Imaple!

*mumble *mumble* IMPALE THE BEAST!!! *mumble** mumble*”

These are the first words I ever remember hearing. I am trapped beneath a weighted net. I struggle to free myself but I cannot get out. Men bearing fire and sharp things are all around me. The Shouter, a Man in metal skin riding some long-legged beast, stands above while waving a huge spear several times his size. Between this metal man and me are two more figures; small, robed, and hairless. They seem to try to protect me. I think of the Word I just heard, impale, Impale, IMPALE!!!!

I don’t know how it is that I came to be here. All I remember from my earliest days are the woods and the beasts. Some moons ago I came to this place of Men. I strode in, looking for others to be with, but they hurled rocks at me, burnt me with fire, Shouted and me, and drove me off. I stayed near this place, for food was plentiful. All I had to do was grab a beast from the nearby field and take it back to the woods with me. I avoided Men by day, hunted at night, and life was good; until this night, and the Net.

The Metal Man is gone now, sent by the robed ones. They are now saying something to the crowd. Their voices are, kind, soothing, reassuring. Slowly, these men also lower their weapons, and back away from the Robed men, and the net. One of the Robed Men approaches me. His palms open, his teeth bared. Perhaps he means to eat me? But his eyes do not burn with anger. Slowly, he pulls the weight off my back. I slowly stand, and then stretch, thrusting my arms out wide and arching my back. I try to speak the word I just heard so clearly....

“IMPALE!!!!!!”

The men jump back, their weapons raised. Half the men flee back to where the Metal Man went. The Robed men jump between me and the mob once again. This time they too have metal in their hands, huge double-headed axes that glow with their own pale light. After much noise, these lesser Men retreat back to their wooden dwellings, and I am left with the Robed Men. The taller of these two puts his Axe back on his belt, and gestures to me. The smaller one continues to watch me, holding his battleaxe in a more relaxed, if still vigilant angle. He is afraid, but is not threatening me. The taller man beckons me to follows him. We walk around the edge of the village to one of the two places not made of wood. Stone and glass, strange glass that I cannot see through, and large enough that all the Men I just saw could fit within. I follow them inside. They feed me, and lead me to a bed of straw, more comfortable then I have ever known. Just before I fall asleep, I head a whisper of metal on wood coming from the closed door of my room.

Time passes. The Moon dies and is reborn too many times to count. The Cold comes and goes as many times as I have fingers. The robed ones slowly teach me their Words, though I cannot make them myself. My first experience with Speaking Men’s words has taught me to stay with that one word I spoke the day of my capture. The Robed ones, who call themselves 'Clerics’, have decided that Impale must by my name, since that is the only word I speak that they can understand. Several times a Moon, all the villagers come to this place of Stone and Glass, and the Clerics lock me in my room, for my own protection, they say. When the place is empty of men, I assist the clerics, chopping wood for their fires, and keeping the place clean for their God. I like this God, whom they have taught me to think of as Vorax, he had been kind to me. The Clerics speak of other Gods in unhappy tones, especially one called Corath, but I do not understand. Are not all Gods one and the same? I try to ask, but the thought cannot be expressed.

One day I am spotted. There is great shouting from the village, and the Clerics come to me. They tell me to run to the woods. I obey and watch from the trees. I watch as the Metal Man leads the others, and they come with fire and burn down the Church. They search the woods for me, but I elude them. After they have gone, I return to the church. It is a charred ruin. The glass all smashed and melted. The Cleric’s bodies are seared and burnt bones. All that remains are the two Axes. They no longer glow. , but remain sharp as ever. I take the hammers to remember them by, and make my way from this place. All men are not the same. Somewhere, there must be more like these men, who were kind and helpful. Somewhere, there must be a place for Impale.