Faerthor

By Arwen Tyler (Ardweden)

Five years of peace followed Hygelac's untimely demise. No other tribes 
would dare go to battle against the Geats, for they were led by Beowulf, 
destroyer of demons and successor to Hygelac. He ruled fairly and justly, a 
proud, brave man whose people obeyed. There was rejoicing and celebration of 
the peace in the land every day, and not one Geat went hungry. 

One night, Beowulf received a guest. A Celtic, by all appearances and 
manners, stumbled upon the mead-hall. He requested food and shelter, his 
silver tongue working the words, "Gracious and generous king, I have a favor 
to ask of you. Many days and many nights, I wandered your country, in search 
of someone who may help me. I left home long ago, and I cannot go back until 
I find him. I do not mean to intrude, but I have not eaten for long, and was 
wondering if I may stay the night." 

Beowulf looked at the newcomer curiously. He was worn and weary, with 
tattered rags for clothing, and did not have a weapon at his side. But he 
stood proudly and had the look of an intelligent man about him. "Say no 
more," the king said kindly, "I know what you mean, for I have been in many 
a situation as yourself. Consider it done. Keep my thanes company." 

The man bowed gratefully and introduced himself as Ralseth. He sat at one of 
the long, thin wooden tables and listened, interested, as a minstrel began 
to sing. He had a melodious voice, and sang of the exploits and adventures 
of Beowulf: battles with sea monsters, human monsters, Grendel, and the 
demon's mother. It drew applause and cheers from the thanes, and more than a 
few coins. Beowulf thanked the musician, calling his work a true 
masterpiece. The man smiled, gathered his coins, and departed. 

The king turned to Ralseth, a proud smile on his face. "Truly a wonderful 
tale, is it not, Ralseth?" 

Ralseth didn't answer, a disturbed, thoughtful frown on his face. His brow 
wrinkled, and a shadow flickered beneath his eyes. Upon being nudged by a 
nearby thane, he looked up at Beowulf. "Indeed, it is a truly wonderful 
tale, but a tale nonetheless. Such a thing does not happen to ordinary 
people, but to great heroes of times gone." He sighed regretfully. 

Beowulf's grin widened at the response. "There you are mistaken, dear 
Ralseth. For I am the very same person the tale spoke of." 

The response was a short, bitter laugh. "If it were only true, dear king, 
but you must be delusional. The man I see before me is a leader of men, but 
no hero of legend. A king, no more, no less, and one who must be taken at 
face value." The thanes in the hall gasped at this mocking display of 
disbelief to their king. A few moved to draw their swords. 

The king's look turned to one of rage, but he raised his hand to keep the 
thanes back. "You dare mock me? Ask one of my people, or the good men in 
this hall. They have seen me go to fight for the Danish people, they have 
seen me return with this!" He held out a sword hilt, gold and finely 
wrought, studded with gems. The blade was missing, eaten away by acid. 
Ralseth stood and took it, turning it over in his hands. He broke into a 
triumphant grin. 

"Ah! It seems, then, I was mistaken. This is, indeed, the great Beowulf told 
in song and legend. I feared my venture to this land would be for naught." 

"And why did you venture here, Ralseth?" 

"That is a sad and terrible tale. A monster, more powerful than any petty 
demon, threatens my homeland. It is a bird-demon, wind-monster, Faerthor by 
name, with the cunning of a fox and talons of iron. Our thanes could not 
hold it back, and only sacrifice would appease it. My king sent me to find a 
hero, one greater than any seen before, to save us. And none is greater than 
you, Beowulf, slayer of demons. I ask of you, for the sake of my king and 
kindred, to rid us of this beast." 

Beowulf's eyes glinted and shone with the thought of such a challenge. "Very 
well, my men and I shall accompany you and destroy this monster. Rest 
assured, we will prevail." 

Ralseth bowed and stated, "You shall prevail, Beowulf, of that I have no 
doubt. Your men, however, cannot take part in this momentous battle. They 
may accompany you to the island of my homeland, but not set foot upon it. 
Such is the curse; anyone not of Celtic blood must be a true hero, or the 
land will rise up against him, and swallow him whole. This is why I tested 
you, Mighty King, so no lives are lost needlessly." 

The leader of the Geats nodded knowingly. "Then that is the way it must be 
done. We depart at sunrise." 
Beowulf took ten men with him as an escort, but they weren't needed, nor was 
he. Ralseth led them unerringly through the shortest, safest course 
possible, and they reached the island with little trouble. Carefully 
anchoring the ship, Beowulf and Ralseth stepped onto Celtic soil. 

Clad in his finest iron armor, the king was a sight to behold. It was 
polished to a fine sheen, and the sun reflected off it with an almost 
blinding effect. He quickly gave his orders. "Wait for me here. Do not step 
onto the island, or you may be lost. I shall return, and we will sail back 
in glory!" Ralseth nodded, a small smile on his lips, and guided Beowulf 
deeper into the island. 

At the base of the mountain, they stopped in what was left of a village. 
Beowulf looked about in horror. "The beast did this?" All the buildings were 
destroyed, not by fire, water, or acid, but pure physical destructive power. 
Claw marks were everywhere, and walls looked as though they've been snapped 
in two. 

Ralseth sighed. "Sadly, yes. This is what used to be my village." He pointed 
up the mountain. "Up there you will find the lair of this horrible wind-
demon. I have never ventured myself, but I have seen him leave and return 
every morning and every evening. I must take leave of you now, for my king 
has need of me." 

Beowulf's eyes traveled, examining the steep, rocky slope of the mountain. 
He turned back to Ralseth, but he was gone. The hero looked at the destroyed 
houses with a determined gleam in his eye. The beast would pay dearly for 
what it's done. He placed his hands on the surface of the mountain, and with 
the sword strapped securely to his back, began to climb. 

He climbed for three days and two nights before he reached the mist-shrouded 
peak. Hair rose on the back of his neck as he surveyed the surroundings. All 
around him the fog swirled, cold, white and gray chills in and out of the 
mouth of the cave before him. He crept forward and in, eyes alert, ready for 
attack. 

When inside, Beowulf was astonished by the enormity of the monster lair. It 
was five-sided and very dark, a torch glowing at each corner. Carved into 
the rough stone walls were rough shelves, and round objects adorned them. 
Curiously, he walked to one, and stared into the blank, sunken eyes of 
Unferth's severed head. 

"Admiring my trophies?" 

The hero whirled around to see Ralseth. He smiled a bit, a smile that didn't 
quite reach the eyes, before continuing. "Oh, I can see why you would not 
appreciate them. You heroes do have to stick together, after all." The mist 
entered the cave and surrounded the man in rags as he changed shape, into 
something else. 

Beowulf swallowed, his throat going dry as he watched the sorcery take 
place. He drew his sword, and held it in front of him. "You lied to me, 
Ralseth," he spat in disgust. 

The wind-demon laughed, his voice echoing ominously throughout the cave. 
"Please, call me Faerthor. And no, I didn't. I told you the people of this 
island survived only by sacrifice. So sorry, but you're that sacrifice." The 
mist stopped swirling, and Ralseth revealed himself to be what he truly was. 
A great, black bird, three or four times the size of a man, with iron talons 
and beak, and eyes of a demon dwarfed the hero. But unlike Grendel's, these 
eyes shone with cruel intelligence, and Beowulf was almost afraid. 

"I suggest you stay back, demon. I defeated Grendel and his hag-mother; 
don't think I can't do the same for you. Leave, and never bother these 
people again," Beowulf warned. 

"Nothing but empty words, my proud little king. I have met many of your 
kind," Faerthor said, looking meaningfully at the walls, "And I must say, I 
was disappointed. Not one hero has defeated me yet with words, for not one 
could back them up with action." With that, Faerthor darted in and snapped 
his beak at empty air, where Beowulf should have been. The hero danced aside 
as he lashed at the monster's feet with his sword, which was ineffectual, 
for they seemed to be made of iron. Faerthor laughed as he stood on one 
foot, ripping into the king's armor with a claw. Beowulf jumped back and 
circled Faerthor warily. One more hit, and his armor may be ripped apart. 

"Such a pity," Faerthor goaded as he watched the hero with his burning eyes. 
"I expected more of a challenge from a hero's hero such as yourself. Would 
you like to know how your good friend, Unferth, died?" Beowulf gave a start 
as Faerthor chuckled dryly. "Oh, he was an amusing one. Liked to make empty 
speeches, much like yourself, Little King. He lasted longer than most, and I 
must admit, I was almost impressed. He told me with his dying breath that 
Beowulf, the greatest hero who ever lived, would hunt me down and defeat 
me." 

"You, foul demon, will not live to see the next sunrise. How a creature such 
as yourself managed to drag himself from the depths of hell is beyond me." 
Beowulf lunged at the creature, sword first, but the wind-demon swiftly 
clamped his beak upon the blade and twisted, breaking it in two. Faerthor 
effortlessly batted the hero aside with a wing, sending him flying through 
the cave entrance. 

"Such was the irony of Unferth's statement." Faerthor walked confidently out 
of the cave, standing over Beowulf as he gasped for breath. "Now, Little 
King, you will visit your ancestors in the worlds beyond." The demon darted 
his head forward, prepared to snap Beowulf in half. In a burst of strength, 
the hero rolled forward, driving the jagged edge of his sword into 
Faerthor's soft underbelly. 

With a cry and a pump of coal-black wings, the wind-demon was airborne. 
Beowulf grabbed one of Faerthor's talons with his vice-like grip, and began 
to climb. The creature screamed and flew precariously close to the rocky 
cliffs, trying to scrape the hero off. Beowulf didn't release, though, if 
anything he held on tighter and pulled harder than before. Slowly he inched 
his way to the sword hilt, and through the haze of pain obscuring his 
vision, managed to drive it farther in. 

Faerthor shrieked an inhuman shriek of pain, frustration, and rage. He 
twisted and turned, shook his talons, dove and swooped, but Beowulf held 
fast and grimly pushed the hilt deeper. With one last scream of pain, 
Faerthor faltered, and they plunged into the sea below. 

Beowulf regained consciousness on the deck of a ship, immediately realizing 
that he was stripped of his armor. He sat up abruptly and grunted from the 
sudden onslaught of pain. After paying more attention to his surroundings, 
he recognized the ship's deck he was on as his own, and all his men were 
looking at him in awe. "Tell us of your great deed, my king," one thane said 
boldly, "how you defeated a monster with such a claw." 

The king looked at his hands and noticed that he, indeed, was holding one of 
the claws he held onto even as he fell toward the sea. It was the length of 
his arm and sharper than any sword made by man. He shuddered inwardly as he 
thought of the tear it made in his armor. "Such a malevolent beast was never 
found even in the legends of old. Faerthor was as vicious as the demon 
Grendel and as cunning as a man," Beowulf began. "I will tell you more, but 
let us first leave these accursed waters." By order of their king, the 
thanes set sail for home.