The Nebuchadnezzar magazine

By E.K. Anderson

-Electronic Copyright. Nebuchadnezzar magazine. 2025.

12/28/2025

Genre: Fantasy

A Letter from the Mayor of Canterville, The Second Ward of Canterbury
Dated 15 March

To the Vaenir,

I trust all is well in your Good City.

I do not mean to burden you with the following news. Were it not for the sake of exigency, I’d have attended to this matter myself. But Men have limitations. We are grounded to the earth, unlike our idols: you the Vaenir.

For this reason, I petition for your aid, Dear Vaenir.

Allow me to relate my eye witness account:

Until yesterday I could scarcely believe the talk in the Second Ward. To think a monster of fable could enter our civil township under such barbaric pretenses would have sent me laughing to Alighieri sanitarium. I had not wanted to believe such folly until I heard the multitude of accounts, and saw the lithograph. 

The circumstances of the crime were most morose.
After the intense questioning of multiple eye-witnesses, the verdict was clear: some great beast had come in the night, from the forest, with a head that “blotted out the moon,” the commissioner had said. The men described a creature possessing a protrusion, like a spike that came from its boar-like face.

I have seen the vestiges of the house. The rafters lie, splinted. The derelict rests on the outskirts of the town near the county forest. A family of eight (may the Gods spare their souls) lived there. They went by the name of Smith. May their departure to Valhalla be swift.

It has been said, through local gossip, that Mr. Smith partook of certain beastial rites of bloodletting and offering- that his fascination with the occult contributed to his demise. Through neighborly predilection, it is thought that his flock of sheep had begun to dwindle. As he was no longer able to give provision to the beast, it took his family as recompense. The occupants of the Smith house were eradicated, then eaten. 

No members of Alexander Smith’s lineage remain.
Bloodied bowels, and limbs line the foundation. Entrails and brains smear the ruination of furniture. 

If this is no hoax it is clear the giant has a penchant for human flesh. We do not know when it will strike again.
It is under these circumstances that I pray for your aid, Dear Vaenir.

A Letter From The Earl of Canterbury County (Third Mouthpiece to the Vaenir)
Dated March 17th

Mayor Balthazar,

Our correspondence has yielded many heartfelt discussions, so I will reiterate our sorrow at hearing this unforeseeable, dire news. We, the Vaenir, grieve the state of your affairs. Your situation is most grave, and I pray you Godspeed in your endeavors. Know your supplications are heard. For the sake of morale: this is the speech you must deliver to your fellow countrymen. If asked what muse possessed you, your retort will be the “enlightenment of the Vaenir.” Second, you must destroy this letter after you enact its purpose. We must establish order on a perceived basis of truth. Were any falsehood to spread, the People would lash out severely, and the esteemed livelihood of the Vaenir would be in far more grave circumstances. Remember your place as figurehead.
I urge that the following extemporaneous discourse be delivered, at noontime tomorrow. I am certain that this would restore both the Order we so cherish in the capital:

SPEECH OUTLINE

INTRO: 

1. Sons and Daughters of Canterville,
   (Enunciate!)
   I write to you after spending a tedious hour in the enclave of my study. You have offered my family food, board, and security as the mayor of our town, and for this we are grateful.
   
   A. The reason for this discourse is not to exploit, but to remind us of the times in which we live. (Gesticulate!)
   
   B. The foe we fight is no man. (Pause for emphasis.)  I will reiterate this to reprise this haunting, and to validate that your fears are most founded. It is not my intent to reinstall this hysteria, only siphon the core energies so that we may rise again.
   
2. Let me provide an illustration:
   1. A great river has many tributaries, and it is the allotment of such branches that impart its strength. 
   2. A river has no recourse. There is only the adamant resolve of flow, the charge of progress towards its end: the sea.
   3. We, Country folk, course in a similar way. The time has come where we can no longer cower. Courage must possess all who oppose the beast.
   4. I will quote the Late Cleric, whose advice we should undoubtedly heed:
      1. One day our Sons and Daughters will rise again. They will inhabit that Fair Country, forsaken by the liars, and the warring. They will pry off their shackles with a might they will have never known. They will crush their bonds, and from the hands of their debtors they will rend their freedom. “
         

III. Meanwhile, we must congregate, as we seek further instruction from the Vaenir.*

(End of discourse)

*Depart swiftly. Accept no questions. Inform Us of any further incidents, especially if the people murmur.  

A Letter from the Mayor of Canterville, The Second Ward of Canterbury
Dated 17 March

At your behest, I delivered the speech with utmost tact, and discernment. I noted a calmness overcome the People, like a sanctuary, as I relayed the enlightened thoughts of the Vaenir. 

It beset me with such couráge, Dear Vaenir! 

It wasn’t until the end that our resolve was shaken. The beast came rushing from The Forest Sauvage. It lumbered over the field with a look of fury as I have never seen. Then, he took the poor farmer from the midst of the field, and ate him. I saw the blood spatter, and the bowels torn asunder. The teeth sunk into his torso.

He left the legs, at my feet upon the dais.
“Leave the flesh to rot,” said the beast.  

“Soot between my toes. Insurrection is mended best with martyrdom.”
And at this I knew the farmer had been made an example of.
We do not know the beast’s origin. Plucked forth from the reverie of which a few men could allow utterance and possessed of a reticence that encumbered his psyche. Yet by his colloquial intonation, he was learned by the works of Men. Despite the lilt of his kind, he had perfected the woodspeak of the people.
How he had done it, remains a mystery. I suppose, he lived among men once-but fell from grace. By those in the Valley? We do not know.
There are things which must be laid to waste, and if they rise again they must be slain, and burnt with fire. Afterwards they are not to be spoken of.
Fear not my dear countrymen. For I was told, a fortnight ago, from a traveler whom I believe to be a Northerner, that a certain giant lies in your midst. The men of the high hills say he is the last of the Jötunn”–yet the Cleric reasoned, he might well be Nephilim, or Rephraim.
Regardless of what he is, do not forget your birth. We are men of the Valley, and the Valley has bore you.
(Cease your decanter momentarily; take a breath from the supposed “fire” in your loins. Empathize!)
There are none so keen as to say they know the myth of man. For if this knowledge were known, so too would his future. We would deny the oppressors their way, and obtain our birthright.
Were this concurrent legendarium to be forged we’d be of singular consciousness, but alas we are not.
By the mirth of Aenir, let us pour the blood of our enemy into the sea. Libations. Egads.

A Letter to the Second mouthpiece of the Vaenir, dated March 31

The discourse went well were it not for the interruption. The beast, this mortal enemy of men, chose to strike at a time most inopportune. (Might I suggest that we garrison our town with reinforcements?)
It came, rushing from the forest with a fury as I have never seen, possessed of savagery and hunger. Never had I seen him in the daylight, as I thought he preferred the cool concourse of night. I thought that He operated his wicked ways in the darkness.
He sensed the dissention in my voice, and as our eyes met I saw a cavernous intelligence of marked wit and cunning.
I saw the horn between his eyes on his forehead, as the ivory gleamed in the sun so I loathed it.
And as he ate the cleric his eyes rolled over white with relish.
Soot between my toes, he said, fool amongst men. And at this happening he roared, spitting out the head, and tossing the legs in the midst of the audience.
This was his stipulation.
Do him obeisance, with a slaughtered lamb or a goat. Or Offer him a daily sacrifice; a man on the first day of the week, a woman on the second.
If any days were missed, he’d go for the family.
At this speech, he told us his name–his real one given at his desolate, decrepit  birth: Fjord, The God king

A Letter from the Second Mouthpiece of the Vaenir, Alexis Antoch, dated April 2

Mayor Balthazar,

Know that the Sons of the Vaenir will do whatever is necessary to rid the country of this mania, and restore Order. I have petitioned for Aid, and Recruitment. It should be arriving in the quickest possible way. We will send you a sign.

Meanwhile we urge you to continue imparting  integrity into your fellow folk.

Do as the giant says, an offering to assuage his anger. 

A Letter from Ignatia Allen, daughter of Balthazor the Mayor of Canterville, to the First piece of the Vaenir, dated May 1

My father, the mayor, was eaten today. 

After a month’s time we have lost the last of our livestock, and have not had any surplus besides wheat. Upon learning this, and that there was nothing else for the Giant to eat, he offered himself. As atonement the Giant acquiesced, and took my father.

It has come upon me, his daughter, to oversee the workings of our town. We
No longer will we lie in terror for the giant, the beastial half-man to eat our livestock. Why allow him food from the mouths of our children? The monster has raised our storehouses, and tainted our river with his excrement.
We can no longer go on living as we do. I foresee an altercation on the horizon, with the beast as the victor. I will keep this belief to myself however. I smile for the sake of my people.
On my promenades throughout town, I see the    Melancholy in the face of my people. With their eyes they implore me: sustenance, and housing. Of a kind word, a smile.
I have considered taking these matters into my own hands, and after my inquiry with the Lady of Bath, Canterville has but few options. 

The only manner by which we can rid ourselves of the beast is by finding a few strong, able-bodied men to slay the beast. 

I must lead them for my father’s honour. 

Tonight, we congregate to slay the beast if we cannot receive aid. 

A letter from the First Mouthpiece to the Vaenir, Cyrus, dated May 28

I strongly counsel against this opposition. Consider your townspeople, and consider your actions at this time. There will be many casualties. 

I command you to wait. 

A letter from Ignatia Allen, the daughter of Balthazar Allen, the former Mayor of Canterville, dated May 29

I will not. 

A letter from Cyrus, the First Mouthpiece of the Vaenir, to Ignacia Allen, dated May 30

We tire of your insubordination Ignatia. If we lack unison, Our allegiance is now to the enemy. Consider this a breach of Contract. As such until your condition changes, we will limit any further contact.

A letter from Ignatia Allen, the Mayor of Canterville to Cyrus the First Mouthpiece of the Vaenir, dated June 1

Consider your words, Mouthpiece. If that is the way, then so be it. My conviction is that the words you speak are your words, and not that of the Vaenir. There are no gods amongst men. If there were, the question would elude us all.

Let them come down from their lofty city of Splendor. Let them forgo the honeysuckle in their Elysian Fields, and their Dance of the Hart for the alarm of anarchy and tumult. Rouse them from ephemeral slumber. Our mirth is the shedding of their blood.

I have lost many countrymen. After my father’s death, I now see the hopelessness of your way.
Tomorrow night I will take it upon myself to slay the beast of Canterbury forest. I will tell no one about this venture. It is likely that I will be slain before dawn. I fear not the loss of my life, for one sacrifice will inspire my citizens.
A letter addressed to the Lord of Canterbury County (the first mouthpiece to the Vaenir) from the earl

The serfs know of the Vaenir! This is not a concern, but a fact.


A Declaration of Independence from the Sons And Daughters of Canterbury County, a letter from Mayor Ignacia Allen Mayor of Canterville to the “Vaenir,” dated April 4

I have slain the Beast. It has been felled.

Scum, enclosed is the horn of the Canterville beast of The Canterbury forest. Take it as a token of our proud independence. We have slain him without your aid. Also the object is but a remembrance of lives lost, a cursed thing and We do not wish to have it in our possession. Let the bloodguilt of this ivory horn rest on you. Let it lie as a symbol of our obstinate disregard for you, and our piercing desire for the upheaval of your system.


Monoliths of fear will rise again, but we will overcome them.

Signed,

The Sons and Daughters of Canterville, The Second Ward of Canterbury County