Fear and Folly

by Maurits Zwankhuizen

  “Altan,” I whispered, as the headman helped me back to my bed.

  THE YARTHING

  I saluted the earl as he passed. A man of great age walked by his side. This old man was a prophet. He had been the earl’s oracle since well before my birth and, although his face was as gnarled as a dead oak, he remained vital, in all senses of the word. He was a man gifted with second sight, they said. It was always the way with the weak, the sickly. It seemed that the gods compensated for their lack of strength by rewarding them with great intellect or insight. Well, the old man could have his knowledge of abstract concepts and sorcery. Give me strength any day. It’s natural and normal. And of course women prefer it. Being of the warrior class, I’d had my share but now that I was a captain of the guard I had to follow convention. Not that convention had drawn me to Ava, daughter of Kelid. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful girl in the entire town. I believed in strength, both of body and character, and Ava shared these beliefs and qualities.

  I didn’t know the old man’s name. Everyone called him the oracle. He had the earl’s ear and this gave him immense power and influence. He had earned it though, the way he saw what was to be and advised on how best to deal with any threats to our town.

  I turned my collar up. Winter was approaching. The time of the yarthing. We faced many threats here – raiders from the north, brigands in the hills about, and those evil twins drought and pestilence – but the yarthing was the greatest. Firstly it wasn’t human. It wasn’t even visible to human eyes. It was a creature, or more properly a force, which arose in the cold months. During that time no townsfolk were permitted to travel beyond the ramparts. The danger was too great. It wasn’t that death would befall them. On the contrary, it was life which the yarthing brought.

  Aye, the oracle prophesied its arrival several moons ago. In a trance-like state he’d been heard to speak these words:

  Outside the ramparts

  The faceless one cries

  Time travels backwards

  The old in us dies

  At first it was written off as nonsense, the product of a senile mind. Every person had learnt about the yarthing as a child, in school and in bedtime stories, but adults treated it with the same disdain as they did werewolves and goblins. But that winter the yarthing struck. Mind you, no sane fellow would travel far beyond the town walls in winter anyway. So there weren’t many victims when the terror began. But one victim was one too many. A tailor had been delayed returning from a neighbouring village. It was late and the iron portals were long shut when he finally made it back. He must have tried to make the best of it and slept atop his cart not far beyond the gates. The following morning the gatekeeper found him. Well, he found a child, not long out of the womb, lying atop the cart. By some miracle the tiny thing was still alive despite the intense cold. It was a terrifying mystery, a man missing and a baby found, but it made sense to the oracle.

  “That is he,” he had said. “The tailor. This is what the yarthing does to men.”

  The horror was unspeakable. This supernatural creature had indeed given life rather than taken it, but in the most hideous and tragic manner possible. The tailor himself might have been ignorant of his fate but his wife and children, and everyone associated with him, were beset with grief and utter confusion. He was no longer the man of the house but a helpless child for his wife to take care of with the rest of her fatherless brood. She remained alone, mourning and destitute. No man would have her, knowing that her youngest son looked at him with her husband’s eyes.

  Of course that was it for most folk. No one else dared venture out that winter. Well, I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my time and they could always be explained, so I took more convincing than most. Just because the child was male and had the same colour hair and eyes as the tailor did not mean they were one and the same.

  Over the years, however, more people had their lives snatched away by the yarthing. Despite the warnings and the proof, there were always those foolhardy enough to tempt fate, whether for hunting, trade or any number of other reasons. Often they were lost without a trace but those that were found suffered the same fate. They had been transformed back into babes, and as a consequence their families were irrevocably transformed as well.

  Now winter had come again. The fields beyond town were clothed in fresh snow. Night had fallen and I spent my last hour on duty atop the ramparts. The light of the torches did not penetrate the darkness. The ground below was steeped in black. Should anyone be out there, they were lost, yarthing or not.

  “You know it can make itself invisible,” said a voice in my ear.

  The oracle had come to join me.

  “Aye. I know.” I looked at him with his silken robe and naked crown. “You’ll catch your death up here, old man.”

  He smiled serenely. “I’m not as weak as I look. I’ve survived plenty of winters worse than this one.” He peered over the parapet. “Have you seen any evidence of the yarthing then? Any tracks in the snow?”

  I shook my head.

  “To be honest, I’m not convinced that it exists.”

  “That is dangerous,” the oracle said. “Just because one can’t see something does not make it non-existent.”

  Why did the old man have to talk down to me? Having brawn did not mean I had no brains.

  “There’s something out there,” I nodded. “That’s for sure. Whatever it is, it is best left unseen.”

  “Imagine the kudos,” the oracle whispered in my ear. “Imagine the honour should one of our fine folk go out and meet the yarthing in combat. He who survived such a meeting, he who vanquished the beast, would be exalted by the earl and all the townsfolk. He would be lionised, worshipped. He could ask for anything.”

  I smiled. The thought had passed through my mind when I was less mature, less disciplined. But now I was captain of the guard. And I had Ava to think of. We were committed to each other, even though no one else yet knew of our love. I did not wish to endanger that unless it was by order of the earl himself.

  The old man seemed to read my mind.

  “The ladies would definitely admire such a man. Such a hero.”

  “Aye.” I shrugged. “Well, the hour has struck. I’m off to a warm bed.” I saw fire burning in the oracle’s eyes. “Why don’t you go out there and fight it?”

  We both laughed and parted ways. The following day, however, news reached me that the oracle had proclaimed that he would face the yarthing in battle. I shook my head in disbelief. The man certainly couldn’t be very wise to attempt such a feat. I, like many others, tried to talk him out of it but he was determined to rid us of this creature which besieged us each winter.

  Talk and conjecture was rife. Some thought as I did, that the oracle was foolhardy, that he would die in the attempt. But most of the townsfolk believed in him.

  “I hear the earl has promised a rare gift,” my lieutenant said one day, “should the oracle kill the beast.”

  “What would that be?”

  The lieutenant smiled. “Something each of us would covet. The choice of any lass in town. Any unbetrothed lass, of course. Even the earl has limits to his power!”

  “Aye, that’s certainly a sweet prize,” I said. But I thought of Ava and how I had no need to risk my life against a faceless monster for a prize I had already won. “But if he fails, he will be changed back into a child. Although perhaps that isn’t the worst result for a man who leans so close to death.”

  The appointed day arrived. The oracle had not been seen in several days while he prepared for his encounter with the yarthing but with the sun setting in the west he appeared in the street. He bore no weapon but for a long thin staff, and he wore nothing for warmth but his silken robe.

  A small crowd gathered as he walked, growing in numbers as word spread. My men and I kept them out of his path as he strode down to the double portals of the town gate. There he was met by the gatekeeper, whose hand he shook solemnly and who proceeded to wind the portals open. A ru
sh of cold air sprang at our faces. The road sat within the twilight like a pale tongue in a yawning mouth. Shadows played in the wind. It was not a night to be out in alone but the oracle walked through the portals, raised his staff briefly in farewell, and was soon swallowed from view.

  The gatekeeper wound the portals shut. When they had closed, there was a great collective sigh of concern. People hovered for a moment but then made their way back hearthside. I climbed the ramparts out of curiosity. I could just make out a pale figure floating in a black void before the mouth of night closed around it. All was silence. I stayed until the hour struck, then hurried with clouded thoughts to my own bed.

  There was no sunrise the following morning. Thick mist filled the sky and I could see nothing of the ground from atop the ramparts. The ninth hour struck, the earl gave the signal from atop his steed, and the gatekeeper put this shoulder to the wheel. Slowly, achingly, the double portals of the town gate swung open. Those nearest to the gate shrunk back from the mist, fearing that the yarthing might still be lurking beyond. Only the gatekeeper stood firm. I saw him swallow hard, his eyes growing wide. I ran down to stand beside him, a hand on my sword’s hilt. A figure was taking form within the sea of mist, seeming to rise toward us like a dead body through water. Its size was difficult to judge without a frame of reference. Its shape was roughly human but it seemed to have a large fifth limb. A tail of some sort. The tendrils of mist retreated and the figure resolved itself into that of the oracle. In one hand, trailing along the ground behind him, was a large red object. It was indeed a tail. One of fantastic length and breadth that would have done a dragon proud, studded with huge knobs of skin and with a large barb at its base, its colour the bright scarlet of heraldic beasts.

  As the oracle strode through the open portals, he raised the tail over his head with both hands. The townsfolk cheered. The earl saluted him. Despite my disbelief, I found myself smiling and cheering with the rest.

  The old man spoke with the gatekeeper, who gathered a group of men together. They went to a nearby firewood stack and returned with their arms full, placing it near the oracle’s feet and setting the pile alight. The old man then threw the yarthing’s tail onto it, where it began to sizzle and crackle and blacken.

  I strode up to him, bowed and shook his hand.

  “You have my full respect and admiration,” I said. “And that of every man and woman here.”

  “Thank you, captain,” he said with a glowing smile. Others clamoured to bestow praise upon him and I stepped aside. The yarthing’s tail burned well and gave off a smell similar to pork which had those near it salivating. Drops of dark liquid ran from the knobs and barb. Some people poked the tail with sticks as the whole monstrous thing turned black and began to sink into the bowels of the fire.

  I turned to see that the earl had dismounted and summoned the oracle to his side. They both stepped up onto a small stage. Silence elbowed its way through the entire crowd.

  “What a wonderful day for our town,” the earl said. “Our venerated oracle has once more done us a great service, ridding us of a creature which has done much damage over past winters. Now no longer will we need to huddle within our town walls in fear. We are free to trade and travel throughout the year.”

  The earl bowed briefly to the oracle, then the old man whispered something in his ear.

  “But of course,” the earl said, “I had offered a prize, a grand prize, should the yarthing be vanquished. That prize was the hand in marriage of any unbetrothed girl in our fair town.” A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd. “Dear esteemed oracle, have you a girl in mind who is worthy of the honour of being your wife?”

  “I do,” the oracle said. His eyes had been roving over the crowd. “She is not here to witness my triumph so we should send a messenger to bring her hither.”

  The earl waved me over.

  “Captain. Please fetch the girl who shall be the oracle’s bride.”

  “Yes, my liege,” I said. “What is her name?”

  The earl looked to the oracle, who looked at me with unseemly lust in his rheum-grey eyes.

  “Ava, daughter of Kelid,” he said.

  The blood drained from my face. I felt like I was going to collapse, the world spinning wildly around me.

  “What’s wrong, captain?” It was the earl. “Captain? Do you know this Ava girl?”

  I nodded. “Yes, my liege. But…” I steadied myself against a post. “But … Ava … she.”

  “But what, captain?” the earl asked.

  “Nothing, my liege.”

  “Then do as you’re bidden.”

  All I could do was nod and retreat to my horse. Mounting unsteadily, I spurred my steed up the avenue to Ava’s home. I found her working on a counterpane of eiderdown, one that we had hoped would bedeck our marital bed but which now…

  “Ava,” I said. “Please come with me.”

  “What’s wrong?” Her eyes grew large. “What is it? Have they recovered the oracle’s body? Has he also been turned back into a child?”

  “Ha. Would that it were so.”

  “What then?”

  I said nothing. I could say nothing. I mounted and drew her up behind me. Her arms wound tight about my waist for what was surely to be the final time. I kept my eyes firmly ahead, refusing to engage her in conversation, leaving her confusion unresolved.

  I brought my steed to a halt at the foot of the stage where the earl and oracle stood in deep discussion. I dismounted and helped Ava down, then led my horse away before she could catch my eye. From a distance I watched as she looked from the stage to the pyre, where now only a hunk of charred flesh lay upon its bed of flames.

  “Ava, daughter of Kelid?” I heard the earl ask.

  My dearest nodded and stepped onto the stage. The earl took her hand and gave it to the oracle. The look on each face said a thousand words. Ava tried to find me in the crowd but the old man drew her face back to him with withered fingers.

  “Today is a glorious day in our town’s history,” the earl said to all assembled. “Our splendid and unrivalled oracle has killed the scourge of our lives, the dreaded yarthing. He risked his life for the safety and freedom of ours. If he had lost, he would have reverted to a child. Instead he wins a bride, a beautiful bride, who will undoubtedly provide him with a child in the proper fashion.”

  The crowd laughed and cheered. I stood as close to the fire as possible so that any tears were immediately seared from my skin. I noticed the gatekeeper standing beside me. He briefly lifted one glove from his hand to scratch his palm and I saw, before he quickly drew it down again, that it was streaked with red.

  With everything that had happened, I had not had time to consider how the oracle could have defeated the yarthing. He had ventured out with only his wooden staff. If he had won by magic, then why hadn’t he returned with the entire beast? How had he come away with just its tail, a tail which looked like it had been shorn clean through with a sword?

  The gatekeeper placed more wood onto the fire, so that the object within was no more than a shapeless black lump hidden within a cage of branches.

  The crowd cheered with one voice and I turned back to the stage. The oracle was leading Ava away, up to his turreted home near the earl’s castle. The townsfolk dispersed but my thoughts remained crowded and confused. All of this had to be more than mere coincidence. The challenge. The victory. The prize. I felt like the oracle had planned everything to prove the superiority of brains over brawn. If that was the case, he had won.

  Beside me, the gatekeeper threw one last branch onto the fire and strode off to his hovel which lay to one side of the double portals. I followed him there and strode in, blocking the entrance.

  “How much did the oracle pay you?” I asked.

  The gatekeeper turned to me with wide eyes.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remove your gloves.” He did not move. “Or I’ll remove them with your hands still inside.” And I made as to draw my sword
.

  He tore his gloves off quickly and I saw that both his hands were deeply stained with scarlet.

  “What is it really?” I asked. “Some grotesque union of pig and paint?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Really. I don’t. He created it up in his tower. I … I only carried it outside the gates in preparation.”

  Overflowing with anger, I drew my sword and sliced it through the small table where one of his hands was resting, just missing the tips of his fingers. Without a word I marched out, past my horse and up the hill to the oracle’s tower.

  As I marched, a voice at the back of my head warned me to stay my hand. Brains over brawn, it said, but my anger drowned it out. Instead the curse of the yarthing crawled across my mind:

  Outside the ramparts

  The faceless one cries

  Time travels backwards

  The old of us dies

  I didn’t bother knocking. I thrust open the door, took the stairs three at a time, and burst into the large chamber which occupied the entire top level of his tower. It seemed like I had arrived in time. Ava and the oracle were seated by a fire with goblets in hand.

  Ava leapt up and ran to me. The oracle rose scowling to his feet.

  “Stay your hand,” I said to the oracle. “No foul tricks here. Not anymore. I know that you didn’t kill the yarthing. I know that the tail you showed us all was just a cunning device.” The oracle was silent but a faint smile added further creases to his wizened face. “The gatekeeper was your ally in this plan. Aye, but he was a fool. Caught red-handed.”

  I held the point of my sword at the old man’s throat, then turned to Ava.

  “Run home, dearest. Run and hide. Tomorrow we will be together again. Tomorrow I will pledge my troth to you.”

  Ava vanished down the staircase and I turned my gaze back to the oracle.

  “Well,” he said, “what will you do now? Kill me? It will be the end of you as well, dear captain.”

  I shook my head. “I have a better fate in store for you. Come with me.” I grabbed some food from a table and threw a fur-lined cloak over my shoulder.