Waller was awake before the sun was, gathering the belongings that were laid out for him with such loving tenderness the night before. He had not claimed the warrior's cave that was his custom--since refusing it, too, was a custom--and he moved about the communal hut stealthily, stepping over friends and family in the near dark of pre-morning. A testament to his skill was that not even the young mothers, the lightest of sleepers, stirred nor was the gentle rhythm of their breathing disturbed in any way. As the ball of his foot touched down next to Mari's red curls he paused. She was beautiful, and when she volunteered to come to him as one of the Warrior's Chosen he cried real tears unlike those he was required to shed at the banquet. Mari was the third and last, and though he was utterly slated with wine and roast pork and even female company they stayed in his hut until her older brother pounded on the walls and hollered with laughter. They had emerged red-faced and sweating, and Jon-jon clapped him between his broad shoulder blades and toasted his prowess in all things mighty. Then Jon-jon moved off to wrestle with his younger cousins, leaving Mari to stand up on her toes and whisper into his ear "I want to bear your child." She kissed him on the neck and rejoined the banquet and he cried again. In that moment, with his weight resting on his front foot, her hair that smelled of apples so close, he almost laid back down on his mat. But he was the Warrior, and this was the first Day of the Two after the autumnal equinox. That was the day the Warrior set off to slay the Beast since long before even Gran-Papa Barooss could remember. He sighed once, then lifted his foot and left the longhouse.

Punjin and Sika were sitting on the bench by the well. Waller suspected they couldn't see him as he saw them, and he knew they hadn't heard him rustle the doorway curtain because it hadn't. He let his feet scuffle in the dirt. His pack, too, shifted slightly, letting the sword click once against the bracelet on his left wrist. Sika heard the noise and whispered to Punjin. They strained to see him, only catching his outline against the stars when he was less than two strides from them. He tousled Punjin's long hair and felt the boy jump a little at his touch. His sister spoke, despite that it was bad luck to talk to the Warrior on the day of his leaving.

"When will you be back?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. Punjin hugged her shoulder. He wasn't three years old; he had seen a few Day of the Moon banquets.

"He can't talk to us," the boy said. "It isn't allowed."

Waller knew they couldn't see him, not with the clouds covering the stars, but he smiled nonetheless. He wanted them to share his confidence in his training and his teachers, in the words of the elders who had never seen a finer Warrior, in his belief--and he truly believed it--that he would be the one to slay the Beast. He lowered the pack, silently, then squatted down and touched their knees. He squeezed them, as gentle as a toddler's hug. Sika smiled. Punjin didn't. Waller picked up his pack and walked towards the stairs. As he climbed out of the shelter he dared to glance back at the village. He couldn't see the children any more, for they had gone back inside to sleep away the morning. He sighed, wondering if the other Warriors had felt the way he did, torn apart by conflicting emotions that seemed to have real claws, their scraping on his insides as painful as any exercise wound. Waller knew they did, and he turned away from the village and set off for the south.

It was not a full day's walk, and he followed the stone path despite its crumbling disrepair for it was much easier to spot the sunning dirt-brown, rattle-tailed snakes against the black rock than against the brown dirt. He had been repeatedly pricked by the teeth of those snakes for his entire life, suffered the days of fever and vomiting that followed, because the teachers told him that it would make him immune to their venom. As much as he loved his teachers Waller stayed on the ancient path more as a preventative measure than for its directness. He would have been highly embarrassed as he looked down from the afterworld to hear the Watchers tell his family that he was killed by a snake.

As he held out his hand to the sun he measured that it was a full five fingers above the top of the low mountains to the west. He knew the other path was near, and in less than a thousand steps he saw it, running away from the falling sun as if it were the tallest shadow. Waller turned and followed the new path, reaching up and patting the metal sign at the intersection for luck as was the tradition. He knew the Watchers could see him from their perch, even at this distance for they had eyes like golden-feathered eagles as was the requirement for being a Watcher. And he knew that if he didn't follow the traditions and failed then they would report on his foolishness, and the teachers would be dishonored for not imparting with effectiveness all of their knowledge.

He made camp near a stream just before the sun touched the top of the stony ridge. Between that time and full dark he gathered wood, finding dried scrub trees everywhere he looked. He assembled a bonfire that would provide light and heat for the entire night without needing to be maintained. Waller dipped his hands into his pack and retrieved every item, laying them out on a blanket. He stripped then painted his face and his body with the designs and whorls that would most greatly favor the gods. Lastly he took out the fire stick and scraped it on the face of a small stone at the base of the bonfire. It sputtered angrily to life, and he pressed the flaming head against the ball of dried grasses beneath the small twigs. Then he stood and prayed, and when the prayers were finished he danced. He sang as he danced around the fire, low songs performed with more vigor than skill, but the Watchers were a good way off and couldn't hear that clearly, interfered with as they were by the coyotes and crickets. Waller's dancing was graceful and powerful, and it lasted for an indefinable amount of time, somewhere between sundown and moonrise, when the brightest of stars had traveled a full third of the way across the arch of the sky. At last fatigued, covered in a sheen of fine sweat and distorted paint, he lay down on the blanket beside his equipment and was asleep in a heartbeat.

It was not the sun that woke him, for it had been up a long while before he opened his eyes. Still naked he walked to the stream and bathed himself, scrubbing the dried salt and paint from his skin so that he was as clean as if he had just left the steam hut. He drank heartily, filling his belly with as much water as it could hold. Then he returned to the dwindling embers of the fire to dry. He dressed in a new, clean loincloth, laced up his sandals, tied the band around his hair. Then he buckled the wide sword belt to his hip and set off for the east, leaving everything else behind. He took no food, for the walk was not long, and a meal would be a moot consideration if he failed to slay the Beast. But he was confident, and he had a sealed cup of wine and some salted meat in his pack for his return. That it was the same cup the last Warrior had used made no difference to him, and he considered it neither lucky nor unlucky to hold a possession with such history.

The fence was where he knew it would be, lying across the stone path almost within sight of his camp. He could see low buildings of stone and steel that glinted with reflected sunlight beyond the fence. Sitting atop the length of the fence, like a twisted flock of nightmare birds, were coils of fat ribbons of metal sharp enough to cut without causing immediate bleeding. Waller didn't even pause in his stride as he approached the fence. He simply lifted the sword out of its sheath, and with a tremendous, double-handed stroke brought the edge down against the wire links. His strength and that of the blade were too much for them, though, as the fence separated from itself with a brief scream and shower of sparks. He lifted the flap of fence and stepped beyond it. Then he waited. He had considered climbing the fence; he knew he was agile enough to maneuver through the razor coils without being cut. But he needed to damage the fence for it would bring on the spiders. Even now, only heartbeats after he swung the sword, they were coming.

There were three of them, quickly covering the desert between the closest building and the broken fence. Despite the mid-day sun he could see their sets of eyes glowing. His teachers had told him they would not immediately attack him, that the Watchers always relayed this information. As the first spider launched a web from a point on its underbelly directly at Waller's legs he thought that someone had not informed the spider of this. They were ten good strides apart, and it must be as far as the spiders could throw a web for the point of it dropped and struck the ground beside his foot. Waller took one step forward and cleaved the spider through it's armored center. It twitched and hissed viciously, but it was dead and only in its final throes. Waller then spun and kicked a foot out at the second spider. It stumbled, and in that moment Waller removed its head. The third spider also launched a web, and from a much closer distance the line lashed around Waller's waist and held him firm. He dropped his left hand down and pulled hard on the web, dragging the spider forward in one great bound. As it landed before him he spiked it to the earth, driving his sword down with such force that it buried itself half-way up the blade. The spider was still very much alive, clawing at him, drawing blood from his wrist. Waller raised his hands high and brought them down on the base of the spider's head. Then the spider was still. Waller removed his sword. There was no point in searching for the Beast. He knew it would come to him.

Waller forced himself into a state of calm, for he was seething with a combination of thrill and fright and anticipation and a dozen other emotions that boiled over inside him. He walked forward into the scrub, one hundred long strides, then another hundred. There he sat, his sword resting on his thighs, and he waited.

He heard the Beast before he saw it, its breath a massive exhalation of air that spoke volumes about its size. It was as large as the longhouse itself, each of its six legs as thick around and as large as a tall tree. They were many-jointed, like an insect's, so that as large as the Beast was it held itself low to the ground, it's withers no higher than Waller's head. It's tail was reed-like and held straight up in anticipation of danger. But it was the Beast's head that held Waller's fascination: the massive rows upon rows of teeth both square and sharp for eating all kinds of food, the dozen eyes that moved on stalks independently from one another, the triple-horn that jutted from its tapered forehead. He stood, mesmerized by the thing. It seemed not to notice him, and when he realized this he drew in a great lungful of air and bellowed the Challenge.

"I am here, Beast!" Waller shouted, and as he did so all of the Beast's eyes swung over to point at him. "Today you will die!"

It moved quickly, much faster than Waller had believed from the reports of the Watchers. It covered the distance between them such little time that Waller thought he would simply be trampled by the Beast before he even swung his sword. But as it neared it slowed, dropping its head to his height. It opened its great mouth and aimed at his groin.

Waller stepped aside and whirled, striking at the Beast's foremost leg. The blade caught the lowest joint and rang like a bell. The vibration of the impact stunned Waller's hand and his arm and appeared to do no damage to the Beast. It was a mighty blow, one that would have severed a man and possibly a second standing behind him. The Beast's bite missed, but it swung its head backwards so far that Waller thought the thing's neck would snap right before he was butted off-balance. The Beast swiveled quickly and struck again, and Waller had to retreat. He stabbed forward against the head and felt the tip of his sword contact the heavy, armor plating. Again, there was no damage, but he had not expected a thrust with no forward momentum behind it to do any. Once more the Beast advanced. Once more Waller retreated.

When the Beast lowered its head a third time Waller charged, bellowing loudly to add strength to his swing. He moved forward, side-stepping the head and chopping down hard on the thing's right shoulder joint. He aimed for the crease between the plates that should be the weakest point, and as his sword struck true he was rewarded not with the loud ringing of blade on armor but a softer sound of something struck beneath. The Beast did not scream as it was wounded, instead keeping enough presence to snap down at Waller's back leg. It struck him high up on the leg with just the tip of its bite, not enough to cripple him but enough to cause serious injury. Blood poured out of the wound as Waller ducked under the Beast's limp forleg. He gave the injury a quick look and saw that it was not as bad as it could have been. There was some meat missing, and there was a goodly amount of blood, but he could fight on.

From the Beast's side he struck at its underbelly. It was a weak blow, being delivered underhanded, but the Beast apparently had little armor beneath for its ribs broke under the attack. He struck again, harder this time, again finding softer tissue only lightly armored. The Beast stumbled a moment, but when Waller tried for a third blow it struck him with its leg. It was a rasping injury that tore him open from his hip to his neck though only lightly. As the leg came down and dealt him the blow he spun around it bringing the sword around in a fast arc as he did so. The blade made perfect contact on the Beast's flank, but it was well-armored there and felt the blow not at all, Waller suspected. Before the Beast could reorient on him he dealt it another blow to its underbelly. Then, as it spun to face him, he stepped back.

His teachers had told him not to strike at the head. Many Warriors before had made the mistake and been taken, but none had ever crippled the Beast, either. It came at him, with head lowered and jaws agape, its right foreleg dangling. Waller moved to the side and hacked at the connection of jaw to skull. His sword bit deeply, and while the Beast still made no utterance of pain it exhaled, a vicious snort that puffed hot, wet air against Waller's bare skin. His blade was wedged in the bone, and in the moment that it took him to free it he was bitten again, this time on the forearm. It was a good bite; the Beast had him held. As it drew its head back he was pulled along, his shoulder wrenched from its socket so abruptly that it dislocated. The Beast opened its jaws to deliver a killing blow, and Waller swung one-handed at the scar he had just left. It was a telling blow, and the Beast recoiled from it, it's senses rattled for it wobbled dramatically.

Waller pressed on, ignoring the pain of wounds that would reduce a smaller man to wailing tears. He gripped his sword and swung it once more at the Beast's head, striking it in the center of its mass of eyes. He struck again and again, raining the blows down upon its skull in such quick succession it could not recover in time to defend itself. And suddenly, before the Beast even had time to consider escape, it dropped its mass to the desert floor and was still.

Waller stepped back, looking at the fallen Beast. He remained ready in case the Beast's stillness was a ruse, but after a long time, time enough for Waller to control his breathing, it did not stir. Then he set about binding his wounds, tying off the one on his leg with his loincloth. When he leaned against the cooling body of the Beast to reinsert his shoulder he nearly fainted with the pain.

He saw movement by one of the buildings and saw another three spiders racing generally toward him, but as they approached he could see they were interested less in him than mending the broken fence. He watched until they climbed onto the fence, their legs and mouths working to return it to whole, sprarks flying from their progress. Waller could not discern from this distance how they managed the feat, but he knew they would be finished by the time he returned with the treasure, and he would have to cut through the fence again. But then he would be beyond the fence where they refused to follow and heading home with the spirit of the gods.

He knew which building housed the treasure for it was clearly marked with the black and yellow triangles that formed a circle, like a pie alternating the color of its slices. He entered the building through a shattered window and searched for the flight of stairs that lead down. He went down and down so far that he thought he would reach the center of the world, so far down that the air was wintry cold against his naked flesh. But the stairs eventually stopped, and Waller searched some more until he found the vault, also marked with the black and gold triangles. The small sign was beside the door, the one with the symbols he had memorized from childhood. But the symbols were different than the ones he had learned. They weren't completely different, such as the symbol that was one circle standing on another circle though this one looked more like it could be drawn with one continuous line. There were, however, some differences that he guessed at, such as the triangle with the two feet. He had memorized an open box with two feet, and since there were no other symbols with feet he assumed it was that one. So, too, with the circle for the one on the sign was taller than it was wide and was more like an egg than it was a circle. But he pressed it twice, as he should, then some other symbols, and when the glow beside the sign turned from red to green and the door opened he smiled.

The boxes were everywhere, each face painted with the black and yellow triangles. They were also locked, and Waller couldn't open them. He bashed at one with his sword until he was exhausted, and on the final blow, the one that snapped the blade of his sword neatly in half, the lock crumbled. He opened the box and saw with his own eyes the spirit of the gods that would provide his village with protection forever. He reached into the box and lifted out the spirit, but he had to put it down quickly for it burned. He found a cart against the far wall of the room and a tool that would lift the spirit without having to touch it. He spent the rest of the day fighting the cart up the stairs and out of the building where he found two Watchers waiting for him. They cheered him and clapped him on the back and brought him food and water that he much needed. One wrapped his cloak around Waller for the sun was setting and the desert was cold at night. Then all three of them ignored the call of sleep and walked back to the village, arriving just after sunrise.

One of the Watchers should have run back and reported on the slaying of the Beast, but in their excitement they had forgotten. The villagers prepared a feast as they shouted for joy and triumph and congratulated Waller on his well-won victory. His hands were badly burned; though they had shown little sign of the injury at first, they became progressively worse, his palms blistering so badly that they needed to be pierced to let the pus out. He vomited frequently, unable to keep down food or water, and the teachers assumed the Beast carried poison in its bite. No Warrior had ever returned so this was a subject strictly for conjecture.

The day and the night went quickly with feasting and dancing and celebrating. Waller did not recover from the poison, instead getting worse. His friends and his family came to him, for they all acknowledged, including Waller, that the bite of the Beast would kill him soon. Mari came to him and held him, and it was with his head in her lap, her fingers stroking his damp forehead that he died. But in his final moments he knew that his death was worth it, for his village would prosper in the glow of the spirit from Rocky Flats.

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