Part 88

He gazed at Beowulf, back at the tarn.

"It is said he once more walks the earth, and he is not a stranger even to the streets of Olympus. Nameless among us, perhaps Wyrd is the name he bears."

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!