Arrick crouched low to the ground with his spear readied and watched a colossal boar rooting around the base of an oak tree in search of acorns and mushrooms. He'd tracked the beast by following as it rubbed against trees after wallowing in muddy ponds. The boar was ungraceful game, not hard to track at all. Great gnashes in tree trunks made easy markers for its destructive path.
He'd trailed this one over the course of two days, following close behind as it barely stopped to rest in search of food. From the flattened brush and depressions in the dirt he'd only guessed at the animal's size, but seeing it up close left him in complete reverence. He wasn't sure that he'd even be able to take it down, it was so large.
The thing grunted as it tilled the earth with its snout, great curled tusks jutting up from its lower jaw. It's stiff hair was almost black, thick, wiry, and covered in patches of dried mud. It stood taller than Arrick and had to be at least nine feet long from the tip of the snout to the base of its tail.
Arrick smiled. Kells would need to offer something truly wondrous to beat him now. With less than a day left in the competition it was all or nothing.
He tensed in anticipation as he waited for the hog to expose it's flank so he could impale it behind and just under the front leg, aiming for the lungs. The creature was shifting nervously, perhaps picking up on Arrick's scent-- or maybe just sensing that danger was near. Arrick couldn't find an opening as it hugged the large trunk of the tree.
The wild boar was not a particularly smart animal, Arrick found. Livestock generally were smarter than their feral brethren, whether that was influenced by their handlers or just a simple tradeoff for brute strength. They could be wily sometimes and difficult to fight, but generally speaking he'd had no issues killing them in the past. Hell, Arrick had killed one at the age of nine all by himself.
This boar stopped its hunt for worms and bulbs and tilted its head back, nose twitching. It turned toward the bush where he crouched, as if hearing his thoughts.
Arrick held his breath. He wanted to stay well away from the tusks in case his aim wasn't true. Most likely, a perfect jab wouldn't down the animal immediately. It would no doubt fight.
It didn't matter, however. Though he was sure he had been down wind and completely silent, the swine either saw him or sensed him. It shrieked and bolted the other direction, barreling through the shrubs. Arrick cursed and sprang from his hiding spot, bounding after.
The hooves of the boar loudly pounded the forest floor as it ran. Arrick followed solely on the sound of the snapping twigs in its wake as it ran faster than he could keep up with. He pumped his legs to their limit as he dodged trees and vaulted ditches, the boar continuing to squeal as he gave chase. He couldn't lose the kill now, he'd be damned if Kells presented more flesh than him.
A sudden clearing sent the boar in a different direction. Arrick caught sight of it as he entered the glade and saw his opportunity as it slowed to turn. The whole left flank was exposed.
Arrick threw the spear with all of his strength. Throwing would be far less accurate and powerful, but now the boar would never allow him to get close enough to land a solid blow. He could not track another animal with so little time left. With sun about to set, this was it.
The spear sailed through the air and just as the giant kicked up a spray of muck in its retreat, the head buried into the haunch. It was not a killing blow, but the boar was tripped by the attack.
The high pitched, guttural shriek of the pig suddenly turned into a deep moan as it's massive body hit the ground, the spear dislodging from its haunch.
Arrick slid to a stop as he heard it. Before his eyes, the giant beast began to change. It shrank down, its wiry hairs receding. The thing moaned again and rapidly dwindled into the form of a human.
The naked man before him was covered in cuts and bruises, the worst of which was the huge gash created by the spear on his left upper thigh. His pale body was still caked in mud, his face covered by a beard as dark as the boar hair. The man was by no means scrawny, either-- he was quite large and muscled.
"Maker above, what are you?" Arrick looked down at the man, baffled. Thoughts of winning the great hunt left him, thoughts of outdoing Kells vanished. He'd never seen a man take the form of a beast before. Stories he'd heard, but he had thought they were all baby tales parents told their children to scare them into doing chores.
"Damn your Maker, you sack of shit," the man cried, grimacing as he regarded his thigh. "Look what you've done!" His accent was as thick as his voice was booming.
"I had no idea--" Arrick began, stammering. He held out his hand to the man, who promptly batted it away.
"Right, you had no idea. I know that, you fucking bull calf," he sat up slowly, cringing. "Stomping all around like that was foolish. Should've killed you when I had the chance, but I thought I'd be kind for once. Now you've gotten us both killed. We will meet the Maker now."
Arrick took a step back as the man slowly wobbled and stood. "Wait," he said. "What do you mean by that?"
The man barked a short, angry laugh, flashing large canines. "Oh, you thought I was running from you, did you? You think I fear a scrub like you?" He laughed again, this time sounding like he was actually amused.
Trees began to shake and a crashing of their limbs resounded behind Arrick. He'd not heard them during the chase, his mind so focused on killing the boar that he must have blocked the sound from his mind. Now, as his confusion wore off, a large form was exploding through the forest in chase not far behind.
"What is it?"
"Oh, you've never met a gorm before?" The man answered as if Arrick was a dullard. "Well, unfortunately this one's a timbergorm that's been patrolling the forest. I've been avoiding it until now. Bigger than normal, stronger than normal, all around a bad idea to pick a fight with," the man snorted.
The sounds drew closer. Arrick turned and saw tree tops swaying. A low, rumbling roar issued from its direction. He backed away from it slowly, eyes searching the dense forest for the form.
It was big, alright. Towering as tall as the trees and colored as their leaves, it approached on two short but stocky legs. Its torso was long and covered in barklike protrusions, its body-length, multi-fingered arms gripping tree trunks as it passed, bending them. The flattened, broad head was adorned with jagged antlers that spiked upward. Loose strands of moss hung from its mildewy body. Arrick had never seen anything like it.
"Well, you're in luck, boy," the man said, but his deep voice didn't sound as sure as the words he spoke, "You're in the presence of godbear Esbjorn! At least we will die in a most valiant fight." Esbjorn cracked his knuckles as blood poured from his wound, his whole left leg slicked with red.
"Take your spear," Esbjorn ordered. "Seeing as you've damned us, you're not leaving. If you do, the gorm is the last thing you'll need to worry about. It'll swallow you whole," he winked. "I, on the other hand, like to play with my food. Oh, and aim for the inside of its mouth."
Esbjorn began to transform once more, his limbs swelling and doubling in size each moment. Black hair sprouted first along his arms and legs and then covered his entire body. In seconds a great bear stood before him, bigger even than the boar. The wound on his haunch was still freely bleeding.
Arrick scooped up his spear and nervously faced the gorm. He was nineteen and had faced many dangerous animals in his time, but nothing quite like this. The sight of the monster made his knees weak.
The gorm had breached the clearing. He could see now that most of the head was actually a giant maw. The small, black eyes were wide set and low on its skull, where the mouth pulled open to reveal great yellowed incisors on the bottom jaw with a hard, rocklike upper palate.
It could definitely swallow even Esbjorn in his bear form whole.
Esbjorn advanced first, breaking Arrick out of his gobsmacked state. The bear circled around the gorm's thick legs and took quick swipes here and there, splintering off pieces of its barklike armor.
The gorm bellowed and shook the trees it gripped, tearing a thin pine from its roots. It swung the tree like a club at Esbjorn. The bear cantered to the side in time to avoid the sweep of the trunk but was whipped by the needles.
Arrick was planted to his spot. He had no idea how to fight this thing. Going near its giant mouth was suicide. He'd be crushed in an instant. To even get to the mouth he'd have to scale it!
Esbjorn shook off the blow and kept circling the legs of the gorm, slashing at it with his long sharp claws. The creature kept crying out and swatting at him, but it seemed a little slow compared to even the limping gait of Esbjorn.
The gorm roared again and Arrick was able to get a closer look-- the armor that covered the monster did not extend into its mouth. Brown, fleshy folds hung in its throat. Perhaps by spearing it through these folds he could rupture its brain.
Arrick understood now. Esbjorn was pestering the creature to roar and expose its mouth for him. He'd have to act fast before it turned its attention to him.
Arrick sprinted at the creature, thankful for the lightweight boots he'd worn which gave him speed. When he approached the creature's leg Esbjorn had just circled back in front of it. The gorm swiped again at the bear. The hand of the gorm, which ended in vinelike tentacles, made direct contact with him. Esbjorn was sent flying back and struck the ground hard, sending out a spray of dirt. The bear whimpered.
Turning, the gorm finally noticed Arrick and bent down toward him. It opened its mouth in a thundering howl. It leaned forward, an algae covered tongue lashing against the rocklike palate. Arrick waited until the mouth was completely encompassing him. One second more and he'd be inside its belly.
The spear flew true. It whizzed deep into the throat of the beast and disappeared into the flesh. The gorm let out a wet gurgling howl. Arrick dropped to the ground and rolled as it closed its mouth, narrowly avoiding being swallowed.
A sound akin to quaking earth issued from deep within the timbergorm. It swayed unsteadily on its legs, brown muddy blood gushing from its mouth. With one last booming roar the giant careened to the left, felling huge trees in its wake. It crashed to the ground and sent up a wave of mud and moss which rained back down over the glade.
Arrick's heart was pounding from the rush. He rested prone as he eyed the body of the strange creature, amazed at having survived the encounter. None in Storn En Ver would believe that he had killed such a monster-- aided by a shape changer no less!
Arrick turned his attention to Esbjorn. He was a man once more, still curled over on his side. His ribs were bruised from the blow he'd endured, but it did not look fatal. The hulking man coughed loudly and spat, slowly rising to his feet.
"Mud in my mouth," he sputtered. He brushed off the dirt that covered his naked form and set a finger to one nostril, blowing so hard a clod flew from the adjacent orifice.
"Ha, you did a fine job, boy," he said, turning as Arrick hopped lightly to his feet. "I thought for sure you'd be swallowed whole! Tell me your name."
"My name is Arrick Hartbrand," he then paused a moment. The boy's face pinched in thought, brow furrowed. Esbjorn studied his features carefully, briefly recognizing the crooked nose and thick brows of someone he'd seen before.
When Arrick glanced back, he said, "What would you have done if I were swallowed?"
"Well it wouldn't have taken much for me to move on while the beast was distracted, now would it?" Esbjorn waved a hand dismissively. "You mean nothing to me."
"Many thanks," the boy muttered.
"You're welcome," the godbear was not bashful about his nudity, standing before Arrick without shame. He locked eyes with the boy, a smile splitting his harsh face, etched with lines like cracked leather. "Like I said, you've done well. It takes courage to defeat a gorm, especially an ornery one. They're not very intelligent but are very dangerous because of that. I needed a good distraction."
Arrick glanced up at the thin waning rays of light streaming from the canopy. Nightfall would be soon. By morning, the great hunt would end, and Arrick would return without his offering despite his victory. Kells would gloat and never let him live it down. It was his very first time competing, and with not an ounce to show for it. Perhaps he shouldn't have announced to the entire village that he'd return the victor. Cockiness, his gran said, was his greatest fault.
"I cannot linger. I have to return to my village. I set out to hunt for a contest and it ends by daybreak. You were my offering. Without flesh, I have failed."
Esbjorn's eyes twinkled. "You know, I wouldn't have been able to kill that gorm without your steady hand. I thought you'd ended us, but you have helped me tremendously today."
Esbjorn slowly walked over to the body of the gorm, his stride stiff and jerking from his injuries. He bent over and plucked Arrick's spear from inside the creature's throat. The spearhead was caked in mud.
"Since gormwood is no good for eating and can hardly be considered flesh at all, I'm sure you cannot offer it. It is useless both as meat and wood, as it does not burn. And since you cannot offer my flesh, which undoubtedly would have won you the contest many times over, I will repay you pound for pound. By daybreak you'll have your winning offering."
Arrick shook his head. "No. The hunt has to be won by my own hand. I can't rightly present trophies that I did not earn."
Esbjorn laughed sharply and hurled the spear at Arrick. The spear whizzed through the air, heading straight for his chest. Arrick spun clockwise and threw out his arm, moving with his spear as he caught it, palm sliding over the slicked handle. He deftly turned and faced the man with weapon readied.
Arrick was furious, but Esbjorn cackled and drummed his chest. "Spectacular reflexes! That spear is balanced true. You knew exactly how it would fly."
Arrick's anger faltered. "I made it by my own hand and trained as a child guarding with staffs," he swept the spear through the air and angled the tip down and forward with the butt resting at his hip, his form perfect with knees bent slightly. A smile broke through the young man's concentration, obviously glad to have an audience. He held the pose a moment before relaxing. He then held the spear aloft for Esbjorn to better see.
"Carved of ash, the tip was fire-hardened and ground with stone." He pivoted left into an underhand slash followed by three quick jabs, which he retracted back into a half-staff guard, his spear held before him with hands placed equal distance from the ends. He twirled the spear and rested it on the ground. Kells always called him a showoff, but spear handling was his expertise.
Esbjorn grinned wolfishly and clapped his hands together. "And you can fight! Splendid, you could make a great huntsman yet, even though you are a leadfoot and not very bright. But that is enough." He turned, gesturing for Arrick to follow. "Since you deny my aid and night has set, it looks like you've lost. There will be many more hunts. For now, follow me. I will guide you through the forest. Most animals flee before me, and those that do not reside far from here. The gorm was the only creature to venture from the hinterland. It had wreaked havoc on this forest for many months. I do not fear the night here, at least for now."
"I have no fear of the night," Arrick said as he followed along, looking once more at the horrific hybrid visage of the timbergorm as they passed, shadows now filling its crevices.
"You should," Esbjorn replied, his tone now flat and serious as he lightly moved through the foliage, finding the best path through the overgrowth. "I've noticed a change on the wind when night falls. There's a reason I chose to live in the forest in the form of a boar."
Arrick laughed at this. "Why a boar, of all creatures?"
Esbjorn paused a moment before answering. "The shape I take suits my mood. Anyway, life seems much easier as a simple pig, doesn't it? Eat to shit, shit to eat. It's uncomplicated."
Arrick struggled to keep up with the hulking man. He was no stranger to traversing such terrain, but there was no denying Esbjorn's familiarity with the wood. It was almost as if he could see into the growing darkness. Even Arrick, who'd spent months tracking and hunting in his youth, couldn't walk the forest alone at night.
The godbear continued to talk, but Arrick soon lost sight of his guide.
"There are places in the world where old things are. They have been there a long time and they will be there a long time."
"Are you an old thing?" Arrick asked the darkness ahead as he swatted biting insects from his face and wiped his curly bangs from his sweaty forehead, a sudden chill running through him. He now could only see a few feet in front of him, the sparse starlight illuminating just enough of the path for him to follow. Firebugs flitted through the trees, giving him some peace of mind. Crickets chirped, nightjars warbled their low repetitive song, and the forest behaved just as any other. Still, he felt unease.
"Are you a god?"
"I'm no god," Esbjorn replied. He was silent then, and Arrick faltered. He stopped walking as the path before him obscured into darkness.
"Esbjorn?" he called out.
"You're from the little village on the river north of here, Storn En Ver, right?" His voice was a bit farther ahead, slightly off to the right.
"Yes, how'd you know?"
"I participated in the hunt many years ago. To answer your question since you freely, and perhaps foolishly, answered mine-- I am no god. But I am very old. And old things remember. Be careful who you share information with."
Arrick gripped his spear and studied the thick darkness, the air laden with moisture. Moss creeped up tree trunks and the ground was littered with pine needles, muffling sound. Arrick noticed now that the nightjars and crickets had ceased their chorus. So, too, did the lights of the firebugs flicker out. All sound dampened.
Arrick turned around, scanning the forest. The hairs stood up on his arms.
"The birds become quiet when a predator is near," Esbjorn spoke, now closer to him, low to the ground, as if crouched. For a moment an image of a huge bear about to pounce flashed in his mind and his muscles tensed, anticipating an attack. Then, quietly, the man said, "Lower yourself, boy."
Arrick knelt down, holding his spear tightly.
"Most of the time the predator is just you, but once in awhile a bigger threat passes by. Take the gorm," he now barely whispered. Arrick could still not see him.
"Is it another?" Arrick whispered back.
"No. Something approaches from which I retreated into this forest. We will let it pass before moving on. And if you still don't trust me and think I'm going to kill you out here, you're smarter than you look. Which isn't saying much at all."
Arrick had no idea what was happening, but fear, rather than instinct, told him to stay still. A presence above the trees seemed to pass by, the darkness deepening for a moment. The forest died. All was silent and black as pitch.
Cold seeped into his bones. The sweat from his brow evaporated and he began to shiver. Never had he felt the temperature drop so drastically. Abovehead the treetops quivered as a great wind rattled the branches. It was as if a giant bird flew past, but so quickly that it came and went in seconds. Whatever it was continued on without noticing them.
Arrick had been holding his breath. When regular night returned moments later, his heart began to slow and the gooseflesh receded. He now saw Esbjorn standing before him.
"Get up and hurry. I will lead you back to Storn En Ver, which is not far from here. But promise not to be so naive and stupid when speaking to strangers. You trust too easily, and it will get you killed in the coming times. I share few secrets with fewer people. Consider that the gift for helping me today."
Arrick stood, and before he could stop himself, blurted, "What was that thing?"
The shape changer answered sharply, "Forget about it. I'm bringing you back and you'll ask no more."
He started walking again, but Arrick scowled and ran after. "I killed that gorm for you. You said it yourself-- you needed me to kill it. You said you don't fear the night, and yet you run with tail between your legs. Answer me, shapeshifter."
Esbjorn wheeled around, teeth bared. "Answer you or what?"
Arrick met the man's wild eyes and didn't break contact, staring without fear. He gripped his spear with both hands.
Then Esbjorn snorted. "Persistent little fucker you are, I give it to you. Threaten a damn bear with a little stick. You've got balls big as mine at half my height."
He sighed. "Listen, that thing that passed is worse than a gorm, older than a gorm, and meaner. It can sap the mind out of anything by touch alone. It's mere passage brought decay. It is as light as the wind and is always seeking, hungry and yet never satisfied. But don't let it trouble you none. The sooner you forget about it, the better off you'll be. It has no interest in the lives of mortal men."
"It is a demon?"
"Inasmuch as I'm one, I suppose."
Arrick stood utterly bewildered. All of this was madness. A man could assume the form of wild beasts, a giant monster had prowled the forest, and a demon flew through the night. He'd never seen magic before. He had never entertained that the stories told were anything but. Now he didn't know what to believe or what any of this meant. Was he in over his head?
"No one will believe me."
"And I suggest you tell no one. There aren't many left who know about old things, you know. We tend to stay hidden unless it is in our interests to be seen. Come now, we must continue."
"One last question."
Esbjorn threw his arms up in exasperation. "You just don't give up, do you?"
Ignoring the comment, Arrick asked, "How did you gain the power to change shape?"
Esbjorn, who was silhouetted by the return of the firebugs, turned away from him. "It was forced upon me."
And he spoke of the matter no more.