Page 53 of Beholden
With several last swift strokes, he guided his boat into shallow water, letting the bottom scrape against the rocks lining the shore. When it stuck, he lifted his face skyward and howled like a wounded animal. His face was so overgrown with his matted beard and scraggly hair that his features were indistinguishable. As the guttural cry filled the air, foam dribbled from his open mouth onto his beard.
What had this poor soul been like before he’d turned into a madman? At one time, had he lived a normal life with a wife and perhaps a wee babe? Maybe he’d been a kind and giving neighbor with friends and family. Maybe he’d been a farmer or fisherman or tradesman who earned an honest living. Maybe he’d lived a humble and simple life, never daring to hurt a single soul.
What had happened to turn him into a monster?
With shaking hands, he climbed from his boat and into the lake where he stood ankle deep. He retrieved a double-headed axe from the boat as well as several other frightening weapons I couldn’t name. Then he sloshed through the water toward land.
His long shadow fell across the grassy embankment, and he tossed what appeared to be a knife. The blade sliced into the closest sheep, causing it to jump to its feet and squeal in pain. The others around it, sensing the turmoil, rose in confusion and started to run, bleating at one another.
I trembled. When would he notice me? And would he impale me with a weapon like he had the sheep, weakening me before approaching to finish me off?
He stumbled farther up the shore and released another scream with more foaming.
Again, I couldn’t keep from thinking about his former life, about the man he’d once been. And my father’s words sifted into my conscience:“Kindness can form the bridge that helps a person cross from pain to peace.”
Had anyone ever shown Grendel kindness? Would such kindness serve as the balm to cover past wounds, or was he too far removed to ever heal and return to a normal life?
From the corner of my vision, I caught a movement along the edge of the arena. The stealthy movement of a man creeping forward, weapons out and poised to kill. The strong, sturdy form and broad shoulders belonged to none other than Vilmar.
My heart stuttered in protest of his being anywhere nearby. Even though I knew I needed his help to kill Grendel, a part of me had hoped the queen would find a way to detain him and keep him from fighting. But I should have known nothing would hold him back. He was a man of honor and valor and determination. Only death itself would stop him.
“No,” I whispered, fear for him rushing in to replace all rational thoughts. Now that he was here, I didn’t want him to face mortal danger. He was more important than even my own life, and I would gladly suffer and die at the hands of Grendel if I could save Vilmar.
Frantically, I glanced around, searching for a way to keep Grendel from noticing Vilmar.
Grendel rushed with almost superhuman speed into the midst of the sheepfold. With a terrifying roar, he slashed and hacked at the animals, killing them all in mere seconds. From the sacrifices of years past, I knew Grendel’s slaughter would soon be over. If there was anything positive about the occasion, it was that the onlookers wouldn’t be subjected to the bloodbath for long.
From Vilmar’s position, he appeared to be approaching Grendel from behind. Was he hoping to sneak up on him undetected?
It would never work. The grassy area was too wide open without any places for him to hide. If he had any hope of surviving, I would need to draw Grendel’s attention.
What could I do to lure him near? Dare I toss my knife and hope to hit him?
As soon as the thought came, I again pictured Grendel as a man like Vilmar, a man with hopes and dreams for a better life, a man with honor and goodness, a man with family who mourned this beast he’d become.
Vilmar crept cautiously away from the stone wall, crouching low but with a nimbleness that spoke of years of training. I had no doubt he was a fierce warrior, a man who could slay countless in battle. But could he really prevail over Grendel as he claimed?
My body tensed as Vilmar came farther into the arena out of the shadows.
Grendel lifted his axe to his mouth and licked the blood now coating it. He sniffed the air before growling and lurching toward the goats. He took one step, then two before he stalled and stiffened, almost as if he sensed Vilmar’s presence.
“Leave!” I wanted to shout. “Run away!” But Vilmar would never listen to me, would never leave. I had to distract Grendel and give Vilmar more time.
I opened my mouth to shout at the monster, but another of my father’s admonitions wrestled for my attention:“Slay your enemies with the greatest weapon of all: kindness.”
Instead of angry words falling from my lips, a familiar psalm came out. It was one I’d sung many times, one that had soothed the thrashing of the fever-ridden or those recovering from an amputation. While I sang it to others, the words and melody oft comforted me.
Now, as the sweet psalm filled the air, I prayed the words would do that again, bring me comfort in my last moments.
At the first notes, Grendel turned his face my direction and sniffed the air once more, this time taking note of my presence in the arena. With the bear head perched above him, I could almost believe the beast was still alive, that its dark eyes were staring straight at me, and that the menacing growl was coming from between the sharp teeth.
His footsteps veered toward me, and fear rose into my throat and threatened to choke off my song. As I forced the melody out, I recalled my father’s words again.“Slay your enemy with the greatest weapon of all: kindness.”
Vilmar moved more quickly now that I’d distracted Grendel. His features were hard but contained an edge of panic. I sensed he wasn’t happy about my drawing Grendel to the table, but I had to fight the only way I truly knew how. Not with a knife, but with a song.
Though my voice wobbled, I sang louder, the words of the ancient verses of praise to God filling the walled pasture.
Vilmar held up his seax, not in a motion of throwing, but what appeared to be a signal. The next instant, another boat floated into the torchlight and rapidly approached the shore. Before the vessel could hit land, a dozen men slipped over the edge and into the water. As the men waded ashore, light glinted off Curly’s scraggly red hair.
