Authors: Arwen Grim
But Kanin’s heart was turning dark. He tended the soil, but he grew jealous – prideful and angry, he could not bear the attention his brother received. Younger he was, Kanin thought, and smaller he must act, defer to his brother and accept his role as lower than Kanin himself. These thoughts, he locked away in the dark corners of his heart, refusing to admit to them, shocked at his own anger and envy.
Kanin knew not if he hated or loved his brother; Abel was younger, sweeter and everything innocent he had ever seen in this world and he would kill to protect the boy. But their sire spent far more time with Abel, proud that his second born had the power to consort and communicate with the animals in a manner that eluded Kanin. He praised Abel’s quiet strength, his humble nature and his kindness – Kanin, though, received only his retribution, his anger and his expectations as the first born. Strength, he was often told, was to carry the family forward. Abel could be weak, but Kanin could afford no vulnerability.
So it came to pass that by the time both lads were men, Kanin both loved and hated his brother; Abel was everything and nothing that he wanted to be. On the eve of his twenty-fifth summer, Kanin presented to his father fruit from his own garden that he had carefully tilled and tended to on his own. Abel also brought his own offering to their sire – the firstlings of the flock he had been cultivating for years together.
The father was pleased with Abel’s offering, for it was given out of the generosity and kindness of his heart. Abel had simply wanted his sire to smile at what he could give him; Kanin, however, had a deeper desire. He wished to possess the entire lands that belonged to his sire and in offering him the golden fruit, he hoped that he might win his father’s favor.
It did not. The sire knew well his first born’s mind and he rejected the fruit instantly. “How dare you expect me to buy into this farce!” he thundered at Kanin, who cowered in fright. “Leave now and I shall spare your sorry life.”
Kanin’s mother, wrought with agony, begged her Lord to forgive their son, but the man refused, furious beyond belief. Without another word to either his anguished mother or his terrified younger brother, Kanin walked out of his ancestral home, leaving to build his own manor nearby, never to return home again.
In his heart, the darkness grew – the seeds of it had been planted when he had been but a boy and his father had cooed over the sweet-smiling baby in his arms instead of praising the flower he was planting. Now watered by the hate and the anger over his father’s edict, the seeds grew into a tall tree of hatred, burning its way through his chest, leaving him breathless and trembling with fury and anguish.
Abel, he thought, Abel was the cause of his misery. Were Abel to vanish, then Father would turn to him, care for him as he should have all these years. Abel was the cause and ‘twas Abel he must defeat.
His heart ached at the thought of hurting his brother, but he had no choice – his honor, his pride was at stake and he could not abide by silence any longer. So, in the dark of the night, he hid a dagger beneath his tunic and crept into the stables where Abel often slept with the horses. As he had thought, his younger brother was fast asleep between the stalls that housed his beloved animals, cluttered into hay, the smells and the sounds of the barn always a balm to the child’s soul.
When he drew his dagger from within his tunic, his hands trembled – he raised it above his head, but hesitated, unable to strike the killing blow. For this was his brother, his younger brother whom he had carried on his shoulders and taught how to read and write and till the soil.
Tears flowed down his face and he wept quietly – what had the world come to that he must murder his own brother to earn his sire’s respect?
As though he had heard his brother’s agony, Abel’s eyes opened and widened at the sight of the dagger held above him. He scrambled to get away, crying out in shock and anguish and Kanin saw then, that he had no choice.
“Forgive me, brother,” he whispered and brought the dagger down, slashing right through his chest and plunging into his heart. Abel’s last cry echoed within the silence of the night – their eyes met one last time, Kanin shrinking away from the betrayal and accusation in that familiar gaze that had once looked upon him with such adoration.
Abel shuddered and then went still, breathing his last. Kanin drew his dagger from his dead brother’s chest, tears flowing down his cheeks and hands trembling so hard the dagger fell, cluttering to the floor, even as he fell to his own knees and wept freely. Abel was gone – gone by his hand. Father would turn to him now; ‘twas done.
‘Cept that it didn’t end there. Abel’s dying cry had brought their father running to the stables and he watched, as his first born murdered his second born and then fell to the ground and wept. His heart shattered in his chest, his old body giving away to exhaustion and fear.
“What have you done?!” he roared at his son, “What murder have you wrought, you wretched creature?!”
Behind him, his wife shrieked at the sight of her elder son weeping over her youngest’s dead form. She raced past him into the stables and clutched Abel to her breast, rocking him even as she had done when he was a baby, sobbing loudly at the loss of her beloved child.
“What have you done?” the father’s hands shook and his voice broke – he too, fell to the ground and wept.
Kanin looked up and sneered at his sire. “I did what I must,” he snarled, “What
you
drove me to do!”
“You are a monster, Kanin,” the father exclaimed, “A monster… curse you for a fool, you beast! You killed your own flesh and blood!”
“If I am a monster, Father,” Kanin cried, “’Tis only because you made me one!”
“Then hear my curse,” was his broken response, “You are no more son of mine! You are a beast and you shall turn into the monster you are. ‘Twas a dagger that you wielded to take the life of your own brother… but you shall know not the sweet release of pain, of death – wander ever alone, not to be killed by any weapon, a monster to be feared and hated and cursed! Because that is what you have become, Kanin – a beast, a killing beast!”
“NO!” the mother, rocking her dead son cried, “No, not him too… please, Milord, have mercy… I have already lost one child, do not take the other away from me as well!”
The father turned to her with broken eyes, “If you wish to go with him, then leave… he’s a beast and you, Milady, are a hag, if you truly believe that you can forgive this sin… would you rather stay with the killer of your son or would you mourn him as he deserves?”
“No, no, no,” she pleaded, “please, Milord… Abel is gone, but Kanin…”
“Kanin is no more!” he roared in response, “I have lost both my sons today! This-this beast… he is no Kanin, he is a monster – he is
Grendel
, the killing beast.”
“And if you must choose to go with him,” he proclaimed further, “Then you are no longer my wife… you will only be Grendel’s mother, a hag to be feared and ignored, even as Grendel is ostracized and isolated. Choose wisely.”
And Kanin’s mother, being a mother first and a foolish woman ruled by sentiment, chose to go with the son who had become the first murderer.
Transformation came upon Kanin – his skin turned rotten, even as his brother’s corpse rotted. His bone and his flesh tore, and the skin peeled off his eyes so that they were left to be simply two giant balls in sunken sockets. His jaw extended and yellow, broken teeth jutted out of blood-red gums. His voice grew from the rough drawl of a man to the harsh yowl of a beast – he turned from Kanin to Grendel.
His mother, however, remained the same; she remained beautiful and youthful, her lovely visage a true lie. Kanin’s father ran them both out of their home, leaving them to starve in the woods.
And ‘twas here that the mother turned into a true hag. She lured innocent men off the roads and into the woods with her beauty and Grendel pounced on them before they could defend themselves, killing them with one quick stroke of his hands. Mother and son would then tear the body apart, limb from limb and gorge themselves on the human flesh of their prey, eating their fill.
Thus it went on that, for decades together, they haunted the surrounding lands. They killed scores of innocent men, women and children. But even in his monstrous form, Grendel retained some of his sense; a part of him, the part that was still the young, lost Kanin yearned for human affection. At the same time, he also hated it – denied the thing he wanted the most, he began to fear it.
So it was that whenever he heard the sounds of people celebrating, he would attack; he was not happy and so, no one else could be either. Revelry frightened him – he would jump into the celebrations and decimate everything in sight, terror and anguish spiraling out of control.
Gotland was terrorized thus by the two monsters, who showed no signs of stopping. People died, eaten or killed by the beasts and fear kept all men constantly on alert. Women stopped venturing out at night and children were not allowed to play even outside the hut once the sun set. Within the woods, they could often hear Grendel’s growls and yowls – they knew not what to do as they shivered and trembled in fear within their own beds.
Finally, it fell upon the king to take action – he chased the monster into the woods and dealt a powerful blow to its chest. Grendel was made such that no sword or dagger could kill him; grievously wounded, nonetheless, the beast fled across the ocean and into Daner. The king gave chase, following Grendel and his mother into the Germanian woods – what happened there, no one knows, but the king emerged, victorious over Grendel.
He sought out the king of Daner and explained to him the whole story. Grendel was well and truly trapped, he insisted, and would not be able to harm another living soul.
The mother, he added, would also not cause harm to anyone. She was free to move about within the woods, the swamp now her home, but she couldn’t be killed – not while her son was still alive. So long as no human being ventured close to the woods, they would be safe – she could no longer charm innocent travelers off the road and into her deathly embrace.
The king of Daner was hesitant to accept all this, but eventually, he agreed to keep watch over Grendel’s prison and forbade his people from venturing close to the swamp or even the woods. He told no one of what had occurred, only that a swamp hag now lived in the woods and was to be avoided at all costs. Our king returned to Gotland and lived a long, fruitful life – he told no one of his feats, only explaining to his subjects that Grendel was gone and dead. They accepted his edict without question and life went on for all.
‘Twas only on his deathbed that he revealed the truth – and only to his son, explaining why Daner must always remain the ally of Gotland and how Grendel must never be released from his prison. His son promised to do as his father sought and so the tradition went on, the secret passing from father to son, the only method of protecting Gotland from the horror that had once been unleashed upon it.”
The end of Beowulf’s story was met with utter silence. Wiglaf saw his own horror mirrored on the men’s face; it wasn’t the first time he was hearing this story, but it got no easier. That a brother could murder his own flesh and blood, that a mother’s instinct would force her to choose that murderous killer of a son over her own husband… humanity could be perverse indeed and it gladdened Wiglaf that Beowulf’s ancestor had locked up Grendel and tied his mother to the swamp.
Until now…
“So Grendel was imprisoned by your ancestor?” Weohsan muttered, “That can only mean…”
“That he’s been released, yes,” Beowulf finished grimly. “And when I get my hands on the man who released him…”
Beowulf’s words from the ship echoed in Wiglaf’s ears as they stood in front of the King of the Danes. They had landed in Daner a day previous, their two days on the seas coming to an end at the Stevens Klint. The cliffs in that part of the country were treacherous, particularly prone to erosion, thus making them a hazardous climb. The winds were added factor; the cliffs were almost as windswept as Gotland itself was, cold and dangerous.
Wiglaf had been glad to get off the cliffs and into the heart of Daner. Hrothgar himself had come to greet them, with an entire party of his men, receiving them with all the pomp and ceremony worthy of their stand. However, it was obvious to Wiglaf that that was not what Beowulf was interested in; a warrior first and foremost, Wiglaf knew that his friend’s mind was preoccupied with the upcoming confrontation with Grendel.
Which was why he was not the least bit surprised when Beowulf insisted on speaking with the king alone. The moment the two rulers were left to their own devices, only Wiglaf on Beowulf’s behalf and Queen Wealhtheow on the king’s behalf, Beowulf turned to him and demanded the truth.
“
Who
released him?” he growled, “Who released
Grendel
? Why is he no longer an old wives’ tale to be told around camp fires to frighten innocent children into behaving?
Who released him?!”
His voice had risen to a roar by then and Wiglaf watched as the king remained silent, eyes downcast and tired. It was Queen Wealhtheow who approached the warrior, trembling with rage.
“Does it matter, Milord?” she asked quietly, “The killing beast has come to fore. Can you not fight back without knowing who released it?”
“I can,” Beowulf growled back, “But I must seek retribution against the blasted fool who undid my ancestor’s work. For Grendel cannot be killed by any mortal sword and I do not know of what my ancestor used to trap him!”