II Orion: The Evils of This World

The stench of decay and sulfur grows worse the deeper they descend. From somewhere in the distance comes a faint scraping and cracking.
“What is that?” Illias whispers.
“The male,” Orion replies, pulling his shirt over his nose to make the smell more bearable. “Watch out for the bones. They’re everywhere. Don’t make any unnecessary noise—surprise is our greatest advantage!”
Orion raises the torch and illuminates a wider passage. The scraping is very close now, and in the flickering light, a nightmare made flesh reveals itself before them.
The male is tearing into the carcass of a sheep, burying its muzzle deep in the flesh to rip out chunks and swallow them whole. It stands almost as high as Orion’s shoulder. Its legs and back are packed with powerful muscles that tense with every movement. The short, bristly fur is bald in countless places and riddled with scars.
Every fiber of Orion’s body screams at him to run, and he has to force himself to move closer to the dog. One last time, he turns to Illias and points a finger at his forehead; only a clean shot to the brain will end this.
Carefully, he creeps closer, aims the pitchfork at the abomination, and clears his throat.
No reaction. Orion clears his throat again, louder this time, but the male refuses to abandon its meal and only devours the chunks of flesh more greedily. “Hey,” he calls, his voice breaking.

Slowly, the head turns toward Orion. The small, stubby ears flatten menacingly, and with a growl, a sea of rotten fangs is revealed. A massive scar lies where the left eye should be, while thick boils of pus twist its face into a grotesque horror. Drool, blood, and foam drip from teeth jutting in every direction, and Orion stumbles backward.
He keeps the pitchfork pointed at the monster for protection. His eyes dart from the male to Illias and back again. The angle is good, and the boy has a clear shot.
“Illias! Shoot!” He looks into his son’s wide, terrified eyes as the boy stands frozen with the bow in his hands. “Illias!” Orion roars, thrusting the pitchfork forward.
The boy turns his head away and lets go. The arrow whistles through the air and buries itself in the dog’s flank.
Mad with pain, it howls and spots the boy, who is already reaching for the next arrow with a trembling hand.
“Run!” Orion screams, but the beast has already turned, its massive body charging forward. Rotten teeth sink into the boy’s arm, jerking violently as the animal tries to tear it free.
Panicking, Illias pounds at its head, struggling to wrench himself loose, but nothing helps.
A scream of pain snaps Orion out of his paralysis. He charges forward, levels the pitchfork, and drives it into the beast’s back with such force that his fingers ache.
The dog refuses to let go, whipping its head furiously from side to side, and Orion tears the pitchfork from the stinking flesh only to drive it in again and again.
At last, Illias manages to break free. The dog turns on Orion, bites down on the wooden shaft, and manages to throw him to the ground. The wood creaks ominously until it can no longer withstand the strength of the mighty jaws.
Orion scrambles backward and kicks the beast in the nose with his leather boots until sharp teeth clamp around his ankle. Blood and pus spray from the scars around its eye, and in its frenzy the dog shoves Orion across the ground. The pressure around his foot grows stronger. Any moment now, the leather will give way!
“Get out of here, Illias!” Orion roars through the chaos, kicking and striking at the grotesque muzzle, but the male keeps pushing him across the floor as though he weighed no more than a sack of feathers.
His heart pounds so violently it feels ready to burst, and a constant ringing fills his head.
A sudden jolt runs through the monster’s body, and the grip around Orion’s foot loosens. The massive body collapses limply to the side, blood flowing from the scarred eye socket, where an arrow now protrudes.
Orion’s arms and legs ache, and his skin is torn open in several places. His foot feels numb, but he hurries to his son, who still holds the bow in trembling hands. Tears well in the boy’s eyes, and sobbing, he falls into his father’s arms.
“It’s all right,” Orion soothes him. “Nothing can hurt you now!”
“Is he …”
“… dead. Thanks to you!” Illias grimaces in pain; his arm is bleeding badly. “Let me see! We’ll have to wash it out with hot wine when we get home, and tomorrow we’ll take you to the healer.”
He takes a leather pouch from his pocket and washes the wound with cold water, then tears a strip from his shirt and binds the arm to stop the bleeding.
“I’m so proud of you, my son! If you ask me, you were more useful than your uncle!” The hint of a smile appears on the boy’s face.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Can we please find him now? I can’t stand this cave anymore!”
Orion picks up the torch from the ground, and together they follow the rest of the path.
“Should we take some of the meat with us? There’s more than enough on them for a feast!”
“Trust me, boy, not even in the direst need would you want to eat those things. They’re inedible.”

From somewhere in the distance, they hear a familiar whistle.
“Come on, Dad! He’s still alive!” The bearded giant is sitting on a rock, and Illias rushes forward and throws his arms around him.
“Took you long enough! I was starting to wonder if you planned to leave me down here. This little darling must’ve broken her neck in the fall. At least, she hasn’t moved since.” He nods toward the dead female lying limply beside him, her tongue hanging out and her head bent at a grotesque angle.
“Uncle, I killed the male! One arrow straight into his head!”
“And I took down the other two!”
“But mine was twice as big, and we rescued you!”
“Fine, then. We’ll call it a draw.” As Philo tries to put weight on his foot, he winces.
“Can you manage on your own?” Orion asks with concern.
“A shoulder to lean on might be useful … Oh, and look at this.” Triumphantly, he holds up a small, dusty pouch with a few coins jingling inside.
“Where did you …?”
“Found some old bones in that crevice over there. Must’ve fallen down the slope too and couldn’t get back out. Well, apart from a few rags, he didn’t have anything else on him.”
“Shitty way to die,” Orion remarks.
“Maybe, but those coins are practically begging us to have a drink at the tavern tomorrow to celebrate a successful hunt!”
“Me too, Uncle?” Illias asks.
“If you get me home in one piece, you can even have two!”

Exhausted and weary, they finally reach Oak Valley, supporting Philo between them. The full moon casts a gentle light upon their path, and at last they pass beneath the silent sentinels, whose branches sway as if to welcome them home.
Light still burns inside the main house, and smoke rises from the chimney. Surely the women have already gone to bed, leaving only Grandfather awake to give them a proper scolding.
“Keep it down,” Philo whispers. “Whatever you do, don’t wake Scylla!”
Carefully, they creep up the few steps, and every time the giant puts weight on his foot, pain twists across his face. Orion is just about to open the front door when it swings wide and Philo’s wife appears before them, glaring accusingly.
Her long blond hair blows in the wind, and her nightgown glowing beneath the moonlight makes her look like a ghost risen from the dead. Her narrow mouth twitches eagerly, ready to unleash a barrage of accusations if she does not hear the right words.
“Hello, darling,” Philo says meekly.
“Do you have any idea what time it is? Can you imagine how worried we’ve been?”
“Everything’s fine. Please go back to sleep. We have everything under control,” Philo replies cautiously.
“Don’t tell me what to do! You’ve got some nerve…” Then her eyes fall on Illias, whose arm is red with blood. “By the gods, boy! What happened? Come inside. You’re getting something to eat, and then I’m washing you up!” She drags Illias into the house, but not before casting one last furious look at her husband as she disappears around the corner.
“I am so dead…”
“Maybe she’ll leave enough of you for us to bury,” Orion jokes as he helps his brother into an armchair beside the crackling stove.
“Papa! Papa!” a voice cries, and Bella comes rushing toward them, throwing her arms around Philo’s neck. A warm smile spreads across his face, and he gently pulls her close.
She is eleven years old and wears a white nightgown. Her curly black hair hangs loose, and her brown eyes are red from crying.
“I was worried about you!”
“No one was seriously hurt! I twisted my foot rather badly, and Illias hurt his arm. But everyone’s all right!”
“You’re not lying to me, are you?”
“I would never lie to you. Nothing will ever happen to me, and I’ll always protect you.” He kisses his daughter gently on the forehead.
Relieved that everyone is safe, Orion slips quietly out of the living room to thank the gods for their safe return.

Inside the toolshed stands a small altar dedicated to the gods, and as Orion approaches, he hears a familiar voice within.
“O gods,” he hears the melodious voice say. “Bring my husband, my son, and my brother-in-law home unharmed.”
Orion leans gently against the wall and takes comfort in the soothing sound of the prayer. Above him, a cloudless sky reveals a thousand stars and the soft glow of the full moon.
At last, he enters the cramped shed and sits on the ground beside his wife. Lost in prayer, she reaches for his hand.
Silence.
He feels only the warmth of her hand and the tension slowly leaving his body. “Artemis, goddess of the hunt and daughter of Zeus. I thank you for your blessing and your protection. As promised, accept my offerings.” Beside the urn of his ancestor and the idols upon the stone altar, Orion lights three candles.
“Artemis, and all you gods of Olympus. I thank you with all my heart for bringing them home safely. Accept my offerings, and never let your watchful gaze turn away from us.” Helen also lights three candles, and together they remain kneeling on the floor.
“There were three,” Orion stammers. “We were well prepared until Philo fell into a crevice. Illias… killed the male, and I… I felt so useless.”
Helen listens attentively, her pale blue eyes fixed firmly on her husband.
“I never should have asked that of him. He’s so pure, so innocent, and I made him kill a monster.” Words fail him. He looks at his wife, hoping to hear what he needs. Something to lift him up.
“You did the best you could. Don’t blame yourself! Illias is stronger and more mature than any of us want to admit, and this won’t break him. He’s fifteen, and he chose to go with you!” She tightens her grip on his hand as a single tear rolls down her gentle features. “I love you, Orion, but swear to me before the gods that you will do everything in your power for this family!”
He nods awkwardly, lowers his head, and stares at the floor. Her lips seek his, and he holds her as tightly as though he never intends to let her go.
By the gods, there is nothing in this world that could tear them apart.

“Damn it all,” a raspy voice growls from outside, followed by an angry pounding against the door. “Your boy is bleeding to death in there, that idiot is whining about his foot, and the two of you are sitting around drooling all over each other! And what took you so long anyway? Are either of you useful for anything? You can’t work the fields, you can’t tend the animals, and apparently you can’t even chase off a few dogs!”
Helen storms outside in fury. “Go inside, sit in your chair, and shut your mouth! Sitting around and complaining is about the only thing you’re still capable of, Grandfather! Orion does everything he can to protect us, even when it means killing those monsters!”
As he hears Helen and Grandfather arguing outside, a deep weariness comes over Orion, and as quietly as possible, he slips back toward the main house. The living room is empty, with only the fire crackling in the stove and filling the room with gentle warmth.
From their bedroom, he can hear Scylla scolding her husband while tending to his foot.
There is no light left in the children’s bedroom, but he can hear Illias recounting their adventure in the cave while Bella bombards him with excited questions. As he approaches the room, the voices abruptly fall silent, and both children pretend to be asleep.
He lights a candle, and in the next moment both children are sitting upright in bed.
“He told me about the cave,” Bella blurts out. “Were those… those breedings really as big as a horse? And did Illias kill one that could even breathe fire?”
Orion glances awkwardly at his son and sits down on the edge of the bed. “They were big. One of them may even have been bigger than a horse, though perhaps not quite as talented at breathing fire. But they were dangerous, and they threatened us and our livestock!”
Helen enters the room carrying a steaming bowl. “Show me your arm. I need to wash it out with hot wine or it’ll become infected!”
The boy removes the bandage and lets his mother examine the wound.
“Doesn’t look like the teeth reached the bone. Silvana will have to take care of it tomorrow. Try to be brave!” She soaks a cloth in the wine, and as she wipes away the blood and cleans the wound, Illias grimaces in pain.
“It’s already late, but while Helen is busy, I can still tell you a story. Which one do you want to hear?” “Please, please, the one about the man-eating Cyclopes!” Bella demands.
“I’d rather hear the one about the Crow-Man,” Illias says.
“Those are rather wild stories for this late at night, and Grandfather tells them much better anyway. I’ll tell you something else.”
Bella and Illias sit up eagerly and listen closely.

“There are things in this world that are evil and powerful. They dwell in caves, ruins, and dark places, and the wisest thing you can do is stay far away from them. Long before Paragon or this farm were founded, a mighty and bloodthirsty monster lived in this valley. Its hide was so tough that no attack could pierce it, and it struck terror into everyone who lived nearby. One day, my great-great-grandfather…”
“The man in the urn?” Bella asks excitedly.
“Yes, the man in the urn. He wanted to kill the monster, but he wasn’t strong enough. So he prayed to the immortals, and Poseidon, god of the sea, answered him. He granted him power over water, and with his newfound strength, he managed to bring peace to the land.”
“How did he defeat the monster?” Bella asks.
“That part has been lost to time, but he killed it, and they say the oaks that protect this valley grew from the monster’s bones. Because of what he did, Paragon could be built, and my ancestor settled here and founded the farm.”
“Our ancestor was really that amazing?” Illias asks.
“They say rain fell from the sky at his command, and he transformed what had once been dry land into a green oasis. That’s why, whenever we need help, we pray not only to the gods, but to him as well. And his blessed blood flows through our veins.”
“And that’s really true, Uncle?”
“As true as I’m sitting here, Bella!”
Helen carefully tightens the bandage. “There, finished! Now that story time is over: what do we do when we see a monster?”
As if speaking with one voice, they all recite the old children’s rhyme. The rhyme that has saved their lives so many times before, and shaped the way they live.

“Behind the trees, in caverns deep,
big and dumb, the breedings creep.
If they haven’t seen you yet,
circle wide around their nest.
Should their gaze stay fixed on you,
run like hell—or fight with guile.

Beware the ruins, stone on stone,
where ancestors left their golems alone.
Though riches tempt you, bright and fine,
leave them be and heed the sign.
Sharp of eye and keen of ear,
fight with strength and conquer fear.

Of Trials, tales are blurred,
born from ancestors’ pride, or so we’ve heard.
Whether large or whether small,
good or wicked—none can tell.
Best avoid them if you can,
lest regret befall your path.

With cunning or strength, these foes may fall,
but from an Aberration, flee from all.
Nature and ancestors showed no grace—
run, you fool, abandon the chase,
and never let your courage make you stay.”

Helen places a cup on Illias’s bedside table and gently strokes his hair. “Drink the tea. It’ll help with the pain. After all, you’ve got a long journey ahead of you tomorrow.”
She kisses her son on the forehead, and Orion also wishes the children good night, but before he can leave the room, Bella asks anxiously, “Uncle… is Papa going to get better?”
“Your father is the strongest man I know. A little scratch like that won’t keep him down.”