RUSELM'S BESTIARY
CHAPTER SIX ─ THE BEAR WHO GROWLS

THE COUNTRY VILLAGE that was deemed Thetdow was homely and small, comprised of a tangle of bleakly thatched houses built too close together. A curious neighbor who had to inquire about something needed only to open their window and ask across to the next house over. The closeness inherently insured that all villagers knew each other and kept a close eye on the happenings around their home.

The manor where Ruselm was born and raised in Nazair had been somewhat secluded. The Jurren family manor was extravagant and built to a much larger scale than necessary, dwarfing any who stood next to it as Florys had intended when he designed the home. Its main building housed six separate bedchambers, only two of which were actually used by Ruselm and his father, Thaddäus, after the death of his mother. A big home for proud people; people that bore their name with honor and labored endlessly for their multifarious plethora of hopes and dreams, all within the comforts of their own homestead tucked away from the rest of Assengard and the people that lingered near it.

There were two outbuildings on the lands Ruselm's father owned which served as houses for Maurits and Sibren, his dear friend's father. These 'houses' were little more than glorified huts but no matter how much Ruselm insisted on Maurits staying in the manor, Maurits had always rejected the idea and spouted a reason like, "It's about respect." Or, "Family honor."

Ruselm hadn't cared about Jurren family honor, he'd only wanted Maurits to live in relative comfort, with a real bed and not the straw mat he constricted himself to every evening.

After all, both Maurits and Sibren worked for Thaddäus as loyal servants. They managed the grounds and gardens, cleaned and repaired the manor, cooked, washed the clothes, polished the armor, fed the animals—they did every task in need of doing to spare the Jurrens from any 'unnecessary' labor, as Thaddäus had always put it. In return for their faithful service, they were allowed to live on the land and cultivate their own crop and livestock for extra money. To Ruselm, the deal seemed more one-sided but Sibren never complained.

Growing up, he could never tell if it was because Sibren felt indebted to his father or because he truly had nowhere else to go.

The companionship of Sibren's only son was invaluable, though, after he'd lost his mother and Ruselm never found himself ungrateful or unhappy that Sibren stayed with Maurits. Ruselm and his playmate had been born just a week apart (with Maurits being the older) and they'd been attached at the hip for as long as the young author could remember.

He could remember asking Maurits, at the age of six, what he wanted to do with his life.

"My only goal is to serve you," had been the short answer. It had made Ruselm sad at the time, for reasons he couldn't quite comprehend. Fourteen years later and he still felt a pang in his chest at the thought of it. He couldn't understand what it was like to live with only the simplest thing such as loyalty to one family.

And when Ruselm had abandoned the Jurren manor for the uncertainty proffered to him by the world beyond Nazair? Maurits was furious.

"You can't just make someone care about you!" Maurits had shouted as Ruselm turned to the road. His voice had been thick with emotion, he had been lashing out in a rare display of anger and desperation. "You can't just do that and then get to leave! What about the manor? What about your father? Your family name? You have to stay here and fulfill your destiny. There's nothing out there for you, Russ!"

"What kind of destiny is waiting for me here?" Ruselm remembered turning, remembered shouting with the smallest tinge of venom in his voice. It was the venom he regretted the most, and how it made Maurits's face fall as though his entire world was being taken away from him. "I can't very well accomplish things from this fucking seclusion, can I? My father doesn't understand, Sibren doesn't understand, and you don't understand. The last Jurren who ever made a name for himself was Stefan—and that was only after he'd finished the manor! It's a prison here. A prison for creativity and independence; if I stay then I might as well lay around doing nothing just like my father, and wonder where I went wrong!"

"You're looking for an executioner! That's all this is. I know Halla's death tore you apart but you've never been the same, I'm scared you'll—"

This was the moment in Ruselm's memory where he snapped. He recalled it as a red haze drifting over his vision, he'd been so angry then. So angry. "Don't you dare bring my mother into this, Maurits. You're scared I'll die? I'll compose a pragmatic story for you: death comes to all of us sooner or later, it's only a matter of the when and the where. It is an inevitable fate and if I can live the life that I want before I meet her, then I'm going to. I can't stay chained to this manor forever, can I? There would be no point."

"You're not chained, you're—!"

"Imprisoned. Trapped. Helpless. No matter the word you use, it still translates into the same tale, Maurits. I know where your heart is, but I need you to stop... please, in the name of our bond, can't you just stop?"

He'd never seen Maurits so despondent. "So this is it then? You're leaving, and you're not coming back?"

"I'm leaving," Ruselm had echoed. "And I'm never coming back."

"Right. Okay."

"You should leave, too. Branch out, start somewhere new. You have potential, Maurits. You have potential to be successful, you're far more than a servant. If I were to ever come back, it would sadden me to see you wasting away your life slaving for a family that died long ago."

The parting of the two men who'd grown together as brothers did had been the most melancholy day of Ruselm's life. He'd turned and never looked back, heart high in his throat at the thought of the adventures beyond Nazair that awaited him.

And perhaps he did have a death wish after his mother had been so violently torn from his life (the memory of which still plagued him ever since its remembrance when he was with Cadmin) but when the she-warg was almost certainly going to get him, he'd felt real, genuine fear. Fear was an interesting matter when it came to Ruselm, who almost always tried to face it with a facetious manner, but in the face of the warg... everything had been different.

It hadn't been Ruselm's time to die.

That was why, he'd told himself. Death isn't ready for you yet.

Until the bestiary was complete, Death wouldn't be able to touch him. Ruselm could feel this very truth in his bones. After the fact, however, he knew everything would change. Perhaps that is when fate would call to him and lead him down a road untraveled.

Walking through the worn path cutting through the middle of Thetdow, Ruselm kept his wits about him as he approached a small cluster of villagers. They stood in a semicircle around a lean man who raised his voice to carry out to every person gathered, even to reach those who remained in their homes with the windows open. Some leaned out, hungry faces consuming his every word.

Ruselm stood at the back of the crowd, keeping quiet to avoid attention.

"The bear's a nasty bastard, real evil-looking!" There was an old scar marring the man's otherwise handsome face. His wavy blond hair fell across his forehead, leading the eyes naturally to his bright green eyes. "He's in the cave just west of here. A brown mass of bloody fur with the blackest eyes you can imagine! We need to form a group of men, only those willing, to hunt this beast. If we combine our strength, he'll be dead before nightfall!"

A chill ran through Ruselm at the thought of this man's proposition. They couldn't just kill a bear for being near them! He opened his mouth to speak but several others cut him off, crying their support for the cause.

"Yes!" A woman's voice. "That bear'll get too comfortable if we leave him be. He needs to die!"

"You can count on my sword!" The deep voice of an elder man carried through the village. He was echoed by several others crying the same assurances. It wasn't long until the clamor became overwhelming, pushing Ruselm to take a step back from the crowd.

He didn't like the direction this was going. Angry crowds led to bad things.

"What has the bear done?" Ruselm found his voice to be steady when he spoke above the cries, not at all as weak as he'd heard it in his own mind. The question silenced those gathered, putting a swift end to the anxious manner of the multitude. Glares were thrown his way and very suddenly a countless number of eyes were trained on the Nazairian standing at the back of the throng. Voices sent muffled whispers alight through the town but Ruselm's eyes were focused on the man that had begun this frenzy.

"What?" The blond questioned him, raising his voice only just enough to be heard across the way.

"What crime has the bear committed?" Ruselm repeated patiently, rephrasing his question the second time around. He thought it sounded better this way, much clearer to point out what the problem he saw with this gathering to be. "Why are you assembling to plot his murder?"

The man scoffed. "He's just a walk away from Thetdow! We can't let him come any closer."

"Who says he's going to come closer?"

This hadn't been thought of. The crowd murmured louder now, uneasiness rippling through them. He could tell they were still on the offensive but weren't impossible to be reached. Maybe he did have a chance of turning this around?

"It's what bears do," the man retorted after a few moments of contemplation. "How else did this bear come to be so near to our town? He's come to the wrong place if he thinks he can settle so near to our children."

Ruselm frowned, his heart soaring in his throat. "Has he harmed any of your children? What crime is he responsible for? You can't just persecute this bear because it displeases you that he has migrated away from his previous home."

"Of course we can!" The man's shout was vicious now, he was becoming impatient. As was the herd of simpleminded people; their voices returned to encouraging shouts, anxious prattling, hands clenched into eager fists which ached to wreak havoc. "This bear will bring nothing but death! He will bring nothing but sorrow! He will bring nothing but pain! Mourning! Fear! Evil!"

"No," Ruselm's protests fell on deaf ears. "No! You're fear-mongering! You're causing panic among the people, not the bear!"

Nobody was listening to Ruselm any longer, their minds were thrown into the idea that a bear, victim only to migration, was the offender here. His heart was pounding now, blood pressure rising at the thought of the violence that would be unleashed.

As the villagers continued to make their plans, Ruselm stepped away from the mob to catch his breath. What could he do now? The bear would be set upon by fearful avengers for perceived wrongs he hadn't yet committed. He would be slaughtered. No matter how strong, he would fall. Another denizen of nature slain. Another victim to the agenda of an oppressing race. It would break Ruselm's heart to watch this happen.

You don't have to watch, his mind spoke now. You can do something. You can protect the beast before they manage to get to him.

Without another word on the matter, Ruselm picked up his pace and lightly jogged to the west of Thetdow where the man had indicated the bear was located. In a cave, he remembered. It would be evident of the bear's presence in the forest long before the Nazairian reached the cave because, as Ruselm was jogging he was recalling everything he knew about such intelligent creatures like bears, they were territorial. Trees would lay bare scores of claw marks, ruts so deep in the trunks Ruselm would be able to run his finger along the bottom edge of them. The mud would reveal the bear's recent spoors and lead him along the right path. It was just a matter of time.

Overhead, the sky had darkened considerably since he'd arrived at Thetdow.

It was the rainy season, Ruselm was unsurprised that the grey sky spoke a warning of thunder and showers. The clouds were teeming with unshed rain, heavy in the sky the same way a woman is heavy with her unborn child. Ruselm watched with apprehension as the sun began to sink below the horizon. Once its light was gone, the night would reign and the heathens of Thetdow would embark on their quest to kill the bear.

He had to hurry.

Some of the rather thick trunks of trees around Ruselm had been stripped bare of their bark, husks laying on the ground beside his feet. The cave had to be around here somewhere, didn't it? Ruselm had gone off in the right direction.

Soft rain began to patter on the trees around Ruselm, sticking his black hair to his shoulders and slightly obscuring his vision as the trees grew thicker here and the light in the sky became so dark that he began to wish lightning would strike, if only to light his way.

He tripped over a rock but kept going.

Low-hanging branches caught in his hair.

Brambles tried to entangle his feet.

Ruselm slid to a stop the second he reached an opening in the trees, the mouth of a cave opening its jaws wide open to receive him should he dare enter. Eyes darting back and forth across the clearing, there was no sight of the bear anywhere. Ruselm turned, the hooting and howling of the approaching villagers coming could be heard from this distance.

"Where are you?" Ruselm shouted into the trees. The crackle of thunder overhead was his only answer. "PLEASE!"

A low growl came from the trees. The author turned, shivering at the cold as the precipitation continued to plaster his clothes against his olive skin, and made eye contact with one of the largest animals he had ever seen in his entire life. The bear was brown, shoulders severely hunched forward as the beast stalked closer towards Ruselm, his head hanging low to the ground. Black eyes looked up at him and, despite the bear remaining on all four paws, Ruselm felt the need to cower and hide. Nothing could top the intimidation of a bear.

There was a long pause between the two as a mutual understanding flitted through the air from one to the other.

It stopped in front of Ruselm, rising to stand on its hind legs to tower over him. The bear seemed to glare at the human in his presence, almost accusingly as though he knew why Ruselm was there. An ugly, jagged scar curled over the bear's snout; a chunk of his left nostril missing, a nick in his right ear the shape of a wolf's claw, the evidence of a heavy limp foretelling a weak spot in the bear's right front leg. He'd seen many years and many battles, Ruselm suspected. He was unflinching but extremely intelligent.

"There's people coming," Ruselm found himself talking in a soothing voice, tone calm but low. The bear's small ears seemed to perk forward at the sound of his voice. He had a sneaking suspicion the bear could understand him even over the rain and the steadily approaching wails of the villagers. "They want to kill you. You need to leave!"

The bear was silent.

What did Ruselm expect? A conversation?

"Get out of here!" Ruselm raised his voice, stomping one foot as though he were going to charge forward. He stopped short and threw his hands up in the air. "Piss off! You don't fancy death, do you? Get away from here and never return!"

The bear guffawed and opened his maw to reveal long, stained teeth that could easily tear shreds into Ruselm.

Voices could be made out in the distance now as the rain came down harder. Specks of light from lit torches were the only determination to the pair in the progress the townspeople were making through the wood. It would be a minute, maybe two, before they would reach the cave and the bear still wasn't budging.

Tears pricked the back of Ruselm's eyes, threatening to spill over and reveal his liquid infirmity; weakness of the heart that was kept as a terrible secret. He could imagine what kind of death they had in store for the bear and thinking about its pain and suffering—Ruselm started to cry with desperation. He waved with anguish now, attempting to scare the brown bear away while the tears mixed with rain.

"Circle around, circle around!" The voice belonging to the blond man from before could be heard through the trees. His commands came as clear barks taut with authority.

"Leave, please," Ruselm begged, a forlorn attempt.

The bear blinked and chomped his open mouth a few times, becoming tense with the nervous energy charging the air. It swung its mighty head back and forth as it scanned the trees for signs of the villagers. His waterlogged fur made his figure more slim, though it was clear he was built with nothing but muscle.

"Advance, now!"

Listen to me...

"Get out of here!"

Come on...

"There he is! There he is, aim slowly and hold!"

Unleashing a roar to bend the trees themselves, the bear raised a massive paw the size of Ruselm's face and pushed the author down onto the ground as a volley of arrows were let unloose on their location. They whistled through the air from all directions, three striking the bear just between his shoulder blades and another lodging itself in his chest. The rest bounced off of his thick hide but if his bellow was any significant reaction to the attacks, he was in suffering great pain.

The feather-tipped arrows stuck out of the bear to decorate him as a porcupine.

"Again, fire!"

The bear had turned where the arrows had taken him from behind as more hailed from the treeline, hissing as they sliced the air and cut into his muscle.

"Stop!" Ruselm was screaming. He remained low to the ground to avoid being caught in the crossfire, clutching helplessly at the wet ground beneath his hands. The mud caked his fingernails but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the bear which had just saved his life. He'd have been perforated by the arrow which struck his chest if the beast hadn't pushed him down! "Stop firing, for fuck's sake!"

Either the villagers didn't hear him over the bear's anger or they didn't care.

It was an arrow to the eye that brought the old bear down, his limp body hitting the forest floor with a thump! rivaling the thunder itself. Cheers from the villagers rose above the rain, cries from Ruselm were heard under their tones as he rushed to the side of the bear.

He was breathing heavily. It was too late, the bear was dead. The arrow had torn into his brain and the one sticking from his chest had only been pushed deeper into his muscle and heart as the bear had fallen forward.

Ruselm bowed his head, leaning over the bear's neck while he slung an arm over the beast as though he were going to hug it. A rustic naturesque scent of old wood and fragrant wildflowers wafted into his nostrils and soothed his anger in a way that his mind couldn't, or wouldn't.

How...? How do men celebrate the death of such a majestic creature? One who did nothing wrong, at that. One who simply appeared in the wrong place at the worst time. I just don't understand.

A rough hand smacked his back and startled Ruselm into glancing behind him. He glared up into the green eyes of the blond man from before who had single-handedly led the charge of the beast's demise.

"Get up." The blond man commanded.

Ruselm stared daggers. "No."

"It's dead."

"You nearly killed me, do you realize that?"

"Then perhaps you shouldn't have been out here in the first place," the man scoffed and brushed his question off. "Now fuck off, will you? We're taking the bastard back to Thetdow."

Ruselm pushed the man's hand off of him, anger lacing his features. He was trying to contain himself but everything was spilling out of him faster than he could hope to contain it. How cruel and useless could people be? Ruselm's heart hardened almost imperceptibly, a soft whisper of reminder that this wound would not be soon forgotten.

Obil, his heart whispered. The Old Bear. Remember.

"You're not taking him anywhere!" Ruselm snapped. "Get the fuck out of here before I strangle you with my bare hands! You've just killed an animal who did nothing to harm you. He saved me from your incompetence and you relish in his demise because there's nothing better for you to do with your sad, lonely, small life of which you've made nothing but a fool of yourself! You've amounted to what—nothing? Unsurprising considering you felt the need to be heard by your compatriots so badly that you would lead them to hunt a bear whose only crime was being noticed by a good-for-nothing, reprobate son of a whore like you!"

He turned away, affronted and inconsolable.

The man appeared flabbergasted and unable to speak, mouth opening and closing like a fish condemned to land. He turned abruptly and left Ruselm to the bear's carcass.

There were soft questions from the other townspeople but Ruselm didn't care to hear the answers the man gave them. His heart was raging as he stared down at the bear's dead body, his hands tightened into fists as they curled around the beast's thick brown fur still matted with the slickness of rain.

Ruselm couldn't remember a single time he had ever spoken to another man like that, and his own words scared him deeply. What was he becoming?

"Nathan," another man's voice caught Ruselm's attention. Its quality pulled him from his reflections. The words were directed at the blond man who had left him just moments before. "You won't believe it—there's been word from Balès about their troll problem. They passed along word that a witcher has relieved them and is headed on to Blaviken."

Witcher?

Ruselm wondered briefly if it could be the very man he believed, and hoped, it was. The man whose path he had followed after leaving Sodden.

"What witcher?" The blond man's, Nathan's, voice was curious.

"Geralt of Rivia, they say. We could send word out about our problem at the cemetery, see if they could convince the witcher to come and help us. Do I have permission to convey the message?"

Nathan paused. Ruselm could feel the man's eyes on him for the briefest of moments, rain filling the silence. "Do it."

The man left with the other villagers, only Nathan and Ruselm remaining behind with the body of the bear. Their silent company was thick with tension, Ruselm watching the bear as if he would come back to life at any moment and take his rightful revenge. Nathan watching Ruselm as if he were actually going to follow through with his threat of strangling the man.

"Geralt won't be coming," Ruselm broke the silence.

"What?"

Ruselm glanced over his shoulder at Nathan. "Geralt of Rivia won't be coming to help you. You've condemned yourselves and your shitty town to whatever monster awaits you in your cemetery."

Nathan crossed his arms over his chest. He was standing just under the bough of a tree, mostly sheltered from the downpour that rivaled Ruselm's own intensity. "That isn't true!" He protested. "He's a witcher. Witchers go where the coin flows. We'll pay him well if he can get rid of that hellhound that's been plaguing us."

"He's not going to be dealing with your problem," Ruselm laughed bitterly, head thrown back as he sidled closer to the bear's body. "After I tell him what you've done here. You can be damned sure Geralt will know my opinion on the matter, and my recommendation for your punishment."

"Well, that's not really for you to decide, is it?"

"Was it for you to decide if this bear lived or died?"

Nathan remained silent, green eyes burning holes into Ruselm's head.

"Besides," the Nazairian went on with no small measure of contempt. "A hellhound, you say? That's a beast of your own creation, dear sir. He is conjured where humans are wicked and evil. I've read about hellhounds before, you see, and they are creatures of the underworld, specters that assume the form of a terrifying hound as they tirelessly stalk victims like you because once it finds you, you're at the mercy of a merciless being. Authors from all around believe that hellhounds embody the vengeance of our gods, who send their loyal servants to punish humans for their wickedness. Poor you, you've made the top of the list, haven't you?"

There was real fear in Nathan's green eyes now, one that hadn't existed before. "You can't sentence an entire village to the hell you've just described! It's not right!"

Ruselm huffed and mimicked Nathan's earlier words. "Then perhaps you shouldn't have killed the bear even when I screamed for your violence to stop."

"You're a bastard," Nathan growled, eyes flaring with hatred. He uncrossed his arms and set his hands to his hips instead. "I want you out of Thetdow. You're never welcome into our village again, do you hear me, Nazairian?"

"Loud and clear," Ruselm sneered. "Stay away from your shithole? No quarrel from me."