Brothers, Pt XII

Now this is more like it, he thought with a grim sort of satisfaction.

Beautiful Killer had been walking for the better part of a month, and he was currently soaked to the skin (and possibly even further than that) by rains that had been beating against him for the past seventy-two hours. Finally he felt as though he might actually be earning something for himself. Every day brought the muses’ mountain that much closer to him, and every night he went to sleep feeling more and more deserving of any epic poetry that might spring up about his current exploits.

He had no further dreams of the goddess, for which he was profoundly grateful. What he did have, however, were increasingly unbelievable stories from the local mortals; specifically, stories about a certain Winged Horse. It seemed that the closer he got to his destination, the more people had to say about the creature’s unearthly beauty, its divine grace- and its sheer mean-spirited devilry. It made him exceptionally grateful for the purported powers of the golden bridle neatly coiled in his pack- even if he didn’t entirely trust the source of said powers.

According to the locals, the monster hadn’t been seen for a while- years, probably- which as far as they were concerned only meant that it was about due to make some mischief. They warned him about its strange animosity towards heroes, and recommended he try to look less heroic. Since Beautiful Killer wasn’t entirely certain what made him look “heroic” in the first place (although he suspected it was the golden cast of his features), he didn’t even try. Besides, he had a feeling that he wouldn’t encounter the winged horse until and unless he got himself up the side of that mountain- otherwise surely the goddess would have just had him sit in a field, yelling about his own so-called heroics until the creature showed up of its own volition.

And so he continued, making the occasional stop to rescue imperiled people or rout bands of thieves (sometimes at the same time, which was particularly satisfying), and doing his best to cover as much ground as possible every day. Even when said ground had turned to mud up to his ankles, as was the current condition. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he might have wandered into a small stream- there seemed to be an unusual amount of them flowing from the muses’ mountain- and he was just starting to wonder if he might have better footing about a meter to the left, when he heard a terrible screech.

Beautiful Killer didn’t even think- he had his short sword drawn and had dropped into a defensive crouch before he’d even identified the source of the noise. It came again- a trifle less loud, this time- and he whirled to face it.

There, caught in some sort of hunter’s snare- a creature. It was winged, whatever it was, and beating those wings for all it was worth, making outraged shrieks, snarls, and a serpent-like hissing noise. Beautiful Killer let his sword drop a fraction, and moved closer to get a better view.

The beast had a body something like that of a cat- but with a sort of goofy gangly-ness that indicated juvenile status. The rain had spike its fur up in every direction by rain, with the effect of making it appear more ridiculous than fierce, but the razor-sharp beak suggested to Beautiful Killer that he’d best not take it lightly.

“There now,” he said to it in the same sort of voice he used on excited horses. “Calm down and let’s see if we can’t get you out.”

The animal puffed itself up and growled at him, long tail lashing. Beautiful Killer figured it would probably have taken a swipe at him, as well, if it hadn’t managed to twist its limbs up so thoroughly.

“Oh come now. I know you’re angry- I would be, too- but you, sir, are obviously in need of some assistance. And from what I can tell, the locals don’t take that kindly to monsters around here, so I’m probably your best bet for escape.”

“Monster!” spat the creature. “I’ll give you monster! Just you come a step closer!”

“Oh! You can speak. Excellent.” Beautiful Killer sheathed his sword. “I will come a step closer, but I’d appreciate you not savaging me. I can’t get you loose if you take off my hand.”

“Why should you set me loose?” it asked. “Your kind is always trying to capture my kind. Or worse. My dad told me all about you.” It growled a bit for emphasis.

“Your dad may have told you about mortals in general, but I doubt he told you anything about me. As for why I should set you loose- well why shouldn’t I? I think it’s rude to eat things that you’ve carried on a conversation with, and I don’t, as a general rule, go around killing for killing’s sake. That’s wasteful. In fact, now that people are calling me “hero” I’m pretty certain it’s my duty to rescue others whenever possible. No one ever said those others need to have the same sort of limbs that I do.” Beautiful Killer had been slowly moving towards the creature as he spoke, and now he was close enough to touch the rope that had snared it. The creature trembled but did not lash out at him.

“You are an odd mortal,” it said at last. “I will allow you to free me.” Beautiful Killer smiled and slipped a small knife from his belt.

“Thank you,” he said, and began sawing.