Written by Felipe Brenny
Frost grows on the glass as I stare at a white blanket drawn over the near-empty tavern. These pestering delays on my hunt again and again… is the world so cruel as to not let me play the macabre hero? Perhaps my brother is-
‘Get out of here, we don’t have anything to give you.’ I turn my head to spot a group of humans shooing away a pilgrim. Up here on the northern fringes, humans are a rarity, so to see them here is, well… It sure is a sight to behold. As for the pilgrim, he’s like me, an esno. Yet the primitives among humans would simply call us goatmen, by our horns, faces, and fur. The pilgrim goes from table to table asking for scraps. However, it’s the humans that interest me the most.
‘They freak me out. How can you say that you’d talk one down face to face?’ the runtiest one says.
‘They’re nothing but cowards hiding out here in the north. Once we find something suitable enough to use here, we’ll finally push them to who knows where.’ This man who speaks is the one who shooed away the pilgrim. He’s clad in leather and metal, with a sword on the table still within its scabbard.
‘But how can you say that? Even that pilgrim was taller than us.’
‘Size isn’t everything,’ says the boisterous one, turning to a thoughtful, older man next to him. ‘Right, Gerald?’ Gerald returns a look, brows furrowed.
‘You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen some of ‘em,’ Gerald says, getting a scoff from Marcus.
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘You haven’t seen him.’
‘Oh, here we go with Gerald’s fairy tales.’
‘It’s no fairy tale or myth. He is a monster carved onto stone and texts.’ Gerald says; the runt turns to him. Marcus just laughs.
‘Well, now you have to tell young Lloyd here.’
Clinking chains grab my focus as the pilgrim approaches me, holding out his meagre hand. He wears a hooded cloak to hide his face. I offer him a seat; hesitant at first, he eventually submits, and I lean towards him. He has dark grey fur; he’s so skinny you can see the shape of his bones even through his clothing. With enough effort, I can see fresh scars across his body. I lean closer and whisper. ‘When did you last eat?’
‘A week,’ he responds.
‘You must be strong to suffer,’ I say. The pilgrim raises his head at my words, and then he shudders. I slide my untouched plate towards him. ‘Take it; it will serve you more than me.’ The pilgrim nods his head and says, ‘Thank you, High Priest.’
As the pilgrim is about to eat, he gets startled when the humans slam a cup down on the table, with Marcus laughing at Gerald. ‘It’s not real, you imagined it.’ Gerald simply scoffs at Marcus before turning back to Lloyd. ‘Marcus here hasn’t been on the front with the goatmen, so it’s understandable to see him like this.’
‘You were a kid when your village defended itself from the necromancer’s abominations. You didn’t even see one.’ Marcus says.
‘Wrong,’ Gerald’s tone sharpens, ‘it was a single goatman who defended us.’
‘No single goatman could do what you claim.’
‘What do you know, Marcus? Know what I hate about you?’
‘Oh, I’d love to hear this.’
‘You only see the goatmen as flesh and blood.’
‘Ah, of course, thank you for reminding me, Gerald. How could I have ever forgotten about their precious hopes and dreams to rebuild their civilisation?’ Marcus says. In response, Gerald gets up and slams his hands on the table.
‘Do you know what they’re called? The custodians of magic, Marcus. Make the wrong one angry, and you might just see that for yourself.’
‘Well, go on then, how did this custodian of magic slay an army of abominations?’
‘Would you believe me if I told you that the battle had no human casualties?’
‘No.’
‘Well then, read a book; not a single human died, all because that one goatman strode onto the battlefield. It wasn’t an army of abominations, sure, but it should not have been possible.’
‘That didn’t answer my question,’ Marcus smiles, waiting to rip into Gerald, ‘how did he kill the abominations?’
‘With his bare hands,’ Gerald says with wide eyes.
‘Bullshit.’
‘But he did, and yet you never believe it.’
‘Want me to believe you? Well, come on then, tell me more about this goatman. If you want to defend them so badly.’ Marcus says. Gerald is silent for a moment.
‘See? You can’t.’ Marcus smirks.
‘It’s not worth arguing with you about this. If you saw him for yourself, you’d know.’
‘What’d I find out? Huh? What?’
‘That even among his peers he is abnormal; they say he’s immortal.’
‘It’s a sham. They just want us to be scared.’
Gerald tries his best to defend the legend, but Marcus keeps shooting him down at every opportunity. By this point, the pilgrim has finished eating and is about to leave. However, he stops for a moment and turns to me before walking towards them.
‘How can you say that of Dirity, the-’ the pilgrim is cut off by Marcus.
‘Wow, so you’re an eavesdropper, huh? What? Have you come to defend your honour? And here I thought pilgrims were supposed to keep to themselves.’
‘Hold on,’ Gerald says. ‘You know who I’m talking about?’ The pilgrim nods.
‘That’s great and all, Gerald,’ Marcus says, ‘but I don’t want to hear you talking to some nobody about some other nobody.’
‘Dirity, the Unyielding, is no nobody. He is one great tale of a select few to warn those against our way of life. That includes yours too.’
‘Fuck off. I’m not thanking one of you for my life.’ Marcus stands up. Even against the famished pilgrim, he has to look up.
‘Dirity wouldn’t accept it,’ the pilgrim says. But Marcus has had enough; he inches his hand towards his sword. None of them seem to notice: not Gerald, not Lloyd, not even the pilgrim. Mortals, always trying to kill one another.
‘Enough.’ I say. The four of them turn to face me. ‘Pilgrim, continue your journey.’ he looks at me, and then back, before walking away and out of the tavern. He’ll learn someday.
‘A wasted opportunity,’ Marcus mutters as he sits down.
‘Pardon?’ I say.
‘It would’ve been a good time to show my compatriots how you are nothing without your myths.’
‘Marcus!’ Gerald says.
‘It’s alright, Gerald. You don’t need to defend us.’
‘Oh, he’s a saint, of course.’ Marcus says.
‘A saint?’ I say before bursting out into laughter. ‘No, no, no. I am no saint.’
‘You’re right; what stands before me is a coward.’ Marcus says, but he’s just a distraction to ignore.
‘I remember a frozen night.’ I stand up as I begin to walk towards them, towering over them. ‘I remember a boy out in the forest, crying, and begging for help.’ Gerald’s eyes are somehow wider than before as he looks me in the face.
‘This boy was kneeling next to his dead father, murdered in cold blood by a monster. The boy looked at me, scared out of his mind that he was next, confusing me for the very same monster.’
‘What’s your point?’ Marcus tries to cut in.
‘But when I extended my hand to him, he was able to understand what I was. That I was there to help. I took him and the body to the village. But the night wouldn’t end there.’
‘Can you get to the fucking point?’ Marcus says, but before I can continue, Gerald speaks up.
‘It’s you,’ he gets down on one knee, ‘you’re the one who saved us.’
‘Your village was doomed; my goddess had told me to abandon you, but stories and good deeds are not born from submission; they are built upon defiance.’ I turn to Marcus. ‘Tell me. Are you defiant?’
A challenge issued and a challenge accepted; he grabs his sword and plunges the steel blade into my stomach, twisting it before ripping it out. Marcus is sick of it all. Reminds me of a younger me, I suppose. Before I had to become something more than my myths. His attacks don’t faze me, and before long I grab the sword by the blade and snap it off, making a sickening crack. Marcus steps back and, for the first time tonight, there is doubt in his eyes.
‘You know, Marcus, Gerald’s tale of me is full of holes.’
‘Yeah?’ Marcus says, a slight stammer now, ‘what’d that buffoon get wrong?’
‘I did fight an army of abominations; they always downplay that because they simply can’t believe it. And they always leave out the part they can’t see.’ Marcus is silent. I scoff at him and head towards the doors, but before leaving, I turn around and look Marcus in the eyes. ‘Oh, one more thing: know that I was going to leave you alone; that is, until you threatened a life.’
I step out of the tavern into the frigid air as the bright moon greets me. Unlike that pilgrim, I have no cloak or jacket to protect me from the snow. It doesn’t matter; I had a remnant of the old times to kill. But in truth… I’m just tired of hearing them talking about me.
Author Bio:
Hi, my name is Felipe Brenny (He/Him), and I am a third-year student at QUT studying creative writing. I love writing fiction, but especially fantasy with non-human characters, and I’m currently working on an urban fantasy story in my personal time.