Merdogne sat on the shoulder of the wolf-girl as they crept through the woods, towards the shrine. She called herself the Maenad, though that may or may not have been her real name. She looked like a young, black haired woman, small and olive skinned like many of her people. Merdogne was not his real name either, but his kind had learned not to reveal their true names to humans. Among his kind, names held great magical power, and this was dangerous in the hands of humans, be they natives of this land or the invaders who had settled here. Superstitions abounded as to what one could do with a Smurf's true name, from making gold to predicting the future.
Not being fully human herself, The Maenad was not interested in any of these things. She had been rejected by her own people, forced into mercenary work. Money and survival drove her. That, and a chance to take out her frustration in battle, as she was as bloodthirsty as any werewolf Merdogne's chief had ever met. Merdogne was actually her keeper, volunteered by his own village to be a liaison between them and the humans. This was not what he had in mind when he volunteered to be his chief's second in command at all. Served him right for being such a know it all.
After countless years of being caught in intertribal warfare among the native people, appealing to the invaders was a last-ditch effort to save themselves. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, as the human saying went. What dark times when we're fighting alongside factions of warring humans, instead of holding great gatherings as we did centuries ago, Merdogne thought as they came closer. There was a group of three there, wearing the crested helmets and elaborate hairstyles of a local human tribe. Probably male, though he always had trouble telling. With them were a handful of tiny blue creatures, wearing the distinctive red clothes of the Baccata village.
"They're not supposed to be there, any of them," He whispered in the werewolf's ear.
"This is a sacred place and they know it; they're up to something."
His companion wrinkled her nose; the place was sacred, but the tribe it was sacred to were headhunters; skulls grinned from niches in the standing stones that formed a ring in the forest. The fires that flickered in the dark woods made it look as if the men and women who the skulls belonged to were still watching, judging. Merdogne wondered if Maenad was disgusted by the habit humans had of displaying their own dead in such a way, or if she shared the bias against Druid things all of her people seemed to have. Given what she had told them of her people's idea of sports, he thought it was probably the latter.
"Can you hear what they're saying? I've only picked up a bit of their language," she whispered back.
Merdogne reached under his own brown hat and produced a small insect made of woven pine needles. He whispered an ancient chant to it, and it fluttered away, near the group. Soon, Merdogne could hear their conversation perfectly.
"…camped by the river near one of the Campestre villages. They're allied with the invaders, you know, we've caught their spies and we know where they are going to next," said one of the Baccata smurfs.
"Excellent. We can ambush them and pay them back for what they did to the rebellion. You'll have our protection if the information you provide is good."
"If the Campestre were to become 'accidental' casualties, we would not need protection."
"Campestre, that's your people, isn't it?" Whispered The Maenad.
"It is. We are all in great danger," replied Merdogne. "Let's go report this."
Suddenly, the spell broke with a loud pop, as one of the humans clumsily stepped on the pine needle insect.
"What was that?"
"Earwig spell. Someone's listening to us!"
One of the Baccata smurfs went to examine the remains of the earwig, while the others and the humans went searching the area for the spies.
"Maenad, let's get out of here!"
"No. there's only three. I can make sure they don't reach their chieftain with this news."
"Maenad, don't; we should go warn your general and my tribe. Aedui always says…"
"Oh, enough of your prattle."
She shook Merdogne off her back as she shifted into a huge black wolf and charged the humans. Merdogne rolled to the ground, panicking. Should he hide from the Baccata, or stay with Maenad in spite of his every instinct telling him to get far away from her? The thud of a large body answered the question of whether it was safe to be near Maenad; blood pooled around his torn throat while she turned to the second man, swinging a long, double edged sword at her, striking her in the side. She gasped, wobbled, and then lunged at him, knocking him over. Merdogne didn't want to see how she ended him, he ran for the cover of bushes.
He wanted to run and run, back to his village by the riverside. It was peaceful and safe there; it would always be that way, in his mind. Let the Baccata catch him; he couldn't stand another minute with the creature the Romans kept to do their dirty work, the creature he was forced to accompany.
He didn't run, though, he crept out when the shouts had died down. Inside the shrine stood only the Meanad, three mangled bodies, and a host of skulls glaring at them all.
"Wh…where are the Baccata…tell me...you didn't…"
"Couldn't catch them, even if I wanted to," she said, blood covering her face and hands, glistening black in the firelight. Merdogne staggered, feeling sick. He had seen such sights before, but they always bothered him. His kind was never meant to see such things. Maenad ignored him, picked up the discarded longsword from the second human, and clumsily began chopping their heads off. When she was done, she threw them in a net, and tied it to her belt. She plunged the sword into the earth in the grove, as if to spite the disapproving spirits there.
"But you and I are witness to their treachery, and these heads prove which humans are trying to stir up rebellion again."
Merdogne breathed a sigh of relief. Unlike her mortal companions, The Maenad had a soft spot for his kind. If there was any compassion in that hard, bitter heart of hers, if was for them. It was a little comfort; they were small parts in a great machine.
There were hundreds of them walking on the sands of the river
Even giants think they'll always live forever
The grove Maenad and Merdogne do their spying in is based on the Celtic ruins found at Roquepertuse in France. It was was attacked and burned in the second half of the third century BCE.
Today my grandmother died suddenly at the age of 91. It seems strange that I'm sitting here writing, but this is my catharsis. Do forgive me if this is rough around the edges.