Chapter 15

Beowulf took from its sheath his sword. Light reflected from its surface in strange patterns, and the sword's edge seemed alive and moving in the sun's rays.

"I grow old. Yet, it seems, there is one more toil, one battle more. Well, so be it. Every man dies. But it is given to some to live and die for a cause. For a cause that makes their having lived worthwhile. Boy, I will stand beside thee. Against this one none has ever prevailed. How will fare a boy, and an old man?"

He laughed. "Well, well, until I came none had prevailed against Grendl. Nor against Grendl's mother. Be of good cheer. We shall do what flesh and blood can do. And if that be not enough, then surely we shall die as men, sword in hand!"

The day passed swiftly, and shadows were lengthening. Demo built a fire, warmed the food his mother had hastily packed. Beowulf ate of dried meat he carried.

"Your friend, I think, will return once more this night. Sleep by your fire. I shall rest against the trunk of that oak, and when he comes I will greet him. If your Zeus be powerful, pray unto him, for this night one walks the earth as evil incarnate. And of us three, I fear none shall view a rising sun."

Beowulf rose, walked to the tall oak, sat at its base. He lay the naked sword across his lap, closed his eyes. Whatever dread he felt, it showed not in his demeanor or action. Though he slept Demo knew no sound or motion would escape his attention. It was the sleep of one ever alert, ready for the life and death struggle that might lie ahead.

A fog rose from the cold surface of the tarn, and driven by a light breeze, drifted onto the shore. Demo huddled close to the fire, eyes watching anxiously that fog-shrouded tarn, the mist-shrouded trees. His hand clutched his bow, and an arrow lay beside him, ready to be notched.

With sunset the grotto lost all semblance of light. Vague winds rustled tree limbs, calls of night birds sounded, and other sounds. Sounds that brought quick apprehension to his mind. And then they faded - then returned once more.

Suddenly Demo sat up!

He had fallen asleep. A noise, a movement? Something had surely wakened him.

The crescent moon had risen, and in its light the trees and bushes cast soft shadows.

Quickly he glanced toward the huge oak.

Beowulf was gone!

Slowly he turned his eyes toward the tarn.

It was there!

Moving toward him with deliberate stride, dark except where the moonlight reflected from its eyes.

Quickly he notched his arrow, drew the bow.

Nearer it came, and nearer. It seemed nearly upon him when he loosed his arrow. It struck the creature full in the chest, dropped harmlessly to the ground.

"Athena, farewell!"

The creature's claws touched his arm, cutting effortlessly through cloth and through flesh.

"Face me, worm of death. I've traveled through space and time to challenge you, and you return to your lair only through me."

The creature rose, loosed the boy. It turned to face Beowulf.

Throughout the forest the scream of anger sounded!

It charged the waiting swordsman.

Claws extended, fangs bared, it leaped with fury on its foe.

Quickly they were joined by sound of blows, the whistle of Beowulf's blade in air. With every motion the sword gleamed with a strange and changing light. Now a deep and glowing red. Then a green that seemed to flow its length, changing to sunlight yellow. And all besmeared with the blood of Wyrd!

Blood flowed, both red and green!

Beowulf fell before the onslaught, rose again.

Demo watched, transfixed. Even in the horror of nightmare was not seen such fearsome battle!

Wounded both and bleeding, and still the battle continued!

The moon dropped from view, and the gentle stars looked down on the frenzied struggle.

In despair Demo saw Beowulf fall, his sword dropping from his hand.

Demo lunged forward quickly, was struck down as quickly. He felt a bump rising on his head where the blow had landed. He crawled forward, fell, lay still. The creature turned once more to Beowulf, its blood-drenched claws extended.

From the tree tops the white object plummeted, opened wide its wings and flew into the face of the fiend. Startled, the monster fell, rolled over and quickly slipped into the frigid waters of the tarn.

Athena stood beside Demo. Their eyes looked in sorrow at the prostrate body of Beowulf.

Even as they moved forward to help him he sat up, his hand searching for and seizing the hilt of his sword. Without a word he stood, shook his head, staggered to the brink of the tarn.

Sword clutched in hand, a look of resignation on his face, he dove into the Demon's Lair!

For a brief moment the water was still, not even a breeze disturbing its surface.

Without warning it erupted!

A huge shape rended its surface, fell back with a scream of anger! The green blood blended with the dark water of the tarn.

For hours the battle continued. The once calm tarn was now an ocean of waves and froth, and thunder sound above it. From beneath those waters rumbles of anger rose. Sulfurous fumes lifted from its surface, killed the trees bordering the dark waters.

Then nought but silence!

Athena's voice was sad. "He will drive Wyrd once more into those bonds that have so long endured. For all his heroism, for all his strength, Beowulf cannot survive the conflict, and even I cannot save him." She gazed, sad-eyed, at the fateful tarn.

"Yet, he shall return at last in another time, another place. Indeed he will one day slay the Grendl, the Grendl's mother - archfiends of another era."

Her eyes were turned to the heavens, seemed to look beyond the visible.

"Beyond that, the day will come when the fire dragon itself shall fall to his sword. Only then shall Wyrd have him, as Wyrd must have us all."

"Come, Zeus waits."

"Wyrd. Yes, yes, the Worm of Death. But, even the Titans knew it only as a legend. Well, never mind. It is once more returned to its lair, once more imprisoned."

Zeus seemed to have other thoughts on his mind.

"How did you manage, my boy. No, no, I don't have time! Golf tournament this afternoon. Poseidon has won the last two. Still, the score is getting closer. Oh, would you care to caddy. No, I suppose you are a little tired. Good night, my son."

"Good night, my son."

Demo looked up at his mother, rolled over and pulled the blankets close. Such strange dreams.

His fingers gingerly rubbed the lump on his head.

Theresa entered the room timidly, eyes downcast.

"Is Demo home. I need to talk to him."

Metaneira's eyes held a question? "He's out back with Rough. Is something wrong?"

"I . . . I like Demo. I really wouldn't hurt him for the world. I am sorry, I . . . . Please, I can't marry him. Metaneira, I am sorry. There is another. Oh, what can I say, what shall I do!"

"Theresa, don't cry. Perhaps all will work out for the best. But, yes, you should tell him. He is a brave lad. I'm sure he will take it like a man. Why don't you wipe your eyes, then go out back and talk to him. Be brave, girl!"

As Theresa went out the back door Metaneira looked up, shook her fist. "Athena, you are a conniver. Who have you sent to poor Theresa? I should have known. Oh, well, you may make a delightful daughter-in-law."

She shook her head, looked out the back door.

Theresa and Demo were standing quietly, his arms around her.

"It's all right, little sister. You see, I think it's always been this way. I've always felt toward you like a big brother. I don't think I could really have been anything else." Demo spoke quietly.

He liked Theresa, always had. Not as a lover. No, more as the little girl next door than as an attractive and mature young lady. Even now he could not see her other than as the little girl.

"Who is he, Theresa? Are you sure?"

"You know him. Randy. He is so strange and wonderful and I knew when we first met."

He smiled, placing his hand under her chin he lifted it up. "If he ever mistreats you, you let me know. And tell him big brother will beat him to a pulp if he isn't nice to you. Understand?"

She half sobbed, half laughed.

"Yes, big brother."

She hugged him, her arms around his neck, then kissed him on the lips, pressing against him. For a moment they stood thus.

"You know, big brother, I think I could have made you love me - another way. I'm very glad I didn't. I'll always need a big brother."

"I'll be here."

21. Dream Shadows

In sleep reality is dreams, dreams reality. And Demo knew not whether he slept, and all was but a dream. Or, whether, waking, his mind did dream of dreams.

It had started - as had all his recent adventures - with a summons from Zeus. And when Zeus spoke Demo felt that, perhaps, he had indulged in too much of Olympic nectar.

"Boy, the world is not what it seems. Look around you. What do you see?"

The question, of course, was purely rhetorical. Zeus went on with no hesitation.

"You see Olympus, of course. And, if you had my powers, you might look down and see earth. Or even let your gaze penetrate to the nether kingdom of my brother, Pluto. With a little more effort Tartarus comes in view. And that, think you, is the universe. Ah, and that is where you err."

Zeus was plainly morose. He had a problem that bothered him. And rather than attacking the problem head-on, he was talking his way around it.

"Ah, indeed, Sire! Just the other day I was telling my mother . . . ."

"Yes, yes, but what I mean is, there is also the unseen. The world in transition. It was, and now is not. Yet, in a strange sort of way, it is. Understand? (More rhetorical questions.) It will be, eventually; it hasn't become, yet. It's a world in . . . well, it's a world in transition. And during the transition, it isn't. Hmmm, very simple, actually. Must make a note of that, - A world in transition - should go over well at the club."

He reached above his head, unrolled a long papyrus, and jotted a few notes on the bottom. As he let go the papyrus rewound, disappearing when the last page was snugly wrapped. Zeus smiled, took a slight bow, and tossed his pen into the air. It, too, disappeared. But, not, unfortunately, before several drops of ink splattered the divine face. With a growl Zeus reached up and a white towel appeared. He started to wipe away the ink.

"Drop that! Not with my clean towel!"

Hera rushed into the room, seized the towel, handing Zeus instead a well-used one. With a sigh he wiped away the ink, dropped the towel into the waste disposer. The waste disposer growled, wagged its tail, and devoured the towel with a single gulp.

"Anyway, that's where you need to go. It's the one region outside of my domain. I just don't have any power there, because it really doesn't exist, you understand. Well, it exists, kind of, to be scientifically precise."

Zeus prided himself on his scientific knowledge.

"And, Sire, what is the purpose of my visit."

"That, my boy, is a good question. Let us see if we can fabricate a good answer." He paused, walked back and forth twice, did a hop and a skip and a slight curtsy.

"I don't know! You will have to define your mission yourself. You see, this transition world, this shadow land - that's it, that's what I wanted to say. Shadow land! It is that. That is where you are to go. And what are you to do? Improvise! Improvise, my lad!"

"Yes sir, but to what end?"

"That tomorrow may come."

"That tomorrow may come?"

"Great! You've got it! Farewell, and a safe journey!"

Transitions? Shadow land? So that tomorrow will come? Has Zeus reached his dotage! Demo would ask more, except that he found himself suddenly alone. Alone, but where? Surely this was not his own world.

The gray fog swirled, settled, then swirled again. Dimly objects could be seen. And movement. They were there, or so it seemed. Yet, what objects? And what moved?

Silence accompanied the fog. Or, perhaps, preceded it. Regardless, the only sound was his own breathing.

A light was approaching. Small, at first almost non-existent, it loomed larger, though no brighter. A silhouette, vague and distorted, carried the lantern. At times both disappeared as the fog thickened.

The approach stopped. Plainly they sensed his presence. The lantern was held higher, and he could catch glimpses of a woman's face. There was anxiety in her eyes, even fear, as she gazed at him.

"Sir, whence cometh thou? Thee be not of our world. Flee to thy home, for he walks the moors this night!"

"I . . . I am sent by Zeus. You say one walks this night? Who walks the moors this night? And why should I fear?"

"None is safe alone in the dark. If you have not where to go then come with me. Quickly, quickly!"

He followed her down dark alleys, twisting streets. The earth was wet, and muddy water flowed in rivulets crisscrossing their way. Varied smells, of vegetables, of cooked meats, and of decay, tinted the air. At times lights were visible through small barred windows along their way.

The fog became ever more intense. She held his hand that he not go astray. Her hand was small and cold. He enwrapped it in his own to give it warmth. She smiled at his concern.

They passed a pond where floated debris, bodies of dogs and cats, and perhaps objects of more unsavory character. As they reached the far edge of the pond she turned to the right, slipped and shuffled down a mucky side street.

She slid the door open and motioned him to remove his footwear. When they stepped inside she took a soiled towel from its rack, wiped his feet and her own.

The room was small. A straw mat covered the floor, and cheap cotton tapestry decorated the walls. A small barred window looked out from the back wall. A mat unrolled on the floor beneath the window served for sleeping.

She closed the door, dropped a strong wooden bar in place to block it from opening. "He will not enter. Still may the Powers help whomever he meets on these dark streets. You are fortunate I took you in. Others might have taken you for a changeling, and left you to your own devices. Many a young maid has lost her life by mating with handsome changelings!"

"You are most kind. No, no changeling I. My name is Demo, and I am here on a mission. When it is done I must once more depart."

She seemed little interested in his mission, regarded his face and figure with marked curiosity.

"Thy clothes are not as ours. Thy skin is dark from rays of sun, and here there is no sun. And thee speaketh strangely, with words and accent unknown in this land." She stopped, a bemused look on her face.

"What call you this land and its people? What is your name?"

She smiled at his questions.

"This is the world of Brume, and we are named Brumians. As for me, you may call me Mist. It is only a title, not my name. Our names we hold sacred, and to give them to others invites dire consequences. Yes, to Mist I shall answer."

"Well, I suppose I should likewise be as reticent. Anyway, my name is . . ."

Quickly she put her hand to his lips. "Speak it not again! You are a stranger, a sojourner in a strange land, and its customs are not of your world. You need not believe in our customs, but do not needlessly court danger. I shall name you."

She walked around him, a smile touching her lips. "Thou art tall, youthful, strong. Thou traveleth from far lands to our world. I name thee Wanderer."

She opened the back window and the white vapors of fog crept in. Sliding a small door to the side she removed a pot and some utensils. Toward the center of the room she removed a block of floormat, revealing a pit in which firewood lay.

Soon the room was warmed, and the aroma of a thick soup tantalized his nostrils. Gladly did he eat, little noticing that only spoonsful remained for her. "Ah, you cook like my own mother! What meat is this?"

"Do not concern yourself. It is nourishing, and harmless to you. It is the night season, and you may share my pad. Though you may think me forward, ask nought of me, for I am pledged. Only my company can I grant thee."

He slept. The fire died, the fog shrouded the room.

Of early morning he woke to find her fast asleep beside him. He reached out to tuck the blanket around her shoulders.

His eyes widened. Taking a deep breath he drew back his hand in consternation and sudden dread.

The shoulder was without substance. His hand felt cold and clammy air, nought else, passed through to touch the mat beneath.

She woke, looked at him with sad and pensive eyes. "Doth thee understand. Thou are not as we. We are but shadows, and thou art real. Waking, we can have semblance of reality. Sleeping, it fades. But touch me once more, for now I am."

Reluctantly he reached out for the hand she extended. Though cold, it was solid now as his own.

The sadness on her face disturbed him. Quietly he squeezed her hand, smiled. "There is much I don't understand. You have been kind to me. Still, I have a mission, and it must be done. I . . . "

The rattling of the door interrupted him. It started suddenly, grew in intensity. Mist moved to the far corner, dread on her face.

Demo frowned, took up his bow and notched an arrow. Slowly he drew the bow, waited.

The door held. In moments the rattling ceased. From without they heard a growl, followed then only by silence.

"Stay. Don't go out. He walks the street this night." Mist held his arm, eyes wide.

"Who is he? Why should I fear?"

"He is like you. He also comes from elsewhere. Yet, he is not like you. For you are kind. He destroys all he meets. And he is real, not shadow. When he came our world stopped. No longer do we move from the unreal to the real. We linger here in this shadow world, with no yesterday and no tomorrow."

He looked at her, startled. "No tomorrow? Strange! He said something very much like that - that tomorrow may come. Strange!"

"I cannot stay here, for I have my job to do. When I leave, close and bolt the door quickly. I pray we shall meet again. Time passes, and now I must do that for which I came. Peace!"

Then he opened the door, swiftly stepped out into the fog. He glanced up and down the alley, as far as he could see. Only fog.

A sound behind him caught his attention.

Turning swiftly, he found Mist closing the door, stepping to his side. "You shall not go alone!"

Arguments came to his mind. He was silent, for he realized she would not listen. "Stay close behind me. I search for him, the one from elsewhere. I know not why, but I feel that my mission is with him."

"You need not search. He will surely find us."

Demo moved down the street, ever watchful. Silence held sway, and the fog clung to them like wet cloth. At times lights could be seen, rapidly disappearing as the drear dawn came. Dawn brought little change. The fog still enmeshed a silent world, a world seemingly populated by Mist and himself.

The chill he felt came not from the fog. A coldness along his spine, a prickling on the back of his neck, forewarned him. Something there was, something evil and fearsome, close at hand!

"No!" Mist cried as she ran forward toward an object barely visible. Demo reached out to stop her. His hand touched only cold fog, and she was gone.

He followed her quickly, then stopped. The scream of utter terror rose, ceased quickly. All was silent. For a moment he closed his eyes. He knew full well he would see her no more.

Mist. A strange name. And yet a kind and gentle person. Now gone. To fight the unseen companion to protect himself had been his goal. No longer. Anger enveloped him. Mist was dead. The Demon must die!

Demo gazed from side to side, trying to penetrate the white barrier before his eyes. To no avail. Then, glancing down, he noted footprints. Footprints not made by man!

Slowly, his eyes on the ground ahead of him, he followed the trail. Where Mist had trodden he could not tell. She left no trace of her passage.

Looming huge in the fog and early morning gloom, ahead an object stood in his path. This was the creature she feared. The one that surely had destroyed her!

It was coming slowly closer. Plainly it recognized his presence. Smoothly he strung his bow, notched an arrow.

Demo waited quietly.

A shudder enveloped his body, and his eyes widened.

He knew this one. An aura emitted from it, one that was not new to him.

Surely, this was the unseen companion!

Without hesitation he released his arrow.

The laughter that came from out the fog held little humor. "Your puny weapons are merely playthings. I would end you now, if it were not that the fates have written, and it is by the tarn you shall meet your destiny. If you survive this world, or non-world! I leave you now, earthling. Find your way back to Olympus and Zeus. If you can!"

The unearthly laughter sounded once more, then faded, as did the figure half displayed in the swirling fog.

In his ears was but silence, and his eyes saw only the swirling fog.

'That tomorrow may come.' The words repeated themselves in his brain. What had Zeus intended? Was the unseen companion the evil influence dominating this strange world? Or were there other, still hidden, culprits. "Zeus, you have indeed given me a strange chore. I know not where to turn! If only I could lift this fog!"

He wandered through the streets. Glancing at a pond in passing he recognized it. He knew that he had merely retraced his steps, neared Mist's dwelling. With a sigh he found the door, entered.

He sat quietly on the mat, fell asleep.

Dreams, interrupted by moments of awareness, disturbed his rest. Dreams of Mist, of the unseen companion, finally of Athena. She spoke strange words to him, words couched in riddles. "Prometheus knew the answer. As did your unseen companion. Quickly, before the fire die."

He woke, sweat streaming from his body. From the center of the room a wisp of smoke rose from the dying fire. 'Before the fire die?' Strange words. 'Prometheus knew, the unseen companion knew?' What did they know?

Wide-eyed, he looked at the fading fire. Suddenly he reached down, pulled a fiery brand from center, and tossed it at the wall. In moments the building was burning.

He rushed out of the building. The conflagration spread rapidly, and the once empty, fog-shrouded streets were filled with dim forms rushing helter-skelter to and fro.

Even as the flames spread the fog began to dissipate. An early morning sun could be seen shining on the horizon. Where strange shadows had moved along the streets now people were to be seen. Smiles replaced looks of dreary misery. Indeed Prometheus had known!

Still, there remained much to do. 'That tomorrow may come?' What action must be taken 'that tomorrow may come'? The fog was indeed gone. Only a burned out city remained. No tomorrow, this!

What else had Athena whispered to him while he slept. Something very important. Nothing came to mind. He moved westward, drawn by an unknown force. The answer was to be found beyond the western horizon. If there were an answer.

The mountains loomed large to the west. He began that westward trek, barely reached the foothills before the sun began to sink behind the jagged peaks. Looking for a place to sleep safely, he noted an opening, the mouth of a cave.

He entered cautiously.

"There is no cause for fear. Welcome. I've awaited your coming."

An old man spoke the words softly, calmly. His countenance belied the words.

Clad in the armor of a warrior, with face stern, marked by steel and fire, the old man projected a sense of authority.

Demo stepped forward slowly.

"Sire, I know you not. Yet you have awaited me?"

"One who has traveled far with you forecast your arrival. In due time you shall know him. Much will be revealed - by the tarn. But that another day, another world."

The unseen companion! He had been here, spoken to this one. What strange fate forever brought their paths together? And what was the secret of the tarn?

Demo shook his head.