In Grimwood, tribute was as much a part of life as birth and death. Mothers willing gave up their sons. Husbands bid farewell to their brides. Their names were remembered and honored at a meager feast each year, but once they went beyond the wall we forgot them. This made things easier.
The wall served many purposes, but chiefly it kept out the monsters. Wolves and lions, yes, but also much more terrible things, including men. The walls were kept as a reward for tribute. Stonemasons of great craft would arrive to bolster our defenses. Guardsmen from other lands would take position along the wall, but never spoke of where they came from. Three worlds stacked on top of one another, Grimwood, the wall, and the beyond, never to meet, except on one day. The sky in the west would fill with smoke and fire and tribute would begin.
Tributes were selected by a lottery of every name of every person in the village of Grimwood. For as far back as anyone could remember or find in a history book, it did not seem to matter who was sent for tribute, a child a three or a grandfather of ninety years. Yet, it did matter how the person was chosen. The drawing must include every person without exception and none may volunteer.
Once, when my father was just a young boy, one of the village elders attempted to take the place of his daughter. He went to the gate in the wall and announced himself as tribute. The guards, with their cold eyes gleaming from behind black armor, turned their backs on him and fires in the west worsened. Twice more the elder attempted to submit himself, and on his third attempt the thunder in the west grew so powerful that the wall began to crack. Finally, the man submitted and released his daughter. She vanished beyond the wall and a team of workers arrived the next week to repair the damage.
When my name was selected, my family was devastated. We gathered in the village square and the elders solemnly chose a number from a large wicker basket. The number matched a name on the town register where each person was added at the moment of their birth and crossed out at the moment of their death. For those selected for tribute, they were not crossed out, but given a small notation, usually a symbol of their life. When the elders asked what I would like beside my name, in my shock I told them, "I go the wolves, you may mark me as a sheep."
From the time of selection, a tribute was allowed roughly a week to remain in the village without consequence. The great storm in the west would remain, but it would not worsen and the guards would keep their watch on the wild rather than peering down into Grimwood. This was a time when I learned what a ghost must feel like. The general population of the village regarded me as a doomed saint, constantly offering a combination of gratitude and apology. My family could not bear to look at me from grief. As my final week went on, I realized that my presence was doing more harm than good.
I gathered my belongings. Though no one knew what happened to the people who went beyond the wall, it was expected that some type of journey would follow. These beliefs were rooted in the way that the mason or guards would come from a distant land carrying packs of provisions. I did not believe this it to be so benign, but I packed a second dress, a tunic, and some riding trousers. The village always offered their food, but I did not take it. If I was going to my death, I would not see those I left behind starve. Instead, I gathered my small portion which would have been served to me that night by a dutiful mother. The village gathered at the interior gates to watch me go. Some held candles, some wept, and a few sang songs. I walked through the interior gate as they watched, and I did not turn around as the old timbers swung shut behind me.
Before me stood the gate to the outside world. This gate was never passed by any Grimwood citizen with an expectation of returning. While the interior was made of old wood and metal bolts, the exterior wall was made of solid iron. They did not swing open, but a small door in the wall did, revealing a passage to the wood beyond. I went through.
As I emerged, I saw a thick wood, dark and ominous, but directly in front of the door was a road. Waiting on that road was a black coach with dark curtains. A black horse pawed light at the ground and flicked its head as I walked forward. I looked around for a driver, but saw no one. From my position, I could not even see the ramparts where the guards kept watch. A sudden urge to run came over me. I could disappear into the trees and perhaps find my way to another town. The horse flicked its head again and I knew I had no real choice. I climbed into the coach and shut the door behind me.
The moment I was inside, the coach jumped into motion. It built speed rapidly and I pushed aside the black curtains to watch the wood rush past. The carriage drove on for hours, taking me deeper and deeper into the forest. The road did not curve and it passed no other villages. The only change I saw for hours was the wall and Grimwood disappearing behind me. Finally, as the sun set, I saw a castle illuminated by the orange glow. As I grew nearer, I saw that the castle was as dark as the forest and seemed to be a part of it with trees, brush, and vines conquering the structures. The coach clattered across the drawbridge and I heard a groan of old gears as an unseen device raised the bridge behind me. In moments, the carriage stopped in front of a door and did not move any further.
Tentatively, I exited the coach. As I touched the ground, the horse immediately started up again and trotted off towards a stable. Seeing no other options, and with the chill of night closing in, I entered the castle.
The interior looked the same as the exterior, long vacant and unkempt. A candle had been placed on a table just inside. I picked it up and started to venture further into the dark building. As I walked, I started to hear a noise, faint at first but growing stronger as I approached the heart of my new home.
A voice, deep and booming, "I see my guest has arrived. Come closer. Come to warmth of the fire."
As I neared the central ballroom, I no longer needed the candle. Bright light spilled out of a doorway along with a curling stream of smoke. I saw no reason to be overcome by fear now, after coming so far. I put my candle and stepped forward boldly into the light.
The sight made me gasp and stagger backwards. I wanted to hide, to run screaming for safety. In the center of the ballroom, seated in a large wing back chair was a minotaur.
I had heard tales of such creatures mentioned in whispers over dying campfire embers, but they had all failed to describe the true thing. He was enormous, more than twice my size. In many ways he resembled a man, although a man like I had never seen before. The beast had a broad chest, covered in shaggy well groomed fur. I could see his muscular form beneath his coat, his arms as big around as timbers and likely able to snap me in half. The legs ended in hooves, but his hands were human with thick digits and dark nails long enough to be considered claws. I knew he was a male not by the sound of his voice, but from the fact that he wore only a small loin cloth. I could see his thick manhood as plain as anything and he showed no embarrassment for his exposure, but then again, he was a beast and a beast not accustomed to guests at that. There the resemblance to a human ended. The creature's head was that of a bull, no different than those I had seen all my life grazing in fields. Except perhaps, they eyes. They were cunning and showed an intelligence sharper than most men.
"What has luck brought me this time?" the bull boomed. "A pretty little thing, but hardly a morsel. What is its name?"
Having never before conversed with a minotaur, or very much believed in their existence for that matter, I did not know what other to do than reply plainly, "I am Leigh of Grimwood. I have been sent as tribute."
