Here is a tale for you, passed to my grandfather by his father, and then to my grandfather’s two sons (my father and uncle, you understand), and then told to my father’s wife (who, of course, is my mother), and from each of them to me.
“When my great-grandfather was a young man, he took a great interest in the art of the bow and the hunt. He spent many of his days in the saddle, out in the woods and far from the great keep of our family. His skill was unrivalled by any for miles around, and folk said he could kill a boar with a single arrow through the eye from a hundred and one paces.
“One day, a local goldsmith came before my great-grandfather’s father (my great-great-grandfather), who at the time was lord of three small villages along the coast. The goldsmith brought a desperate plea: a mysterious and monstrous beast was ravaging the outskirts of the village where he made his home. It had slain a number of farm creatures over the past several days, but the previous night it came almost to his own doorstep and mauled his son to death. The goldsmith appealed to my great-great-grandfather that he might somehow bring an end to the beast.
“Hearing this call for aid, my great-great-grandfather first suggested that the goldsmith enlist some local hunters to find and bring down the menace, and placed a decent reward upon its head. Three young lads with strong bow-arms presented themselves in the village square upon hearing of the chance for such a tidy sum, clad in hunting garb and laughing merrily. They set off into the woodland in search of their prize, and were never seen again.”
At this point in the story, my mother would begin to blow out the candles if it was evening, and adopt the spooky voice of a ghost-story-teller. My father would warn the listeners against venturing into the woods alone. My uncle would crack a joke involving a florist. I am sure it was somehow related, but the punch line escapes me at present.
“Next, my great-great-grandfather sent out a company of his own soldiers, five of them, all clad in gleaming golden armor. They bore strong bows and carried long boar-spears, and marched off with no small amount of display. Yet only three returned, bloodied and beaten, their weapons shattered. One spoke of a great bear which set upon them with fierce claws as they hunted it. Another insisted it was a dire wolf which attacked with its gaping maw. The third swore he saw one of the great Kine of Araw, caught in a maddening bloodlust and striking with wicked horns.
“Now, my great-great-grandfather was at a loss for what to do. The great beast displayed a power far beyond what seemed possible for any animal, and it had continued to strike against the outskirts of the village even as the two failed hunting parties sought after it. It was his son, my great-grandfather, who stepped forward. He was an acclaimed hunter, if you remember me saying earlier, and he swore he would see the beast killed. My great-great-grandfather feared that he too would meet his death, and asked him not to go, but my brave great-grandfather could not be swayed. So he set out with his shortbow and many arrows in search of the terror.
“Moving with cautious stealth, he sought for fresh signs of the beast’s movement. It was only by the falling of dusk that he at last found a sure sign, undergrowth disturbed by the passing of something large. Looking about, my great-grandfather discerned where the creature had gone from there, and followed it as the sun sank beneath the horizon and darkness clouded the woods around him. In a clearing beneath the full moon, he at last spotted his prey.”
In the telling of this section, my father would take the side of the first soldier to describe the beast, and tell me of a great brown bear which stood as tall as a tree on its hind legs. My mother stood by the second soldier, and would speak of a wolf that might swallow a man whole in its mouth. My uncle would call both of them silly, and explain in detail the exact dimensions of the great bull of the Kine of Araw which the protagonist hunted, including remarks on the value of its meat in the current market. In truth, the exact species of the beast is rather irrelevant.
“My great-grandfather hid himself in a bush at the treeline and prepared his bow. Checking the wind and gauging distance, he set his arrow to the string and took careful aim. At the perfect moment, he released the string with a mighty twang, and sent the arrow speeding toward its target with deadly force. It tore through the skin of the monster’s great head with enough power to kill a horse and should have ended the beast on the spot, yet somehow, it merely stumbled, shook its head, and turned toward him with flaring nostrils.
“At the sight of the terror preparing to charge, my great-grandfather drew another arrow and nocked it with foolish haste. His shot was rushed, and went carelessly wide of the mark as the creature began its charge. For a moment, my ancestor thought he was to die, but rather than turn tail and make a desperate retreat, he looked within, summoned the courage in his heart, and drew yet another arrow. This one must be the killing shot. With the greatest calm he could muster, he drew back the string and cleared his mind, thinking only of the shaft of the arrow and the eye of the monster that it must strike. Even as it drew within a few great strides of him, my great-grandfather breathed in, as if unhurried, focused on the kill shot. At last he released, and his aim was true, piercing through the great eye socket and into the brain of the monster. It collapsed to the ground, the mighty head bare inches from his feet, and shuddered out a final breath.
“Come the dawn, my great-grandfather returned, carrying the head of the creature. The people cheered as he returned, the goldsmith shook his hand and thanked him profusely, and his father breathed a sigh of relief to see him home. As thanks for the deed, the goldsmith set to a new project. My great-grandfather was gifted a golden mask featuring the face of a bear, or a wolf, or possibly a bull, depending on your interpretation. He kept it with him always, to remind himself of the importance of focus and patience even under the deadliest of peril, and when he ascended to rulership he led under that guiding principle.”
The mask passed to my grandfather, then to my father, and he gave it to me, for he believed I out of all his three sons should benefit most from remembering its lesson. And I kept it with me wherever I went, at least until a certain misfortune parted me from it. This particular misfortune involves a certain group of Dunlendings and makes a most intriguing and tragic tale, but I should say it is a tale for another time
