Snippet: "Beasts and Beauty"

 I'm glad I found this. I remember writing it in 2014 when I was in the height of my writer's block, desperate to find something to stick to writing about. So I decided to flip fairy tales on their heads and see how far I could go with that. As you can see with the shortness of the following snippet, I didn't get very far (blast my undiagnosed mild apathetic depression at the time!) but it's an inspiring snippet, and as with other snippets I've posted here on the blog, I wish I could learn more about this intriguing story. 

Beasts and Beauty

H

wast Varingr stood over the edge of the steep clifftop. The sweeping ramp beneath was made from an avalanche of shale stones that curved downward to the heath below, where a village nestled on the edge of a forest-encircled lake. He heard the heavy breathing of his companions as they gazed hungrily downward. Hwast did not feel hungry. Not for what he was about to Feed upon.

            The King of the Deorcynn, Eargian, sat on the highest crest of the cliff, looking hungrier than anyone. Like many of the older Deorcynn, Eargian had horns, but his were larger, more curved and sharper than anyone else’s. His bristly fur, blacker than the average, stood out like needles over his enormous body. Hwast noticed his razor-sharp teeth gleaming from beneath his curled lips. He was actually drooling. The other Deorcynn watched him out of the corner of their eye, waiting for the signal to attack.

            Eargian liked to savor the day of Feeding. He told everyone that the more chilled with fear the peasants’ blood was, the more valuable it was as drink. Hwast did not believe this, and he secretly hoped that none of the other Deorcynn did. The humans were almost like all the other animals, besides their ability to communicate. It seemed bullyish to lurk up on the cliff in plain view for a while just to let their blood run cold for sport. He longed to get the day over with. It had to come every year, and he understood the importance of Feeding, but there was little sport in it for Hwast.

            At last, Eargian seemed to be able to wait no longer. He jerked his head back, his eyes completely red with frenzy, and roared. The valley was filled with the triumphant sound of roaring Deorcynn throats. They dropped to all fours and clambored down the mountain rocks toward the village.

†  †  †

 

T

he Deorcynn struck the village like a flood of smoke. Their hairy dark gray bodies galloping like immense rats, they dashed to houses, throwing themselves at the doors until their hinges snapped, then stalked inside looking for peasants. They were the scourge of Dharian—the superior race. The Deorcynn were the villains in every peasant tale; the monsters that every peasant child had nightmares about.

            Upon entering a hovel, Hwast had the misfortune of encountering a peasant who was brave enough to fight back. Such ones as these bothered Hwast. Why did they try to resist? They were intelligent, that much was obvious. At least, more intelligent than the common forest deer or rabbit. They spoke a bastard tongue of the Deorcynn, made homes for themselves, and even seemed to trade and form a crude form of politics with each other.

            The peasant raised a spear and pointed it toward Hwast. “I’m warning you, Beast!” he said in an even tone. He was backing against the thatch-covered wall, hoping that Hwast would lunge and impale himself on it. Hwast sighed inwardly. It was a wonder in itself that their race had survived even this long—they were short in stature, they had no claws, no horns, and practically no hair—it was rather impressive, he admitted, that they had at least had the sense to clothe themselves in animal skins and wool, but to try and outwit or outmatch the Deorcynn with weapons crafted of wood and stone? It only made things more time-consuming.

            Hwast faked left and lunged, but when the peasant moved its spear to the side he darted under it and snapped it in half with a sideswipe of his claws. Rather than crying out in surprise, the peasant brought the splintered shaft around and jammed it into Hwast’s side. Hwast howled in pain and anger, but he was far from injured. The attack had been an annoyance more than anything. There were Deorcynn who would enjoy a fight like this. They relished the idea of actually getting to have a challenging spar with their prey before they decided to end it. Some actually enjoyed getting scarred so that they could mock the peasants’ impotence and display the signs of their own invulnerability for all to see. Hwast had never felt this way. He knew the importance of Feeding on the peasants, and preferred to let the circle of nature run its course without wasting time. Besides, he was already tired from the trek down from the mountains and wanted the raid to be over with soon.

Hwast whirled around, his teeth gnashing, and leapt for the man’s throat. The peasant crumpled under Hwast’s bulk, falling against the wall with a bellow. It was over in a second. Hwast bit into the man’s throat, tasting the man’s blood as it entered into his mouth. The toxins in Hwast’s spittle quickly stopped the peasant’s flailing, and he felt its body go limp. He lifted his head up to look into the man’s lifeless eyes. “I’m not to blame for your inferior birth,” growled Hwast. “You were born a peasant, and I a god. It’s just the way things are.”

Hwast began to Feed.

 

B

y the time Hwast had finished Feeding, the noise in the village had calmed down significantly. His peasant’s chest was open, and there was a hole where its heart had been. Hwast had consumed it carefully, only opening its rib cage as wide as it needed to be. There wasn’t much blood on the ground, for the heart had stopped beating seconds after Hwast’s first bite to the man’s neck. He otherwise left the man how he had died—reclined in a crumpled position against the thatched wall of his hovel. Eargian had long since established this standard of Feeding. This way, when the k’nikts came to investigate, there were displays of silent carnage waiting to demoralize them.

            Hwast felt full, despite the small size of what he had eaten. At normal mealtimes he ate as much as any other Deorcynn, but this was not the usual type of sustenence. He walked out of the hovel into the late afternoon light and looked around. The village seemed to be deserted except for the sounds of Feeding. Each Deorcynn had taken one quarry—a man or a woman, matching the Deorcynn’s sex—and it appeared as though the rest of the villagers had fled into the forest. Another Feeding had come and gone.

            Hwast walked around as he waited. Most of the other Deorcynn were taking their time with their meal. Some liked to drink their prey’s blood. Hwast made his way to the lake’s edge and knelt down to drink. He saw his visage in the water. Pink eyes, bloodshot from his exertion in the battle; a dark grey, hairy face; he had only been Feeding age for ten years, so his horns had only just began to grow. He was tempted to wash the peasant blood out of his mouth and claws, but he knew the rules.

            A general silence from behind told him that the others had finished and were gathering together. Hwast padded over to a circle of Deorcynn. The others had obviously enjoyed themselves a lot more than Hwast had. Some had blood from their jaws to their feet, and some had even spattered it onto their face. One Deorcynn known as Glainchar even had speared a red piece of flesh on one of his horns.

            Eventually Eargian emerged from a hut, soaked from head to toe in blood. He was always the one to look the most dreadful after a Feeding. Though he told all of them to leave their corpses virtually untouched save for the heart, he himself as king had the right to completely disembowel and flay his prey. He always said this was so that the k’nikts would later know who had been chosen as the prey of the king himself. He also said that if they truly did understand their place in nature, they would consider it an honor; but since they were yet stubborn and impertinent peasants of the king, they would curse the Deorcynn for their violence.

            “Another Feeding,” growled King Eargian, a wash of blood escaping his mouth as he spoke. “Another year added to our lives. The peasants foukt us, but it was in vain. For we are the Deorcynn! We are their gods!”

            The Deorcynn howled loudly with triumph. Hwast followed suit obediently. Eargian continued his monologue, barking about how the peasants were the natural underlings of the Deorcynn, whose only lot in life was to grow up to the age of a Deorcynn and then transfer his life to one of them. Hwast was not really listening; he had heard everything before and longed to return to the caverns to be alone. He felt dirty from the blood and tired from the trek. It was more of a mental weariness than physical exhaustion, however.

            “Let us go back to the caverns,” Eargian bellowed at last, “wearing proudly the blood of those beneath us, until another year has passed!” Eargian’s eyes flared with a red light when he threw his head back and howled the most loud and gravely roar of all.