BLOCKED By Heck She sat in his head like an amber light, restless, impatient, eager to be doing something, anything, to relieve the tedium. She had flashed into existence days ago, but had just sat here ever since, waiting, anxious to discover her purpose, what she was for. He knew her well, in minute detail. Every pore, every nuance, from the roots of her cropped blonde hair to the soles of her boot-encased feet. After all, he had created her, so he should know her better than she knew herself. Tall, she was, just an inch or so under six feet, with lovely elfin features and a strong, muscular body that went in and out in all the right places, mounted on long, athletic legs. She was clothed, for want of a better word, in a skimpy two-piece metallic costume that only just covered her modesty, and a flowing electric blue cape that hung in folds from her wide shoulders and reached to mid-calf. Her legs were encased in high, black leather thigh boots, and she carried a round studded leather shield and a savage sword that hung from her waist. The pencil in his hand hovered hopefully over the pristine white page. The expanse of paper filled his field of vision, defying him, daring him to write, challenging him to make a mark. His mind was a complete blank as he sat, waiting for the words to come, waiting for the flask of inspiration that would allow him to begin. The paper laughed at him. With a deep sigh, he sat back in his swivel chair, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Why did it have to be like this? The actual process of writing was, he thought, the most fun he could have with his clothes on, but actually getting started was the most frustrating, most irritating...perhaps another cup of coffee would help. As he made his way to the kitchen, the woman got to her feet and began to pace up and down in his brain. There wasn’t much to see. Normally, there would be flashes of inspiration and the hum of creativity as words and phrases coalesced, plots thickened, and ideas bounced randomly from each other. Now, though, it was a pretty barren place. She was just as frustrated as him. He had given her this power-packed, energy filled body [not to mention feminine and sexy] and she had nothing to do with it. Her splendid muscles fairly hummed with strength and vitality, and she was forced to sit and kick her heels until he got an idea. It just wasn’t good enough. She swung a kick at a ganglion, trying to get his attention. "Hey! Hey, you! Writer-man!" "Ow! No kicking!" "Never mind that. When are you going to give me something to do?" "As soon as I have an idea", he replied, pouring hot water on the instant coffee granules in his mug. "When is that likely to be? Because I can tell you, wandering about in your head like this is bor-ing". "You can’t put a target on these things". He sat back down and glared at the defiant page. "It’ll come, or it won’t come. That’s all there is to it". "Yeah? And what am I supposed to do if it doesn’t? You made me; you have a responsibility to me". The writer smiled to himself as he took a sip of coffee. "You’re just a character", he pointed out. "Just a figment of my imagination. If I can’t think of anything, I’ll just put you aside and move on to the next, and there’s nothing you can do about it". "Oh, yeah? You think?" She cast about, and her gaze settled on a bundle of nerve fibres. She stepped up and wrapped her arms around them. "What about this, then?" The powerful muscles of her arms leapt into deep relief as she poured her power into them, and squeezed. Blinding pain seared through the writer’s head. "Oww! Geez, that’s sore! How did you do that?" "That’s what you get for dreaming up characters like me. You always create strong women, women who are stronger than you, so what do you expect? I can do a lot more than you think. I wonder what’ll happen if I pull this fibre, here?" The writer’s hand shot up and, if it hadn’t been for his glasses, the pencil would have poked him in the eye. "Stop that!" "But I can’t. Not just like that. I’m blocked, and until it clears nothing will come. I need an idea. Just a spark. Then it’ll flow, you’ll see". "Yeeargh! You are the most frustrating person I ever met!" "Not hard, seeing as I’m the only person you ever met". "Are you kidding? It’s like a sardine can, in here. There are so many characters, I hardly have room to move. But no, you’re right. I never really met them because THEY ALL HAVE SOMETHING TO DO!!" "Well you’ll just have to be patient. How do you think I feel? I want you to do something, too. I mean, you’re one of my fantasies. I don’t want you to just sit there, either. I want to see you in action, using all that beautiful strength, flexing those lovely muscles..." "Okay, okay. Calm down. Let’s just say that we’re both in the same boat, without you getting all fetishy on me, okay? How can I help?" "I don’t see how you can. Can you?" "Maybe. Why don’t you start by giving me a name?" "What would you like?" "I don’t know, you’re the ideas man. How do you normally do it?" "Well, I start with a random consonant and a vowel. Or I could put a diphthong there. Something like T’Pau, although that’s already been done". "Pity. I kinda like it. Oh, well. Pick a consonant, then". "All right. Erm...K?" "K. Okay. Then what?" "K...E? K, E, erm...Z? Kezzi? "Kezzi. Hmm. Not bad. I don’t feel like a Kezzi, though. I need something a bit more powerful". "Why? You don’t have to have a strong name to be a strong heroine. One of the most powerful characters I know is called Wendy, and if ever there was a wimpy name..." "Really? Wendy? Where is she, in here?" "No, no, she’s not one of mine. Although she does visit my head quite often. But I like Kezzi". "All right, then, Kezzi it is". "Or Kazzi. How about Kazzi?" "Better. More bite. Right, so I’m Kazzi" "I have to think up a scenario. Something I’d like to see you doing". "What kind of thing?" "Usually, my heroines have to get themselves out of trouble, or help others out of trouble". "I like that idea. I wouldn’t mind helping somebody else out of trouble". "Okay. Anything in particular? Rescuing someone, maybe, of fighting off their enemies?" "Can it be a bit of both?" "I suppose". He took another sip of coffee and rolled himself a cigarette. "How about this. You’re a mercenary, and you’ve been hired to protect...someone from...something or other. Oh, this isn’t going well". "Those things’ll kill you, you know", she said as he applied a light to his roll-up. "What are you, my conscience now?" He nipped out the dog-end and laid it in an ashtray. "This is useless. I’m still not getting anything". "Yes, you are. Look, how do I get where I’m going?" "On a horse, I guess". "All rightie, then. Put me on a horse, and take it from there". * Kazzi sat astride her tall palomino stallion, looking out across the plain. From up here, high on a weathered crag, she could see for miles in all directions. She shaded her eyes with a hand, her blue cape billowing out behind her, streaming in the wind that blew from the tundra... * "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" "Whoa? What whoa?" "’The wind that blew from the tundra’? What kind of a sadist are you?" "But you’re a warrior. You’d be used to all kinds of weather". "Maybe so, but look at me, man! You’ve got me dressed in this little scrap of tinfoil. Are you trying to freeze my nipples off?" "No, but you’ve got to be dressed provocatively. This is a fetish fantasy, after all". "Fantasy or not, I’m not getting frostbite for anybody. Either you dress me appropriately, put me somewhere warm, or I’m turning this horse around now". "Where would you go?" "I don’t know. Somewhere deep in your subconscious, where I’ll niggle and nag at you forever. I can do it, too. Don’t underestimate me again". "Okay, okay", the writer sighed. "Now, where was I?" * ...blue cape billowing out behind her, streaming in the wind that blew from the sun-drenched savannah. * "Better". * Tall and stately, she was a most impressive figure of a woman. Her cap of close-cropped blonde hair framed a face that was remarkable in its beauty. Finely drawn, almost elfin features that radiated a sharp intelligence from her glittering ice-blue eyes. * "I like that". "Thought you might". * Large eyes, that counterbalanced a wide mouth with a dazzling, ready smile, showing strong, even white teeth. Her body was lean and muscular, but imbued with the grace and speed of a panther. Long legged and clean limbed, her wide shoulders and narrow waist hinted at the deep well of strength she possessed. Strength that was extraordinary, not just for a woman, but for any person, but did not rob her of her femininity. Hers was the kind of physique that made men salivate. She adjusted the strap on the thin metallic garment that covered a minimum area of her proud, thrusting... * "Hold on, hold on". "Now what?" "Proud and thrusting I can live with. But it’s these clothes". "What’s wrong with them?" "Well, they’re just silly, aren’t they? I’m supposed to be a mercenary, right? A soldier of fortune?" "Yes". "So wouldn’t I be dressed for the part? Not like some silly concubine, I mean. I should have armour, leather, and stuff like that. Shouldn’t I?" "But it’s a fantasy, you stupid woman!" "Hey! Don’t you take that tone with me!" "Sorry. I...God, what’s wrong with me? Apologising to an imaginary person?" "Manners never hurt". "Look, it’s a fantasy, right? So you’ve got to be alluring". "Maybe so, but look at me. Look at the body you gave me. I can be alluring without being dressed like a glamour model, can’t I? I’m supposed to be what. Some kind of bimbo heroine? I don’t think so. Get your act together, Writer-man. And get rid of this stupid cape!" "All right, all right". * ...the strap on the stout leather, studded shield that hung from one shoulder. Clad from head to foot in supple leather, reinforced by chain mail at the strategic points, that did nothing to detract from her female curves and the shape of her proud, thrusting breasts. Only her arms were left exposed, revealing the taut, strap-like musculature that rippled with every movement of her hands. Her long, athletic legs were sheathed in highly polished thigh boots, and a wickedly curved scimitar hung at her side. * "Scimitar. Nice touch". "Thank you". * It had been ten years since circumstances had forced her into the life she now led. Left destitute by the sudden deaths of her parents... * "Aww. My Mum and Dad are dead?" "Will you stop interrupting? You never had a Mum and Dad. Figment, remember?" "Yes, but you might have let me get to know my family". "Oh, shut up". * Kazzi had been left with just two choices. Blessed with a strong and lithe body, either could have been her destiny. But the dubious delights of a life of prostitution failed to tempt her, so she had enlisted as a volunteer militiawoman where she had improved her physical prowess and learned the fighting skills that now stood her in such good stead in her chosen profession. Kazzi was a mercenary, and one of the best. She hired out her sword arm to anyone who could pay for it, and had built a reputation as one of the strongest and most reliable of her kind. The remuneration gained had led her to the position where. Now, she could pick and choose her clients and only select those whose causes appealed to her innate sense of justice. Which was what had brought her here, to this high crag overlooking the tundra. * "Tundra? I thought I was overlooking a sun-drenched savannah?" "You got warmer clothes. You’re back on the tundra". "Shit". * Down there, somewhere, was the place she was looking for. A small village by the name of Garvellan which, according to her directions, nestled near the base of a mountain on the far, southern, side of the plain. Two days ride should bring her to the settlement. She wheeled her horse, letting him pick his own way down the steep sheep-track that would lead her down onto the flat expanse of chilly land. At least she was going south, she thought with a shiver. At least the weather would be warmer. * "Thank you". "You’re welcome". * She fished the letter out of a pocket and read it yet again. She was intrigued by the apparently honest but vague plea for help. ‘A terrible evil besets our village’, she read. ‘Every year, at the time of the Summer Solstice, it descends upon us and takes from us our strongest and finest. We have heard your reputation, and have become convinced that you are the only one that can help us. We will meet whatever price you demand, but please come to us before the Solstice". It was sealed with the seal of the village Headman. Kazzi was eager to find out what the terrible evil was, and had wasted no time in setting out for the village. She reached the end of the sheep-track and applied her heels to the horse’s flanks, sending him galloping out into the broad plain. * "I really am intrigued. What’s the terrible evil?" "I don’t know, yet. I probably won’t until you get there". "Sheesh!" * The streets of Garvellan were deserted, when Kazzi rode in. That struck her as odd, because it was mid-afternoon and three days before the Solstice. Most places she knew would be bustling with energy and excitement at this time of year, as folk busied themselves with preparations for the biggest annual festival. But Garvellan was different. There was an air of gloom and despondency pervading the very atmosphere. The streets and houses, which should have been festooned with garlands, looked dishevelled and unkempt, and Kazzi would have thought the village deserted, if not for the occasional twitch of curtains as she rode past. Come to the house of the Headman, the letter had told her, and she reckoned the large house near the village square would be the one. She aimed her horse in that direction, pausing briefly to wonder about the purpose of the raised wooden dais with two stout stanchions in the centre of the square. The palomino danced and fidgeted as she tethered him to a hitching post. It was almost as if he didn’t want to be there. Kazzi trusted the instincts of animals almost as much as she trusted her own, and if the horse was nervous that was sufficient to put her on her guard. Her hand rested lightly on the pommel of her scimitar as she approached the dwelling. She was on the doorstep with a hand raised to knock, when the door swung open. A tall, gaunt man with long, grey hair stood in the frame. He would have been even taller, if not for his pronounced stoop, and leaned heavily on an ornately carved cane. His dejected expression spoke of years of worry, and he looked at Kazzi through lugubrious, careworn eyes. "Greetings". Kazzi forced a smile and held out a hand, palm up, in the traditional salute. "My name is Kazzi. You sent for me". "Kazzi. Kazzi? Oh, yes, Kazzi. I remember". The man seemed to brighten marginally. "Come in, come in. You’re very welcome". He stood aside to let her enter, and she stepped into a hallway that would have been most impressive if not for the air of neglect and the cobweb-hung plasterwork. "I am Moikle", the old man continued. "And I have the, er, somewhat dubious honour of being the Headman of this village. We have been expecting you". A tiny alarm bell went off in the back of Kazzi’s brain. She had sent no reply to the letter, so how were they expecting her? "Go ahead, my dear. Through the door, there". A large, carven oak double door stood open, leading to a large parlour. There was something wrong, here, but Kazzi could not put her finger on it. The old man was no threat, though, so she stepped into the reception room. Two swords were instantly at her throat, and she froze on the spot. Behind the two halves of the door, two younger men, both local farm workers by the look of them, had been in wait, and placed her at immediate disadvantage. * "Hold on. Back up a bit". "Geez! Is there no peace? What’s wrong now?" "You created me to be this strong warrior-type, yes? So presumably I’m skilled in all the martial arts and have acute senses and reflexes, right?" "Yes. So?" "Okay. So, I pick up on all the signs. The nervous horse. The fact that the old geezer is expecting me when I haven’t even told him I’m coming. The double doors standing open, a perfect hiding place. All that stuff. I even have the feeling that something isn’t right. Yet I walk into such an obvious trap? Come on". "Be patient. I had to get you into a situation somehow, didn’t I? But you’re a warrior, and these are just local yokels. All is not lost". "Ooh!" She jumped up and down on a synapse. "Does that mean I’m going to get some action at last?" "Uh-huh". "Finally! And not before time. Well, go on, man! Get on with it!" * She stood between the two pitchforks, the tines actually touching the skin of her neck... * "Pitchforks? I thought they were swords?" "I changed my mind". "Fickle!" * ...daring her to move a muscle. "I’m terribly sorry about this", Moikle said. "Precautions. Have no doubt, Shaver and Jervil will have no hesitation in killing you if you make a wrong move, so please keep perfectly still. Shaver, will you remove the lady’s weapon?" The man on her left, a big, shambling fellow, reached out and unfastened her swordbelt. The scimitar clattered to the floor. "Now, if you would be so kind as to place your hands behind your back". Silently cursing herself for allowing this situation to arise, Kazzi did as she was told. Moikle bound her wrists with what felt like twine; strong, thin rope that was used to bind sheaves, but was strong enough to tether a horse. Once bound, Jervil’s strong hand propelled her into the centre of the room. The pitchforks moved away from her neck, but the two men continued to flank her, weapons at the ready. "So what’s all this about", Kazzi asked, keeping her voice calm and level. "I thought you sent for me to help you with a ‘terrible evil’? Now it seems that the terrible evil is you". She could not keep the sarcasm out of her words, but hoped to engage her captors in conversation while she tested her bonds. "No, we aren’t the terrible evil", Moikle said, moving to sit behind a large desk. "But you are here to help us". "How can I help you if you have me prisoner?" She kept her voice even, hoping they would not notice the tension in her muscles. "It kind of restricts me, you know?" "Forget it". Moikle relaxed in his high-backed chair. "The old ploy of ‘keep them talking while figuring out how to escape’ isn’t going to work. Shaver, Jervil, take her to the cells". No time for subtlety, then, Kazzi thought. She sent an explosion of power through her arm muscles. The twine snapped with an audible twang... * "What is it? Why have you stopped?" "Because there’s a fight scene coming up, and I need to think". "Think? Why? There’s been no evidence of thinking so far, and believe me, from where I am, I’d know. Why start now?" "You know, for a figment, you’ve got a hell of a lot of brass neck". "Yeah? Well, for a writer, you make a good plumber. But answer my question". "Well a fight sequence can’t be just rushed into. It’s like choreography. You have to work out all the moves first. Sometimes, I even draw little stick figures and have them act it out, especially when there are more than two antagonists. You can’t just say ‘he hit her, so she hit him back’. You need to plan it before you write it, and then try to make it sound spontaneous, as if it’s happening right then and there. Otherwise, it can be a mess. Not to mention boring. It doesn’t always work". "So it’s all worked out in advance? Sort of dissected, and then reconstructed, before you even put pencil to paper?" "Yes. It’s a very methodical thing". "Ffth! You take all the fun out of it". * ...an audible twang. Her hands shot out and grabbed the pitchforks, snapping their shafts with quick twists of the wrists. The tines fell to the floor, one set piercing the floorboards where it stuck, vibrating gently. Shaver and Jervil had no time to even register surprise. Leaning to one side, Kazzi’s foot shot out on the end of a long, powerful leg and took Jervil full in the chest. He reeled back, while her hands grasped Shaver by the collar and crotch of his pants. With a tiny grunt of effort, Kazzi hoisted him off his feet and high over her head. Her knees flexed, and she pitched him across the room at the staggering Jervil. The two went down in a tangle of limbs. "Grab her, you fools!" Moikle yelled. They looked at him, then at Kazzi. They seemed reluctant for some reason. "Get her!" "Yes, come on, boys", Kazzi smiled. She seemed relaxed and unconcerned. "Get me, why don’t you?" They charged her as one. She met their rush with a small leap that allowed her to wrap her muscular arms around their necks from behind. Using their momentum and her own incredible strength, she arched her back and suplexed them both. The flew over her shoulders to land with a crunch on their backs, the wind expelled from their bodies with a dual ‘whoosh!’ Kazzi gave Moikle a cheery wave. In two strides, she crossed to where her attackers lay struggling for breath. Leaning over, she grabbed a handful of Jervil’s shirtfront, heaved him up, and dumped him unceremoniously on top of Shaver. They both groaned, and she sat down atop them, resting one elbow casually on her knee and cupping her chin in her hand. * "Whew! I enjoyed that. It was fun!" "Glad to hear it". The writer sat back and smiled. "I enjoyed it, too. I always do, when my ladies get to show off their strength. That’s what does it for me. The strength. The muscles are nice too, of course, but they’re just the icing on the cake. It’s the strength. The strength is the thing. That’s what turns me on. I imagine the feeling of being in the hands of a strong woman, experiencing the power, the..." "Okay, okay. Calm down, Tiger". She let go a little chuckle. "But I certainly kicked their asses, didn’t I? It made me feel good, too. All warm and tingly inside". "That’s the thing about my ladies. They all get off on their own strength". "Incredible strength, you called it. I’m glad you made me this way. So what now? Am I going to kick the old man’s ass, too?" "No. Like all my heroines, you don’t use your strength to intimidate or bully people". "Aw! Not even a little bit?" "Not even". "Spoilsport. What happens next?" "More coffee. The last one’s gone cold". "Well hurry up, then". * "Now then", she said to Moikle. "You don’t strike me as the type that goes in for this kind of thing, and these two aren’t your everyday type of thug. I seriously doubt that they’ve ever been in a real fight before. So what’s it all about. Eh?" Moikle stared at her from behind his desk. He seemed to have shrunk in on himself, and there was genuine fear in his gaze as if her expected retribution. His eyes saucered and his mouth hung open in awe as he clutched at the arms of his chair, struggling to speak. "Don’t be frightened", she reassured. "I won’t hurt you. Not unless you give me good reason. Just tell me what’s going on". "It’s the Byrmuth", he said at last, his voice thin and reedy. "The what now? Beer mouth?" "No, no. Byrmuth. We have to appease the Byrmuth". "I see". Jervil lifted his head and made as if to try to escape. Kezzi clipped the back of his head with her open hand. "Lie still, you". She bounced up and down a bit for emphasis. "The Byrmuth. And attacking me helps you...how?" "You don’t understand". There was real anguish in the old man’s voice as he wrung his hands. "The Byrmuth comes every Summer Solstice. It demands an offering, a sacrifice, of the strongest and fittest young woman in the village, and we must provide. Only, this year, there are no young women strong enough to satisfy it". "And you thought you’d try to trap yourself a ringer, huh?" Moikle made no reply, but hung his head shamefully. "I guess I was a bit more than you were expecting", Kazzi went on. "But what about this Byrmuth? What’s his problem? What happens if you just say ‘screw you’, and don’t give it its jollies?" "A Headman tried that, once. It flew into the village and destroyed the whole place. Then it ruined our crops and killed all our livestock. Took us years to rebuild it". "Why didn’t you all just leave?" "It won’t let us. If any more than three people try to leave together, it swoops down and carries them off". "Swoops? You said before that it flew. What sort of a thing is it?" "A beast. A terrible beast, but much more than that. It knows the hearts of men. It knows what you are thinking. * "Oh boy, a monster! I’m gonna get to fight a monster!" "All in good time. Be patient" "All right, keep your shirt on. Just lemme at ‘im, that’s all. Lemme at ‘im!" "Geez!" * Kazzi rose from her improvised seat and crossed to the desk. She hitched her hip on the corner and leaned toward the Headman, intrigued by what he was saying. "You boys just stay down, okay?" she warned. "And it takes just one woman a year to satisfy it?" "Just one. But she has to be very special. It stipulates that she must be the fittest and strongest, don’t ask me why". "What does it do, eat her?" "No, no, much worse. It takes her away to its mountain lair and feeds off her strength, her very essence. It takes her a whole year to die, and in that time she is reduced to a dried out, lifeless husk". "How do you know all this?" "It speaks to me, in a way. I’m the Headman, you see, and like all Headmen before me I have the burden of the Byrmuth in my mind. It doesn’t really think, but it sends me images and feelings". He hung his head wearily. "It is a terrible burden to bear". "So you decided to kidnap me and use me for a substitute?" "That was the idea. You see, the fact that the Byrmuth takes all the strong young women has led to a cultural change. It doesn’t pay to raise strong, fit girls, so the parents raise all their daughters to be delicate and weak. Don’t get me wrong, our young women are as beautiful as any, but very frail. The last one who even approached the criteria was taken last year, and believe me, the Byrmuth wasn’t very happy about it. That’s why we tried to appease it...with you". "That’s how I was supposed to help you? By being sacrificed to appease your monster. No way. It ain’t gonna happen". "Yes, of course, I understand that, now. But what else could we do?" "Thought of something else. But wait. I might be able to help you yet. Tell me everything you can about the beast, and whatever rituals go on on the Solstice. Then I’ll tell you what we’re going to do". * "Hey, this is getting quite exciting". "Glad you think so". The writer got to his feet and stretched. In his head, Kazzi looked puzzled. "Where are you going?" "It’s getting late, and I’ve had enough for one day. I’m going to the pub". "The hell you are. Get back to it!" "Screw you. No figment is going to tell me what to do" "Oh no?" She gathered up a couple of bundles of nerve fibres and yanked on them alternately. His feet rose up and down in time. "Hey! What the fuck? What did I tell you about not using your strength to bully?" "Get back to the desk Mister Writer-man! It’s my life you’re writing, so get back to it. You’re not leaving me dangling". His feet moved involuntarily, bringing him back to the desk and chair. She turned her attention to another bundle, and he sat down abruptly. "Write!" she demanded. "I should have expected this", he grumbled. "It’s happened before. You women won’t let me rest. When I’m doing a saga, you won’t let me go until I’ve finished a chapter at least. You’re all the same". "And this isn’t a saga, It’s only a short story, and it’s all I’m going to get, so the least you can do is finish it". "You can’t bully me into it". "Maybe not. But what if I do this?" She took up a pose, raising her arms and slowly flexing them so that the biceps rolled into a pair of hard, tight balls. "Look at these. Just think how hard they are, how strong they must be. Just imagine your hands running over them, your fingers probing, feeling their hardness. Think about being cradled in these strong arms. I could carry you all day". "Bitch. You know just what buttons to press, don’t you?" "Uh-huh. So how about it? Are you going to write?" "Yeah, I guess so". * The sound of drums filled the air with a rhythmic, pulsating beat. Flickering torchlight cast ghastly illumination to the faces of the crowd gathered around the dais, chanting a low dirge as the atmosphere filled with dread expectancy. Atop the dais, suspended by chains to the two upright stanchions, Kazzi stood nakedly defiant. The light danced across her body, throwing strange shadows in the valleys and ridges of her muscular flesh. The shape of each muscle group was deeply defined by the torches and she looked like a carven oak statue as she awaited her fate. At her side, Moikle stood with an open book in his gnarled hands, making arcane gestures as he read out the wards to protect the villagers from evil. Only he and Kazzi knew that the chains were only loosely wrapped around her wrists. Only they knew about the wickedly curving scimitar folded back along, and hidden by, her arm. As midnight approached, the pounding cadence grew in volume and tempo. The voices of the crowd grew louder and more urgent, and the people began to sway in time to the drumbeat. The silence was almost deafening when the drums came to an abrupt halt, precisely at midnight. Kazzi held her breath. An unearthly scream broke from the collective throat of the throng, and a noise like sails flapping in the breeze filled the air. Above their heads, a devilish shape soared above the village. Generally birdlike in shape, with black and greasy feathers in the tail but leathery, bat-like wings and a pointed, crocodilian snout filled with rows of sharply pointed teeth, the Byrmuth swooped over their heads. It wheeled away and banked steeply, coming in low and fast. "Get ready", Moikle whispered urgently as the villagers threw themselves flat. "It’s coming in to take you on this run". "I’m ready", Kazzi replied, uncertain whether she was or not. The damn’ thing must have been close to twenty feet long. Her heart quaked but she braced herself bravely as the horrendous beast closed in on her. Its speed was frightening. With a rush of air, it was almost upon her before she could react. Desperately, she shook off the chains, dropping to one knee as she frantically swung her scimitar in a wide arc. The weapon hit the mark, leaving a deep red line across the creature’s exposed belly. The wound was merely superficial, though, and the beast bellowed a harsh scream of pain as it soared away. * "Damn! I nearly had it, there! Why’d you let it get away?" "Because the story’s not over, yet". The writer placed the pencil down, flexing his stiffening fingers. "There’s more to come". "But do I get it? Do I win?" "You’ll just have to wait and see". * The bloodcurdling scream echoed through the night, filled with rage and frustration. The beast flew in a wide circle as people panicked and trampled each other in their haste to be somewhere, anywhere, else. "Damn!" Kazzi cursed. "I nearly had it, there". She turned to where Moikle had been standing, but he had gone, departing swiftly for an old man with a stick. The beast described a broad curve, and came in for another pass. "This time, you bastard!" Kazzi snarled. She braced her feet, scimitar poised for a killing blow. It came in hard and low, talons extended to grab her, and she could see the malevolence in its burning red eyes. Then it was over her head. Kazzi swung her sword... ...and missed. With lightning reflexes, she dropped her blade and grabbed the feathery tail in both hands, scrabbling her feet for purchase as it swung her round. The Byrmuth opened its wide maw in an heinous shriek and flapped hard, trying to pull away. Her iron fingers tightened on the oily feathers, every muscle deeply etched as she strained to hold back the screaming fury. Her feet slid across the planking, but she battled to prevent the winged horror from escaping. Finally, she found a footing, exerting every ounce of her enormous strength, battling against the raw, animal power of the beast, refusing to be beaten. The Byrmuth howled and flapped. The draught of its wings blowing dirt and dust into Kazzi’s eyes. But the woman’s sheer strength prevailed. There was no escape. Gradually, inch by hard won inch, she dragged it back into the centre of the dais. Planting her legs wide, grimacing with effort, she began to rotate in place, hauling the struggling behemoth round in an accelerating circle. Faster and faster she spun, and the crowd watched in silence, awestruck by her display of pure power. The beast flapped and kicked, snapping and biting uselessly at the air, but still the woman held on and spun even faster. Its head extended at the full reach of its long, scaly neck by sheer centrifugal force, the Byrmuth let out a long, mournful blare as Kazzi finally let go. It tumbled and somersaulted through the air in a perfect arc, to crash into the wall of the Headman’s house, demolishing the entire front of the structure in a cloud of dust. A hush descended. Kazzi leant her hands on her knees, heaving great lungfuls of blessed air into her chest, watching for any movement among the debris. The crowd gazed in silence. After a couple of minutes, when there had been no movement, a man in the crowd began to cheer. Several others took it up, and a ripple of applause spread through the onlookers that developed into a roar of gratitude and delight. Kazzi nodded her head in acknowledgement and picked up her scimitar, meaning to make sure that the Byrmuth was truly dead. Hardly a single step had she taken when, with a chilling, yodelling scream of defiance, the brute erupted from the debris in a snarling, spitting whirlwind of fury, and launched itself into the air. The people stampeded, but above the heads of the milling, screaming horde the Byrmuth hovered jerkily, station-keeping by flapping its great leathern wings frantically. Its screams of rage drowned out those of the terrified villagers, many of whom were knocked flat by the downdraught. It snapped at them randomly, the clash of its great jaws audible even above the cacophony of fear. Kazzi ran to the edge of the dais, waving her arms, trying desperately to distract the beast. "Hey! Hey! I’m still here! Hey, you ugly great son of a bitch! I’m here! Get away from those people! Come and get me!" But the beast, enraged by pain and frustration, seemed not to hear. Suddenly it descended among the crowd, great talons grasping, and arose with laborious flaps of its huge, sail-like wings. Apparently at random, it had seized a young girl-child, no more than twelve years old, in its wicked claws. It wheeled with a piercing shriek and climbed into the air, sailing over the rooftops. Many in the crowd were stunned, but most failed to even notice that one of their young had been taken from them. In blind panic, they scrambled over each other in a desperate struggle to get away. Kazzi leapt down among them, where a man stared in disbelief after the escaping monster, and grabbed him by the shoulders. "A horse!" she yelled. "Get me a horse!" He just stared at her, uncomprehending and dumbstruck. She pulled him close and shouted right in his face. "Get...me...a...horse! Now!" * "Yeah! Now, that’s what I’m talking about! Action! I could have been made for it". "You were", the writer observed. "All my ladies were". "So what now? I’m going after it, right?" "Now I’m definitely going for that pint. There’s just time before last orders". "Well, all right. But just the one. Then you’ll come back here and finish it, right?" "Maybe. I’m tired. I just want a quick beer, and then bed". "Hmm". Next morning, the writer arose late. It had turned into more than just the one beer. In fact, along with several friends, the landlord had allowed him a lock-in, and it had been close to two in the morning before he had meandered home. To her credit, Kazzi had kept silent and let him enjoy the evening without interruption. Now, though, as he shuffled in dressing gown and slippers toward the kitchen, on a quest for coffee and paracetamol, she yawned in his head, her marvellous muscles rippling as she stretched like a big cat. "’Morning, Writer-man". "You still here?" He scratched his beard as he poured boiled water into his mug. The tablets slipped down his throat with two sips. "I thought I got you out of my system yesterday". "You don’t get rid of me that easily. Not while I still have to catch the Byrmuth-thingy". "Oh, yeah. That". "So when do we start?" "Gimme a break, for Pete’s sake! I just got up. At least let me have my coffee and a ciggie, and give the paracetamol a chance to work. My head’s got a steel band playing in it". "Where? I can’t see them". "It’s a metaphor, you...it just means I’ve got a headache". "Oh. I see. Perhaps this will make you feel better". She stroked and caressed his frontal lobes lovingly. "Oh, yeah, that’s good" "Uh-huh. And will you make a start when your headache is gone?" "Yes, yes. Just give me five minutes peace, will you?" * The tall bracken parted before the horse like a bow wave. It flowed along the animal’s sides, and scratched Kazzi’s bare legs. She had not even taken the time to dress before setting out, and was still naked from her ordeal on the dais. She wore her scimitar, of course; even she was not reckless enough to take off after the Byrmuth unarmed. Ahead, a tall cliff towered two hundred nearly vertical feet into the air and high above, almost three quarters of the way up, she could see the dark aperture of the cavern, looking like an obscene mouth in the morning light. Deep within the cave, the girl cowered in terror. She lay on a pile of bones and, close by lay the black and withered corpse of last year’s victim. The girl cringed away from it, desperate not to attract the attention of the Byrmuth but unable to stifle the tiny whimpers of horror that escaped her. The floor of the cave was covered with the monster’s droppings, and the stench was unbelievable. Near the front the creature sat, licking its wounds and regarding her with a reptilian eye. It could hardly be said to think, but somehow it knew that this frail, scrap of a victim would not sustain it for a whole year. Perhaps a month, at best. And deep inside the blackened coal of its evil heart, it swore vengeance on the village and the strange woman who had thwarted it. It had not been prepared for a victim that not only fought back, but also fought back with such fantastic strength that it had been taken completely by surprise. It would not be so next time, and the power of the woman was such that it would feed as it never had before. It licked its lips with a sharp, forked tongue at the notion. But for now, this little morsel would have to suffice. It shuffled forward, cramped inside the cave, and stretched its neck toward the trembling little body. For some reason the victim was not looking at it, but staring past it toward the mouth of the cave. Puzzled, it craned its head round. Kazzi had climbed the last ten feet carefully and quietly, hoping to catch the beast off guard. But as she levered herself over the lip, it lunged viciously toward her. She flung herself sideways, narrowly avoiding being knocked out of the cave into space. She rolled away and came to rest against the wall just as the evil head speared toward her again, mouth agape. Having no time to draw her blade, Kazzi flung up her hands. She seized the deadly jaws in her steely grip, fending them off as she fought for her life. The Byrmuth twisted its head and tried to shake her off, but she was simply too strong. Her grappling hook fingers clung tightly to its muzzle and she forced it away from her, displaying massive strength in the effort. The beast gave a muffled snarl, and tried to lift one taloned foot to rip open her belly, but Kazzi kept it off balance by pushing forward as she came slowly to her feet. A spectator, had there been one, would have been disbelieved had he told the tale of what happened next. Kazzi adjusted her grip, taking hold of the Byrmuth’s upper and lower jaw in each powerful hand. The muscles of her arms tensed and coiled, moving like a pan of eels under her smooth skin, and she began, slowly and deliberately, to force the great killing jaws apart. Wider and wider she heaved them. The beast moaned and writhed in agony, its hot saliva running over her hands. She set her teeth against a wave of nausea, and powered every iota of her tremendous strength into her task her muscles swelling and rolling across her entire body. Gradually, the jaws were forced to their full extent, forming a wide angle. The forked tongue lashed helplessly and hollow, strangled sounds welled from its dark throat. Kazzi gathered herself for one last effort, and heaved. With a loud crack, the hinge dislocated. Smashing the creature’s jawbones in the process. An unearthly howl of agony issued from its throat and its wings flapped in its frenzy to escape her strength. In a single movement, Kazzi released the jaws and drew her scimitar. Her mighty arm extended, and she plunged the sharp, curved blade deep into the Byrmuth’s throat. Like the sirens of hell it wailed in despair, bright red frothy blood spurting from its cavernous maw as it thrashed in its death throes. After several long minutes, the Byrmuth lay still. Its chest rose and fell a few times, coarse, bubbling breaths that soon ceased and the beast lay silent, dead at last. Kazzi sank to her knees, at last allowing the fear and horror she had suppressed to wash through her. Her head lolled forward and she closed her eyes, sucking in deep restorative breaths through her nose and a tiny sound caught her attention. She lifted her gaze to find the girl standing next to her, eyes wide and disbelieving. She reached out a hand, and the girl took it tentatively. "Is that it?" the child whispered. "Is it all over?" "It’s all over", Kazzi smiled. She scooped the girl into her arms and stood up. "All we have to do now is find a way down". * "There you go", the writer said, flinging down the pencil. "Done". "Oh. That’s kind of sad, in a way". "How so?" "Well, you’ll be finished with me now, and I was just getting to like you". "I like you too. I like all my ladies". "Yes, but it’s all over for me". "No, it isn’t. You’ll get to do it all over again, several times, when I transpose it onto the computer and do my edits and rewrites. Then you’ll get to do it every time someone reads it. And, who knows, I might find something else for you, one day". "Oh. That’s not so bad, then". "No. Are you pleased with it?" "Ye-e-es...but..." "But what?" "I didn’t get to have sex. All your other women get to have sex, and I didn’t". "That only happens in the sagas. There isn’t time in a short story". "Yes, but still..." "Perhaps another time, eh?" "Mm. Well thanks a lot, anyway. I just wish there was a way to thank you properly". "There isn’t. Imaginary, remember?" "Hm. Maybe. But what if I do this?" She reached out and took a certain neural pathway in her strong hand. Her fingers closed about it and began to move up and down slowly and sensuously. "Oh, my!" the writer gasped, clutching the arms of his chair. "How are you doing that?" "Never you mind", Kazzi said, her voice growing low and husky. "How about if I wrap my powerful, sinewy thighs around this ganglion here? Hm? And what if I rub my flat, muscular belly against it like this? And suppose I take this nerve fibre, and caress it with my peaked, strong bicep? Can you feel my strength? Can you feel the hard muscles under my soft, silky skin?" "Ooooo-o-oh! The End Copyright ‘Heck’ 2004. All right reserved.