The Grinding, part 2

Billobi stood by his bedroom window, trying hard not to stare into his own reflection. It was in the middle of the night and thus dark outside. He could hear the slow breathing of Ana sleeping on the bed behind him. Their daughter - Anabel - slept in another room and dreamt about soft things. Or, he could only hope she did. Anything was better than the dreams he'd been having since he left Horsehead two days ago.

They all revolved around the same sequence: talking to Mr Hagberg (or whoever he was; a ghost with a monocle), the fear that grew as the ghost kept talking and the eager to flee to a place that didn't exist. The urge to run back to Badgerbrough, to leave Horsehead behind and pretend the talk never happened.

His breath painted foggy paws on the cold window. He took another deep breath, held it for a second and then released it upon the glass. Grey fog. As he prepared to repeat the procedure, a similar pattern appeared next to his.

That's strange, he thought, I'm not even...

A face materialised on the other side of window before he had a chance to complete his thought. His heart gasped for blood and he was forced to take a step back, for that face was all too familiar to him. It was the face of a little girl.

I'm dreaming! his brain cried. Ana will wake me up any second now!

No, you're not, the face spoke to him although no sound was to be heard. It's all very real, Billobi Rustfoot. Do you recall my face?

He nodded slowly, and added: Don't kill me.

No, not now, the face answered. The Grinding has begun. Too soon, we're afraid.

We? Billobi asked.

The face ignored him, and continued: It was the Trickster's fault. He came to me, pretending to have questions for his book. But it was all a scheme. I told him to never return, but yet he did. The Trickster. The Turner of Squares. The Fixator of Changes. When I was to grind him for his returning, he played out his plan and became permanent. Reverser of Dust. Taker of No Giving. A scale that tips too much on both sides. We call him many things since that day, but I guess you best know him as the Grammarian.

I...know no one of that name, Billobi whispered.

I see that your dull senses haven't left you, Mr. Rustfoot. The Grammarian is tainting the balance that is the dust of this world. It builds, only to grind. And it grinds, only to build. But he took too much. He's unnatural. He's living on borrowed dust. Because of this, things that would have been need to step back, or take from future beings' dust. The dust in his body doesn't belong to him. We realised this too soon, and now the Grinding has begun to reclaim the portion that was stolen. But he has shielded himself, and is thus protected. The Grinding can't reclaim him, but it won't stop until it has.

It sounds a bit like...like it won't ever work, Billobi mumbled.

It won't, the face said grimly. When eternity ends, all that will exist is the Grammarian and the invisible force that is the Grinding, in a void that will never be rebuilt. You must stop this, Billobi Rustfoot.

At the sound of his name, a coldness struck his heart, and he shook his head as hard as he could. No, he whispered. No. No! Why me? I don't even know who this person is!

You do, the face answered. The Grammarian's mortal name is Carl August Hagberg. He needs to be destroyed before the Grinding reclaims us all and enters its infinite loop.

But... I can't... I don't even... I write! I can't possibly do what you ask of me, that's beyond my knowledge and sanity! You snapped your fingers and...took a piece of my fingernail. I snap my fingers and nothing happens. Why can't you do it? You're more powerful than I am!

Because the Grinding has already reclaimed my dust, the face said and disappeared.


(To be continued.)

The Grinding, part 1

It was a slow day at the antiques shop. Billobi walked over to the window, smiled at the sun, and returned to the counter. He picked up a stone, turned it over and put it down again. He then returned to the window and repeated the procedure a couple of times.

"Stop it", Thomas mumbled from the counter. "Please."

"I'm bored", Billobi said and picked up the stone again.

"Get a job then."

"I already have one."

"Then write something."

"About what? Nothing exciting ever happens."

"Make something up."

"No, that goes against my work ethics."

"Yes, I forgot you work for the Inquisitive. Very high standard there, how could I ever forget..."

Thomas dodged Billobi's swing and walked over to one of the many bookshelves. He pulled out a thick, brown book and carried it back to the counter. He placed it in front of Billobi with a large thump.

"Oh, please. Why do you even keep this? It wasn't even useful in school. I mean, it's large as a house and still the title barely fits on the front: 'The Complete Syntax of the Proper Spoken Word of Grammar Magic and How To Pronounce, Use and Apply It in the Everyday'. I've had enough experience with grammar magic to last for two life times."

"It's not mine", Thomas said and opened the large book at random. A page with the header The Inconvenience of Fractions turned up. "A gentleman sold it to me yesterday."

"Well, if you bought it, it's yours."

"I mean it's not the one I had in school. But it doesn't matter. What's more interesting is this: the gentleman who sold it to me was none other than Mr Hagberg himself."

"Who?"

"The author! C. A. Hagberg!"

"So? Did he sign it?"

"He's been dead for the last fifteen years!"

"Someone's playing a trick on you, my dear Thomas", Billobi said and closed the book. "I've seen a lot of things, but dry academics that return from their final crawl and walk the earth again isn't one of them."

"You know that awful picture in the beginning of the book? Of the author?"

"The one with the long hair and monocle? I remember Tristan drawing a moustache on his."

"The gentleman who sold me the book looked exactly like that."

"That doesn't prove anything. If I grow long hair and start wearing a monocle, does that make me the author of this awful book?"

Thomas picked up the book and returned it to the bookshelf again. He returned to the counter and said with a low voice: "My dear Bill, I'm not saying this to give you something to write about. I'm telling you this because I had this...chill running through my spine after he left. Something isn't right. Find him, and see for yourself. He had the latest issue of Horsehead Hoary under his arm, so I guess he's staying at the inn."

Billobi sighed, and said: "I'll do it just to prove you wrong. See you in a bit."

The inn was only a short walk away from Thomas' shop, much as everything else in Horsehead. As he entered the establishment, his eyes were immediately drawn to a pale figure at the counter. Whoever it was, he had long hair and was reading a book. Billobi felt pretty certain that he too was in on the joke now, and cursed his brother-in-law as he walked up to the counter.

Always the reporter, Billobi pulled up his notebook and a pen, turned to the man and said: "Dear Sir, I'm a reporter for the Badgerbrough Inquisitive. We're currently doing a Horsehead special and I was wondering if I may ask you some questions?"

The man put down his book and looked Billobi right in the eyes. This is obviously a joke, Billobi thought as he watched the man in front of him take out his monocle. He resembled the author in every possible way.

"My dear reporter", the man said with a low voice, "you shouldn't be talking to me."

"Really, now?" Billobi said and pretended to take notes. "And why is that?"

The man returned to his book again, and took his time to adjusting the monocle. Without looking up, he said: "Have you travelled the world, reporter? Been to many places?"

"Some, yes. Never crossed the eastern sea though."

"Ever been to Skiff-in-Loch? The treeless island to the far west? Ever travelled there, reporter? Ever been to the furthest and most desolated place on the western shore?"

Billobi felt his heart skip a beat, and he felt his grip around his notebook loosen. "Maybe."

"I have. I met a little girl there. Can't say I enjoyed the talk, even if it was certainly fascinating. Ever met her, reporter?"

Billobi shook his head.

"That's strange, because she had a message to you. Do you want to hear it? It goes: 'Start running, Billobi Rustfoot. The Grinding has begun.'"


(To be continued.)

The Sacrifice of Herogrios Minor (people)

It was in the western parts of the great Ogrebelly forest, just where the river Broad splits and turns into the Ten Snakes, that Billobi first met Herogrios Minor. Or rather what turned out to be one of many people with that name, as he found out during a rather confusing interview for the Inquisitive.

But these people had more than a strange name in common, Billobi learned, even if that was a remarkable thing in itself. When he asked around, they all answered the same: it was a name given to them not by their parents, but some higher cause. All of them had run away from home at the age of eleven, regardless of social class or background; some came from nobility, others from poverty. They hailed from all over the world, even from across the great waters. Billobi couldn't help but wonder if Tristan had met any Minors on the Acorn Afloat.

Besides sharing a name that no one could explain to him, they also had a firm belief that therianthropy was a disease that the world needed to be rid of (after asking around a couple of times, Billobi made a short note in his papers that said "theriansomething = human to animal to human to animal & so on"). As a Herogrios Minor, they made pilgrimages all over the world in search of these "sick" people. Through prayers, they explained, they transferred the disease from the victim to their own body so that they'd become a prison of flesh and blood to bind the illness. The transferred animal would live inside the Minor's body, and as more and more diseases were transferred these animals would become either a hunter or the hunted; nature would continue its way inside the Minor.

When Billobi asked about the consequences of these transfers, he was taken to a glade outside the camp. It looked like a slaughter had taken place, maybe a great bear finally catching up on its prey, but who lacked the hunger to eat it all. When he bumped into a fleshy piece that without doubt was a human arm, he wasn't so sure anymore.

"This is the last battle of Herogrios Minor", one of the Minors told him. "As our vessels fill up, the internal struggle between the animals therein builds up to enormous strength, until the day when our bodies no longer can bear the tension. This is what we strive for. This is the sign of approval we need. This shows us that we have completed our mission."

The Badgerbrough Inquisitive, issue 9:6 (lore)

Billobi sat in front of the fireplace, swearing quietly to himself. Nothing seemed to get the fire started. As he was about to develop a new curse word by combining all the previous ones he had used, he heard a familiar creaking sound behind him. Without turning around, he said: "Anabel, go to sleep."

"Papa, what you doing?" a tiny voice answered him.

"I'm trying to start a fire so we don't have to freeze. Now go to sleep."

The creaking continued for another couple of steps, and suddenly he felt a tiny hand stroking his back.

"Why?" she said.

"Why what?"

She pointed at the splintered wood in his hands, and repeated the word.

"It's easier to burn them when they're small. And when they catch on, they will -"

"Why?"

"Because the sparks doesn't have to...you see, they fly around and hit the -"

"Why?"

Billobi took a deep breath and threw the sticks on the pile in the fireplace. He picked up a piece of paper from the table behind him and started shredding it.

"Papa what's that?" Anabel asked.

"This? Oh this is just some paper we can use to -"

"What paper?"

"It's just a dumb newspaper."

"Why?"

"Because they just are."

"Why?"

"What's that? A book?" Billobi quickly said and nodded at her.

"Coppasteam", Anabel answered.

"Oh, the Copperstream-book. Shall we read it again? About the hedgehogs and the king? Come, let's read it in bed. Papas dumb newspaper won't even burn..."

Get your copy of the Badgerbrough Inquisitive, issue 9:6 here! (on Google Docs).

It's licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

If you want to read Anabel's book you can do so here.

The hole at North Street, part 2 (lore)

I am but a fish fast asleep, dreaming away, Billobi thought. How else could I describe this?

He felt happy, warm, glad, yet he knew that he should be terrified. The emotions that played in his chest seemed to have won over the reasoning in his head; there were trails left of logic that he could follow, that told him that he should scream and panic, but whoever left those there were now long gone. The logic in him had given up, and he could only embrace the joy of being fully immersed in this golden liquid. Even his lungs didn't seem to care any more.

His eyes followed the arm that dragged him. It was a beautiful arm - or was it really? He had this nagging feeling back in his head that it should frighten him; the way the muscles were exposed, the bone beneath and sometimes above... Yes, it was a beautiful arm. A bit long, maybe. It seemed to stretch forever in front of him. If it hadn't been for that face he wouldn't...

Yes, the face. A beautiful face. Warm, gentle, likeable. It had rescued him, he was sure of it. It had just turned up when that other fellow tried to drown him - good man, good man. I liked him too, Billobi thought and smiled. A bit on the fierce side, but that's what winter will do to you. Oh how I love winter!

But the face, how kind and charming. Again, the lack of skin and the deep sockets where one would usually find eyeballs were signs that he suspected pointed to other feelings - fear, perhaps? - but he really couldn't feel them. After all, it had pulled him away from that other fellow, no matter how likeable he was.

The lovely golden sand around him - oh, how he loved it! - suddenly changed in colour. At first he thought it went darker, but it actually shifted towards orange. As the bright golden view disappeared, a string of cold started to tangle in his chest. He felt abandoned, and as the colour continued towards red, he couldn't help but feel betrayed. Why did they do this to him? Why did they have to remove this warm feeling, and replace it with this yarn of bitterness? It was his, and his alone! Give it back!

The liquid continued to change, but suddenly stopped. All was bright red now, and Billobi screamed at the top of his lungs. He was furious, his chest filled with hatred. He punched and kicked at nothing and everything, he screamed, he bit. He had never felt this disappointed before.

He suddenly became aware of the fact that nothing dragged him any longer. The arm - that bloody arm! - had released him without him noticing, and he was now floating in this bright red liquid all alone. He could feel the pounding desire for air in his chest, but he'd rather spend it on screaming and shouting. With closed eyes and clenched fists he fought the void in front of him - and felt the soft mattress of an open ribcage. There was the face again, at nose length from his own. He stared directly into its hollow sockets, and could only feel one thing: hatred. He loathed the monster in front of him, even as it extended its jaw and slowly adjusting it to Billobi's head size.

Then, things happened very fast.

A force got hold of his shoulders, and pulled him upwards. Bubbles fell off his body, and as the surroundings started to change rapidly again, he felt the hatred leave his body and be replaced by something more wonderful. Oh, beautiful golden sand, how I have missed you! he said and felt the liquid spilling into his mouth. Oh, beautiful arm, how nice of you t...

He didn't remember the last bit; it was all black. All he could remember was the choking feeling of liquid pouring out of both mouth and nose, and cold air filling his lungs yet again. The texture of a wooden floor, every fibre and every line. Reason quickly filled the vacant space in his head, and without opening his eyes he realised he was now laying on the floor next to the hole in the living room.

Slowly opening his eyes, a scene of violence played in front of him. The hideous being that had dragged him down into the golden liquid, stood at the opposite side of the room, throwing punches and biting at what Billobi hoped to be a regular human being. The sight of the monstrous figure plucked on his instinct to run for his life, but every muscle in his body felt asleep. He could only lay there, tired, unhelpful, grateful.

But like a fish stuck on the beach, the creature too started to gasp for air. It knocked the small person over, and before plunging into the hole again it stared deep into Billobi's eyes. It tells me something, he thought, but what?

Quick on the feet, the person who fought the creature started to cover the hole with whatever debris it could find in the room. Next thing Billobi knew, it held him in its arms. He didn't have to open his eyes, he knew this smell like the back of his hand.

"Ana?" he said hoarsely. The letters burned his throat as they left his mouth.

"Yes, Bill", Ana answered. "I'm here, it's over now. I'll get you home, dear."

"Did...you..."

"Hush, dear. Save your strength. Can you stand? Here, take my arm."

As he rose up from the floor, Billobi noticed a lifeless body in the back of the room. It belonged to the crazed man who tried to drown Billobi.

"Is...he...?" Billobi whispered and pointed.

"Drowned, probably", Ana answered without looking. "When I came here, he was flat on his chest next to that hole, head first. I pulled him up but he..." She stopped. "Drowned."

She led Billobi into the hallway, but as they passed the kitchen he forced her to stop. In there, he saw the body of Mr. Businessman, torn in two halves.

"The creature got him first", Ana answered, again without looking. "Please, dear, let's be on our way now!"

But a furious, high-pitched sound caught them off guard, and Ana lost her grip on Billobi. He fell on his left arm, on the wooden floor he just moments before had blessed. Turning around, they stared into the hollow sockets of the creature once again; it had merely returned to the hole to get some air. It leaned into the hallway, twisting and contracting its muscles around the bones.

Ana pointed at the creature, mumbled a single word and - nothing happened. Billobi felt fear crawling out of his chest, decorating his body like a spider web alive. The hideous creature stood there, leaning, motionless... It didn't move?

"I.. I fixated him", Ana whispered. Her breathing was heavy. "It still lives, but it can't...move. I never thought... It worked."

Although rendered stationary, both Ana and Billobi picked up sounds of breathing and small twitches in the unnatural wide jaw. It just stood there, alive but still. The breathing picked up in speed; short bursts, increasing until it suddenly stopped. The twitching ended as well. The hollow sockets stared at her.

"I..." Ana whispered. "I... I killed... I drowned it..." Her hands began to shake. "I...drowned it..."

Billobi got on his feet using his right arm, limped over to Ana and took her hand.

"Ana", he whispered. "Let's go."

She nodded slowly, hands still shaking. They limped over to the front door - eyes on the creature - opened it, and got out in the cold. Silence embraced them on the walk home.

* * *

Two weeks later, Billobi got a letter from his editor at the Inquisitive. An article from another newspaper was attached to the back. He read them both carefully, before shredding them to pieces and tossing it all into the fireplace.

"What was that?" Ana asked from the kitchen.

"Nothing, dear."

"Oh no you, I heard paper shredding. I don't want secret notes in this house, Billobi, not after..."

"It was from my editor", he interrupted her.

"Your editor? For the Inquisitive? But I thought you didn't want to work there any more?"

"I don't! I gave him my notice last week. He just wanted to write and tell me that I won't be getting any pay for that thing at North Street."

"But he published the article, didn't he?"

"Yes, but apparently a day too late according to him. There have been reports all over the country about these kind of holes recently. They call them 'Fairy holes'."

"That was no fairy we saw, Bill."

Billobi didn't answer immediately, as if he was sucked into a memory.

"They're like natural springs, apparently", he said. "Pops up here and there, a 'buried flask of golden liquid'. That's what the article said. And deep inside, a seed. A fairy."

"Like that thing? On North Street?"

"Like that thing on North Street. Filled with joy at first. But when people bathe in that golden sand... They suck up the joy, but leave their misery. Turns the yellow into red hatred."

"Dear?"

"And then, the seed grows. Hatred is heavier than joy, red at the bottom, yellow at the top. Hatred feeds the fairy, until... Until the entire flask is tainted."

He had turned his gaze towards the fireplace without noticing it, clenching his fist as he spoke.

"At least, that's what the article said. I don't care."

Ana walked up to him and pushed his head against her chest. As she stroke the hair on his head, Billobi mumbled a question: "How did you do that?"

"Do what, dear?"

"Pull me up... And stopping that...creature... How did you do that?"

"Well, some of us went to school to learn things. Unlike you and my brother, I actually passed my grammar magic class."

"Grammar magic... You don't say."

"Absolutely."

He sighed in her chest, and mumbled: "Let us never throw that book away."