A shadow fell on a distant land.
Harvests failed and rivers ran dry. Livestock died and people vanished.
The villagers said a monster had come. A creature that dwelled in the mountains, and preyed on their families.
The creature must be killed, they said.
Men from all over the region took up arms against the creature. They quested up the mountain, searching for the beast.
None of them returned.
Years passed- then decades. The story of the monster faded to myth.
The land remained barren, and the people suffered.
There was an old man who still remembered the good years, when his vineyard had been loaded with grapes. Now the withered vines produced little fruit.
He blamed the monster for his hardships, and this blame turned to bitter obsession.
“Father, you cannot kill it,” his son pleaded. “It will change nothing.”
“I must. They say its heart can break the curse.”
The son shook his head. “No. They say it eats the hearts of men.”
The next morning he awoke to find his father’s bed empty. He cursed himself for not watching his father closer. He saddled his horse and went after him.
The old man was far ahead. His horse climbed higher. Low plains gave way to forest. He shivered as he crossed snowy ground, his coat long forgotten.
Finally, he reached the ruin.
“What do you want?” the creature asked.
The old man did not recognize it for what it was.
“I am hunting the monster,” he replied. His breath rose in the crisp, alpine air.
“Not for long,” it replied. Too late, the man realized who he dealt with.
That night the creature feasted on the flesh of the old man and drank the hot blood of his heart.
The next day the son arrived.
He found the courtyard empty- except for a dirty, naked child sitting in a circle of bloody snow.
“What do you want?” it asked.
“My father.”
The child watched him. “He is not here,” it replied carefully.
He knew his father was dead. Still, he felt pity for the child.
“Come,” he said. “You must be cold. I have another cloak.”
He bundled up the child and built a bonfire. They faced the crackling flames in silence.
“I am hungry,” it said, after a time.
The son carefully opened his arm with a small knife, and the child drank its fill.
Weakened, he fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke he was alone, and the fire reduced to ash.
A small, heart- shaped stone lay in the snow.
He pocketed it, thankful to be alive.
In the spring he buried the stone in the vineyard. The vines rejuvenated and produced better than they had in years. He wished his father could have seen it.
In the town they said the curse had lifted. That the creature had died. Or maybe there had never been a creature at all.
The son kept his secret, and he prospered.
---
Comments