The Heart's Desire for Death

01. Heart of a Lion

In the humble town of Southwold there lived a boy who did not know of fear. One might think it strange, seemingly impossible, that he could not have known it all his life. Do not babies wail at sudden loud noises? Do not young children fear that monsters lurk in the dark? Do not grown men tremble in their boots at the sight of a dragon? Certainly, they do, but not Thurlow. His father said he had the heart of a lion.

Every time he should have been scared, he was not. When he was four months old, his mother took him into town to run an errand. Helewys was a no-nonsense sort of woman, always immaculately dressed, with her hair tightly twisted and bound around her head. A woman whose pace was always hurried, even if she had all day to spare, whose fur-lined cloak billowed dramatically behind her as she strode about town. A woman possessing dark sharp eyes and an overall severe expression, who had not a moment to spare for shenanigans such as what they were about to encounter.

It was a large, ill-tempered black hound that initiated the trouble. The dog was tethered to a post, no owner in sight. Hackles raised, it snarled and snapped and barked ferociously, straining against its collar, flashing yellowed teeth dripping with saliva. Helewys threw an annoyed glance at the dog but kept walking, although she clutched her baby closer, fully expecting him to be frightened by such a beast.

Thurlow, however, did not bat an eye.

Helewys slowed to a stop, confusion clanging through her. She stared down at her son, frowning when she saw that he was totally unbothered. Did he not hear the hound's frenzied barking? He was not deaf, was he? It was as she was trying to make sense of his strange indifference that Thurlow finally appeared to notice the spluttering dog, turning his gaze towards it. For a moment, the baby boy stared at it with a languid sort of curiosity, unflinching even as it redoubled its efforts, directing horrible booming barks at them. Then he laughed. Helewys watched incredulously as her son giggled and babbled joyously in the face of a raging beast.

Yet, although it was perhaps the most notable, this incident with the dog was not the only occasion where the boy lacked fear. As he grew older, it became more and more obvious that something was amiss. Not once did he climb into his parents' bed after a nightmare. Never did he flinch at a sudden clash of thunder. When stories were told at night that made your skin creep, Thurlow only became confused by the anxious faces of the listeners.

It was not long before the townsfolk started to take notice. At first, it was that women wistfully remarked that they wished their own children were as good-natured as Thurlow. Men exclaimed that a child so level-headed would make a fine warrior one day. Helewys was relieved to hear their praise. Buoyed by the positive remarks of the townsfolk, she convinced herself that there was not anything at all wrong with her son, that he simply possessed an exceptionally good temperament. But the admiration of the townsfolk did not last long. It quickly turned to disquiet as they realised that Thurlow was not simply good-natured or level-headed, but actually fearless.

It dawned on Helewys, also, and she was not the sort of person to believe in such things. If she had not seen it for herself, she would have thought it a preposterous idea. But she had, and it was undeniable.

She wondered. Would he fear to lose his loved ones, to lose her? Would he fear to break the law? Would he fear pain? Would he fear death?

She knew the answer already. It terrified her.

It was not long after this realization that Helewys received her first anonymous letter. The author expressed genuine concern, then went on to suggest she consult a physicker regarding Thurlow's fearlessness. His humors were undoubtedly out of balance, they had written, and medical therapy would restore equilibrium. It would cure him. This, however, was only the first of many suggestions made to her via anonymous letter. Her son must be possessed, and she should have a priest perform an exorcism. Someone in the family must have committed a heinous crime and this unnatural child was divine punishment. In one letter, the author scolded Helewys for not worshipping the boy. It was clear he had been born knowing the name of fear, and did that not make him as good as a god?