The Inner Beast

The inner Beast, part 2

Back into the forest we went, the dogs and I. My newfound friends already knew the girl's scent, so I let them do the tracking. With boundless energy, the bloodhounds threw themselves at the task, yipping and barking, urging me to hurry. I bade them be silent lest we startle our prey. They looked at me with disapproving yellow eyes but did shut up. If only all my servants of old had been as dedicated and loyal.

After a lengthy trek through the rain-soaked woods, we arrived at the banks of a pregnant whitewater river. Long ago, the waterway had given name to the village—now bustling trading town—of Whitebridge. There was no crossing the raging waters for one such as her, so we followed the trail upstream, dogs in the lead.

The canines found her huddling under a fallen silver birch. The spring floods had washed out the riverbank, exposing its roots, and a late winter storm had torn down the once-mighty tree. There was a lesson to be learned here if you were so Inclined. You're only as strong as your foundations, so don't build them on shaky ground. Or something along those lines.

"Hello there," I said, not bothering to stoop low enough to look underneath the trunk.

She did not reply.

"I know you're in there. We have your scent, the hounds, and I."

Still no reply.

"Be reasonable," I said, patience fraying like a rotten rope put under strain. "Or I'll have the dogs drag you out," I added. Not that I would. If I had to, I'd pull her out myself. Calloused hands against soft skin—now there was a thought not entirely unpleasant, but I had put such things behind me.

In the event, my patience was not further tested. She came out between broken boughs preceded by a foot of gleaming steel. A knight's dagger, made to pierce the gaps between plates and bore deep into the soft flesh beneath. The way she held it made me think she knew how to use it—and was willing to do so. A hidden beast, and now this? This girl was full of surprises.

"Stay away from me, beast," she said, voice firm but strained. From pain and exhaustion, or fear, I could not tell. She tried to move away, but between the river and the growling wolfhounds, there was nowhere to go, so she settled for keeping the tree at her back and pointing the blade at my ribs.

"Beast?" I replied, adding equal amounts of incredulity and disdain to my voice. "I'm not the one you should worry about. I'm trying to help you, not hurt you. You seem rather distraught," I continued, making my voice more mellow, and looked her over to underline my point.

What a mess the girl was. Covered in mud and grime from top to toe. Hair an unidentifiable shade of clay grey and red mud, with a dash of twigs and moss. The blade in her hand was quite literally the only clean bit. And her clothes... Gods have mercy. A dress cut or torn off at the calf, worn over trousers. A woman in trousers? What was the world coming to? 

She was tall, though. No amount of grime or fatigue could hide that. I so l liked the tall ones. Back when I thought of women as nothing more than pleasant diversions. Before her. Before life became purgatory.

"Fuck off, monster," she shouted but could not hide the fear and exhaustion in her voice. The blade did not waver, however. Tough girl, this. And foul-mouthed. The old me would have put her mouth to good use. But no longer.

My curiosity was piqued, but I didn't fancy having blades pointed at me or profanities thrown my way. But age—for surely it was not the sight of a mud-encrusted maiden that stilled my bloodlust—had made me soft. So, I didn't tear her disheveled head from her body but spread my clawed hands, indicating a willingness to avoid violence.

"Tell me, when you look at me, what do you see?" I said, barely loud enough to hear over the roar of the waters.

She hesitated.

"Please," I said, not really meaning it.

"Your eyes. They are those of a beast. And you have... horns... and claws."

"You are very perceptive. Not many can see my true form," I admitted. "If they did, they would become afraid and cry 'monster' or whatnot and try to kill me. And then I would have to defend myself, and people would die. But I don't want that. I want only to be left in peace, so I avoid the world of men if I can, and when I can't, I take steps to hide my true self."

"So you admit to being a monster?" Her eyes were big, unblinking, fixed on me. The hounds edged closer, penning in the dirty lass.

If only you knew half of it, I mused. "I am what I am," I said instead. "Man. Beast. Monster. These labels do not define me. I have done good. I have done bad. Sometimes I have done too much, and other times too little. But none of this is known to you, so you have no right to judge me."

"You're not fooling me. I know what you are," she shouted, voice cracking, blade trembling before she brought it back under control.

"I see. Let's hear it, then. What am I to you?"

"You're a tartar, a demon. A monster, a tempter. You're out to corrupt, to steal my soul. You've been watching me, haven't you? You seek to use my weakness to get inside my head, but I'll never give up my faith"

If I wanted her to give up anything, it wasn't her faith. But she was filthy, and I had forsworn the pleasures of the flash. "You give too much credit to the ramblings of priests," I countered, sounding bitter even to my own ears. "Besides, if I really was a demon, I would not be tartaruchi but Temeluchus." That part was too close to the truth to be comfortable. I really should shut up now.

"Leave me be, demon." 

This wasn't working out the way I had imagined it. Not sure what I had expected, really, but this sure wasn't it.

"Look, I know they are coming for you. Please, come with me. You'll be safe, I promise. Then we can continue this conversation when you're safe and dry." As if on cue, it started raining again. Great.

"Begone!" she shouted,  blade pointed at me still but now shaking as the cold and wet wormed its way into her flesh.

I should have left her then. Like she left me all those long, lonely years ago. If she didn't want my help, didn't want to live, who was I to deny her? What was she to me anyway? A runaway shifter that would be burned at the stake. Why should I care? I, who had put entire shires to the torch back in the day. I, who had lost the one thing that gave my eternal life meaning.

"No. I will stay," I said, much to my surprise, rising tall, throwing away my rags, revealing all seven feet of perfection. 

The girl gasped and pressed her back against the fallen tree. In the distance, I could hear hooves pounding and the chafing of armor plates. 

"It is true: I am a monster, the worst sort. But when I've seen off your pursuers, we shall speak of the beast that lives inside you."