wild boar, or even a wolf. He dreamed about the endless possibilities, but Beckett's announcement had made up his mind.

He would go into the woods and bring back game to sell. And Callum knew exactly what he would go after.

He would hunt a Beast.

The Beasts lived deep in the woods. Some claimed they were fairy tales, but the villagers knew better. The older ones had seen Beasts in their day. They walk like humans, the old ones said, but are savage animals.

No one in the village had seen a Beast for years, but stories of how they would invade in the dead of night and make off with livestock, food, and even people were used to terrify children sitting by the fire. Beasts were said to have fur, fangs, and vicious claws. Sometimes hunters used to go into the woods after them. More often than not, they would come back empty handed. But other times they wouldn't come back at all, and the depths of the woods became places of terror.

Only once had someone ever successfully hunted a Beast. Years ago, in another village a hunter had come back with the creature in his cart. He had sold it to a wealthy furrier and had received so much gold that he and his entire family were able to retire in luxury.

If that was how much a dead Beast fetched, Callum could only imagine how much a live one would sell for, especially to Carter.

He didn't care about marrying Elise, but with that kind of money, he'd be the hero of the village.

These thoughts swirling in his head, Callum hurried eagerly back to the butcher's.

The butchery was a small shop with a series of wooden sheds where hung ducks, poultry, beef, rabbits, fish, and all the other produce the butcher sold to the village.

It was also where Callum lived. Wallace, the butcher, had taken him in after his father had died when Callum was ten. Wallace was a large beefy man, who could probably provide more meat than all his stock put together. As soon as he had taken Callum in, he'd put him to work preparing the meat in his sheds from dawn until near midnight.

Callum found him carving a rabbit when he walked through the door.

'Where have you been?!' he roared, brandishing the bloody knife.

'At the meeting,' Callum replied, coming around the bench and picking up a knife.

Wallace grunted. 'Are we finished then?'

Callum told him what happened.

'Bunch of straw-brained fools,' Wallace grumbled. 'They'll starve while trying to win her hand. No guarantee she'll grow up pretty either.'

'Beckett thinks they have a chance,' Callum observed.

'He's spent too much time in the sun,' Wallace snorted 'No girl is worth starving for a season.'

They worked in silence for a while, Callum gutting a hare. Then he spoke up.

'I'm going into the woods.'

'What on earth for?' Wallace asked abruptly

'To find some game for the village.'

The butcher burst out laughing.

'Going to try and impress Beckett are you? A brace of hares won't do it, I'm afraid.'

'No,' Callum agreed. 'I'll go after a boar or a deer.'

He didn't mention what he actually planned to hunt, knowing how Wallace would react. He needed the butcher to agree to the next bit.

'I'll need your spear.'

Wallace shot him a glare.

'Why would I let you?' he growled.

'I need something to defend myself with,' Callum said hopefully. 'A carving knife won't be enough.'

Wallace was silent, thinking it over. Then he snorted.

'Very well, then,' he laughed. 'Take the spear you can hardly lift. You could use it as a walking stick. And when you've had enough messing about in the trees, get back here and help me. I'm not interested in the prize, but I suppose we'd better do our share in this contest.'

'Thanks' said Callum relieved, and ran off.

'Where do you think you're going?!' Wallace shouted

'To get ready,' Callum called back as he ran out the door.

Grumbling and shaking his head, Wallace turned back to the rabbits.

*

Callum was shaking with an excitement he hadn't felt since his father had given him his very own knife. He pulled it out now from under his bed in the corner of the tool shed. He'd need it tomorrow. Into a bundle, he packed a blanket, rope, food, flint, unlit torches, a water skin, and a small metal pot. He strapped his knife to his belt, then found the spear at the back of the shed. It was almost as tall as he was, and heavier than it looked. He leaned it against the wall by his bed. It was dusk now and Callum lay down, too excited to sleep at first. But drowsiness eventually overtook him, and he drifted off.

He awoke at dawn. Sneaking into the house, he had a breakfast of bread and cold meat. He made tea and drank it steaming, leaving some in the pot for Wallace.

Then he grabbed his pack and the spear and strode out into the early morning air.

There weren't many people around at this time, so Callum didn't encounter any trouble until he reached the edge of the houses.

'Going pigeon hunting, boy?' came a voice from the shadows of a house.

It was Merek, a local bully and the son of Beckett. He despised Callum more than most, and even though he was only a few months older, always called him 'boy'.

Callum ignored him and continued,

'I asked you a question, boy,' Merek said menacingly, emerging from the shadows. He was built like his father, over six feet tall. Callum was only five foot five but turned to face him defiantly.

'I'm hunting game for the village,' he said firmly.

'Going to come back with a duck, or perhaps a vicious rabbit?' Merek sneered. 'That's all you'll be able to snag.'

Callum tried walking off, but Merek wasn't finished.

'What are you hunting then? Or is that thing to spear fruits?'

Unable to take it anymore, Callum yelled back 'I'm going after a Beast!'

He then ran off, to the sound of Merek's guffaws. No-one else was about at this hour and Callum walked along the lane, the sound of Merek's laughter ringing in his ears. He ground his teeth in frustration.

Callum soon left the empty fields behind and began climbing the hill at the edge of the village land. At the top were a line of trees that marked the edge of the woods. When he reached the top, he stopped and looked back. The village was still in the shadow of the hill, despite the rising sun. It wouldn't have sunlight for hours. He thought he could just make out the sheds of the butchers and wondered if Wallace was up yet.

Then he turned, and after a deep breath, plunged into the woods.

*

Deep, cool green. All sound from the outside the woods seemed to be silenced the moment he entered. Callum found himself on a narrow path that wound its way through the silent trees. He peered ahead, trying to make things out in the gloom. The sun hadn't reached this spot yet, and Callum could hardly make out anything beyond the trees that clustered along the path. Readying his spear, he set off down the track. Callum had never been in the woods before, but he heard from those who had. Wild boars would sometimes attack people but could usually be heard well before they were seen.

Snakes were a problem as well. They were venomous and would attack if they were cornered. The worst thing was to take one by surprise. Once a hunter had accidentally fallen onto a nest and was bitten. It had taken him hours to die. But they were afraid of humans and would slither off if they sensed you coming.

The greatest danger were the wolves. They hunted in the woods and could move swiftly and silently. Even the smallest one was more than capable of killing a man. Never, the hunters said, stay in the woods after dark. That was the wolves' prowling time. They could track you by scent, while you were blind. They would pounce, killing you instantly, and you would never see it coming.

Callum kept these warnings in mind as he made his way slowly through the trees. He stuck to the path, but he knew if he wanted to find a Beast, he'd have to leave it eventually.

He recognized the tracks of a deer and once thought he heard the snuffling of a boar, but he continued, spear in hand.

The sun had fully risen by the time he stopped for a break. He sat down on a rock and ate some of the food he'd brought. The edge of the woods was far behind him now. He was still on the path, but it had become uneven and hard to follow.

If he was going off the trail, he thought, he had better do it now while he could still see it.

After licking the crumbs off his fingers, he drew his knife and made an X in the nearest tree. Then he picked up the spear and after a moment's hesitation, left the path, pushing his way through the undergrowth.

He regularly made more X's in the trees, always making sure he could see the last mark before making a new one. They would be his only lifeline if he got lost.

He was in an unknown part of the woods now, and was alert to every sound, every warning sign of possible danger.

After navigating through a particularly difficult stretch, Callum noticed tracks between the roots of a tree. It was wolves' tracks. He'd never seen a wolf before, but he recognized those prints from drawings. They looked big, and fresh too.

For a moment, Callum wondered if he should turn back. Then he shook his head. The thought of Merek's face if he turned back now was more than he could bear. As long as he headed in the other direction of the tracks, he should be fine.

Shouldering his pack, he carried on.

After a while, he heard the sound of a stream and realized how thirsty he was. He stopped for a moment and pulled out his waterskin. As he drank, there was a rustling in the leaves behind him.

He whipped around, fumbling with the spear. The leaves shook, and Callum raised the spear shaking. But it was only a rabbit, which hopped out of the undergrowth and stared up at Callum, quite unafraid. It then disappeared back into the bushes.

Callum gave a snort of disgust and turned away, when he heard another rustling some distance off.

He tried to peer through the undergrowth but could see nothing. The rustling continued and sounded larger than a rabbit. Lowering the spear, he began creeping silently in its direction.

To avoid making noise, he placed his feet carefully on rocks and roots, and kept the spear close to his body. Even so, he couldn't stop the occasional crunch of leaves. Every time that happened, he froze. But the rustling continued.

It grew louder and seemed to stay in one place. Was it a boar, or a deer maybe?

He saw a clearing ahead, from which the sounds seemed to be coming from. Silently, he crept up to the edge, spear lowered.

The clearing was small, a patch of long grass lined with bushes. The sun streamed in through the gap in the trees. On the opposite side were some bushes loaded with fruit. And crouching in front of them was...

Callum caught his breath.

At the edge of the clearing was a creature with bluish-black fur and long slender legs.

It was a Beast.

Callum stared as the Beast crouched in the front of the bush, pulling off fruits and biting into them.

It looked almost... human. Much more so than he was expecting. Hands with five fingers each were attached to arms, and two strong legs supported it. He could see the hands had claws at the tip of the fingers, however, and the feet were somewhat larger than a human's.

He had a strange feeling it was female. Its shoulders were broad, but slightly rounded. The black blue fur grew thick on the head, like hair, but was thinner on the back and grew in a narrowing line that ended at the line of the hips. The hips were wider than the waist, and from what he could see, the shoulders and sides of the torso were bare of fur.

Well, if it was a female, that would make it easier to capture. He tried sneaking forward, but he stepped on a bundle of dry twigs.

The crack echoed throughout the clearing.

The Beast turned its head, juice running down its chin, and stared at him. It was female, he could see that clearly now. There was no fur on the face or front of the neck, so he could see the strong line of the jaw. It growled suspiciously, watching him closely, hackles raised. There was no fur on the legs either, so Callum could see the powerful muscles ready to spring forward.

Callum gripped the spear tightly, his hands slippery with sweat. He had lost the element of surprise. His only choice was to attack.

With a shout he leapt forward, brandishing the spear.

The Beast rose. It was tall, far taller than he realized. It towered over him, over seven feet high, and he faltered. It grabbed the spear and shoved him back with incredible force. Callum flew through the air before landing heavily, bruising himself all over. The Beast bared its teeth.

So they do have fangs, Callum thought wildly. The fangs were long and looked more than strong enough to tear through flesh and bone with ease.

It gave a low growl, and the meaning could not be any clearer.

Back off.

For a second, Callum considered fleeing. The Beast was almost twice his size and had tearing fangs and claws.

But what were his chances he could find another one? If he could capture it here and now, he'd be a hero.

No, he wouldn't run. He would defeat it.

Gripping his spear firmly, Callum rose. Then without warning, he charged, spear extended. He aimed directly for the Beast's chest.

But the Beast once again grabbed the weapon before it even got close. Callum tried vainly to hold on, but it wrenched it from him with ease and threw it aside. It then grabbed him by the throat and lifted him kicking into the air, fangs set in a snarl.

In the midst of his panic, Callum saw that its eyes were human-like, except that the blue iris was much larger to the point that there was barely any white.

Then he saw a clawed fist hurtling towards his head, and everything went black.

*

Callum woke with a throbbing head and bruised throat. Wincing, he opened his eyes. He was at the edge of the forest. The sun was going down and he could see the village, bathed in golden light.

He looked around, trying to ignore his pounding head.

There was no sign of the Beast. His pack lay nearby, the contents scattered everywhere. In the grass beyond lay the spear, broken clean in two.

Groaning, he crawled over to his pack and gathered everything back up. Then he picked up both halves of the spear and, leaning painfully on the longer half, slowly began hobbling back to the village. He dreaded what was in store.

*

Wallace was not pleased to find his spear broken.

'My father gave me this for my first hunt,' he said quietly, cradling it. 'Over thirty years ago. It's the only family heirloom I have, and you come here telling me a wolf broke it?'

'I'm sorry,' said Callum sheepishly. 'I don't know how it happened.'

'HOW?!' roared Wallace. Callum flinched.

'Because you were reckless and foolish, boy! You should have waited to go with the next hunting party, but no! You just had to go on your own, and this happens! Don't you even think?'

Wallace drew a deep breath, his face red. Callum couldn't look him in the eye.