The hand belonged to Nero. No other could be so strong. Now the sorcerer was clothed all in tight-fitting white garments and a white coat with a black ribbon tied neatly about his veinous neck. His powerful arms held Aron so tight against the wall that he could not swallow and could hardly breathe.
Piles of books were strewn everywhere.
Droplets of sweat ran down Nero’s face and neck, then into his collar. He inhaled sharply through his mouth and pushed hot air back out through his nose. His eyes bulged wildly and stared at one of Aron’s eyes, then the other, then shifting back and forth each half-second as he scrutinized the creature within his grasp.
“You stupid!”
He slammed Aron against the wall once, then again, knocking the breath out of him before letting him fall to the floor. Nero walked slowly, deliberately back to his books.
“I don’t have time for this, I don’t have time for this!” he screamed suddenly.
Aron lay motionless, panting, on the floor.
“Make it go away,” he finally croaked.
“I can’t!” Nero roared back and raged toward him once again. “The beast is out! You opened the book. That means he is hungry for you!” Nero had knelt by his side and was jabbing a finger hard into Aron’s forehead with each word.
With the knowledge that he was hunted, Aron felt no greater fear, only agitation. Why Klin? Why had it not come directly for him, bursting into his house, casting his parents from their bed, picking his own body with one claw and stealing away into the night with it….
“But it’s eaten Klin!” Aron cried. He scurried from Nero to avoid his poking fingers.
Nero closed his eyes, then clenched his teeth and his fists tighter and tighter, turning his head up towards the ceiling with agonizing tension. Then he let go and opened one hand. “Yes! He will tear others limb from limb and devour them in a gulp. But it is you he will stay hungry for.” He ground his teeth. “By the power of the gods he will not stop until your flesh is inside him!”
He stepped forward and grasped Aron’s shirt, hoisting him against the wall. This time Aron raged back with all his strength, kicking and flailing his arms.
“Make it stop! Make it stop!”
The old man threw him off.
“Begone!”
Nero turned, clutching at his chest, then fell, his face contorted in pain, onto one knee. “Begone I say….” One quivering finger pointed to the door.
As Aron turned the knob and stepped outside he heard the old man sobbing quietly behind him.
The beast was in the forest and Aron could feel it smelling him. He could not go home. He did not want to know what he might find there anyway. By now Father would have given the news to the Vassal, and a party would be on its way back to the house. Soon Father would be crying with Mother because they did not know where he had gone. Mother would be sure he had been eaten. Father would try to tell her otherwise. He would stand fearless guard with the axe, watching the forest for any sign of motion, not knowing that it was the Power of the Gods with which he must contend and that the axe would be but a splinter in the side of the beast. It would eat them all. It would eat his sister.
Perhaps it had already happened. He could not go back. He held only one hope.
He had not run far on the path to town when he heard the rattling approach of a wagon around the bend. He ducked swiftly behind a tree. It did not matter who it was. He was not ready to face anyone at this time.
Guiding the load-beast was Charlie, his face broad and cheerful and sleepy. The beast picked its way along slowly and easily, pausing from time to time to sniff at roadside clover.
When the wagon came around, Aron slipped in back and crouched amongst the heavy kegs. If the beast came out of the forest now, then it came, and he was dead. He held himself motionless and waited for the load-beast to make its lazy way into town.
There was the sound of the strong hooves of riding-beasts swiftly approaching, and a strong voice hailed Charlie. It sounded like Torstein. The slow load-beast came to a stop, and Aron heard the other party ride up beside them. He peeked out a hole in the cloth wagon-cover. Father was with them.
“Eh, we got some trouble a little deeper into the forest…. See anything, Charlie?”
“N-n-no, sir….” Charlie mumbled.
“Well you better hurry on back to town as fast as you can get there. There’s something funny going on in the forest, and we’re advising everyone to come to safety. Come on, boys, let’s get on up to the house and see how Aron an’ his ma are doing! Hiyah!”
They were gone.
Charlie tapped his beast and it crept, pulling them onwards towards the town.
At last the wagon came to a stop. From the way it rocked and creaked, Aron knew that Charlie was stepping off. Peering out the hole in the cloth he could see the town wall stretching up into the distance. Charlie was swinging the gate open. His beast sputtered a little. He patted it and guided the wagon through to the other side, then came around back to close the gate. Aron ducked as low as he could amongst the kegs. Charlie put the latch carefully in place then turned, but didn’t see him. He went back to the front, the wagon creaked and rocked, and the beast pulled them laboriously through the muddy streets.
“Charlie!” an anxious voice called out. The wagon ground to a halt. “Did’ya see anyone else on the road, Charlie? Well, good. Looks like you better stay put here for the time being. Something’s up in the forest, not sure what yet…. Vassal’s orders…. I’m gonna go guard that gate right now!”
Aron leapt from the wagon.
“The Vassal? Where?” he demanded.
“Why, at his quarters,” the man he recognized as Grumo answered, bewildered. Aron sprinted. Charlie called out lethargically after him.
“Hey, wait a minute there, kid….”
The Vassal’s doorway looked small in the new, still cold sunlight, and Aron burst into the dark quarters without a knock or a wipe of his feet. The Vassal stood, his profile to Aron, his arms crossed, his gaze straight into the blank wall before him. He turned to face his visitor. His eyes widened when he saw that it was Aron who stood facing him.
“You have something to tell me?” he asked excitedly, coming forward and bending down to face Aron.
Aron said yes, but he could not find strength to begin his story. The words caught in his throat.
“How many men is it going to kill before we can kill it?” the Vassal asked, taking Aron by the collar.
“I don’t know…. How can I know…?”
“Do you know where it came from?” he pleaded, shaking Aron a little. Aron had not seen the Vassal like this.
“From Nero’s house,” he mumbled quickly. He felt himself on the verge of tears, and his throat began to hurt. “From a book at Nero’s house.”
Aron knew that it was stupid, but he expected the Vassal to ask what on earth they had been doing in Nero’s house. But the Vassal said nothing for a long moment. Then he pushed Aron aside and stepped quickly to the door. He flung it open and called to the first man he saw.
“Feebin! Quick, to the Temple! Bring Takani to me at once! Quickly! Run, Feebin, run!”
He stepped back to Aron, leaving the door wide to the Square. He bent, facing Aron, but his gaze remained fixed on a brilliantly engraved cabinet in the corner of the room.
“Listen,” he said. “Whatever you’ve done, whatever it is that happened last night, don’t worry. No one’s blaming you. There’s a lot of things we can do out here if that thing is still hungry. Takani can probably fix us up right away….”
He took two steps to the cabinet, seemingly oblivious of Aron’s presence. With great care he turned its latch and swung open one door then the other. Blue velvet had been tacked onto its boxy interior. This upright bed kept the Sword, swaddled in blood-colored cloth, its steel blade naked only at the point.