Beowulf : Classic Literature Redone

So I recently reread Beowulf, and wrote this as a response to a challenge to write a 'new' adventure for Beowulf to have. Beowulf is an Old English heroic elegy that follows the character of Beowulf, a Geat (From Sweden) who travels to Denmark where he fights and slays the monster Grendel. A new movie from Paramount is coming out that will retell this age old story through cinema. I am excited to see this literary classic in movie form. Enjoy my story!

The Slaying of the Twelve

And so it came to pass

That Beowulf and his brave Geats

Must return home to their own hallowed land

And on his ship

Laden with treasure gifts from Hrothgar’s kingdom

The warriors began their journey homeward

But upon reaching their long awaited destination

And mooring upon soil long missed

Did news of Higlac’s death reach their ears

It was during their absence

Whilst they were aiding the Danish lord

That Higlac had sickened and died

After being wounded so mortally

From doing battle with a creature most foul

And so it was that the returning heroes

Did not present themselves

As the returning victors that they were

But as broken men in mourning black

Wailing laments as they marched inland

to where their fallen king laid

Though already the body had lain

A month in its crypt

Once more was the tomb opened

That Beowulf might bid his uncle farewell

As the masons worked to remove the

Stone from the entrance to Higlac’s final resting place

Slowly the story of the honored one’s killer did seep forth

And Leodeg, Higlac’s great counsel, spoke:

“Twas but a fortnight had passed since you had left

our great home to aid that lord across the sea

when the first of its victims we found.

In a bloody swath of earth nigh the road

Two pilgrims, one dead and

One barely clinging to life.

So mangled and mutilated were their corpses

That the spectacle was hardly recognizable

As human remains

So shredded was the flesh of the fast dying man

That all attempts to staunch the flow of his life’s blood

Were in vain.

And yet he found the strength to name his attacker

As his sister, who had been traveling with him.

Thinking the man mad for loss of blood

And humoring him further, I listened to

His weak voice as he told how his sister

Had been given a cursed item

Now she would turn into this malignant creature

That feeds upon the blood and flesh of men

And create more like her among

The women of each village they passed

The man, his voice so faint I strained to hear,

Told me he had been bringing her to a sacred

Shrine, to try and rid her of the curse.

But alas, the hunger of the beast within

Won over the fragile lady’s heart

And as the poor pilgrim’s heart did slow

He warned me one last time:

‘Naught can stop the creature once the twelve

are gathered and ride.’

With this final puzzling warning

The pious pilgrim died

And though I bore the man’s story no weight

I was soon to be proven wrong.

For within the first three days

Of the deaths of the pilgrims

Nine more of our people died

In such similar a manner

That the same creature, the same killer

Must be at fault

This creature, foul in nature and fowl by name

Was a devil incarnate that possessed the women

Of the land.

Upon slaking its thirst with her sweet blood,

The spirit would take over the tender damsel’s shell

From her back would sprout the wings of a raven

And her hands liken themselves to the talons of a hawk

Her eyes no longer the soft fawn colored gems

But hard black bits of opal that possessed a hard searing gaze

With moonrise, the creature would awaken

And seek out the bread and water of its sustenance

In the bodies of any who dared stray into the dark night

Each morning it seemed more corpses

Were discovered

Or more people were missing

Each night it seemed the attacks

Increased in ferocity.

Until one dusky evening,

Yonder brave king and his most trusted of warriors

Laid wait in a field for the creature

Surely our own Lord Higlac and eight of his best huntsmen

Would be a match for such a monster?

And yet, when morning came, like all the others

Blood mixed with dew dressed the green leaves

In silver and red.

Our great Higlac, now gasping and fighting for air

Had been defeated by this monstrosity.

But as we cared for him, in his dying hours

He, like the pilgrim, told the tale of his battle.

He and his men had fought bravely,

The clawed creature had appeared

With the first wisps of night

And had set about cracking his warrior’s heads

Like walnuts in the shell

Soon, however, the tables turned

As one of the knights damaged the creature’s wing

It fell from the sky and was cornered

Until it soon resembled the corpses it once

Rendered limb from limb

But before the final killing blow was to be struck

Four more such creatures did descend on the band

And the battle raged on.

Valiantly Higlac battled until only he was left

His mail shorn from his body by fierce claws

And his sword broken by the strong wings of the demons

Surely he would soon die as the bird-monsters drank his blood!

But God’s glorious sun had begun to rise, and the creatures of

Darkness shrank from the heavenly light as though burned by fire

Without a moment more, they wheeled away towards the fading

Twilight, until another night of gluttony.

And thus is how we found our king, broken and dying

He lingered but for a few moments, only long enough

To name his attackers: “Valkyrja,” he called them, “

The cursed bird-women of the north.”

You are a celebrated warrior yourself

As well as your uncle’s chosen heir.

Take the throne, and lead the Geats,

But first destroy these hideous Valkyrja

And free our people from terror.”

After hearing Leodeg’s tale

And the fate of his uncle

Beowulf agreed to defeat

The monsters and set about the task.

“From what I have heard,” Beowulf began,

“Both from the pilgrim’s words

And that of my fallen uncle’s

These creatures will multiply

Until they reach twelve in number.

We must not allow this to happen

For each creature can easily take

Two men a night to ease its hunger.

This very night, I wish to have

Twenty warriors of unparalleled

Strength and skill to gather upon the hill

Where the first battle betwixt my Uncle and

The Valkyrja occurred.”

And by dusk the twenty men asked for and Beowulf himself

Had assembled themselves on the hill where last Higlac had fought.

There the soil was still red and sour with the spilled blood

From Higlac’s men.

The sun set and the night wafted in.

Already, Beowulf’s chosen warriors had

Begun to doubt their leader, and pranced and milled like nervous

Horses. The night was black as pitch, no moon shone, no stars glimmered.

Even the barest hint of wind was mistaken for the foul breath of a Valkyrja.

Many hours did the men wait,

Until finally the fear began to dissipate.

And one by one the men fell asleep

Leaving Beowulf the watch alone to keep.

Not long past the witching hour,

Twelve apparitions of feather and claw descended

Upon the unsuspecting band of conquerors.

Beowulf rose the alarm quickly, as the first

Of his warriors was snatched from before him

And hauled into the dark air as the bird-women

Shrieked with delight at their meal.

“To me! To me! At arms, all of you! To me!”

Beowulf gathered his army around him as the

Creatures wheeled and dove trying to

Shred and devour those below.

Beowulf, being so angry that even one of

His men had been devoured, grasped the

Wing of one of the creatures as it flew in to strike again.

The creature, surprised as it was at being caught, struggled from

His grip, as its razor sharp feathers cut into Beowulf’s hand.

Knowing he could not hold on, Beowulf quickly smashes the hilt of his sword

Onto the demon’s wing and hears the satisfying crunch of bone as it is made lame.

The Valkyrja crashes into the ground before rising up again

With vengance burning in its black eyes.

The remaining multitude of demon-birds hang back

Behind their fallen comrade

Seething with fury and rage.

“Fools!”one of their number shrieks,

“Don’t you know that once the Twelve

Are assembled no man can oppose us? Hlökk will fly again!

She will feast with her sisters Skögul and Göll on sweet man flesh

and drink the hot blood from your veins!

We will forever ride and naught can slay us!”

Beowulf answered this challenge with as much a cryptic answer:

“This is true, no man may oppose you, but soon your bones will

crackle and your feathers wilt all the same.”

With this final word, Beowulf and his men fell upon

The demons with pikes and axes, smashing wings

And breaking talons even as they were being devoured

For even though they could not fly, the Valkyrja were not dead

And still bit and tore, and mangled men on the ground.

All through the night this went, until only three of the twelve

Remained airborne and only Beowulf remained of his men.

“Fool!” one of the Valkyrja cackled,

“Why do you continue darting around on the ground like that?

There is no hope for you! All your warriors are dead!

Only you remain, and yet you have gained nothing!

Come the next moon, my sisters will have healed

and the twelve will once again ride the night sky.”

Even as the creature spoke, Beowulf notched

an arrow and injured the beasts,

causing them to fall from their aerie.

Again the creatures laughed,

All twelve lame but very much alive

Beasts surrounded the final warrior and

Began to shred his flesh.

But then as the Valkyrja began to

Pounce upon Beowulf for the final blow

He laughed.

“What madness is this?” asked the monster named Hlökk,

“Do all fools die with such mirth? I know not, but an uneasiness

has grabbed me, sisters. ‘Ware the man who laughs at death.”

The great hulk of feather and sin tossed Beowulf’s body to the next

Demon to be devoured, but his laughter did not stop.

And just then the sun began to rise, for the battle

Had taken all the night’s hours and on through twilight.

As the burning rays of heaven’s glory touched the

Sin stained feathers of the black Valkyrja

They screeched in pain and agony and attempted

To fly back to darkness.

But alas, because all their wings were broken, they

Could do naught but flap helplessly on the ground

As they were eaten up by the acidic rays of sunlight

Until all that was left were the bodies of the twelve

Possessed women and black raven feathers.

Beowulf, being one more for strength

Than battles of wit,

Surveyed the carnage before him

And then turned towards the sun to greet the day.