The Beast of Finger Wood - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The group was awoken by a banging at the house’s door. Sparrow leapt out of the chair she had slept in, and opened it as Graeme and Annette emerged from their rooms.

A man, obviously out of breath from running, stood outside, one hand against the wall to support himself. He drew a deep breath, and said, “Come quickly. The monster has claimed two more victims.”

Sparrow glanced back at Graeme, who had approached the door behind her. He gave a nod, and started heading back to his room. “Catch your breath,” said Sparrow, “We’ll arm ourselves and follow you.”

The mounted their horses (Sparrow flew, and the man rode with Annette), and the man – James, one of the Mayor’s aides – guided them to the north-west, through some of the woodland. “The men were hunters, returning from a several day hunt for rare pelts,” James explained as they rode. He sat on Annette’s horse, behind her, obviously happy to be riding rather than walking.

“Their… Screams alerted a trapper who was checking his snares. He says he saw the beast heading off, and found blood and a few body parts strewn around. The Mayor was summoned, and he sent me to fetch you.”

“Does the trapper remember which way the monster went?” asked Annette.

“Yes. It’s pretty clear, though. It left a bloody trail this time, leading off into the woods,” replied James.

“Did he get a good look at it?” asked Graeme, loudly.

“Yes,” said James. “He can describe what he saw better than I, however.”

As they drew close, Graeme looked about the site of the grisly deed. In the middle of the carnage lay a pile of furs, two poles the hunters had used to carry them poking out from underneath. Streaks of blood and scraps of flesh and clothing were all over the ground, and on the trees nearby. An arm lay off to one side, blood pooled about it, and a random piece of flesh seemed to have been dropped further away from the scene, a little off into the woods. Two men – the Mayor, and a man dressed in trapper gear – stood a fair distance away from the gore.
    Graeme and Annette dismounted, and Sparrow dropped in from above. They approached the mayor, who was waving at them, and eagerly calling them over. “Graeme! Ladies! Thank you for bringing them so quickly, James,” said the Mayor. “I’ve sent Edwin off to fetch the crossbows and any who are brave enough to assist with more.”
    “I hope some find the bravery,” said Graeme. He pointed at the arm, lying on the ground. “From the teeth marks, it’s a big one. Are you the witness?”
    “Yes sir knight, I am,” said the trapper. “I saw it heading off into the woods that way.” The trapper pointed in the direction of the foot. “It was huge, sir, incredibly huge. The height of a man and a half, it was, and about two men’s height wide.”
    “Describe what you saw of it exactly, please,” said Graeme.
    “Alright, so, then, it had this blobby bit in the middle – I only ever saw the back of it, so. And there were four legs, about as thick as my arm but longer, and it was walking along on them real fast away from me, all-a-dribbling blood down from its front. If what I heard was true, sir, then the beast was dribbling blood from its mouth where it ate the poor sods it caught sir!”
    “You don’t have to call me sir, good man. How big was the head?”
    The trapper stretched out his right arm, and said, “From the left of my body to the tip of my hand, s-hem.”

“A big one, then. Do we know who the victims were?”

“I’m not sure,” replied the Mayor. “I know of several parties it could be, but without the bodies – there is no way to tell. We will simply have to wait and see who does not return home.”

Annette frowned, and said, “That’s terrible.”
    “That’s why we hunt and kill these things, Annette,” replied Graeme.

The group checked over the area as they waited for the crossbows – and hopefully some brave villagers to carry some more. To Graeme’s eyes, it seemed as the trapper had said – a bloody, somewhat patchy trail led off into the distance. The blood and small chunks everywhere didn’t tell Graeme much beyond that the beast was dangerous; although he took a guess at its size based upon the teeth and footprints.

“It’ll have its head just over my height most of the time,” Graeme said to Sparrow and Annette, “But when it’s moving it’ll stretch up higher. The mouth is big enough to bite you in two, so don’t let it get you. It should be slowed up by your and my armour, Annette, but it will more than likely pierce it enough to kill.

“It can probably jump about its height again, so be careful if you drop in close, Sparrow.”

“Why was its mouth dripping?” asked Sparrow. “It does have a stomach, right?”

“I’m hoping it was full,” replied Graeme. “There’s an alternative that might happen, which is the reason we have the jars of oil in our gear.”
    “Spit it out,” said Sparrow.

Graeme sighed, and said, “It might have young. If it does, we might have a lot of trouble killing them if they’ve grown much. I’m hoping we can torch its lair, or torch the young at least. There’s a decent chance for two reasons – the food, and the size – the size means it’s a mature one.”

“We’re going to kill babies?” asked Annette.

“Maybe, and baby monsters that reach deadly size in about six weeks. Midevors grow up fast, but don’t reach breeding age for fifty odd years – nor full size for a hundred, although that’s not much bigger than the one we are hunting.”
    “Is there a father?” asked Sparrow. “Because a second one surprising us would tear us all to shreds.”

“No,” replied Graeme. “They do not mate; and tend not to congregate in groups. They tend to avoid each other, thankfully, though they do not fight each other unless hungry.”

“You’re like a walking monster-pedia,” said Sparrow.

Graeme fixed Sparrow with an unamused stare. “I’ve been doing this for years, and have knowledge from personal experience as well as from that of friends and books. I would suggest reading Hullman’s ‘Untameable Dangerous Monstrosities’, and Not’s ‘Wild Beasts’ for starters. Annette is working her way through them, slowly, but you can borrow them.”

“You need to take idle jokes better,” said Sparrow.

Graeme sighed. “Perhaps in a tavern. But this is not really the time.”

“It is downtime though, we’re just sitting around waiting for the crossbows. Although, I should probably get in the air and see if I can see where it was heading at all,” said Sparrow, “Although there’s not much of a chance.”

Annette smirked, and said, “That’s probably a good idea, it’ll give Graeme a chance to lighten up, and you a chance to get a bit more serious.”

Sparrow raised her eyebrows, and took to the air. “Perhaps simply ignoring her humour and taking it seriously it pointless,” said Graeme.

“Just a little,” said Annette, showing how little with her fingers.

Up in the air, slightly above the trees, Sparrow couldn’t see much. The trees were sparse enough to see the ground, in most places, but Sparrow couldn’t see the light blood trail from up above, nor enough of the grass to spot tracks.

With a small frown, she went higher, and took in a view of the whole area. They had travelled from their base out north-west for a few minutes, getting them mostly west, and a little north of the village. Sparrow could see the village itself, a collection of fifty or so buildings providing shelter for the town’s population of three hundred odd people.

In all directions, the Finger Wood covered the land. Sparrow could see a couple of other villages, far off in the distance to the south, west and east. To the north, however, there was only the Wood, with perhaps a couple of cottages her powerful eyesight could pick out.

“Nothing that looks like a monster’s lair,” Sparrow muttered to herself. “Too bad. I guess it’ll be tracking on the ground all day, until we get lucky.”

Sparrow swirled around in the air, keeping an eye on the ground for the arrival of the crossbows. I hope they bring extra men, thought Sparrow, I known Graeme’s up for fighting the beast, however strong and powerful it is, but it’s sounding very dangerous – not suicidal, at least, but very dangerous.

Sparrow swooped low over the trees, exhilarating herself with aerial acrobatics. Nice way to wake up from an interrupted rest. She put her hand on her sword’s pommel. Hope I don’t have to drop down and use it. Far better to shoot from the air than get anywhere near it.

She spotted a group of people approaching where Graeme and Annette were, and flew over them to take a look. They had the crossbows, so Sparrow turned around and headed back. As she went, she thought, I wonder if I get more of the reward if one of them dies… Now I feel bad.

Sparrow landed in front of Graeme with a swoosh, and said, “The crossbows are nearly here.”
    “They didn’t try and take pot shots at you?” asked Graeme.

“Uh, luckily not,” said Sparrow. “They know I’m here and helping, right? They don’t shoot anything they see in the air that’s not a bird or something crazy like that?” Sparrow looked to the Mayor, who had joined the group.

“No, the people men of the village are not violent, bloodthirsty, panicky killers. We have several local legends that advise us of the wisdom of asking questions first, and killing later, if necessary. The fable of the image-taker, for example,” the Mayor said.

“The image-taker?” asked Annette.

“Perhaps I shall tell it as we track the beast,” replied the Mayor, “For I intend to accompany you in the hunt for this beast. But Edwin has returned to us, with bows and men!” The mayor raised his hand, and waved at the approaching villagers. There were six of them, five carrying two crossbows apiece, the last carrying only the excess bolts.

The groups joined together, and everyone – except Sparrow, who had her bow – took a crossbow and some bolts. The Mayor, James, Edwin, the five villagers (who were mostly hunters), Sparrow and Annette stood and listened as Graeme explained his plan; the trapper headed off to finish checking his snares.

“We should be able to track it – the tracks are fresh and there is a trail of blood as well,” said Graeme. “When we find its lair – likely a cave of some kind – I will draw it out with noise. Then we shoot it, and attempt to avoid getting to close to it. Annette and myself will try to lure it by staying close; once we engage it in melee stop firing until we fall, unless you are certain you will make the shot.

“Aim for its back, underbelly and inside the mouth – the front is harder to pierce, and the eyes are not what they seem. If it approaches you, run – Annette or myself should be able to get its attention, or at worst, Sparrow can”

Sparrow felt a twinge of fear at the idea of dropping in behind such a beast to taunt it, and swallowed to calm herself. “If Annette or myself are slain, flee, the other of us shall fight until you have retreated and then attempt to flee themselves.” Graeme paused for a second. “That is all. Good luck – and be prepared for it to ambush us as we draw near its lair. Sparrow, stay in the air and watch out for it – we may not spot it on the ground, but it is unlikely to be able to hide itself from you. Let’s go.”
    As the group started to head off, Graeme called out to Sparrow before she took off. After she approached, he said to her, “It’s going to ambush us – there’s no doubt about it. It has an incredible sense of smell, and will smell us coming on the ground. You’ll be in the air, though, so it won’t smell you; and even if it spots you it likely won’t be able to hide itself effectively. When you see it, swoop overhead and yell the direction it’s in – we’ll ready ourselves on the ground to get it when it believes it has the advantage of surprise.”

“Alright,” said Sparrow. “Good luck.”

“Sharp eyes,” replied Graeme, as Sparrow took to the air.

As the party on the ground walked along, following the trail the Midevor had left in its wake, the Mayor began telling the tale of the image taker.

“A long time ago, in a village near here, when the Finger Wood was not the Finger Wood, but a larger, darker and more terrible place, there was a young man. This was in the days just before the nascent duchies formed the old kingdom, in the earliest glory days of the knights when orders were forming and almost all dreamed of knighthood and great adventure. And like almost all, such did this young man dream.

“He saved the village – not once, but thrice – from beasts and demons, before setting out to make his mark upon the world. On his first, and only, adventure he came upon a town (to the south, outside of the forest) beset by an evil magician’s warped servants.

“He fought the fell creatures, and slew them all. Eventually, he fought his way into the magician’s home and slew the magician himself, at which all of the creatures the magician had created fell down dead. The man was the hero of the town and was invited to knighthood – but decided to return home and marry his love before accepting knighthood; for seeing death had made him value life.

“He returned to a hero’s welcome in the village, as was right. Unbeknownst to him, however, the wife of the magician had followed him, plotting her wicked vengeance. On the day before their wedding, she kidnapped the man’s beloved. For days, they were unsure who had taken her; but then a creature – just like those of the magician – approached the town, wailing.

“Upon seeing this, the man realised that the magician – or some kin of his – lived still, and had taken his bride-to-be. So he slew the creature immediately, and told the town of what they were; twisted horrors summoned from elsewhere to serve the magician he had killed. They blamed him, rightfully, for bringing this horror upon them.

“For weeks, the villagers slew the creatures as they approached, and grew worried as the hero searched for their source. A great fog and wetness fell over the village, and as such, the villagers were forced to bury the creatures in a pit in lieu of burning them. During those weeks, no traders, no merchants, no visitors came to the village; they were cut off from the outside world.

“Eventually, the hero came upon a cottage in the woods, inside which he found evidence of magic – similar to that of the magician. He hid inside, and waited until the source of the creatures returned. After many hours, a woman – an incredibly beautiful enchantress – entered, and he surprised her. With a push, he threw her to the ground, his sword at her throat.

“’Die, witch!’ he yelled, ‘The terror of you and your minions is at an end!’

“The witch laughed wildly. ‘They are not my minions,’ she said, ‘for I am an illusionist, not a summoner. They are those who have tried to come to your village in peace, whose image I took and replaced with a horror. You are fools! I did not even remove their ability to speak, yet you killed without question!’

“The hero stabbed her throat with an angry roar, but as the blade slid into her flesh, she disappeared. ‘Of course, I have more than one trick up my sleeve. But my vengeance has long since been complete; and this has grown boring. So I shall undo my illusions, and leave you knowing this – the first to be slain was your beloved.’

“’You lie!’ yelled the hero, but he could not find the witch. He ransacked the cottage, and eventually headed back to the village. When he arrived, all was silent bar some crying. He found the villagers around the pit, looking at the dead within. Merchants, traders, wanderers – all killed without question. The hero dug through the pit, searching for his beloved – and he found her, at the bottom, beneath all the rest.

“He cried for two weeks, and would later be knighted and go on to have further adventures – but he never loved again.”

“That’s a pretty good story,” said Annette. “At least for teaching people to ask first, instead of shooting things.”

The Mayor smiled. “It is. My father told me that version. There are several others, including ones where the witch has placed her image over the hero’s beloved, and he kills her himself; and versions where the hero triumphs or actually asks before striking after realising something is amiss.”

“Don’t shoot the stranger, even if they appear monstrous. A good idea,” said Graeme, “I think all the best stories have those woven into them.”

“Indeed,” said the Mayor. “I know many, as I act as the village elder as well as mayor; telling stories of the past. It keeps the community strong. But now, I think we should return to the task at hand, instead of allowing the hunters to lead us.”

As the Mayor, Graeme, James, Annette, the villager who was not a hunter and Edwin walked quickly to catch up with the hunters, Edwin said to Annette, “He tells a good story, doesn’t he?”

“He does,” said Annette.

High above, Sparrow kept a watchful eye on the party, and all directions around them. The path the creature had taken was strange – it seemed to slowly curve to the west, as they followed it mostly north. She wondered if it was deliberate, or if it was just some due to some strange quality of the creature.

It had been uneventful so far – on the ground, it seemed that the hunters were tracking the beast, while the rest listened to the mayor speak about something. Probably telling that story, thought Sparrow. Hope it’s not a good story. I guess I can just get someone to tell it to me later. Hmh, silly curiousity.

    The creature smelt them as they approached its lair. Ten of them, four villagers who hunted, and four who hid in the town, with the knight and the… almost knight. It recognised that Annette was not truly a knight, yet, but that she was armoured as such. Perhaps it smelt her age; or somehow, her inexperience.
    It was curious about where the strange smell was, but perhaps it had remained in the village. It knew they would find its lair, and kill its young, so it resolved to fight them. It skittered into some bushes just off the path it had taken, and waited, ready to burst forth and tear through them.
    In its mind, it saw the battle. It would kill the knight and almost knight last, as they were tough; first the villagers would die.
   
    Sparrow was keeping an eye out on a circle a fair distance out from the party for the most part, checking inside it only rarely. She occasionally checked closer, just in case it had quickly bolted through where she was looking, but from what Graeme had said she expected it to attempt to stealthily get close, before striking.
    It can’t be that much further, she thought, otherwise it’d be a ridiculous hike to and from the village each time. I hope they haven’t gotten themselves lost or something stupid. She briefly considered dropping down to check how they were going, when she realised something.
    If I was going to ambush and I could sense them coming from miles away, I wouldn’t sneak in close to them. I’d wait for them to come to me. And it obviously knows which way we’ll be going, which means it could be really well hidden. Bloody Graeme, how the hell can I spot it if it’s already hidden. Sparrow huffed in midair.
    She started looking carefully at nearby places she thought would be good hiding spots, when – in some bushes, directly west of the party, right in the direction they were heading – she saw it. Well fuck.

    The creature could smell the odd smell, now, and had realised what it was. They flew above and saw what those on the ground could not. Its ancestor had fled from a group of such, long ago. It suspected it had been seen, but still it waited.

    Graeme was busy relating one of his favourite jokes – a duke, a landless knight, and a shape-shifting horror walk into a tavern (bartender says “we don’t serve scum like you here” and the horror goes to leave, but then the bartender says “no, not you” then the knight goes to leave, then the bartender says ‘you’ and points to the duke) – when Sparrow swooped overhead, yelling “Right ahead! In the bushes already!”
    “Crossbows ready! Annette with me!” yelled Graeme, running forwards. He slapped his horse to get it moving out of the way, as did Annette and James.
    The villagers looked at each other, slightly confused, but quickly pulled back their crossbows. As Annette and Graeme ran towards the bushes, the beast sprung out with a terrifying screech.
    “Shoot it!” yelled Graeme, levelling his crossbow at the beast.