The Man With Two Daggers

The man with the two daggers made hardly a sound, as if the forest floor bent to his will. The crunch of leaves and twigs could be heard far off to his left. Most likely some critter foraging for food. He prayed silently that the food it craved did not wear peasants' rags and blood-stained shoes. There was enough to watch out for without adding a hungry cougar to the mix. The man, whose parents had named him Amice, followed the barest of trials through countryside and marshland before arriving in the forest. He had hunted all his life and now had to rely on his most obscure tactics to find the beast. For it left no way to follow on the ground. Amice quickly learned he must look at the tracks left higher if he wanted to succeed. A talon mark far above in the trees. One branch out of many, which was the only of its kind to not house any leaves. An area that all other sky creatures avoided. These were the signs the man with two daggers followed. And he had followed them for four moons now, but the marks were fresher here. He was close. Amice held his weapons tight, bracing himself to silence his chattering teeth. Whether from the cold or his waning bravery, it did not matter. If the beast caught on to him, all his effort would be for naught. Dusk had made its way into the forest with him, giving the trees a lifelike quality that Amice could have done without. As their shadows disappeared with the going down of the sun, they seemed to finally be freed. Amice imagined the shadows were merely chains and now they were gone, the forest was free to move how it wished. And in the dark, Amice thought, it seemed like all objects gained an eerie hostility. As if the more you thought of them, the more of a target you became. He pushed these boyhood fears aside as he ventured forth. They were nothing but distractions, and a distraction now could very well cost him his life. Flexing his fingers to keep them nimble, he made his way from tree to tree. There were fewer in this part of the forest, which unfortunately meant less cover. As well as hiding himself, darting between them allowed a chance for his legs to start warming back up. With the coming of the moon, cold had settled on the forest floor as well as within Amice himself. He could feel it dig into his bones and lay stiff deep in his muscles. He allowed himself a moment of gratitude that he was only carrying daggers and no lumbering sword. He had not and would not use one of those as long as he lived. A light gust of wind brought his attention back to the task at hand. In less than fifty paces ahead, he saw the leaves stir and settle, before being whipped in a frenzy again. Some wind was coming down on them. Vertically. As if something was getting ready to land. Amice braced himself. No more waiting. The second the creature landed he would attack. If only his father could be around to see him now. He would know vengeance before the sun rises. The creature had decided to land in a large clearing, allowing moonlight to make its way into the forest and giving Amice a terrifying view of what came down.

Apart from its enormous size, the average person would not find anything too wrong with the creature. In fact, some may have even found it charming or a great wonder. For in appearance it was a simple barn owl. A fine-looking barn owl yes, and larger than even the largest buildings of the time. But ultimately it was an owl. Orange and brown feathers were interwoven on a coat that shone under the night’s light. Its underbelly was a pure white matching its perfectly round face. Like all owls, its face seemed to take in everything around it with impeccable attention to detail. Its two black eyes slowly surveyed the landing zone, while its mouth was hidden behind a long tuft of hair that reminded Amice of a wise man’s beard. Of course, this beast towered over the man with two daggers, easily quadrupling him in stature. Hopeful it doesn’t travel in a pack, Amice found himself silently wondering. What he truly found terrifying was what he could see in the owl’s eyes. There was more intelligence behind them than he had ever witnessed in any man, woman, or animal before. An ocean of intelligence yes, but not a drop of emotion. Those huge black beads could witness a man being ripped in two and not bat an eyelid. And they were looking right at him. It saw him! He walked out into the clearing, barely aware of his actions. Some animal instinct, asleep for generations, had been awakened. He spun his daggers and faced the owl. Together they locked eyes.

Amice rode into the village as the people were starting their daily chores. Some men greeted him by the village entrance as he rode past, sharpening their blades and discussing some story that their wives had told them. Perhaps a tale that was once true, but by the time it reached these small outskirt villages, it would’ve been twisted by constant retelling in which something new would be added each time. In taverns, the truth would never get in the way of a good story. Children ran through the streets chasing escaped chickens or setting up the market square for their parents to return to later. Good wives grouped together for their morning commute to the river to wash mud stains out of the clothes of their husbands and offspring. Yes, they would complain about it. But dirty clothes meant a hard-working family, and that was enough to make any woman proud. Amice was surprised that some men were gathering with them. And not just any men, for they wore armor (in its most basic peasant form) and carried a lance each. Amice wondered if there were bandits roaming the area, but he had not had any trouble for weeks, and to attack a group of washerwomen in broad daylight would be a desperate move even for criminals. He rode further into the village until he came across a sign with an image of a circle of children all holding hands, seeming to be in the middle of some sort of dance. Under the image were the words ‘The Ring and the Rosy’.

“A rather grim name for an inn”, he mentioned to the boy by the sign. A stable hand for the inn by the looks of him, and from the dark circles under his eyes he had worked the late shift. The boy just shrugged.

“Plague hit pretty bad a couple years back now. People got a funny way of moving on ya know.” The boy grabbed the horse's reins as Amice slid off. He said nothing more but gave the boy a nod and a coin for his troubles before making his way into the inn. A scene of devastation met him at the door. Upturned tables were scattered around the room, the lucky ones still whole. Tankards, goblets, and plates lay abandoned in every corner, with one having made its way on top of a boar's head mounted above the bar. Amice wade through the mess, amusing himself by imagining what might have occurred. Garments of clothes hung over broken chairs and on one side a fork was wedged into the stonework with a finger still attached. Amice couldn’t help but shed a smile. It had been a long time since he’d been in a tavern brawl. Perhaps it was time to head back home soon. His father would throw a party to rival kings, with brawls aplenty. Maybe soon.

“Most people leave a fight yelling or crying” a voice from the bar called him. “Most don’t return the next day giggling like a royal maiden.” The voice belonged to a young lady carrying a tray of all sorts of kitchenware, all broken of course. She spoke softly but there was an undertone to it. A message she wanted to convey. ‘If you’re thinking of causing trouble, you better think twice.’ She needn’t speak the words for Amice to understand.

“You misunderstand,'' he replied, easing his smile to not seem so mischievous. “I wasn’t here last night, not even in the village. I was just welcomed by your gate guards this morning. A bit odd to have guards in a village this small, is it not?” The lady looked at Amice for a long time, then deciding he must be telling the truth (or at least not there to trash the inn even further) she answered.

“Look around you, sir. The guards are there for the same reason this establishment looks the way it does. People are nervous. They’re tense. They’re scared. And scared people make dumb decisions. Fortunately, this seems to have been the worst of it.” She waved her hand at the surrounding mess, and Amice thought he noticed her blink back tears as she took it all in. She had bright blue eyes, like nothing he’d ever seen before. Beautiful eyes.

“Bandits?” he questioned, checking his sword was firmly in its scabbard. The innkeeper's eyes narrowed.

“How far have you come from?” she asked back, suspiciously.

“Far. Far enough to know trouble when I see it.” He hoped he’d answered confidently. Folks from small villages were always wary of travelers. Most respected people stayed in their own towns, save for maybe kings and royalty. Just when Amice thought perhaps she’d made the decision to not speak of what happened, she lethargically grabbed two tankards and a jug. She had told this story before and if she was going to tell it again, it would be with a drink.

“There’s a beast in the woods.” She said simply, before taking a large swig of the beer. Amice tried not to laugh again.

“A beast?” he replied, feigning curiosity. This lady was out of her mind.

“If you want to hear this story, you’re going to have to shut up and listen okay. Talk before I’m finished again, and I’ll tell the first guard I see to kick you and whatever ass you rode on back to the marshlands. Hear me?” Amice nodded. The woman was frizzled. Whatever tale she was about to tell, she believed it without question.

Daggers at the ready, Amice ran at the creature. His foot caught a wet patch and for a fear-filled second, he thought he would hit the ground. Fortunately, his other foot quickly found solid ground, using his forward momentum to launch himself into a jump instead of a fall. How could the ground be so wet? It had not rained the entire hunt. If it had, the owl would have very likely gotten away. Now he could imagine his hair was wet too… No doubt some trick from the beast in front of him. Magic was never out of the equation with creatures like this. Regaining his composure he threw himself at the owl once again. Steel met claw as the beast raised its foot in defense.

Amice, don’t.

The voice rang inside his head, echoing like a bell on Sunday. A distraction, but not one that he would fall for. The owl still gripped one dagger between its toes while Amice slashed at it with the other. The creature flapped one giant wing, knocking Amice down and weakening his grip on the dagger. If he let go, the dagger would either be crushed under the beast's weight or possibly even used against him. This thing was smart, perhaps smarter than any other living being and Amice would not give it another advantage. He ceased slashing wildly with the free dagger and threw it meticulously in a tree, striking it deep and square in the middle. Now that dagger was safe, and it would not be going anywhere fast. Amice grabbed his remaining weapon with both hands, heaving with all his might. It did not budge

I am not your enemy.

“Shut up!” He screamed back, frustration bubbling within. “You took him away from me. He taught me everything, and he was all I had!”

You are wrong.

Amice’s eyes burned with the hate he’d festered for days, while the owl’s calm and patient as if it was dealing with an unruly child. Amice allowed himself a moment to breathe, to think about his predicament… to lull the beast into a sense of security.

You must understand ch…

At that moment he pulled back, freeing his dagger and breaking some skin on the creature in the process. Amice felt the owl howl, as blood started to gush from its claws. He knew it was big but this seemed a disgustingly large amount from such a small wound. Still, he ran for the tree grabbing his remaining dagger and standing at the ready. The man with two daggers was back. And this time he would not make a mistake.

Child.

This time, the owl did not scream nor did it whimper. It simply spoke to Amice as if their battle had so far been nothing but an inconvenience, even with its wound still leaking red. He looked at the beast and their eyes locked.

Walking out of the inn, Amice shook his head jovially. A beast that stalked the village. Over four houses tall. He would just not believe it. You could always trust small townsfolk to come up with a wild story like that. Still, there was something odd about this town. As he walked back to his horse, people barely even took notice of him. Here on the outskirts, a stranger was always big news, good or bad depending on the village, but always noteworthy. But here no one noticed him. They walked as if lost in some dream, some blubbering to themselves, some just plain standing there, looking into the clouds.

“It can be hard to carry on when you lose someone dear” her voice rang out behind him. “The rest of the world carries on around you, but it’s all a blur. Your world just comes to a stop. Imagine if everyone felt like that. Do you think the world really stop if everyone inside it did?” She walked out of the inn, still holding the mug she’d been drinking from. Amice could see it had been refilled. “Everyone here is losing someone all the time. We can’t carry on… But you. You have that.” She motioned to the sword, swinging from his waist.

“I’m no fairytale monster hunter.” Amice kept his tone calm, so as not to antagonize this woman anymore. It was a shame really. Perhaps if she had not been so delusional…

“I understand.” she put one hand on his chest. “It is a hard tale to believe. But if you won’t help us, then we’re gonna have to do it ourselves.” She looked sad, almost regretful. When they’d talked inside, he’d learned her name was Catal, a name that means ‘pure of soul’ in the old language. But Amice had doubted that. When she’d told the tale of the beast, she had commanded not just himself, but all the serving girls and kitchen hands helping with the cleaning. All stopped and listened to her tale as she downed mug after mug. She would never be pure, she was too wild, a soldier in another life perhaps. But Amice had been charmed. As men started to make their way out of alleys and doorways around him, Amice realized his mistake. A novice’s mistake. Charmed by the enemy.

“Give us the sword peacefully, and you can leave” Catal spoke, her presence filling the very air around them. “I thought you might be our hero, but truly any villager can wield a sword.”

“If you really believe that” Amice whispered, the mob around him leaning in to hear, “Then come prove it.” He unsheathed his sword and held it steady with two hands. He burned a look into Catal, but her eyes did not falter. She merely raised one hand, gave a whistle, and then spoke calmly.

“So be it.”

At her signal three of the men ran forward, all from different directions. Amice made a decision quickly sprinting at one and piercing his foot with the sharp kiss of the blade. It would not take the man out completely, but incapacitate him for now. These men were not cruel, just scared. No, terrified. Amice would not harm them any more than necessary. One of the remaining attackers seemed to pause, taking in what had just occurred. Fortunately, this allowed Amice to swiftly shift attention to the other man still standing. He shifted the sword around and attacked the man handle first, knocking him to the ground and most likely to his dreams for a while. The final man remained locked in place, a butcher's knife shaking in his hands.

“You’re really this scared of that beast?” Amice yelled, addressing not only the one man but the whole mob, especially Catal. And of course, it was her that answered.

“Look around you stranger. You’ve taken out two men in less than a moment. You’ve well demonstrated your skill. But men still stand to fight.” She stared sympathetically at the butcher man. “With every last, little ounce of courage.” Amice took them all in. None were soldiers, not even those in soldier’s garb. They were farmers, shopkeepers, husbands, and wives. They plowed, traded, and lived simple lives. But they were willing to kill and die for his sword. For a chance.

“If you had all come at once you could’ve easily overtaken me,” Amice cried out. “Even a great swordsman can only fight one other well at a time, perhaps two but very clumsily. And then the sword would have been yours. But a sword in an untrained hand is like a eunuch in a brothel. Utterly useless.” He looked directly at Catal and for the first time noted the absence of a wedding band on her finger. “I will find whatever is doing this to your village, but just to prove it cannot be what you say it is.”

She stared back at him, both admiration and pity emanating from her.

“I wish that were possible, stranger.”

The moon was above him. Right bloody above him. Dusk had only just been making its way back into the world two seconds ago. How was this possible? He was still standing, daggers at the ready facing the creature, but now it was nowhere to be seen. He crouched down, making his way to a bush in which he could take cover. The beast was playing tricks on him. This must’ve been the magic that had been the downfall of his father.

What about the villagers?

A great snap above him sent Amice diving out of the bush into a forward roll. Behind him, a branch twice the size of himself fell through the trees, landing with a solid thunk. Too close. He turned back around to face the fallen branch and found himself frozen in terror. There it was. The… the owl. Just sitting there facing him. Perched on multiple trees at once. Lord, it had been right above him.

What about the villagers’ Amice?

“What about them?” he whimpered back. Why did that question scare him so? He was here to protect the villagers. Of course, he hadn’t believed them then but… No, he was here to avenge his father!

Why don’t you stay there Amice? I’ve made it so nice for you.

His eyes were watering. But why? He could defeat this beast. His father had been a great hunter and had taught him all he knew. His daggers were almost extensions of himself, but… He was a great swordsman and traveled across the land! Amice shivered as two opposing memories fought within him. He squeezed the two daggers in his hands to fend off the cold settling in. Daggers! He had always used daggers, never a sword. But he could remember fighting with a sword. Where had he learned it? What happened before the village? After it? His head spun. It burnt!

Stay there. You can be happy. You can be a hero.

“What have you done to me?” he screeched. He felt as if a great crack was appearing inside him, threatening to swallow all he knew.

Stay with her.

It was too much. He could not take any more.

Stranger.

Amice looked at the creature. Looked deep into its eyes and understood. The village, the sword, Catal. They were not why he was here. His father had been slaughtered like an animal. Left in a field to die and rot. And Amice would avenge him. The creature was scared. It must’ve been to trap him in that fantasy world.

It doesn’t have to be a fantasy.

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” That world was not real. A world to trap him in. A world where he would stay. In the inn. With her… Catal.

It could be yours. She could be yours.

“I’ll KILL YOU!” His father. He must remember why he was here. For his father!

Just let go.

“NEVER!”

Amice ran, not thinking past the next step. He would spike the owl with his daggers. He would slice it from claw to beak. He would bring its head back to his home (the village), dragging it behind him all that way. His mother would weep with pride, her husband avenged (Catal would smile and welcome him warmly into the inn). But most of all once this creature was gone his mind would be whole. Amice danced around the beast, avoiding all its defenses. A claw flew just inches from his neck, a beak left a gash down his left arm and a wild flap of its wing nearly brought him to his knees. But as he parried, slashed, and pirouetted, a wild thought started to form. He would do it. This beast could die. Finally, Amice, rolling out of one of the creature's attacks, saw an opportunity. The owl swung one of its great wings towards him, and instead of avoiding the gust it would cause, Amice ran straight at it, plunging one dagger deep into the plume of feathers. Howling, the owl brought its wounded wing up in a motion of pain. This was the beast's fatal mistake. Amice used the momentum to fling himself away from the dagger towards its colossal head. Utilizing his remaining dagger, he speared the beast directly in its eye. A thunderous roar filled the forest and birds and critters of all shapes and sizes started to run as fast as they could. They sensed something unusual in the night and were pleased not. The once-great owl seized up, its body contracting and releasing in a desperate final movement, and then fell. The poor trees around them, who had stood for hundreds of years, now fell under the massive weight of the dying owl. Any citizens of the forest not already in retreat were now. The thunderous crash would be talked about for many generations to come, as some swore later they had heard it across multiple valleys and cities. And above the downed creature. Holding on by one mere dagger, Amice started to rise. Amice, the man of the sword. Amice, the monster killer. Amice, the stranger. Time to go home. But he had no home anymore, did he? Suppose the village will do…

The owl pitied this poor man. He looked no older than a child, the whiskers on his chin barely showing yet. He would never grow to be a man, or know the true touch of a woman, nor feel his child in his arms. But he would’ve never stopped coming for the owl. He truly believed it had been responsible for his father’s demise. In truth, the father lost his life to mere wolves. A plain and boring a death as many other humans. The owl had just happened to be flying over when the young man had found what remained of his pa. Credit where credit was due though, he had been a fine tracker. Which unfortunately sealed his fate in the end. The owl could not have let him continue his pursuit forever. It would become too much of an inconvenience, and the owl had an important part to play in things to come. That it knew. It placed the boy high in a tree, hoping he would be safe from all manners of predators here. It would be many years before humans settled this part of the forest. But hopefully, that was enough time that the young man could live a full enough life. Perhaps not a real-life, but something better than death. He would believe he had conquered his foe, the great beast. He would get the girl. I’m sorry, the owl thought, hoping in some way, the man would understand, but knowing that was impossible. He was far away now. Far away and yet just inside his head. The owl could not cry, but it did not like humans getting caught up like this. They have such small lives, and should not have to deal with the likes of us. Finally, after an unknown amount of time, the owl spread its wings and left.

There it was. He had only left the village mere hours ago but it had felt like a lifetime. Behind him, he dragged the head of the beast. What a battle it had been. He could not remember much before stabbing the owl in the wing, but he put that down to the amount of adrenaline flowing through him. Suppose it didn’t matter, he was sure it had been a great fight even before that moment. Sweat dripped down onto his sword. He would need to sharpen it soon. The poor thing looked almost as damaged as he was. Damaged yes but alive. And it felt good to be alive. To feel the wind flow around him. To feel the early morning sun warm him as a greeting. But there was one reason more than most he was grateful to have survived the creature. One reason, waiting for him in the village. Inside the inn. With a mug of beer. And a smile more beautiful than he had ever seen before.