The Tale of Henrietta, Part IV

"When Father Robert saw the figure between the boles of ancient Ash, he tore a leg from the rabbit and threw it toward the figure who caught it easily with his left hand, no other part of him moving; then, pouring fresh wine into his tumbler, Father Robert walked to the edge of the light between the trees and set the wine exactly between the trees nearest the figure. Bowing, he said,

"'To what do we owe the presence and, I surmise, constant vigilance of the Merry Guardian this night?'

"The Merry Guardian smiled, his hand and arm precisely where they had been when he caught the savory lagomorph. 'You know I cannot eat this rabbit,' he purred. 'Nor can I drink that wine, unless invited into your circle,' and though he was still and calm, there seemed to be a trembling hunger underneath his words, a barely concealed plea.

"'If you would eat, protect us; if you would drink, give us your word that we are safe; if you would sit by our fire, let all darkness and confusion be banished from this spot, and tell us all you know of the wonders and terrors we have encountered in our travels,' is what Father Robert said to the Merry Guardian.

"The Merry Guardian thought deeply, breathed deeply, his eyes closed; for a moment, all was still in the circle of Ash. Then his eyes opened and the fire had crackle again.

"'You are protected, I give you my word that you are safe, I would sit by your fire and offer you all pertinent -- and some impertinent -- knowledge of this path you travel and the tricks, traps and traipsings set about for you. May I cross the circle?' The Merry Guardian looked only at Father Robert.

"'The Circle is whole, the circle is clean, you may step inside -- if that's what you mean,' was Father Robert's response, bowing and backing up one step to the right.

"The Merry Guardian's eyes narrowed briefly, then he stepped between the trees, picking up the tumbler as he went, and smilingly took a seat on a log near the fire. He bit into the rabbit and was so consumed in devouring it that everyone at the fire was reminded that they were famished and for a time the only sound was the crackling of the fire, the breeze in the trees and the sound of weary men enjoying a well-deserved meal ... in the presence of a strange visitor.

"Considering the now fleshless bone of the rabbit's leg, the Merry Guardian sipped his wine and spoke: 'I come to your fire from the shadows, laughing, and you offer me luck; this is a rabbit's foot.' When no one spoke for some moments, he continued. 'I offer you trout and you leave their heads for me smoking near the fire; you pierce glamour with ancient herbology, you use practicality and logic mixed with peasant lore to unravel a noose you notice moments before it will kill you, you leave offerings to me at every crossroads. And yet, as a lady in a fire once observed, you call yourself a Priest.'

"Still no one spoke. Father Robert, strapping lad of nineteen years though he now appeared to be, was regarding the Merry Guardian with the same grave calmness with which he seemed to observe everything. Friar Rudel and Hannibal the Talkative looked from one to the other as though watching a game of fire-tossing. Finally the Merry Guardian looked directly at Father Robert.

"'You could have asked me all of this the moment you unveiled me at the first crossroads, and I would have had to tell you. Why wait until now, Robert of the Lost?'

"'How could I ask you about what I did not know would come?' was Father Robert's calm reply.

"'Ha! Deceive the deceiver, would you? How can you have come this far without knowing where you were going?'

"'I know only that I wish to reach the Abbey that is highest and most remote in the mountains; this has been my prayer and my wish and my request at every tree at every stop along the way. To my knowledge, I have done nothing special.'

"'Nothing special? You have given me more sustenance in the past days than any of the most adept hedge witches offer me in their lifetimes! You know to keep the circle intact, yet bring me in with wine and luck in meat! You know where you are going, Robert of the Lost! And I would have you tell me: HOW DO YOU KNOW?!'

"'That,' said Father Robert, 'Was a third question.'

"The Merry Guardian stared at Father Robert a moment, then dropped his head as if in defeat; Friar Rudel and Hannibal the Talkative watched in silence, and all was still a moment. Then the Merry Guardian began to laugh.

"'You are the child or grandchild of an ancient line of wise peasant folk,' he crowed, pointing at Father Robert. 'You were taught, from your youth, by some wise Uncle or Grandmother! I can smell it on you! Aaugh, I almost lost it under the reek of Frankincense and Myrrh, but it's there -- deep as the earth and pure as underground rivers. Do you know how long it has been since anyone has tricked me into asking any question at all, much less a third question freely by their fire?! And a priest of the Ancient-hating Church, to boot! This is refreshing!' So saying, the Merry Guardian threw his feet up on another log, leaned back quite comfortable with his hands behind his head and said, 'You have freed me from my every bond of secrecy, trickery and deception. I may -- and must -- answer your every question. Truth be told, Robert of the Lost, I am delighted to answer. Not since Orpheus have I been so thoroughly released. Sadly, in his case, he forgot one very important question. Went and lost his head, poor boy. But I'm blathering on, and you have a road to travel at first light; so, ask.'

"'I have but three questions, Merry Guardian, and I thank you for joining us at our fire this night,' said Father Robert, as he refilled the Merry Guardian's tumbler. 'My first question is this: where are we?'

"The Merry Guardian sat up with a deep breath and for a moment even the flames themselves stilled and each man felt in his bones the stars move across the heavens. Then the Merry Guardian said, 'You are a stone's throw from the village closest to the Abbey you seek; it is late November, there is woodsmoke in the air and the South West Road is true, now.' As the Merry Guardian spoke, so it was: snow in great drifts everywhere, woodsmoke from the village as more snow fell in swirling feathery puffs that seemed to hang in the air and never settle. And though the night was bitter cold, the fire was higher and hotter than it had been moments before.

"As they watched, the South West Road changed from a replica of the other directions to a downward-sloping track framed by twisted, leafless trees bowed with the weight of snow. And, running up that track came a young woman, beautiful, healthy -- and terrified. She ran straight for the fire, straight into the fire. Friar Rudel shouted to her and Hannibal the Talkative reached to throw his now-frozen wine on her, but she was not bothered by the flames and instead turned to face the darkness beyond the trees, the night-cloaked road she'd been running. At that moment a howl tore the night air and made each man sit up straighter and inch toward the fire in spite of its hair-curling heat. Even the Merry Guardian raised an eyebrow and sat up for a better view.

"Out of the night came a hunched, hulking creature of pale flesh and matted fur, upright like a man but panting and lolling of tongue like a beast, its fingers tipped in bearlike claws, its feet more paw than foot. Its face, human to begin with, looked as though the eyes, snout and jaw of a half-formed baby wolf had been brutally shoved through the human skull. The eyes were mad with pain and rage. But most arresting of all was its penis: massive, erect, glistening, with a barb toothlike and sharp, having torn through the foreskin so that the penis and testicles dripped a frothing mixture of blood and the beast's anticipatory dribblings of unclean semen.

"The Merry Guardian became very still and whispered, 'This is something from the past; it was unanticipated. I do not know the nature of that beast. Nobody move.' 

"For a moment, nobody did. Then the girl knelt down and whisked five twigs of Ash into some runic formation that she held before her in a gesture of warding. The beast's eyes focused on it and for a moment there was knowledge and fear in those eyes, and everyone at the fire caught a glimpse of the man this beast had been. Then it seemed to smile, squatting, where it shat out a great stinking greasy pile of steaming filth, scooping up a handful to smear all over its already tortured genitals. Opening its mouth unnaturally wide, it howled so loud and so long that everyone at the fire felt their heads might crack if it should go on much longer.

"Watching the girl, Father Robert saw her head bowed and her arm begin to droop from the onslaught of the beast's dark song. So, noting the configuration of the runic shape in which she held her twigs, he grabbed some from the woodpile and, hoping they were Ash, moved next to the girl with what he also hoped was the right shape of rune, then moved a little in front of her and to her left, hoping to draw the beast's attention from her with the runic twigs in his outstretched right hand.

"The beast did nothing, howling louder as it began to step toward the girl. The Merry Guardian had been plugging his ears and clamping his eyes shut, but hearing the sound grow louder he opened his eyes and saw Father Robert. Jumping to his feet, the Merry Guardian yelled, 'Move, you fool!'

"The beast stopped howling, cocking his head and looking toward where the Merry Guardian stood. Speaking somehow around its massive tongue and teeth, it said:

 "'Meow, meow, little kitten; soft and furry, I am smitten. I will pop you in my mouth, I will follow North or South, I like to eat while raping best, I will find you -- East or West ..."

The beast was blinking as though trying to peer through smoke, and it was then that Father Robert made a mistake. Taking the old iron key with its woven leaves of bay, basil and blackberry from within the folds of his cloak, he threw it toward the girl, into the fire, where it instantly caught, and where -- somehow -- she caught it.

"Imagine her shock to find an iron key with flaming leaves bound to its ring suddenly in your hand as you face a nightmare creature in a dark mountain forest. She looked utterly shocked and confused, but now the beast's attention was riveted on her. Opening its mouth wide enough to take her head and most of both shoulders, the beast began crouching, ready to pounce.

"Father Robert, without a moment's hesitation, turned and pressed his runic twigs toward the girl's, reaching into the fire to where she held the key; what was cold as November night in her time was red hot in his; he screamed as his hand closed around the key, but at the same moment his rune touched hers and she and he were in the same place and time, each standing in a sudden fire that blinded the sensitive eyes of the beast -- angering an already enraged foulness. It sprung at them in an instant, tearing the flesh on Father Robert's back and shoulders but also knocking each out of the fire that had immediately ignited their clothing and was catching their hair. 

"Father Robert and the peasant girl were thrown bodily, flaming, into a snowdrift; the oldest and most ancient Ash, bent low above them, released all of its considerable snow, immediately extinguishing the flames that threatened to devour them.

"All of this had happened in a matter of moments; the beast was caught in the fire, burning, but now neither entirely in the past nor the present. It tore at its face, its ears, its arms and chest, it howled and screamed and burned and stank. Only the Merry Guardian watched it, because Friar Rudel and Hannibal the Talkative were digging Father Robert and the girl out of the snow, taking care lest they find them too terribly burned. Both were almost completely nude, the fire and the beast having torn or burned most of their clothing off; the girl, while singed, was relatively unscathed as far as they could see; Father Robert was terribly injured and burned, his back torn and rapidly staining the snow that deep shade of life so clearly indicative of pending death.

"'Robert of the Lost, you must do something about this creature!' the Merry Guardian shouted.

"'Father Robert is unconscious and bleeding and burned, you goatfucking son of a whore!' was what Friar Rudel shot back. In that moment something fell from Father Robert's cloak, something dark and smooth that Friar Rudel almost overlooked; but he had learned some things from Father Robert in the past weeks, and he picked it up to find that it was a smooth, round stone from a river with a hole worn naturally right through its center. On impulse, he kissed it, held it up to the night sky, then pressed it against Father Robert's forehead, above the bridge of his nose.

"Father Robert sat up at once, eyes open, staring straight ahead, skin pale and waxen. He took the stone from his forehead, held it up to his right eye, turned and looked at Friar Rudel and said, 'You must do this. You must see the truth.'

"'Then Father Robert collapsed back into the bloody snow and the beast wrenched itself from the fire, turning on the Merry Guardian immediately, slashing and gnashing and trying to grab, tear and burn. But the Merry Guardian, having been around as long as he has, was not without tricks. Friar Rudel, watching this, placed the stone over his right eye and was amazed to see that the Merry Guardian was just as much an old man, black of skin, as he was a wise crone, white of hair and eye. In fact, with every movement the Merry Guardian made, his form and face changed: sometimes he was an almond-eyed sage, other times he was a savage in skins, other times he was a starving bandit. Only once was he the Merry Guardian in motley with his close-cropped beard and blue eyes, and that one time he turned to Friar Rudel and said, 'Use the stone, follow the path; only the Abbess can help him now.' So saying, the Merry Guardian tried to lead the beast off into the snowy night, deftly altering his form as needed.

"But the beast constantly had its eye on the girl; at Friar Rudel's suggestion, Hannibal the Talkative threw her over the back of Bluebell and they dragged Father Robert to where Abelard struggled to pull away from the tree he was tied to, throwing the now-young priest over the donkey's back and untying both animals just as the beast let forth another howl. The pack animals ran straight up the true road, braying and snorting in terror, followed by Friar Rudel and Hannibal the Talkative in almost the same fashion."

A door opens. Footsteps. Curtains part, and a bearded Ezekiel appears.

"The Prophet is awake," he says. "He demands a reckoning."