How to Slay a Monster

Monsters are people, too

Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash

“You leave at midnight to slay the monster,” King Carac said, his voice thinned by the musty air.

Terrowin wasn’t the first knight to hear those words. Twenty-seven paintings of fallen soldiers hung behind Carac’s throne, with space for many more. 

Flickering wall torches reflected orange and red off Terrowin’s armor, but the heat did not penetrate the steel. He shivered. 

At each new moon, the king ordered a knight to kill the beast that lived in the Menmar woods, a half day’s hike from the castle. 

The monster was as hideous as it was deadly. Coarse, earthen fur covered its twelve-foot-tall body, and it had an expanse of teeth longer and sharper than a wolf’s. Its red eyes glowed like hot coals. Witnesses said that the beast’s roar could stop a man’s heart. Its claws and teeth certainly could. The villagers called it Ciannait, meaning ancient. 

Ciannait fed on humans. 

When Ciannait had no knights to eat, it would crash through the castle walls and choose several random villagers to devour.  

“God be with you,” Carac added. 

Terrowin picked his way along a graveyard of bones and armor shards, stepping around the remains of his fellow knights, lest noise reveal his location.  

Terrowin did not see the monster until he was upon it. 

Before Terrowin could unsheathe his sword, Ciannait bellowed. Thick steam flew from its mouth, propelling Terrowin into an oak tree and rendering him momentarily stunned. The earth rocked, and crows cawed as they fled every which way. Although Terrowin lay thirty feet from the monster, Ciannait covered the distance in four thundering steps. It hovered over Terrowin. The monster's rancid breath turned his stomach into a tempest. 

A pair of fireflies playfully skittering between him and Ciannait, luminescence zigzagging through the antediluvian forest, caught Terrowin’s eye and gave him an idea. He laid down his sword, removed his helmet, and stood. 

Terrowin danced, his legs in tune with the rhythm of a silent Rufty Tufty. Step to the side, spin, skip, two steps forward, two back, two to the side again, and spin once more. He yelled, "whee," took Ciannait’s enormous hand, and twirled the creature under the fireflies’ light. 

After the dance, Ciannait dropped to the ground and laughed. Tears streamed down its dreadful cheeks.

“How did you kill it?” Carac asked. He leaned back in his throne and ran his fingers along his emerald-tipped scepter. “Share your victory with your king. Your story will be legion for a thousand years.”

“My lord.” Terrowin took in a deep breath, brought a closed fist to his mouth, and cleared his throat. “I did not slay anything. Ciannait lives.”

“How can that be? How are you still alive?” 

“Ciannait doesn’t eat because it’s hungry.” Terrowin locked eyes with the king. “It eats because it is bored. We don’t need to send knights to fight Ciannait. We need to dispatch the court jester to entertain it.”

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If you enjoyed this story, I think you’ll also like my short fantasy story, The Ghost Bomb.