hagiography

Glassy water. The moon glanced off the surface and spread her slight glow like a benign smile. Gulsin lay down on the beach, waiting for low tide, wrapped in his dun coloured cloak.

The injuries to his pride and body stung deep. He knew he'd feel them more keenly once he was in the water. He had no choice. When something calls it calls, loud in quiet moments and quiet in loud moments but always calling.

He stepped into the ocean. His feet curled against the pebbles and cold water. With each stride he sank deeper into his intention. The island, a foreign place, demanded intrusion. For many years he'd seen it in his dreams, imagined walking on its shores. Now, when he had to measure each step and consider his every move, it was necessary that he discover its existence.

As he walked from the waves a beautiful woman was waiting for him. She stood, long hair curling round her naked shoulders, her feet buried in tidal sand, smiling, her eyes glistening. “Good morning sire, welcome to our fair isle.”
Gulsin flicked his hair from his face and held out his hand. The woman laughed.
“Do you mock me maiden?” he asked.
“Not you, merely your formality.”
“I'm anxious that you should extend your hospitality.”
She raised her skirts to clamber over a rocky outcrop and motioned Gulsin to follow.

Sandstone gave way to sand dunes. Light grasses feathered the air. In the distance a forest rose beyond blotted meadows.

“I didn't think you'd come,” she said.
“How long have you been waiting for me?”
“Since the plague took hold.”
“The plague?”
“Yes, we are in the grip of a terrible plague. It robs our people of their will, their independence, their hope.”
“What form does this plague take?”
“Indifference. Amnesia.”

The slow slung man shifted in his bed. He had lain many days and many nights. His bloods were bad, congealed, crusted. Inside his head thoughts flowed like flooded rivers. He moaned, tried to turn, gasped a thorn filled breath.

“We have prayed for a hero, a man of substance to arrive before we disappear.”
Gulsin looked at her. He knew what it was to disappear, to be removed from life, erased like slippage taken by the sea. “Lady, my heart is broked. I cannot mend anything, let alone take the challenge to save a whole people.”
“Yet you would try,” she said, “For a prize worth owning”.
“What do you suggest?”
“If you can free my people from this plague I will be your wife.”
“For sure you're shapely and well intoned, but I don't know you.”
“There is nothing to know except that I have promised.”

The fever was high. Sweat poured from his body soaking his shirts and sheets.

“Follow the forest path by the side of the field, until you reach a stream tangled in boulders. Turn towards the sun and walk until the great mass of elders. There you will meet an old man.”

Gulsin did as he was instructed despite the increasing heat and his inevitable exhaustion. He had forgotten to bring provisions. Hunger dug into his stomach like a terrier at a rabbit hole. 'Keep pace, keep peace,” he told himself as he feet fell into a natural rhythm. Soon he was within the shade of the forest, hearing the stream chatter through its narrow winding and looking out for the elder trees. Sure enough, as the woman had promised, they rose in a clump, wide leaved and white blossomed. Sitting underneath the largest was a wrinkled man, hat pulled low over his face, legs stretched out in front of him.

Greetings were exchanged. Gulsin explained his mission. The old man nodded, considered for a moment and said “Over yonder, at the foot of those purple mountains, by the lake of many colours, you will find a standing stone marking a fountain. Next to the stone is a conch shell. Scoop some of the water and dash it against the rock then put the shell to your ear.”

Gulsin thanked the man and set off again, driven on by thoughts of the beautiful woman, how on his return he would give his hand to receive hers.

A gentle rain fell outside the cave, blowing a damp breeze within. The fevered man shivered beneath his fur skins and thrashed his stickish limbs from side to side.

At first glance the mountains had seemed close, perhaps half a day's walk, but as evening drew in around him Gulsin realised that he would have to sleep in the forest that night. Accordingly he found himself a quiet glade, a rush of swift running water, and a few berries to gulp down. It was not yet the season and they tasted bitter in his mouth.

He rose with the sun the following morning and continued on his way, stuffing moss into his boots to relieve the chaffing on his feet. By heat's height he had reached the moutains and found the standing stone. He did as he had been instructed. The conch shell against his ear whispered fleshy silence. He repeated the action. And again. And again. Nothing.

He didn't notice the old woman at first as she emerged from a hazel thicket. Nor did he notice the infant pig at her heels. He sat with his back to them both, cursing his misfortune, lamenting the lies of young women the eagerness of young men. Perhaps his father had been right. “Half-cock,” he said and Gulsin smiled a bitter smile, remembering the bearish man.

“You cannot listen with only one ear,” the old woman said.
He jumped out of his skin and up on to his feet. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”
“And you can't hear if all you ever do is ask questions.”
“What is your business here?”
“And still you persist.”
The pair eyed each other with mutual disgust. She was wizened from many years of working in the fields and bearing children. He was sweaty from many hours of a walking nightmare brought on by a fever.
“I can tell you what you want to know,” she said, spitting the words out from between her yellow teeth and cracked lips.
“Can you indeed.”
“Yes,” she said simply. With a flick of her fingers and a twirl of her pig's tail she turned him into a goose. Gilsin flapped around indignantly, squaking and thrusting his head forwards. “A wild goose chase I believe is what you have chosen,” said the old woman with a snicker of self satisfaction.
“Transform me immediately.” was what Gulsin wished to say, instead a burst of loud blasts escaped from his beak. The next moment he found himself standing, picking feathers out of his shirt, scowling.
“Have we learned our lesson.”
“I don't know,” he replied, “What were you hoping to find out?”
“Very good,” she said, nodding, laughing to herself.

“Beyond the mountains, over the heather strewn moors that only appear at twilight, there you will find the castle of Brigstone. Within those walls lives a fearful giant. We call him Voseth, he of the mighty fists and skin tearing rage. He has gorged himself on our incompetence and futile desires. At first he was a mere babe in arms, born naked and mewling. Over the decades he has become a tyrant. We believed that if we aceeded to his wishes and demands we would be safe, yet it only furthered his ambitions. Now he has laid waste to our kingdom, keeping everyone in enthralled in his jealousy and fury. Kill him and that part of you that would worship such devices and we shall be free.”
Gulsin regarded the woman with suspcion.
“It is true that I am not beautiful. I cannot promise you a reward to galvanise your loins, but I speak the truth. If you find the courage to beat this giant then you will also find the courage to conquer the beast inside yourself.”

Gulsin set off on his long trudge, heavy hearted, confused, disappointed that his quest involved such twists and turns. The young woman at the water's edge had made it seem as if problem and solution walked hand in hand. This old hag, however, gave him no such comfortable assurances. He had come too far to turn back now, empty handed and defeated. There was nothing for it but to continue.

He heard the giant before he saw him. The mighty roars and death defying stink assaulted his ears and nostrils long before Gulsin stole over the castle walls. Peasants in rude tatters ran around in the court yard. Starving cattle huddled against grease stained stones. An army of snivelling priests murmured vespers in shivering, apologetic whispers.

The young man, half frozen, half burned, twisted. Molten iron shot through his veins causing him to buck and arch and blood to rise in his throat.

“Who comes before me?” boomed the giant, “Without invitation”.
“I do,” answered Gulsin from the stone drenched threshold. The giant guffawed, slaming his ale mug down on the filthy table top. Servants, rattled by noise and size, scuttled away, anxious for their own safety. Gulsin stepepd forward. With each stride he grew taller, more strident, more salient, more tacit. “I demand audience,” he continued.
The giant lept to his feet upsetting the banquetting trestle in front of him and sending people running and sprawling. Gulsin didn't move a muscle. He waited for the things that were rolling and turning to come to a halt. He stood his ground. Seeing this insolence the giant roared once again, picking up his big wooden club and swinging it around his head. Gulsin advanced, teeth clenched, fists balled. As the club hit the floor he jumped on top of it and ran the length of its shaft, increasing in size as he did so. The giant, unable to support this extra weight, collapsed. Upon reaching his target, and before asking any questions, Gulsin drove his belt knife deep into the giant's skull. A deep renting scream filled the hall.

And the man, on the rough straw bed in the dripping damp cave, thrashed a screeching victory. Long had he lain, tortured by illness while the old woman cooked up his cures on her small fire in her black cauldron. Day after day, month after month, had she nursed him with her gnarled hands and unsmiling humour, waiting for the fever to break, the poison to run from his festering wounds. Now his time was at hand. He struggled onto an elbow, juddering, his muscles slack after weeks of coma. Squinting Gulsin looked deep into the woman's wrinkled face. “I know you,” he said.
“You have always known me,” she replied, wiping the sweat from his brow with a dirty, rough cloth, “And I have always known you”.
“Where is the beautiful girl?”
“On the beach. The old man is at the crossroads. The hag with her pig stands by the fountain and the giant is dead in his hall.”
“Where am I?”
“Wherever you want to be Gulsin.”