by Jody Hedlund
Of course, the queen defended her use of the chains, claiming that she was keeping Grendel from taking the maiden’s body. Every year after the slaughter, he loaded his boat with the livestock he’d killed until the hull sank low in the water. Some speculated he dried the meat and subsisted on it during the winter months. Others said he ate all the meat in one great feast.
Whatever the case, he’d never been able to carry away the maiden’s body. The queen made sure of it, and I was one of the few who knew the real reason why.
On a high cliff to the north of the arena, the queen stepped down and sat upon one of her jeweled thrones, which had been placed there for the occasion. She settled in and sipped from a goblet, almost as if she were attending a dinner party rather than a massacre.
The growls and grunts became louder, echoing and sending chills down my spine. The madman was drawing nearer. How long before his boat appeared in the torchlight that touched upon the black water just off the shore? Likely only minutes.
I pinched my eyes closed and tried to draw in a deep breath. “This is for you, Father. To avenge your death.” But the words seemed to suck the life from me rather than give me the energy I desired.
“And this is for all the slaves who have ever died or been maimed in the mine pits.” I’d hoped the declaration would give me a surge of strength, but only emptiness remained.
I had to kill or be killed. That was the way to survive this night. Wasn’t it?
A roaring scream resounded off the cliffs and bounced against me, and I couldn’t contain a shudder. The outline of a boat appeared in the dark mist. A moment later, the light of the torches revealed the monster standing in the center, rowing feverishly with a long paddle.
As with the last time I’d seen Grendel, he wore plated armor as well as an enormous bear’s face atop his head with the bear’s fur flowing down his back. The bear’s mouth was open in a vicious snarl, its eyes as black as the midnight hour. Already tall and bulky, with the added height of the bear head, Grendel was a giant. The torchlight made his shadow even longer and more menacing.
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 p
raise 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.
I noted their familiar faces, all of them from the mine pits, including Vilmar’s manservant. Their presence here meant they’d gained their freedom along with Vilmar. How had they all done it?
And now they were in grave danger by coming ashore while Grendel was still raging.
Perhaps if Grendel killed me first, his thirst for blood and death would be sated, and he’d leave the men alone. Despair wrestled deep within. The reality was, even after he slit my throat, he could still turn around and wipe out the men before they had time to raise a weapon in defense.
Coming to the end of the first verse, I hastily continued with the second, praying my voice would drown out the footsteps of the men closing in around Grendel. At the very least, I prayed he would keep his attention upon me. So far, he hadn’t veered away. He pushed forward, his feet carrying him until he reached the edge of the stone table.
Then he stopped and peered up at me. And I shifted my gaze from the bear head to his face, to his eyes. Through dirty strands of hair, dark eyes regarded me. They were wild and bloodshot, full of fury . . . and bewilderment.
Had he not heard singing in so long that he’d forgotten what it was? Or perhaps no one had offered him kindness, so he didn’t recognize it. Was it possible he’d been treated as beast for all these years and had lost hope of ever being anything else?
I continued to sing, coming to the end of the second stanza and moving into the third. As I did, I kept hold of his gaze and lifted the song higher. He watched my face intently, his breathing ragged, foam still gathering at his lips.
Slowly I lowered myself until I was kneeling, my face level with his.
He grunted but didn’t move. Instead, some of the fury in his eyes seemed to fade.
Taking courage from the fact that he hadn’t yet sliced me open, I cautiously extended my hand.
Vilmar and the others were only two dozen paces away. They fanned out in a circle, clearly intending to trap Grendel. Several of them carried between them a net made of chain mail, while the others held at the ready an assortment of weapons.
Your knife, Vilmar mouthed while making a slicing motion at his neck.
I knew very well what Vilmar was instructing me to do. He wanted me to use Grendel’s moment of weakness to my advantage, to plunge my knife into the artery exactly the way he’d shown me dozens of times during my training.
But my knife was still sheathed beneath my gown, and right now I’d extended to Grendel kindness, perhaps in a way no one ever had. He glanced down at my hand, then up at my eyes. His confusion was heartbreaking.
I reached out my hand farther, and he grunted an almost worried sound. I tried to offer him a smile of assurance and friendship. Then as his gaze returned to my face, I did the unthinkable. I cupped his cheek.
He stiffened and trembled. For a second I worried I’d gone too far. But as I battled a moment of fear, I forced myself to remain in place. I would rather die wielding kindness than my knife.
Vilmar and the men closed in, which meant I had little time left. I pressed Grendel’s dirty, grizzled cheek and hoped I’d conveyed to him that I saw past the monster to the man he could yet become.
At a soft clinking of the net, Grendel spun away from me. In that instant, Vilmar and the other men sprang upon him, tossing the chain-mail net over him and wrestling him to the ground. He roared with new fury and fought back with the force of a dozen bears.
“Don’t kill him!” I shouted, trying to make myself heard over the yelling and Grendel’s commotion.
No one paid me heed. They were too intent upon subduing Grendel and keeping him from fighting his way free of the net.
I stood, closed my eyes, and once again sang, this time the lullaby Vilmar had shared while we worked to save ourselves when we were trapped in the mine. I didn’t recall all the words, but the tune was one that was familiar in any language, one I hoped Grendel would know.
As my melody rose in volume, Grendel ceased his flailing, letting himself fall to his knees on the ground, the bear head knocked off his head. He craned to see me, and this time, through the chain-mail net, I glimpsed his eyes. Though still bloodshot and wild, the confusion was gone and in its place was sadness. I didn’t have time to read the sadness and discover what it meant. For in the next instant, one of the men brought a bludgeon down upon Grendel’s head, causing him to slump to the ground unconscious.
Vilmar issued sharp instructions, and the men hurriedly worked to bind Grendel’s feet and hands with chains before they wrapped him once more in the chain-mail net. Vilmar shouted further commands to the closest of the queen’s guards—something about securing a cage.
Only then, did I become aware of the cheering from the audience above. I glanced up, and many were hugging and openly weeping, so great was their relief.
One stood apart from the others. Having risen from her throne, Queen Margery held herself rigidly, her fingers gripping her goblet so tightly that it shook. Though the darkness of the midnight hour provided some cover, the cold anger in her expression was clear enough. We’d put an end to her cruel custom, and now, without the fairest maiden’s heart, she would have no way to continue her alchemy.
As her attention shifted from the placid Grendel to the princely Vilmar and then to me, our gazes connected.
I rose, straightened my shoulders, and lifted my chin, unwilling to cower before her any longer. I’d accomplished what I set out to do, but in a way I never anticipated. Wasn’t that the way of kindness? That it brought results in the manner least expected? I could only pray that, in heaven above, my father was looking down upon me proudly.
The queen stared fiercely even as she called out to one of the knights standing guard near her throne. He stepped forward, bowed, and leaned in for her instructions. As he straightened, he followed her gaze to me and then to Vilmar. He hesitated only a moment before he nodded and strode away.
She wouldn’t dare arrest us tonight, would she? Not with all these people looking on and lauding us for capturing Grendel? What explanation could she possibly give everyone for taking us captive?
I wanted to toss aside my fears, but I already knew what the queen was capable of doing when threatened. And I suspected we wouldn’t be safe until we were far away from her clutches.
Chapter
19
Vilmar
My insides quavered uncontrollably, though I attempted to remain outwardly composed. As several guards brought ashore the iron cage I’d asked to have on hand, I kept one eye on Gabriella, now freed from her chains and standing beside Curly. Her interaction with the berserker had been too risky. And I hadn’t yet recovered from helplessly watching her kneel before the madman.
Of course, I couldn’t deny her plan to calm the berserker had worked better than anything I’d construed. In fact, she was brilliant to sing and lull him into a state of trust. What I didn’t understand was why she hadn’t slit his throat the way I’d taught her. Instead, she’d reached out and touched the madman, almost as if she felt compassion instead of fear.
She was fortunate Grendel hadn’t reached out in return and sliced her open. I had expected it at any moment, was ready to throw my seax at the first sight of his. I held back only because I knew the best way to defeat him was to capture him beneath the net of chain mail and hinder his movements. Even then, our fight would have been brutal and deadly, if not for Gabriella’s beautiful voice soothing him again.
An ache pulsed through my chest at how close I’d come to losing her. I wanted to race over, scold her for taking such a risk, then crush her in an embrace and never let her go. But I held myself back. For now, I had to make sure
Grendel was secured, caged, and on his way back to Scania.
I’d previously sent word to Lord Kennard to secure means of transportation. I didn’t want to leave any details to the queen for fear she’d purposefully set the berserker free to serve her own purposes again. In fact, I planned to accompany the berserker back to Scania, and I wouldn’t rest until Grendel was locked away in the dungeons.
“Use the extra chains to bind him to the cage,” I called to the soldiers now hefting him behind the metal bars. Faces pale with fear, they worked quickly, rushing to finish their contact with the berserker before he roused and roared out again, more furious than before.
Though my father’s capture of the other berserkers had been long ago, I still recalled how one had torn himself free from a rope of hemp and a cage of wood. Iron was the only material strong enough to contain berserkers when they were raging.
The soldiers closed the cage and secured it with several more chains. With the madman finally locked away, the thick iron gate at the side of the arena began to clank as it rose. It protected a stone stairway that led to the cliffs above, the only way in and out of the arena except for the lake.
I attempted to breathe out the tension still holding me in its vise. We were safe. Neither Gabriella nor any other maiden need fear the yearly sacrifice ever again.
“Congratulations, Your Highness.” Lord Kennard ducked under the still-rising gate and onto the grassy field. He and another nobleman skirted the dead sheep and veered toward me. “The people above are awaiting a word from you.”
The cheering, whistling, and clapping had subsided. But from what I could see, the crowds on the cliffs had grown in size, not diminished.
“News of Grendel’s demise is being shouted from the rooftops,” Lord Kennard said, as though reading my question. “And the townspeople have come out of hiding to witness the glorious occasion. Hundreds are gathering above to see their heroes.”
