Beowulf's Children

Chapter 8

THE GRENDEL GOD

God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers, And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face, A gauntlet with a gift in ‘t.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING, Aurora Leigh

Old Grendel was hunting. She lay covered in mud under a mash of water and rotting vegetation. The river lay almost half a mile behind her, but the ground was soft. She'd burrowed her way up from the river over many days, clawing through the dirt, allowing the water to follow her. And here, so far from moving water that her prey must consider themselves safe, she waited.

One was nearby. Large enough to last for three days, becoming truly sweet only on the last day. A snouted thing with hoofs and big ears and large eyes. The snout quested about, testing.

Ah, gently, gently. If the wind shifted in the wrong direction, then Snouter would scent, and Snouter was fast enough to lead a merry chase. But not fast enough to evade Old Grendel, no, not even in these days of sluggish blood, of slow heats and rapid cooling. Old Grendel still had speed.

Old Grendel had murky memories of her youth, when she had first emerged from the water, a dim-brained beast, before a sickness caught in the high water had opened her eyes. To the degree that she was capable of such things, she felt an almost reverential awe toward those high waters. Something there made her itch, made her head hurt until she thought she would die of the pain. She could do little but wallow in her agony, unable even to hunt effectively. Even the depths of cool water helped little. But when the pain receded...

She could see differently. She didn't know how else to think it. In her youth, Old Grendel had seen the world in basic gradients of scent and taste, of need and satiation. Her life cycled: hunger forced speed, speed created heat, heat forced her back to water. But after the change, after the swelling of her head, and the pain... She'd come out of it mad with hunger, too weak to fight the lake monster, until the patterns showed her what to do. Then she was the lake monster, and there was prey everywhere, everywhere she hadn't looked. Hunting was easier. She used speed less often. Fights for territory became less bloody. She saw everything more clearly, and understood what she saw.

In those days she had been sleek, and as fast as rainfire. She was absolute death, the empress of her domain. She had given life to a hundred thousand children, and perhaps ten had survived to maturity. Those she had driven upstream to the heights, when she could. Two had tried to return, to challenge their mother on her own ground.

Those, she gutted without mercy, the killing flare in her head and in her body stronger than thought or reason, stronger by far than any rudimentary maternal instinct.

Those had been good days, and perhaps her greater intelligence was a curse. She was not what she had been, and she knew it. No longer so fast, so strong. Her wounds no longer healed as swiftly.

For any creature unaware enough to be caught within her kill radius, she was a flash of teeth and claw and pebble-textured black armor and spiked tail. Sixteen feet long and a quarter ton of instant murder.

But speed drained out of her more quickly these days, and the generated heat stayed longer. She was afraid to go as far from water as once she had.

There were advantages to the Change. A grendel ahunt is a grendel whose mind is lost to speed. There is no thought, only action. Chase and fight and kill, a race against the heat inside; get the prey to water, and feed. Years ago the sight of prey would madden her, would drive all caution away. It was sometimes so now, but not so often. She could think ahead, imagine the consequences of actions.

In sane moments she wondered if the tree-dwellers knew this. These wretched creatures would lure a desperately hungry grendel far from water. They darted high up into one of the thorn trees when the grendel blurred toward them, leaped from tree to tree when the grendel tore down the tree trunk.

Old Grendel remembered that she had almost died. The creatures had led her from one tree to another until she'd nearly cooked herself. She'd be chasing one and it was gone, and here was another, out of reach and sluggishly making for another tree, and the hunger and killing urge were so terribly strong. And another farther on—

She'd found the control to make for water before it was too late, before her internal organs roasted with the heat of her own speed. Behind her, scores of the creatures were suddenly chattering at her from every tree and tuft of grass. Long-legged and long-armed furry things made of crunchy red meat screamed their mockery. In saner memory she could see the length of their teeth... could see that they were also, in their strange way, hunting.

She'd stayed clear of the forest from then on. Years later, she had seen hunter-climbers feasting on a dead grendel who had been lured too far from water and cooked in its own heat. Not of her kind, that grendel. The naked red bones of its huge shoulders and forearms named it: it was of the kind that built dams. She chased the hunter-things away and ate the corpse of the dam builder.

There were things that hunted grendels, just as she hunted them. But what worked with a young grendel failed against Old Grendel. She had eaten hunter-climbers and found their flesh delicious; but then almost anything was delicious, even swimmers, even her own swimmers. Since the Change she was vaguely aware that while all food was good, some was better. Meat was better than plants, walkers better than swimmers, alien swimmers better than her own. It had always been so, but she hadn't known it.

Now Old Grendel was slow. Still a blur, but a slow blur, if you like.

She would wait for Snouter to get closer...

The snouter stopped, turned, looked up nervously. It made a flabby wet sneezy bray and turned again, bending almost double, and bolted into the trees.

Old Grendel was too surprised at the sound in the sky to give chase. The sound made her uneasy and reminded her of the Death Wind, but it was not the same.

It came from the south, filling the sky, shadowing the land. Red and green. Unimaginably huge fangs. Terror on a scale she had never known filled her body, her heart. It was a grendel of cosmic size. It was God. It blotted out the sun, its giant lips gri

She tried to disappear into the mud. If this thing, this colossus wanted her territory, there would be nothing for her to do but die.

But she would fight! She had to fight! It came straight at her, looming like a mountain, moving not much quicker, and she felt the speed course through her body, preparing her for action.

The speed roared through her like a flame, and she couldn't move. She couldn't see how to reach the beast! Slow, slow, it didn't have to be a new breed of grendel. Was it challenger or meat? How to reach it? Fire roared along her veins and her mind was shutting down. That rock? No, that somewhat more distant log—

She lurched from the mud. Mud splashed across startled snouters. Instinctively she smashed one with her tail, curling it so that the creature wasn't hooked and caught. It screamed and lurched away, but Old Grendel ignored it and flashed onward. In seconds she reached the low end of a tree that had fallen across a white boulder. For another second she was clawing her way to a stop, skidding in a curve along the mud, while the snouters scattered in all directions. She reached the naked roots and blurred up the log and launched herself, and tried to take her bearings as she flew. The God of Grendels was too big to miss.

She had never seen anything so large in flight. Certainly she had no practice targeting such. She was falling below it. It was as if she'd jumped at a moon! Her claws were ready, she had one last surprise for the beast when it turned to snap her up... she'd be no more than a mouthful, but she would burn its mouth...