Journal of Abe Castor: Greed
It was almost a year since my escape to Europe that I first heard about the King of Pigs. A tale from an old woman in whose house I stayed after a long journey. I couldn’t tell in which part of the country this village was located as I hardly remember the days prior to my arrival. I was injured and a bit shaken, but the old lady never asked any questions, so I repaid in kind. By that time I have already learned that there were no coincidences, no random encounters in life. So I listened, patiently and with great attention.
Legend said that the King of Pigs was once a man, a cruel and greedy bandit of the old times. He would torture and mutilate all those he previously robbed only to throw them into a cooking pot later. He himself never touched human flesh, getting his own perverse satisfaction in watching his band’s cannibalistic tradition.
As he continued to plunge deeper and deeper into rivers of blood of his own making, the band’s appetites grew proportionally. And he revelled in it. None of the locals were brave enough to stand against him, and none of the lords cared enough to follow his band into the marshes and woods where they hid. There was no one to put an end to this nightmare, and to witness the monstrous transformation.
It is said that when human flesh became the only form of their sustenance, bandits were no longer humans themselves. Their minds became those of wild pigs, filled with hunger and greed. Human morality and conscience shackled them no more, and so they shed human forms as well. Their blood turned into vile mud, as poisonous as it was miasmic. Their teeth elongated, sense of smell sharpened and skin toughened, making their previous practices their new nature.
But their king stayed the same. So deep was his corruption, so unnatural and blasphemous was his perversion that there was no form to accommodate him better than that of a man. Only his ruthless cunning and inhuman strength allowed him to lead this wicked pack of beasts.
The very land they claimed became as wretched and vile as them. Wild life was rotting alive, bushes and trees grew thorns and stopped bearing any seeds. The legend says they never died: neither from sword nor from old age. As they stripped and devoured all local villages and could no longer sustain their hunger, they fell into a deep dark sleep. Their bodies turned to mud and sank into the deepest bogs, to awaken once the land is bountiful again.
A chilling tale, like the most of them. Some people choose to believe there’s a metaphor in every piece of fiction. Some hidden moral lesson, wrapped in coats of beautiful lies of storytelling. I choose to consider all possibilities.
It took me a couple of days to recover although I still felt a painful ache every now and then. It was unpleasant but tolerable, and I already had a new goal, a new mystery to poke. After I gave my thanks to the villagers and to my host, I ventured north. The trick to my method was simple — in order to find something that eluded human senses since time immemorial, one must surrender himself completely. When you are utterly lost, then you can stumble upon things that were never meant to be found.
For the night I gathered some moss and shrubbery and made a simple dugout to preserve heat. I stashed my stuff in the dugout and made a small fire. Villagers supplied me with bread and salted pork, a gift that was most welcome. Not a stranger to living off the land, I also managed to forage enough berries and mushrooms for a small pot of broth. I wasn’t afraid of spending the night right in the middle of nowhere. If anything, it was the cities that gave me chills, for I knew the names of the shadows that lurked there. There were no dreams this time.
As I expected, my awakening was somewhat painful, but flesh wounds are just that. I’ve learnt to live with them. Our bodies can handle surprising amount of punishment and restore most of it as time goes by. It’s wounds of the mind that one must fear. They never heal at all. There was still some of yesterday’s broth left in the pot. After a short breakfast I continued my journey into the wilderness.
The deeper I went the more I felt as if someone was watching me, lurking in the corners of my vision, ever elusive. Twisted trees and bogs of unfathomable depth started to replace all other features of the scenery. Birds ceased their singing and toads no longer croaked, only wind and muffled sound of water surrounded me. There was no other way but forward, as I was unmistakably lost in a place I cannot quite locate even to this day.
I adapted the scabbard of my blade as a walking cane to check the ground before each step. Evening came unnoticed as I was focused trying to evade all possible natural traps. My flask of water was almost drained, so between slight dehydration and damn difficult passage, I didn’t notice the marsh clearing with an extinguished campfire until I stumbled into it.
I was certain it wasn’t mine, for I did not use any stones to surround the fire. The firewood remains were still warm. A thought about having company in the middle of nowhere was quite unnerving. It was a common rule of thumb that you do not approach other people in such places without a great need and a signal. If you do, in 9 cases out of 10 you plans involve some form of violence.
I clenched my saber and started to look for tracks around the campfire. “Bloody dolt...” — mumbled I to myself. As I searched the camp I found more evidence to it being recent. A pot and a kettle and a bag hidden under a tree. As I stretched out my arm to check the bag, I heard a noise somewhere behind me. In a quick spin I pointed my saber towards the noise.
A man was standing before me, holding a freshly chopped pile of firewood. His eyes were wide open with a surprised expression on his face. We stared at each other in silence for a moment. I noticed a drop of sweat forming on his forehead as he stumbled from one leg to another nervously. With a nod I slowly lowered my blade and put it into the scabbard.
“I mean no harm, traveller! I never expected to cross someone’s path this far from civilisation” — said I, trying to diffuse the situation. The man awkwardly put his haul on the ground and let out a deep sigh of relief.
— You sure scared me there, mister, with that saber of yours. A surprise indeed!
He laughed nervously.
— It’s been a long time since I’d encountered someone myself. Still, if you mean no harm, then let us share this campfire and each other’s stories.
I accepted his proposal as I was tired more than usual from traversing this wretched landscape. It was a good time to renew my flask as well, and I couldn’t say no to that. So we shared bread and traded what other foods we had. I learned that the man was not from around here, but like me he enjoyed the wilderness.
— It is a way of life, away from all the worries and calamities of society. Out here I can be myself. Don’t have to do what anyone says, only what I want. No other place offers this much freedom!
Was he being naive or simply optimistic I did not know. Still, I tried to match his cheery tone.
— I’m not fond of crowds and large cities either. Good thing there are still places where our only company are birds and trees. A shame this will change soon.
— What do you mean by that?
— Well, my last stop was a small farming village, and they always need more land to expand the fields. When cities grow, their satellites need to adjust as well. People have to eat, so they need farmers to produce.
— Whew, I must’ve missed quite a lot. Never knew there were villages anywhere in this part of the country.
“It’s easy to miss them, especially if you’re here looking for a place of solitude” — I thought. Being a hiker you encounter the hidden just as much as you miss the obvious. Such is the nature of travel by boots.
— There are also talks of war coming, locals will be hard pressed to stash as many goods as they can before all hell breaks loose. Suppose this will slow down this expansion, but it’s hardly a matter of celebration considering the circumstances.
— I hear you, my friend.The common folk always loses the most. I can only hope these lands won’t become a scorched battlefield. Anyway, let’s not burden our minds with such grim thoughts this evening. Better to sleep with no worries and enjoy the embrace of nature like our ancestors did. But before that, do you mind having a little toast? I’ve got this criminally delicious brandy I made myself back at home!
— Sure, why not, let’s have a toast.
With delighted grin he took a pair of metal cups from his sack and poured a little brandy from his flask into each.
— Let’s drink to this wonderful encounter, cheers!
With a single gulp I finished my drink and by God, this brandy was bad. I had to muster all of my willpower to hold my stomach. My companion seemed to enjoy it though, but those things often need an acquired taste.
As he began preparations for the night, I excused myself for a little stroll around the camp. I did a fairly long survey of the camp’s vicinity but found nothing. Most importantly, I found no trails leading in or out of the camp. Fairly confident in my tracking skills, I assumed that my companion camped at this spot for quite some time. After all, he even made a stone circle around his fire. I tried to find a source of those stones but to no avail. Could he have carried them in his bag? I doubted that, too much of a burden. No freshly chopped food or missing branches either.
When I came back, the man was already sleeping under a tree. Fire was renewed with fresh fuel, and he even made me a nice spot of moss under the opposite tree. How awful kind. Most butchers prefer to calm their cattle before the work. But those things won’t work on a dog that got beat up one time too many. I did not come here for theatrics, although I appreciated a short reprieve.
Second time I held him at the tip of my blade. I struck without hesitation. He let out a short scream of pain and sagged on his bag. In a distorted voice he mumbled to me.
— Have you got a... l-loose screw in your head? Some kind of a bloody… a fortune-teller, are you?
In a blink of an eye the whole clearing was surrounded by hulking monstrosities, half-men half-beasts. Their putrid flesh was covered with warts and buboes, they had long veiny arms and short legs with massive hooves. Shiny little eyes surrounded by fat-bloated mugs inspected me hungrily. I could see foam and saliva dribbling from their wide maws with huge tusks.
I smiled to myself. There was no need for strategy. They were beasts, plain and simple, and I was a hunter of beasts. If that clearing was bigger, I would’ve died in an instant due to their sheer numbers. Swinging wildly with their fists and clubs, they came at me all at once. They were strong and swift, ferocious and unrelenting, but so was I. Humanoid in shape, they had all the usual weak spots, eyes, neck, groin and joints.
My heartbeat was like a war drum, muffling all other noises, and with each beat I struck as well. Only one thought was left in my mind, “Do not stop”. I ducked and weaved under their mighty strikes, too heavy for them to maintain balance. I felt like a mouse, desperately evading the never ending pack of grotesque predators. A mouse with a very sharp blade. I took down many, but the numbers always win in the end. Overwhelmed, I crumbled on the ground. The remains of slain pigmen turned into disgusting brown mud. What happened next, I can hardly remember as I passed out from pain and exhaustion.
They took me to their rampart and put me into a cage somewhere in the marshes. I was treated and fed some disgusting yet nourishing grub, no doubt to fatten me a bit before the feast. Still, I used this opportunity to rest and regain at least a sliver of strength. After three days of my captivity I started to plan an escape. For some reason the pigmen avoided walking near me, even though I could clearly see hatred and hunger in their looks. It occurred to me that their leader must’ve ordered them not to touch me until I fully recover, to prolong my inevitable torture.
No two pigmen looked the same. Some were huge, hulking mounds of muscles without even a speck on intelligence in their blood-crazed gaze. Others looked mostly human, but sometimes their features would shift in a very subtle but unmistakably monstrous ways.
From their talks I figured, they have only awoken recently and were preparing themselves for a first raid in many years. Most of their weapons rusted into dust, so they were making a large pile of crude wooden stakes and clubs. The only armor or clothing they bothered to craft was meant to protect their weak spots, a lesson learnt by blood.
I rocked my cage in an attempt to cast it sideways, but to no avail. After a quick inspection, I learnt that the cage was upside down, with a huge clamp and something that looked like a chain borrowed deep into the bog. It was all but impossible to shake it in any way. No lock to pick either, as the only thing holding the door was a strip of metal tied into a knot by inhuman strength. Of course, all this metal was rusted, but not to the point where I could break it without alerting my captors. I had to think of something different this time.
Following a desperate thought, I started to yell. “Disgusting abominations! Come at me, so that I can once again paint you all red!” — I cried in an attempt to draw attention. “Unholy creatures, my flesh is real food, and my blood is real drink! Let’s see if you are strong enough to take it!”
It wasn’t hard to produce a lengthy stream of slogans, not after you’ve been in an asylum for quite some time. I’ve heard a lot of mad ravings, certainly enough to masquerade as a genuine nut job. Be it my nonexistent theatrical skills or simple lack of interest in my audience, the pigmen ignored it nonetheless. There was but one creature which noticed me.
A huge pile of fat and rotten flesh near my cage that I have previously dismissed as part of scenery, started to move. A rumbling sound accompanied low pitched snorts and I saw a gigantic pig, bloated and disgusting in every aspect. It was a size of a bull, no less, but that was not it’s most disturbing feature. As this grotesque boar rolled in my direction, I saw horribly disfigured human head instead of that of a pig. A parody of itself, this man-pig looked at me with a mixed expression of hate and sadistic glee.
“Do you think they will speak with you, meatbag? Do you expect someone to speak to their dinner?” — the creature asked me with a resounding and distorted, yet somehow familiar voice. I looked once more at his hideous face to recognise my former companion. By means I did not understand, he managed to create this illusion of human appearance before. It must’ve been hard on him, to hide this huge and wretched body for this long.
— You can scream all you want, it’ll just add to your misery... and to our joy! Oh I can’t wait… I can’t wait!
Wild pants and squeals followed, as this living offence to nature jiggled and swinged with its disproportionate legs in anticipation. I doubt it could even stand on its own, so massive was its bloated torso. I must say, the thought of delivering this brute from it’s disgusting existence filled me with anticipation as well.
As I was squeezing my teeth with anger, I almost missed another creature interested in me. A man followed by two mean looking pigmen was approaching my cage. Unlike his companions he looked like a normal human. That is until I met with his eyes. Those eyes were not that of a man, but of a true monster. Pigmen were disgusting abominations, beasts without a trace of humanity in them, but this man exuded pure malice and depravity. Truly a king for this fiendish band of freaks.
In his presence pigmen lowered their heads and obediently received smacks and verbal abuse. To him, they were tools of conquer, means to achieve his goals and nothing more. I saw visible repulsion on his face as he yelled orders. He even used a handkerchief to wrap around his fist when he educated his minions. Even if he was a bygone from distant times, I knew people like him very well. I guess bastards will be bastards, even if you call them kings.
After the deliverance of “royal presence”, it seemed that my time had come. He inspected me with a swift look, like an experienced farmer inspects his cattle. Then he began to speak.
— Are you feeling better, traveler?
I ignored his question, trying to not avert my eyes from his gaze.
— A spirited one, good! I was afraid you’d be no fun to break. Lads, we got ourselves a real fighter right here!
His cohort laughed as he kicked my cage.
— The more you fight, the sweeter will by our supper! I know for certain that my boys like to tenderize tough meat. It makes the taste stronger as well as provide much more entertain…!
Being a London boy, I was somewhat an expert in precise spitting, especially so versus the cocky types.
— You ungrateful mongrel! We gave you food, water, even Trifle’s company! Oh how I will enjoy your screams, your futile pleads for forgiveness! Lads, no more grub for this maggot!
I grinned with satisfaction. I intended to purge them all or die trying anyway. Latter is certainly better that eating another bowl of that putrid shit they call food.
After the man left, I turned to a man-pig named Trifle.
— How did this buffoon managed to become your leader? He’s weak, gabby and most importantly, human. Why not just slice him open and grill him, like you are planning to do with me?
Trifle squinted his pearly eyes to a point where they almost disappeared under his fat eyebrows.
— You certainly thought about it before, haven’t you? It’s not like he’s doing some magical work at keeping you all well fed and dandy. If he did, you’d never went into a slumber, rotting at the bottom of these forsaken marshes for God knows how long.
I wasn’t sure if my words made Trifle’s brain agitated enough, but I continued nevertheless.
— He certainly showed that his appetites are different from yours. Not even once joined you in a feast, did he? That’s because he’s not one of you. Even I can smack you a bunch of times and yell that I’m the king, but you wouldn’t listen to me. Well, why should you listen to him?
After a long time, Trifle finally decided to speak.
— If this is your ploy to save your hide, forget about it. I’d chew on your gristles even if you’re a saint!
— Oh, I don’t doubt it. But I don’t really care, as my desire to smash that prick’s head is much greater. I would gladly become your dinner if I knew that he suffered twice the pain his body could endure!
At this point Trifle’s face became distinctly contemplative. Believe me, it wasn’t pretty.
— You already established yourself as the smartest of your folk, Trifle. They will listen to you, because you are kin, and as kin you are much more fit to rule! All you really need to do is wait for the right moment then push that clown into a cooking pot and claim everything he unrightfully owns. No more savoring the torture beyond your own interest, no more restraint to indulge his sick perversions, only your own!
It was like pouring honey into a maw of a bear. Very stupid, greedy and malformed bear. I could see the thoughts on this ugly oaf’s face clear as day. He was already wallowing in his imaginary power.
— You know well that the toughest meat holds all the taste. I can only imagine the sensation his meat will do to your stomach! Oh, I can’t wait long enough to see his agony! Even my death would be enough of a price for such spectacle!
After my last words, Trifle twitched and roared, rolling on the ground.
— Shut your trap, you filthy meatbag! You two are indeed alike, pretending you care about others! All a ploy to force your own agenda, your own interest! I will eat you both with such great pleasure, then spit you out and eat again only to prolong your suffering!
With thundering squeals, he went into ferocious tantrum that attracted attention of all pigmen around. After they came, he spoke to them in a language more akin to bowel movement that anything else. I could recognise only the first two sentences.
— Move me away from this piece of meat, brothers! Can’t stand his petty manipulations and uncooked stench!
Three biggest pigmen lifted Trifle from the ground and with heavy steps carried him someplace else. I was left alone with my thoughts, at last. Just enough time to prepare myself, as tonight was going to be a one bloody feast. I will not describe the tortures I endured later, as it has no merit. The only important thing is I will remember it. Each scar, each painful memory serves as a reminder of what I’m up against.
There is no end to the cruelty that corrupts humanity. As if the cosmos wasn’t alien and malignant enough, there are people who can rival it with ease. This band of misfits took their new forms for a reason. A clear signal that man’s impurity must be feared as much as the unknown horrors from beyond our world. There’s no salvation for such depravity, and they should receive no mercy or respite. I endure because I believe it is my duty. I struggle because there’s no other way. It’s either us or them, simple as that.
After all was done and the king received his joy, it was time for his beasts to indulge theirs. I was tied to a tree, but it was hardly needed. Just keeping my eyes open was a challenge that took most of my strength. Pigmen assembled a formidable bonfire to light the night and to roast bits of my flesh in a twisted, nightmarish caricature of a picnic. King ordered his servants to open a barrel of brandy, no doubt the same I tasted the other day, and to serve pre-dinner snacks. He knew all too well that I alone will not be enough to feed them all.
Beasts quickly grabbed their crude wooden bowl and gorged in alcohol and their usual grub, as their hunger was too great to wait for the main course. I suppose you don’t have to worry about ruining your appetite when it is bottomless. In all the slurping and munching I heard a voice full of anger. “What is this piss you served me? I ordered you to open a barrel of brandy, not a night bowl!” — the king yelled as he threw his drink into a bonfire.
The disappointment on his face was another little thing for me to enjoy. It seemed that all those years wasn’t kind to their brandy after all. Pigmen didn’t mind though, as expected. Fact that made their king even more furious. He stood up from his chair and with a mighty cry threw an opened barrel into the night. Beasts went silent. Of them all, Trifle spoke.
— Why did you do that, boss? It was a perfectly fine drink! If you didn’t want that, we did.
With a red face and bloated veins, the king yelled back.
— You filthy swines, of course you did! You would enjoy a bowl full of spit and feces if I put it before your ugly, fat face! Now stop you babbling and tear the ruined bastard to pieces.
Like a spoiled kid stripped of his favorite toy, the king continued his tantrum. In his rage he paid no attention to the pigmen gathering around. They gladly followed his wish.
In an instant, the clearing was filled with repugnant cacophony of putrid splashes, agonized screams and mad squeals of frenzied pigs. They did not stop even when there was nothing left of their former king. Pigs care not for the food’s origin. Stronger and larger ones readily jumped on their smaller brethren, and soon all was oozing with blood and entrails. But even a child knows that you shouldn’t eat sick cattle’s meat.
It wasn’t long until pigmen started to fall, wailing in pain. So spoiled and utterly perverse was their king that his own flesh turned poisonous, his blood — toxic. Naturally, the survivors of this macabre feast ate the most of it. And now they were dying a horrible death of gluttons who never knew when to stop.
After a while, I gathered enough strength to undo my bindings. As I stumbled through camp, I found Trifle. His torso was left wide open with most of it eaten clean. But for some reason he was still alive. He looked at me with a face full of tears and pain.
— You… You knew… Bloody bastard…
I could only laugh, even if my chest hurt for it. After searching for a thrown away barrel, I used all its remaining contents to burn this place. I was completely drained, every ounce of my strength put into gathering bodies into a pyre. As I fell into sleep, only Trifle’s dying curses were echoing in my ears.
It seemed destiny decided to throw me a bone, as I was found by a group of geologists surveying the swamps for later draining. I woke up in a hospital, stitched and bandaged. I did not have any documents on me, so they gave me a minimal treatment and after a few days I left the hospital with a slight limp.
I tried to find a village I’ve been to before, but to no success. The only place remotely in the same area was the ruins of some old settlement. Local old-timers later told me tales about that place. It was destroyed and burned a long time ago, during lawless ages of the past. They never heard about the King of Pigs, nor did they knew about monstrous half-pigs half-men. Another forgotten fairy tale that nobody cared about anymore.
I found comfort in their blissful ignorance as it was my reward. I don’t know how far I could’ve gone if not for those little reminders of normal life, no matter how false. I wanted to linger there a bit more, but the hunt never stops. Driven forever onward by my burning spirit I left those lands only to soon become entangled in a mess far more repulsive and dangerous.