We started referring to it as our beast. Sherr was keen on finding it, the reward offered was tempting enough, but what he really wanted was to be popular, he wanted to be renowned as the one who had killed the beast and enter the halls of legend. He could tell me all he wanted about being famous, but I well knew that what really motivated him was women. If he killed the Beast, women would surely look at him with different eyes. He was attractive enough, but he wanted more. I kept thinking that he should have been chasing other men's women while their husbands ran around the forest in circles chasing, as we did, the elusive beast. But Sherr was forgetting that a bird in the hand is worth more than a hundred birds flying, or something like that, I was never good at popular sayings, and while all available men were out in the woods, some less arrogant man was consoling all the disconsolate wives back at home with hunting husbands.
I was part of the expedition only because I owed Sherr one. He was a real friend, I really appreciated him, so instead of sensibly hiding away as soon as I heard he was going out hunting the Beast, I waited until he came to me and, as I had known he would, asked me to accompany him. So I tailed along, sharing watches at night time, eating cold meals, sleeping on damp ground, having terrible nightmares when I finally managed to fall asleep, and trying to convince myself that the closest I would get to the Beast was in my dreams. I firmly believed we could not possibly be as unlucky as to find the Beast with so many hunters all around us.
We usually met some three or four hunting parties each day, we courteously exchanged information on how many carcasses we had found, how many days we had been going around, and once, we were invited to share a hot meal with an expedition that dared light fires at day time. A hot meal! That was on the third day and it tasted like Heaven. On the fifth day I kept wishing we would encounter the same hunting party, a hot meal would, at that moment, taste like Heaven and beyond. I didn't dare tell Sherr that if what he wanted was to find the beast, the only thing he had to do was to light a fire and wait. I kept quiet and trudged along.
Until that fateful day, everything had gone fine. We had been following the beast's tracks for days and still hadn't found it. But that day, silence. No bird sang, not a leaf moved. There was something out there intent on making us feel like prey instead of hunters.
I was running out of prayers and no longer knew what more to promise if we escaped unscathed from the adventure when a sharp cry split the dreadful silence. My hair stood on end and sweat froze on my body. The cry had sounded close, close enough for us to determine the direction it came from. Dumbly, I watched as Sherr raised his sword knowing he would, as he did, run towards the cry. Without pause I rushed after him, more concerned with not being left behind than with playing hero.
Far too soon the trees gave way to a clearing, and there it stood, posed in perfection, not as bad as my worst nightmare but close enough. An archetypal creature, too archetypal to be real, it was big, huge, scaly like a snake, eyes like a cat, sharp greedy fangs, vampire wings, long and curled nails, and a powerful slashing tail. At its feet lay a human form, drenched in blood. Sherr, having stopped at the edge of the clearing, launched an attack on the beast after an infinitesimal pause. Sword in perfect angle, aim true, but before he could strike the beast pushed him away with ease. Not hitting, just pushing as if swatting a fly, almost lazily. I cried in horror, not a sound escaping my mouth, at the sight of my friend sprawling motionless on the damp ground, maybe unconscious, maybe too shocked to react and get out of the beast's reach should it decide to finish him off. Mindless anger compelled me to attack, uttering a wild cry, hoping to freeze it in its tracks but just succeeding it drawing its attention. The creature turned lazily towards me, taking note of me for the first time. Its eyes found mine. Convinced that I was going to die and not caring I moved against it.
Each step seemed to last a life time.
There was something wrong. The creature's eyes filled my whole span of vision. The only thing I could see were those eyes. Evil eyes of a creature who had killed more than human beings; kind eyes which belonged to a beast who wouldn't hurt me; cynical eyes, which now looked at me as if challenging me to approach; sweet eyes that cared for my safety ... without being able to help myself, I dropped the sword. I knew I was digging my own grave, but slowly, very slowly, I raised my hand and touched its chest, Confronted feelings both of revulsion and pity entered my mind. Nothing else mattered. Not even Sherr who was now slowly rising to his feet. Confusion, knowledge and mortal life were there, locked into those eyes. Running under my hand a warm current of life, a glow of life.
The poor beast had led such a lonely life for centuries ... I never knew what made me look down, to the body which lay at an impossible angle. It was a woman, and she had an arm outstretched towards the creature. Horrified I took away my hand. The woman had felt the same for the beast, it was its only defence when the attack was pure, unselfish, it sought human pity and got its chance to kill. Sherr had doubted before attacking, enough to make him vulnerable to defeat, open to physical vulnerability. But I was attacking for him, for once forgetting fright, placing my safety second to his. Quicker than I thought possible I knelt, lifted the fallen sword and struck it where the heart, if it had any, should be. It didn't encounter much resistance, enough resistance to let me know I had struck the beast, for at that moment my eyes were locked close, concentrating on killing as well as trying not to throw up.
Once I had struck, I dared open my eyes. The dice were cast. There was no time for another strike; it was either mortally wounded or I would be mortally killed for daring scratch its hide. The creature, magical, was dying.
It died as it had probably been born, in magic. It became translucent sadness in its eyes. A moment after, it was gone. It had been a magical creature after all, sprung out of a nightmare and achieving the illusion of life, probably taking the life of the dreamer and feeding on other lives to maintain its reality with blood and pain, with fright. I turned towards Sherr with his back to a tree trunk and staring at me with an awed expression on his face. Awe or, rather: disbelief.
I cocked my head and he almost seemed to flinch. My own voice seemed strange to me when I suggested taking the woman to her people. Sherr moved towards her, without taking his eyes from me for a single moment. I noticed that he was limping: "Oh, well, I would heal him later". Heal? I couldn't heal, the dragon was the one who could heal... but how did I know that?
Sherr had lifted the body of the woman, and was now out of sight. Curious, I thought, he somehow seemed smaller. And I realised I had been looking at him from above, even though I was shorter than he was. Absent- minded, I started to scratch my back with the tip of my long slashing tail.
"I am a Spanish student, have always been interested in science fiction and fantasy. There a not many Spanish books written on these topics, and as translations werenīt very good (in Spain they are considered sub-genres and translators didnīt make an effort to make a good translation) I started reading sci-fi and fantasy in english. Nowadays we do get good translations, probably because there is a higher demand for this kinjd of literature."
E-mail: lsaki@yahoo.com
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