There are dark grottoes in the high mountains. And tarns, deep
and cold, bottomless pits of murky water. And in some few
favored spots, dark grottoes and murky tarns together.
Such was the site at which Demo stood.
Here dwelt one whom even Olympians fear. This was the Demon's
Lair.
The village folk had long remembered legends. Hoary legends,
whispered around campfires during winter storm. Used to frighten
children to mind their manners. But only legends. Or so Demo had
long believed.
Something - no one spoke a name - there was. Or something there
had been. Something that preceded even the Titans, that ancient
race from whom the Olympians were descended.
The Titans, so the tales went, had not conquered it. Rather,
they had duped it, deceived it, and encaged it in bars not of
this world. Bars that, until now, had held. Bars that,
perchance, were weakening with the passage of eons.
Whispered conversations on earth, whispered conversations on
the pristine streets of Olympus, told of an ominous presence.
Not seen, nor heard - still dread of this unknown creature
stalked the night as might stalk even the creature itself.
Idle chatter of fearful children? Old wives tales from the back
woods? Or something else, something evil. Something so powerful
that even the gates of Olympus stood not against it.
No one knew.
And that was why Demo stood at the gate to the demon's lair.
Zeus would know what manner of creature was there imprisoned.
Zeus would know what manner of prison held such a creature in
throe.
Who better to send than Demo? If he succeeded, another task
marked off. If he failed, one less concern as Athena chose
another.
Demo gazed into the still water of the tarn, touched its
surface with his hand. He gasped at the chilling cold that
seized his entire arm.
Was this then the tarn of which he had been forewarned? Would
here the strange tie between himself and the unseen companion be
severed - or brought to its inevitable conclusion?
It seemed fitting!
No drearier spot had he seen. No gloomier grotto existed in
these mountains. If doom hung over his head, it could not choose
a place more suitable than this!
He resigned himself to the inevitable!
The sun slipped swiftly behind the western peaks, and cool
night breezes stirred the leaves. Swallows swooped in the
darkening sky, and night creatures called one to another as day
ended.
Come morning and he would search further. For now, a fire,
food, and a night's rest.
The flames reflected from the precipice's base, their warmth
welcomed as cool night crept in. Beyond the fire light
nightsounds rose and fell, now near, now far.
He added wood to the fire, wrapped himself in his Eddie Bauer
mummy bag. Ah, how pleasant to sleep after a long day's journey.
It was a sleep beleaguered by dreams. Dreams of he who dwelled
in the deep tarn. In the dreams the creature came forth, looked
down on the sleeping youth. It's eyes were cold, held deadly
enmity.
Yet, it did not strike. Motionless it observed him, turned, and
descended once more into the frigid waters.
Morning came early. Demo sat up, wide-eyed. From the tarn's
brink to his resting place he saw footprints. A great weight had
pressed them, even into the dryer ground. They turned back, led
once more to the tarn.
Demo closed his eyes, breathed deeply. What manner of creature,
and why had it turned away, doing him no harm? The footprints,
though huge, seemed hardly those of some monstrous being capable
of frightening even the Lords of Olympus.
Demo stirred the ashes to reveal hot colds beneath, fed twigs
and breathed gently on them to kindle a fire. As he placed
larger branches on the flames he heard behind him the sound of
measured footsteps.
With a start he turned.
The man looking down at him loomed tall and ominous. He showed
no emotion. Rather, his face was calm, nor did his demeanor
suggest threat. Slowly Demo rose, glanced toward his bow and
quiver.
The man smiled.
"It would avail thee not. Rest easy. I mean you no harm. You,
in turn, may be of aid to me. Why am I here, summoned from an
age yet to be, a world far removed? Did you summon me? I think
not. You are only a child! What can you tell me of this place,
and of that one who stole from the cold waters in the dark of
night?"
"Who are you? You were summoned? How so? From an age yet to be,
a world far removed? I understand not your words. Still, if you
were summoned I can think only that it was the work of Zeus. No,
perhaps not. Athena may have brought you here to provide succor
for me on this strange sojourn."
The tall man squatted before the fire, warmed his outstretched
hands. "Strange names, these. Zeus? Athena? I know them not. And
how might I, Beowulf, provide succor to one such as you, when I
seem unable to even help myself. I sit here, lost, knowing
neither north nor south, east nor west."
He spoke quietly, calmly. For all the strangeness of these
proceedings, his face showed no fear, his eyes reflected only
constant vigil.
"I can tell you why I am here. Zeus sent me to find what
creature is imprisoned beneath these waters, and what manner of
prison it be. It is plain, from your words; and from the prints
upon the shore, it is imprisoned no more."
Beowulf responded musingly. "I walked 'neath moonlight across
the moors, alone. The sound of wings, and huge white owl flew
by. And then the moors were gone, moonlight faded, and I stand
upon this forsaken shore of some strange pond. I feel overcoming
me a dread that once before I felt, only once before. And that
when I fought 'neath murky waters with the mother of Grendl. Is
there no end? Have I come here once more to meet a fiend in
mortal combat? And each more powerful than that which went
before?"
Demo eyes lit up. "It was Athena. She knew of you, though you
had never been. And if she has brought you here, it is with good
cause. Grendl, and the mother of Grendl. Who, or what, are these
of which you speak?"
"Fiends, creatures of night and corruption, that prey on good
folk, weak and helpless. Alone I have met them, and that in
their own lair, and brought upon them such destruction as they
had sown. Monstrous though they were, yet did I feel not dread
as I feel in this dark cove. What manner of creature dwells in
yonder tarn. In my mind my thoughts are dark, and Wyrd himself
peoples them."
"Wyrd? I know of Zeus, of Pluto, and of others of like ilk. I
know not Wyrd."
For a moment Beowulf sat silent, eyes on the ground before him.
"Wyrd is he who awaits us. Before all, he was. When all has
faded and passed on, he will be. Though I fear him, I shall not
bow to his power. Strangely, I believe he dwells here. I know
not why."
Demo spoke now, glancing at the tarn in apprehension. "Legends
have it that, before the Titans ruled, another walked this
world, held it in a grasp of iron. Then the Titans beguiled him
in some strange manner, and with fetters formed of dreams
entangled him. After that, that he might never again escape they
locked him away in caverns far beneath Tartarus' depths."
He gazed at Beowulf, back at the tarn.
"It is said he once more walks the earth, and he is not a
stranger even to the streets of Olympus. Nameless among us,
perhaps Wyrd is the name he bears."
Beowulf took from its sheath his sword. Light reflected from
its surface in strange patterns, and the sword's edge seemed
alive and moving in the sun's rays.
"I grow old. Yet, it seems, there is one more toil, one battle
more. Well, so be it. Every man dies. But it is given to some to
live and die for a cause. For a cause that makes their having
lived worthwhile. Boy, I will stand beside thee. Against this
one none has ever prevailed. How will fare a boy, and an old
man?"
He laughed. "Well, well, until I came none had prevailed
against Grendl. Nor against Grendl's mother. Be of good cheer.
We shall do what flesh and blood can do. And if that be not
enough, then surely we shall die as men, sword in hand!"
The day passed swiftly, and shadows were lengthening. Demo
built a fire, warmed the food his mother had hastily packed.
Beowulf ate of dried meat he carried.
"Your friend, I think, will return once more this night. Sleep
by your fire. I shall rest against the trunk of that oak, and
when he comes I will greet him. If your Zeus be powerful, pray
unto him, for this night one walks the earth as evil incarnate.
And of us three, I fear none shall view a rising sun."
Beowulf rose, walked to the tall oak, sat at its base. He lay
the naked sword across his lap, closed his eyes. Whatever dread
he felt, it showed not in his demeanor or action. Though he
slept Demo knew no sound or motion would escape his attention.
It was the sleep of one ever alert, ready for the life and death
struggle that might lie ahead.
A fog rose from the cold surface of the tarn, and driven by a
light breeze, drifted onto the shore. Demo huddled close to the
fire, eyes watching anxiously that fog-shrouded tarn, the
mist-shrouded trees. His hand clutched his bow, and an arrow lay
beside him, ready to be notched.
With sunset the grotto lost all semblance of light. Vague winds
rustled tree limbs, calls of night birds sounded, and other
sounds. Sounds that brought quick apprehension to his mind. And
then they faded - then returned once more.
Suddenly Demo sat up!
He had fallen asleep. A noise, a movement? Something had surely
wakened him.
The crescent moon had risen, and in its light the trees and
bushes cast soft shadows.
Quickly he glanced toward the huge oak.
Beowulf was gone!
Slowly he turned his eyes toward the tarn.
It was there!
Moving toward him with deliberate stride, dark except where the
moonlight reflected from its eyes.
Quickly he notched his arrow, drew the bow.
Nearer it came, and nearer. It seemed nearly upon him when he
loosed his arrow. It struck the creature full in the chest,
dropped harmlessly to the ground.
"Athena, farewell!"
The creature's claws touched his arm, cutting effortlessly
through cloth and through flesh.
"Face me, worm of death. I've traveled through space and time
to challenge you, and you return to your lair only through me."
The creature rose, loosed the boy. It turned to face Beowulf.
Throughout the forest the scream of anger sounded!
It charged the waiting swordsman.
Claws extended, fangs bared, it leaped with fury on its foe.
Quickly they were joined by sound of blows, the whistle of
Beowulf's blade in air. With every motion the sword gleamed with
a strange and changing light. Now a deep and glowing red. Then a
green that seemed to flow its length, changing to sunlight
yellow. And all besmeared with the blood of Wyrd!
Blood flowed, both red and green!
Beowulf fell before the onslaught, rose again.
Demo watched, transfixed. Even in the horror of nightmare was
not seen such fearsome battle!
Wounded both and bleeding, and still the battle continued!
The moon dropped from view, and the gentle stars looked down on
the frenzied struggle.
In despair Demo saw Beowulf fall, his sword dropping from his
hand.
Demo lunged forward quickly, was struck down as quickly. He
felt a bump rising on his head where the blow had landed. He
crawled forward, fell, lay still. The creature turned once more
to Beowulf, its blood-drenched claws extended.
From the tree tops the white object plummeted, opened wide its
wings and flew into the face of the fiend. Startled, the monster
fell, rolled over and quickly slipped into the frigid waters of
the tarn.
Athena stood beside Demo. Their eyes looked in sorrow at the
prostrate body of Beowulf.
Even as they moved forward to help him he sat up, his hand
searching for and seizing the hilt of his sword. Without a word
he stood, shook his head, staggered to the brink of the tarn.
Sword clutched in hand, a look of resignation on his face, he
dove into the Demon's Lair!
For a brief moment the water was still, not even a breeze
disturbing its surface.
Without warning it erupted!
A huge shape rended its surface, fell back with a scream of
anger! The green blood blended with the dark water of the tarn.
For hours the battle continued. The once calm tarn was now an
ocean of waves and froth, and thunder sound above it. From
beneath those waters rumbles of anger rose. Sulfurous fumes
lifted from its surface, killed the trees bordering the dark
waters.
Then nought but silence!
Athena's voice was sad. "He will drive Wyrd once more into
those bonds that have so long endured. For all his heroism, for
all his strength, Beowulf cannot survive the conflict, and even
I cannot save him." She gazed, sad-eyed, at the fateful tarn.
"Yet, he shall return at last in another time, another place.
Indeed he will one day slay the Grendl, the Grendl's mother -
archfiends of another era."
Her eyes were turned to the heavens, seemed to look beyond the
visible.
"Beyond that, the day will come when the fire dragon itself
shall fall to his sword. Only then shall Wyrd have him, as Wyrd
must have us all."
"Come, Zeus waits."
"Wyrd. Yes, yes, the Worm of Death. But, even the Titans knew
it only as a legend. Well, never mind. It is once more returned
to its lair, once more imprisoned."
Zeus seemed to have other thoughts on his mind.
"How did you manage, my boy. No, no, I don't have time! Golf
tournament this afternoon. Poseidon has won the last two. Still,
the score is getting closer. Oh, would you care to caddy. No, I
suppose you are a little tired. Good night, my son."
"Good night, my son."
Demo looked up at his mother, rolled over and pulled the
blankets close. Such strange dreams.
His fingers gingerly rubbed the lump on his head.
Theresa entered the room timidly, eyes downcast.
"Is Demo home. I need to talk to him."
Metaneira's eyes held a question? "He's out back with Rough. Is
something wrong?"
"I . . . I like Demo. I really wouldn't hurt him for the world.
I am sorry, I . . . . Please, I can't marry him. Metaneira, I am
sorry. There is another. Oh, what can I say, what shall I do!"
"Theresa, don't cry. Perhaps all will work out for the best.
But, yes, you should tell him. He is a brave lad. I'm sure he
will take it like a man. Why don't you wipe your eyes, then go
out back and talk to him. Be brave, girl!"
As Theresa went out the back door Metaneira looked up, shook
her fist. "Athena, you are a conniver. Who have you sent to poor
Theresa? I should have known. Oh, well, you may make a
delightful daughter-in-law."
She shook her head, looked out the back door.
Theresa and Demo were standing quietly, his arms around her.
"It's all right, little sister. You see, I think it's always
been this way. I've always felt toward you like a big brother. I
don't think I could really have been anything else." Demo spoke
quietly.
He liked Theresa, always had. Not as a lover. No, more as the
little girl next door than as an attractive and mature young
lady. Even now he could not see her other than as the little
girl.
"Who is he, Theresa? Are you sure?"
"You know him. Randy. He is so strange and wonderful and I knew
when we first met."
He smiled, placing his hand under her chin he lifted it up. "If
he ever mistreats you, you let me know. And tell him big brother
will beat him to a pulp if he isn't nice to you. Understand?"
She half sobbed, half laughed.
"Yes, big brother."
She hugged him, her arms around his neck, then kissed him on
the lips, pressing against him. For a moment they stood thus.
"You know, big brother, I think I could have made you love me -
another way. I'm very glad I didn't. I'll always need a big
brother."
"I'll be here."