Anima et Forma

Episode 21: The Nameless Thing

Many creatures live in, or at least interact with, both the animal kingdom and human civilization. They are rare and their sentience has long been a topic of debate for scholars and theologians alike. Satyrs, Centaurs, and Goblins to name a few. Humans have grown accustomed to the somewhat domesticated variety of monsters.

But what about the monsters we don't like to talk about?

—Sister Nightengale, of the Holy Order, "The Unspeakables." 1602 A.D.

"Why were those elves trying to kill you?" Padair asked.

"You said the village was close," Ardwin grumbled as he pushed through head-high reeds and knee-deep muck. The bolt wound in his thigh ached and burned as he trudged through the marsh. A jagged laceration just inches away from his neck, covered in a dry paste, made his left arm nearly useless. Too much movement would break the paste and release the blood it kept at bay. Gray clouds covered the skies above. Fog rose from the murky waters, thickening the air. A choir of frogs croaked a raspy song.

"You humans worry too much about distance," Padair said. The satyr swam through the muck with ease. His stamina was endless, as were his questions. "But you never told me why we're being hunted. Now would be a good time. I must leave soon, for the people of Eston are not fond of me. What are we being hunted?"

"Let's hope they have a healer." Flesh around the bolt wound in his thigh burned red. An infection festered. "What do the people of Eston have against you?" Ardwin asked a question of his own, leading the satyr astray.

"A cousin of mine lived with a farmer," Padair began. "The Koogs are no place for a goat. Yes, there's plenty of good grazing, but deep waters, fens, and nasty creatures waiting in the waters." The hair on Ardwin's neck stood up. He scanned the surface of the muck. "So I came and took my cousin away, along with his pen mates. The old farmer caught me in the act. That was nearly four centuries ago, but they still remember it. Truth be told, I'm somewhat of a local legend in these parts. They call me 'Peter the Piper.' A satyr who steals livestock—a trickster—and an omen of misfortune. They're a lot of sticks in the mud, is what they are. Very Supersitious." Padair pulled himself out of the muck and wrestled up the side of a willow's thick roots onto a dry bank. He shook the water out of his fur.

Ardwin wrapped his uninjured arm around an overhanging willow branch and lifted himself out of the murky waters. Ahead, through shaggy trees and tall reeds, he spotted a slope covered with thick green grass and dotted with more willows. "Peter the Piper?" He eyed the satyr with a smirk.

"I hate that name," Padair said. "It's silly. However, if they knew my true name—" The goat man bleated a half-hearted laugh. "Never mind."

"Satyrs take pride in their names." Ardwin rested against the bent trunk of the willow tree. "Men do, as well. I suppose that's what makes us different from the beasts. We know who and what we are. We understand what we're capable of and recognize right action from wrong. But it's different for satyrs, isn't it?" He eyed Padair. "Names mean more to your kind. You can hear me call your name, even when you're out of earshot. Is that because of the bond we share?"

"You're smart, my friend," Padair said. "Now, why were elves hunting you? Why were you almost killed? What kind of danger are we in, Gus?"

Did he just admit it? He's bargaining. Ardwin slumped down on the hard, rooty ground. "My father's rival hired them," he lied.

"Is your father safe?" Padair asked. "Your mother and sisters?"

"They're well guarded." Ardwin waved a dismissive hand.

"You're not worried about them at all? Not even a little?" The satyr crossed his arms. "That's not like you. You would help a stranger but run away when your family is in danger?" Padair raised his fuzzy chin. "Are you lying?"