Monsters and Heroes

The monster knelt on the cave’s floor, its formidable stature no less imposing even in its crouched position. Its scaly shoulders–or more precisely, the juncture from which a bouquet of long necks sprouted–loomed high above Torik’s head. He exhaled with force, brandishing his battle-ax through the air with a fluid motion.

The monster sighed, its breath adding a sulfurous note into the air’s mossy quality. “Just get on with it already.”

“I would, if only your heads weren’t out of my reach.”

“The hero’s duty was never meant to be easy,” the monster growled in response.

Silence then took hold, broken only by distant water droplets and the sporadic squeaking of bats. The creature’s heads, which a mere moment ago were hissing, gurgling, sniffing, and breathing heavily like great dogs, had ceased their cacophony abruptly.

The stillness was shattered by a faint whistle as Torik’s ax cleaved the air, followed by a soft, squelching sound. A massive head, as scaly as the body onto which it was no longer attached, thudded onto the cave floor, splattering the stone with droplets of blood. In the dim light of pre-dawn, the liquid was an indistinguishable shade of black.

*

The blood from the severed head, now tinted blue-greenish by the morning sunlight, continued to drip as Torik made his entrance into the small town. It accumulated at a corner of the brown cotton bag that cradled the head, forming a bead that swelled until it was too heavy and fell, only instead of the damp rock of the cave, it now stained the cobblestones of a town’s square.

Onlookers paused, drawn from their daily routines to observe. Shoppers emerged out of stores and stood frozen at their doorways while windows opened in the apartments above the stores and women leaned out, their children squirming and bouncing as they strived for a better view. Merchants left their stalls unattended, merging with the crowd that had formed around Torik, all eager for a glimpse, and the baker, his apron and hands smeared with flour, swaggered out, attempting to peer over the assembled townspeople to discern what the commotion was about.

Before Torik realized it, he was encircled by the townsfolk, who converged from every direction. Their gazes, wide with astonishment, shifted between him and the bag in his grasp, as whispers rose around them like a hive of bees. At last, Torik raised his hand, silencing the whispers, and called out, “Folks of Millbridge, the shadow of the dread that loomed over you is no more. I bring forth–” His words trailed off as he began to hoist the bag, only to halt abruptly.

A peculiar stir among the crowd caught his attention. This disturbance was not of shuffling bodies trying to squeeze past one another but a pathway forming, through which a tall man with hair touched by silver advanced, flanked by two guards adorned in chainmail, their hands resting on the hilts of short swords. Torik recognized the mayor at once. When the procession drew near, he unveiled the bag’s contents, dropping them to the cobblestones with a thud.

The monster’s head rolled, mouth agape and a lengthy blue tongue dangling amidst twin rows of lethal fangs. Spectators leaped aside, gasping as they rushed to evade the path of the rolling head, until a deliberate foot, adorned by a shoe with a silver buckle, was cautiously placed upon it, bringing it to a stop. As Torik gazed up, he was greeted by a broad grin that formed under a sumptuous mustache. Above the mustache, lively eyes darted about, absorbing the scene. Perspiration had already begun to bead on the man’s brow.

“The very moment this man set foot in our beloved town, I sensed the gods had blessed us with a true hero!” the mayor thundered as he advanced towards Torik with his arms open. A smaller, more portly individual, whom Torik hadn’t noticed before, scurried behind him, signaling the two guards to retrieve the head by way of waving his arms and eyebrows in brisk, eager gestures.

A firm hand was laid upon Torik’s shoulder, the other extended broadly, “Our savior!” His proclamation barely concluded before being drowned by an enthusiastic tide of cheers and applause. Torik could sense a tang of the man’s perspiration.

“Tonight, all are invited to the town hall for a banquet honoring this valiant young hero’s triumph over the foul beast that terrorized our peaceful town!” the mayor bellowed, prompting another surge of cheers and whistles.

The voices merged into a singular, unified wave of sound that enveloped them, creating a secluded sphere within which the mayor, leaning closer, whispered to Torik, “But first, you must desire rest, after which there’s the matter of payment we must discuss.”

*

The city hall was a wooden two-story structure, with the mayor’s office taking up a sizable portion of its upper floor and commanding views of nearly the entire town through windows on each facade. They were seated on opposite sides of a heavy desk, with Torik watching the horizon darken to a rich pink through the window. He had not seen a two-story building before his arrival in Millbridge, but aimed to conceal his admiration. The mayor was studying him intently, his smile unrelenting, as his daughter, a bony figure with soot-black hair and a long face, set a silver pitcher and ornate goblets before them.

The mayor appeared much friendlier than when they first met several days ago, after the Fisherman’s Hook brought Torik to the shores of the kingdom’s mainland, swaying and creaking the entire way.

He had stumbled upon Millbridge by way of chance, and must have looked outlandish. He tried not to waste time studying the locals as he rushed through the narrow streets, a yellow scroll clutched in his hand and a determined expression on his face, yet couldn’t help but take note of how their attire and hairstyles differed from his. The battle-ax in his belt alone was enough to draw attention, and the looks he had gotten then were wary, to say the least. Though he never actually left the kingdom, for which his isle of origin marked the northern border, he felt like an outsider.

“How much?” was the first thing Torik had said to him then, unfolding the tattered scroll.

“BEWARE THE BEAST IN THE WOODS TO THE EAST!” the document proclaimed in bold letters, with a notable reward offered below–in finer print–for the hero who vanquishes it.

The mayor scrutinized Torik thoroughly, his gaze reflecting the studied doubt of a man long in business and not particularly native to empathy. “You're going after it? With that puny thing?”

Torik followed the man’s gaze to the ax hanging from his belt. “This puny thing took down a bear once.” It wasn’t true, but this exchange wasn’t about honesty; it was about making an impression. “If I were you, I'd start finding bags for all the gold you promised.”

The mayor didn’t flinch. “Return in one piece, first.”

Torik disliked the man’s demeanor from the first glance–his small, dark eyes, which seemed unable to stop moving frantically, the disdain in his tone, and his strange, overly ornate clothing–yet he departed the town nevertheless, walking towards the dark woods which loomed on the horizon.

He would have gone there even if no reward was promised. The alluring glint of gold wasn’t something to turn away from, but it wasn’t his primary motivation; it was about making a statement, giving the townspeople a show, and earning a name for himself during his fleeting stay. He hadn’t come to the mainland just to be another face in the crowd.

Now the mayor was singing a different song altogether, full of smiles and flattery.

They sat in silence while the mayor’s daughter served the drinks. Torik kept his gaze fixed on the window, but from the corner of his eye he thought he noticed a glimpse of a smile on the woman’s thin, wide mouth as she handed him his cup.

Only when a hand raising a glass entered his line of sight did Torik turn to the mayor. “To our hero!” the mayor toasted. Torik acknowledged the mayor with a slight nod, raising his cup in response and taking a hearty gulp. He set down the vessel to find the mayor’s gaze already back on him, his own cup suspended in mid-air, seemingly untouched.

Torik shifted nervously.

“I must admit, I was doubtful at first. Many travelers pass through our town, and for the most part, they’re all talk. But you,” the mayor paused for a sip, easing Torik’s tension, “you, my lad, are an exception. Where are you from, remind me?”

“You never asked. But I doubt you’ve heard of it, it’s a small island to the north,” Torik replied with a half-smile.

“A northerner then; now, that is unusual!” the mayor exclaimed. “Life must be tough up there if slaying monsters is such a routine task for you.”

Torik shrugged.

“You know, I could really use someone like you here,” he went on. Torik arched an eyebrow, but otherwise managed to maintain a composed facade. He had been expecting such a proposition.

“A warrior like you would be well-compensated,” the mayor added, leaning in. “And don’t you worry, beasts like that are no ordinary thing in these parts. Other than the occasional outlaw or pirate, this is a peaceful place, though I gather monsters aren’t much of a challenge for you…”

“I’m flattered by the offer, but my path leads elsewhere,” Torik said.

The mayor smiled knowingly. “Let me guess, it’s the capital that you’ve got your eyes on? You wouldn’t be the first, nor the last,” he seemed weary all of a sudden, his tone turning somber. “Many go down that road, testing their luck, but you’d be nothing more than another face in that crowd. Not the fairest either, not that you’re some monster, just that there are others who might be stronger, smarter, and more handsome,” he paused, raising a hand in the air in an apologetic manner. “No offense intended. It’s just something to consider, being new to this land and all.”

Torik nodded. “I know all this, and yet that’s where I am headed.”

The mayor’s weary look swiftly transformed into a mischievous grin. “Stubborn! Determined!” he exclaimed, pointing a finger at Torik and waving it in the air. “Admirable traits, indeed. But consider this–you could risk everything for a slim chance of success or you could settle for the second best. Millbridge may not be as glamorous as the capital, but you’d gain status and wealth, instead of returning from the capital empty-handed.”

“Then, should I fail, perhaps I’ll return here to lick my wounds,” Torik chuckled, toasting the mayor.

The mayor’s expression froze, then his apprehension gave way to an abrupt, nervous laugh. “I do like your spirit!” he said, waving his finger again. “But there’s no need to make decisions in a rush. Tonight, enjoy our town’s gratitude and hospitality. We can revisit our conversation tomorrow.”

The celebration hosted by the mayor was more subdued than the boisterous festivities of Torik’s homeland, yet it was abundant in people, music, and drink. The townspeople observed him with keen interest, though they maintained a respectful distance, hesitant to approach. Most of the glances, Torik noted, came from the mayor’s daughter.

She must have been in her mid-twenties, too old to be unwed, but strikingly self-assured, with the kind of confidence it was rare to find in young maidens. She never blushed when he returned a glance and her unflinching gaze did not waver, but something about her was too sharp and severe for Torik’s liking.

The mayor–engaged with his guests and occasionally glancing at Torik–remained at his post, even as the night waned and the assembly dwindled. With the diminished crowd offering less cover, Torik decided it was time to depart, evading the mayor’s attention before an encounter could ensue.

He was accommodated in the finest inn available in town, and though there wasn’t a wide selection of rooms to choose from, most offering only the necessary amenities, it was a step up from his cramped cabin on the Fisherman’s Hook, boasting a soft bed and a basin sizable enough for bathing.

It was too dark to see when he staggered into the room, but as the door shut behind him, even in the cloudy state of his consciousness, Torik sensed that something was amiss. When a tall, dark figure rose from the bed and approached him, he knew at once who the woman was. The mayor’s daughter’s steps were slow yet deliberate. No blushing from that one, that’s for sure.

He would have evaded her had she approached him earlier, but in his current state, inebriated and far too tired to argue, with the velvety darkness softening her sharp features, she did not look so bad.

*

Torik departed from the town in the early hours, when sellers were just beginning to arrange their stalls and a cloud of dust began to rise from the western road, signaling the arrival of nearby fishmongers, bringing forth the day’s first catch and leaving a trail of salt and seaweed scents in their wake.

Torik’s tattered travel bag was now significantly heavier than the previous day. His long hair–usually neatly tied in a braid that almost reached his lower back–was now unkempt, and a sense of satisfying soreness lingered in his muscles.

He hummed an old children’s song to himself as he walked down the road leading out of town. This path didn’t lead west, towards the coast and the small fishing villages that spread along it, but eastward, eventually merging with the main road like a stream joining a vast river. Once on it, he paused to survey his surroundings and, ensuring no eyes were following him, crossed it to follow a narrow trail leading into the forest beyond.

Finding the cave proved easy enough, as the forest was not as dense so close to the shore, and soon Torik found himself by the low stone entrance. He was still humming his tune, and the final notes, distorted by his husky voice, vanished into the damp darkness with no echo to follow them, as if the cave swallowed them whole. In the bright light of the morning sun, Torik could see dark spots scattered on the cave’s gray rock floor, forming a trail that ventured deeper into the darkness.

His hand instinctively reached for the battle-ax secured in his belt when the rustle of leaves sounded directly behind him, but he relaxed his shoulders when a familiar voice spoke, “It sure took you a long while to return.”

Torik turned, finding no one at first glance, but then a slight movement caught his attention and he watched as a young woman emerged from between the trees. She was slender and of modest height, sporting a mane of brown hair and a sharp nose and chin–traits Torik found often foretold a sharp, capricious personality. She could have been any age between sixteen and twenty-five, depending on the interplay of light on her features and the expression on her face. The one she had been wearing that morning was teasing.

She was wrapped in a dark brownish-green cloak, a travel bag slung over her shoulder, and seemed to carry no weapons, though Torik would not wager his last coin on that assumption.

“The townsfolk were eager to celebrate their hero’s return. I couldn’t let them down,” he returned with a smile.

“I imagine so, particularly the maidens.”

Torik was on the verge of making a sharp retort but paused as he caught her gaze. Instead of meeting his eyes, her focus was locked on the amulet around his neck. In the cool air of the forest, the amulet suddenly began to feel unnaturally warm, as though the stone itself was pulsing with life. Instinctively, Torik clasped the green stone with his hand, tucking it into his red tunic as he felt the heat slowly subsiding.

Her eyes kept measuring him from top to bottom for a prolonged moment before finally meeting his. “So, where to now, captain?”

“Wait, what if they come searching for the body?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand. “The most they’ll find is a trail of blood leading them deeper into the cave, toward a chasm they wouldn’t dare descend.

”He glanced at the cave’s mouth as she spoke, where the shadows seemed to swirl, briefly coalescing into vague forms which disappeared before they could make up a clear image, and found his concern beginning to fade. It was hard to imagine that anyone would choose to venture into that darkness out of their own volition.“So, what is your plan, then?” she pressed.

Torik took a moment to consider. Whatever plans he had before were rendered irrelevant two nights ago, and he had yet to reassess his strategy thoroughly. He knew where his ultimate destination lay, yet the path there now appeared more straightforward than he previously anticipated.

“We’re headed south. Have you heard of the Bumblebee’s Nest? I’m told it would be the next place to stop for the night after a day’s travel,” he said, adding, and to find a good source of information, one I could actually trust, in the privacy of his mind.

“Sure, I know the way,” the girl said, promptly venturing into the thicket without awaiting his response.

“Wait,” Torik called out to her, prompting her to pause and face him. “Wouldn’t following the main road be simpler? The inn should be easy to find that way.”

“This route is shorter. Besides, if I can hear the jingle of coins in your pockets, so can the thieves and bandits we might encounter.”

A smirk played on Torik’s lips as his hand drifted to the wooden handle of his ax. “I doubt robbers would pose much of a threat.”

Her glare intensified. “Not when there are ten of them and two of us. Do you really wish to waste your time and risk your recent accomplishments just to prove a point?”

They stared at each other for a while until Torik finally gave in. “You’re the guide.”

Her stern expression melted into a beaming smile. “Good. This way no one will see, nor hear you.”

Her voice was a bright chirp as she spoke, yet Torik realized that his hand was absentmindedly reaching for the amulet once more.

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