RUSELM'S BESTIARY
CHAPTER THREE ─ ECHINOPS

ALMOST GREEDILY, RUSELM tore the paper from its place on the town's notice board so the material crinkled between his fingers. He drank in the hastily drawn image of the little beast rumored to be living in the woods around Sodden, a small thing that couldn't possibly be causing any of the village's problems but was considered a nuisance nonetheless for his thievish escapades. The locals had nicknamed this creature Obil, 'the Carrot-Stealing Devil.' It was more of a title than a nickname when Ruselm thought about the matter.

Obil was a member of the echinopsae family, which further explained him and his quirks, moreso than Ruselm could have figured out on his own without knowing the species he was dealing with. Echinops were kin of hedgehogs and covered in very long razor-sharp spines that, when threatened, were rumored to be able to shoot up to ten paces away. Ruselm had heard stories of men running into echinopsae before, of how they'd seen the spines shatter on impact and watched as the pieces dug infinitely deeper into their bodies to inflict the maximum damage.

Knowing the bashful nature of the echinops, Ruselm was curious as to how this creature could possibly cause a dog's "ear to have a bloody hole" when the echinopsae only attacked if threatened and in danger. Their spines are so long that when these creatures are immobile, they resemble clumps of grass; that's how reclusive they generally are.

It didn't make sense that an echinops would suddenly attack, unprovoked, as these accounts on the notice board seemed to indicate.

Sure, he steals their carrots, Ruselm reasoned with himself. But that just means he's hungry. What if food in the forest is dwindling? What if he's stocking up? There's nothing wrong in that.

A massive shoulder bumps into Ruselm's; the one the she-warg had cut into as if he were as malleable as a tuft of cotton, and the pain angrily shot up his neck. It had been less than a week since the incident in the forest, and a day since Geralt of Rivia had departed from Sodden's area, heading south much to Ruselm's displeasure and near-constant begging of the witcher to stay and divulge his witcher's secrets. The final straw had been, according to Geralt, seeing Ruselm pester passing merchants day in and out. Nevertheless, his shoulder was still tender and rapidly changed his mood.

He turned faster than a snake striking the unsuspecting hand and snapped fearlessly with a wounded voice at the colossal man who'd ran into him. "Excuse me, good sir, but kindly watch where you walk!"

The man turned back to Ruselm. His arms were as large as the Nazairian's head, chest broad and rippling with ironlike muscle, and he stood a whole head and a half taller than Ruselm. The impolite man towered over him, crossing his arms over his chest. They were cords of pure muscle, Ruselm supposed he must work in a forge or perhaps he was a blacksmith but either way he could easily crush him under one hand.

"Kindly watch where ya stand, Nazairian," his Kovirian accent was thick, his voice brusque.

"I am simply examining this notice from the board, it is not I who is in the wrong here," Ruselm pointed out. He noticed a mighty war-hammer hanging faithfully from the man's belt. Maybe he was more than a blacksmith? Anger suddenly forgotten and replaced with curiosity, Ruselm leaned forward in awe. "Excuse me, what's that fine weapon at your side?"

The man seemed surprised by his question but pulled it from his belt, holding it in the space between them so Ruselm could examine it. "This beauty?" He asked.

Ruselm nodded.

"I made 'er myself," the Kovirian proudly proclaimed, hint of a pleased smirk tugging the corners of his lips upwards. "A hammer made of steel and lined with the hard edge of diamond. Possibly the best I've ever made."

The author stood, awestruck, and reached out a tentative olive hand to touch the cool edge of the metal where diamond and steel met, mingled, and married. It was sharp to the touch, but Ruselm did not cut himself, he was careful. "It is the most gorgeous weapon I have ever laid my eyes upon!" He exclaimed with a small measure of excitement. "This is a fine work of craftsmanship, I congratulate you on your work!"

He inclined his head. "Thank ya, Nazairian."

"My name is Ruselm," the author bowed his head in way of greeting. He was growing rather fond of the large man even if they'd come off to a difficult start. There was something appealing about his blunt personality Ruselm couldn't quite place his finger on. It was refreshing! "You're welcome...?" Ruselm trailed off, hoping to be given a name for a face.

The man placed his hammer at his side once more, extending a calloused hand between them. His forearm was thick and edged with defined lines, twice the size of Ruselm's. His slightly cynical face was replaced now with a warm smile. "Vyrrentz," he introduced himself proudly. "Cadmin Vyrrentz. I hope ya will accept my sincerest apology, Ruselm of Nazair, I wasn't payin' attention and reacted poorly. It's not often," Cadmin admitted, "that someone challenges me. I'm far too big."

Ruselm waved Cadmin off, his own face brightening with a mixture of joy and curiosity as he took the Kovirian's hard hand in his own. "It's nothing. I am perfectly able to understand your viewpoint, honorable Cadmin. What has brought you here to Sodden?"

"Work." Cadmin let the word fall flat, as though he were displeased with it but attempting to cover the fact. He took his hand back and allowed it to rest at his side.

"Ahh," Ruselm nodded. He'd figured as much. Sodden was brimming constantly with colorful characters who came and went like the tides, their business usually pertaining to their livelihood. "What work would that be? Are you a blacksmith? Forge worker?"

Cadmin blew a puff of air from his cheeks. "Somethin' along those lines."

Curious.

Ruselm pointed a slender finger over Cadmin's shoulder. "Care to get a drink with me? I was thinking of going and talking to some travelers who've wandered here while I'm in. You could join me if you like."

His newfound friend considered the offer for a moment, brow furrowing as the cogs turned in his mind. Ruselm only had to wait for a few seconds. "Why not?" Cadmin shrugged and turned to lead the way to the Pig's Arse Tavern. That was actually the name—Pig's Arse. Lovely place. "I fancy a strong ale while I'm waiting."

"Waiting for—?"

There it was; Ruselm couldn't turn off his curiosity. His questions came one after the other endlessly, aiming to satisfy the wondrous nature he'd had since childhood. The nature that would (and still did, even now!) get him into countless spires of trouble and mischief with Maurits (well... without Maurits in his adulthood), who had decidedly been the opposite by preferring to let matters lie where they came from and not inquire more about them. Maurits accepted things as they were, but Ruselm always had to find a deeper meaning.

Cadmin didn't seem to mind, though. Laughter rose from his chest, a deep sound that warmed the writer more than he'd suspected it would. "Yer a questionin' sort, aren't ya?" Cadmin looked down at Ruselm as they came to the front doors of the Pig's Arse.

He opened the peeling door on the right for the both of them, gesturing for Ruselm to enter first.

"It seems to get things done," Ruselm nodded his thanks and stepped into the tavern. Being as it was fairly early in the day, there were few people inside except drunkards and travelers who had just come through the forest and into the village. Those were the people he was hoping to run into! The Pig's Arse was a cozy tavern whose fireplace was always crackling and whose ale was always frothy. Several tables were open for seating and a hallway in the back lead to rooms which could be bought for the nights.

Three men sat at one of the tables near the fireplace, tankards in hand, heads bent close together as they talked in quiet tones. They wore brightly colored, expensive clothing and that was all the evidence Ruselm needed to see before determining that these were travelers he hadn't bothered yet. Their clothing seemed to indicate they came from the south. With a quick jerk of his head, Ruselm indicated the whispering men to Cadmin.

"See them?" Ruselm asked.

Cadmin grunted in the affirmative, eyes flickering briefly to the trio. The unlikely pair approached the Pig Arse's owner, a man with severely squished features and each ordered a cold tankard of his best ale. He, either by accident or miracle, looked like a pig; small nose, beady black eyes, skin flushed pink from the heat inside of the tavern, thick neck and a heavyset body. He was unshaven. The owner disappeared for a moment to get their drinks.

"I'm going to interview them!" Ruselm proclaimed in a volume only Cadmin could hear. "They look disturbed, do they not? They've seen something in the forest, I'd wager."

"Oh?" Cadmin tilted his head in consideration. "And ya do this normally? Interview people about things they've seen?"

Ruselm grinned cheekily. "About beasts they've seen," he corrected. "Beasts and monsters. I'm a writer, and I'm going to write the best collection of reliable information you've ever seen about these dangers to humanity, just you wait, my friend, one day you'll be seeing my bestiary and wondering what I'll do next."

"Do you even know what you'll do next?" The Kovirian sounded genuinely curious in his question when the tavern owner returned, tankards in hand. He slid them across the counter as Cadmin tossed a few coins at the man, gesturing for Ruselm to put his coin purse away.

"No need, I'm paying this time."

"Well, thank you!" Ruselm beamed happily. He led them over to a table on the other side of the Pig's Arse so they weren't unnecessarily close to the trio of men. "I'm unsure what will happen after my bestiary's finally completed."—he mused thus—"I assume I'll be much older then, won't I? None will want to marry an old author, will they? I'll probably settle somewhere new, or I suppose I could continue looking for adventure somewhere. I will know much more by then." Ruselm sighs and sips his ale slowly before continuing. "Or, maybe I'll just be dead. Who's to say? The bestiary might never get finished."

Cadmin waved Ruselm's words off, scoffing. "Ahh, that's not true and ya know it! Ye'll live to see yer dreams fulfilled and ye'll find yourself a pretty girl..." he trailed off, raising his own tankard wordlessly as though for a toast.

Ruselm's nose crinkled as he made a face. He shrugged slightly, shoulder beginning to ache with the small movement. "I'm not sure, Cadmin."

"Well if it's not a woman in the cards for ya," Cadmin's drink sloshed around as he took a noisy sip and smacked his lips a little. "Then I'm sure ye'll get yerself a real striking man who's willing to put up with yer questionin'. There's some poor bastard out there for every other poor bastard, or so me mum says!"

The two shared a good laugh after that comment, Ruselm slightly shaking his head. He was entirely unsure about his future after the book was completed and the more thought he put to the matter, the more fearful he became of the 'after' that was supposed to come when his dream was lived to its max. What was 'after' supposed to consist of? What did 'after' even mean? What if he wasn't happy in this 'after' and he was better off in the 'now' or 'before'? Questions swirled blindingly in his mind, one chasing the other before becoming terrorized by a third. It was similar to a cat stalking a mouse with a dog thrown somewhere in the mix.

Their talk was bringing forth memories of Ruselm's childhood that he had hoped would die in the past, where they belonged. Alas, nothing could stop his mind from the retelling of words his father used to repeat over and over like a mantra that would banish his inner demons: You'll get saddled with things you don't want, time and again, but they are your burden to bear. They are your burden to bear.

What the hell did that mean? And why was he suddenly thinking of it?

Ruselm had fallen unusually silent, echoes of his adolescence in his ears, when Cadmin waved a hand half in front of his face. He was vaguely aware of the Kovirian saying his name but an image in his mind's eye made him pause. It was half a second, maybe less.

The beautiful olive face of a woman long dead in both memory and life—his mother. He could remember without remembering; the tenderness of her touch, the softness in her voice, and the love she possessed even when the monsters tore into her while stealing her away from her only son.

This ghost of a memory startled Ruselm. It had come from the depths of his mind, buried in dust and hidden under shadows long forgotten as though it could be permanently banished if he ignored the memory for long enough.

"Ruselm?"

He looked up to his Kovirian friend, met with a face of concern. "Yes? Are you all right?"

Cadmin frowned for the first time since they'd met. "I should be asking ya that myself," he stated with no small measure of suspicion and worry. "What happened with ya there? It was like ya couldn't hear me or somethin'."

"I'll be honest with you, Cadmin," Ruselm leaned back in his chair. He'd forgotten he was already sitting, the wooden seat was hard enough that it made his bottom ache and beg to stand to stretch his legs. "I really didn't. I'm fine though, there's no need to worry, I just remembered something I haven't thought about in a very, very long time, that's all."

"Ah. Me mum says that's the whispers of the dead gettin' to ya," Cadmin explained with an air of casualty that was hard to place properly in this conversation, as though he were unworried by the implications. "Says it's their way of tryin' to make you realize somethin'... but she's crazier than a bat out of hell!" He chortled with laughter. "I try not to listen to her crazy whisperin' sometimes."

"Maybe there's a grain of truth to what she says," Ruselm mused pensively, a frown tugging at his lips like grey storm clouds darkening the brightness of a blue sky. It was thoughtful. Hopeful. Anxious. Every emotion at once and none at all, it was very difficult for Cadmin to determine what was going through Ruselm's mind.

Cadmin shrugged and glanced over his shoulder at the small group of men the pair had initially discussed. He eyed them up and down. "They're from far south," the Kovirian remarked.

Ruselm hummed. "That's right, my friend."

"What do ya reckon they've seen in those woods of yers?" Cadmin returned his ever-prodding eyes to Ruselm's own.

"Perhaps they've caught sight of my echinops!" He suddenly grinned at the large man before him. The look was charming and suave, one he often pulled out when he wanted to approach others and begin asking his questions. After all, who could resist Ruselm's handsome face? He was born with it for a reason. "There's only one way to find out what exactly has them in such a state, that's by asking. You're free to wait here if you so choose, unless you'd like to accompany me?"

Cadmin snorted and drank more ale. "I'll be watchin' ya from here. Quite like to see this magic myself, if ya don't mind."

"Not at all."

Ruselm stood from their table, leaving his tankard behind to keep his hands free. He straightened his posture and ran a steady hand through the tendrils of shoulder-length black hair that framed his face. His father had always dogged him about cutting it short but Ruselm rather enjoyed longer hair, it made him feel different and happy. Mustering the warmest, most charming, charismatic smile he could, Ruselm approached the trio of men with a confident stride.

You can do this, he told himself. You can do this, just talk to them normally. Keep the conversation brief and be sure to include all of them at different times. Let them do the talking.

Each man was of different size. One, sitting closest to the fire, was a burly sort with brown hair cut so close to the scalp it looked as if his hair was nonexistent. His yellow robe reflected wealth and his jovial personality in comparison to the deep red his companion sitting directly next to him was wearing. This second man had keen green eyes and a mop of curls on top of his head; he was so gangly and thin that Ruselm was scared the slightest gust of wind from opening a door or window would blow him away. The last man sat across from his companions, back to Ruselm.

He had graying hair and wrinkles that lined the heart-shape of his angular face. A proud, hooked nose dominated his visage and was the most notable attribute of his physical appearance. Sharp blue eyes turned to glare from over the older man's shoulder as Ruselm stopped by their table, smile unwavering.

"A good afternoon, gentlemen!" said Ruselm with no small measure of excitement.

"Aye," the stranger wearing yellow nodded and raised his earthenware cup in Ruselm's direction. "Indeed it is, good sir! What's brought you over to us? Are you interested in trading?"

Ruselm politely held a hand up in refusal. "Nay. I've not the coin to purchase any of your delightful wares, sadly."

"Sadly," the man in yellow echoed but drank.

"If you've not come to trade, then what have you come for?" Ruselm turned his gaze to the oldest man with silver hair. The blue eyes that met his were cynical with the experience that comes with age. He suddenly had the urge to gain this elder man's approval.

"I have simply come to talk." Ruselm explained. He gestured to the seat beside the old man. "May I sit with you kind gentlemen?"

The old man grunted, which Ruselm took as permission to sit. He situated himself and folded his hands on the table in front of him, glancing between the three travelers.

"Well?" The elder prodded.

"I was curious," started Ruselm, "about your whispering going on over here. You all looked very disturbed before I came over. Has something amiss happened during your time at Sodden?"

Telling glances were shared across the table. There were conversations being had between the men without so much as a word, conversations Ruselm was not privy to. Very suddenly, a new voice drew the Nazairian's curious gaze, belonging to the willowy young man wearing red. "Well, not necessarily..."

Ruselm tilted his head with polite interest.

"We were in the forest, you see," said the man in yellow. He continued after his friend. "When we came across a very odd creature. He was about as big as Stalmand's head"—he gestured to the old man—"but he had these long spikes that looked like blades of grass all over him!"

"Nearly stepped on him, I did," the man in red was speaking again. His voice was distinctly higher in pitch than the others, but he spoke with the most fear. "Came across the path in front of us, out of nowhere. There was a carrot between his teeth, isn't that right, Jeroen?"

Jeroen, the jovial man with bright eyes and yellow robes, nodded quickly. He leaned further across the table, his large belly getting in the way, not that he noticed. "That's right! It was a carrot. Fresh out of the dirt. We figured he must've stolen it."

Ruselm had a feeling he knew where the story was going. It made his stomach churn with sickness. He posed the question he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to: "And after running into this magnificent creature—he was an echinops, gentlemen—what did you do?"

Stalmand drank long from his cup, the other men falling silent with their eyes downcast. Even Jeroen had the decency to look sad. He slammed the cup down hard and Ruselm flinched.

"Killed it."

Voice tight with emotion he didn't want to show, Ruselm struggled to keep himself and his facial expression polite. "Why would you kill him?" He asked, hurt. "Obil was a kind and gentle creature, he was only shy. He never tried to cause trouble."

"That thing was a nuisance," Stalmand shrugged as though he were unbothered. Ruselm suddenly wanted to strangle him but he knew that would solve nothing. Politely trying to hide his anger, Ruselm brought his hands to his lap where he could clench them into fists without being seen. "Heard about the villager's having problems with it—and those spines of his are worth good money! So I killed it. Stomped his head under my boot, his skull cracked as though it were cheese. We're getting paid later for killing it and we're going to take its spines to sell in Cintra."

He couldn't take this anymore.

Ruselm suddenly stood from the table. "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I have other business I must attend to. I bid you all a good day."

Jeroen waved at him, a sad little smile fixed on his face, like he wished he could leave with Ruselm. Stalmand, on the other side of the coin, paid him no attention and stared into the fireplace, his eyes cold and hollow. The unnamed man in red nodded but kept his eyes downcast at his lap, the tips of his ears turning red with clear embarrassment. It was not the other men that troubled Ruselm, it was Stalmand.

Stalmand and his cruelty, his unkindness, his barbaric description of how he put down Obil.

Bastards! His mind screamed. Bastards, the lot of them! Killing the shyest creature for profit? How low has humanity gotten? He wanted to rage and destroy things with his bare hands, namely Stalmand's wrinkled face, but violence would get him nowhere and he knew it.

Without a further word, Ruselm left the Pig's Arse and stepped into the cool afternoon air, Cadmin hurrying to stand and follow behind.