The Old Woman, the Otterkin, and the Eagle's child.Part TwoPythia |
I had six weeks to cherish my gift. On the second day of the seventh, Ogan arrived to announce that the seals had been seen, arriving on the birthing beach. It was time for the first hunt of the season - the one that would determine the fortune of the folk for the coming winter. I remember shivering as I drew my shawl around my shoulders; the first hunt challenged the big bull seals as they arrived to stake their claims, and men could be killed or crippled facing down a fighting seal. But we needed the meat and we needed the skins that the seal hunts brought us. Only a fool killed a seal cow before she’d given birth; the pups had coats that would keep our own children warm – not to mention bringing good gold from the traders.
Jurgan and his brothers had often boasted about their hunting skills over that long summer; hands clasped firmly on the speaking stick they had made wild claims about bulls twice the size of a man and how they had so nearly come to vanquishing them. The other men of the folk had always smiled behind their beards and measured their skills by the size of the seals they had brought home - but Elfir, my Elfir, had never even seen a bull seal. I knew he’d listened to the tales with wide eyes, and on that day I found he’d been making careful preparations to join the hunt when the time came. His eyes had sparkled at Ogan’s news and he’d vanished behind the smoke house to reappear with a pair of hunting spears in his hand. Not short handled, metal bladed spears like the one that Ogan himself carried. Oh no - these were crafted the way a seal spear should be, with delicate edged blades struck from flint and bound to the handle with strips of softened hide. They were long, too - a good arm’s length taller than the man who’d made them, and with a stout cross beam set half way along their length.
Like a song, Jurgan had said. There are few warriors in the songs that the folk sing. But there are hunters, bold and brave and given to reckless deeds. I wondered who’d been singing them to Elfir behind my back as I reached out and wrapped a firm hand around the two smooth shafts just beneath his own.
"No," I announced firmly, putting myself between him and the beach, ignoring Ogan’s startlement and Ulthanar’s wary frown. My son gave me a puzzled look.
"Little mother - " he began to say.
"No", I repeated firmly, interrupting his protest and setting my lips into stubborn lines. "This hunt is not for you. You will not go."
His face creased into a look that mirrored my own; a quietly determined look that I had never seen before. "I’m fit, I’m healed, and I’m awake," he said, fixing me with a challenging eye. I couldn’t argue with any of that. My reasons had nothing to do with it anyway. "Little mother, I made these spears especially for this hunt, and I’m going to find the biggest, toughest bull on that beach and - "
"No," I repeated again, glaring at him with my most withering glare. Most people quailed before that look – it was packed with magic and had grown more menacing as I grew older – but I was facing a far more stubborn heart than even I knew. He didn’t even turn pale. If anything his eyes flashed with sudden fire.
"I’m going," he insisted, reaching to uncurl my fingers from the spears. "Actually," he added, offering one across to his friend, "We’re going. Right, Herc?"
I glanced towards my other son. He was looking at me with thoughtful eyes. "Little mother," he said, in soft and reasonable tones. "Iolaus is one of the best hunters in the whole of Greece. The best hunter – apart from my sister, that is. There’s no reason why - "
"There is every reason," I interrupted, turning to give him that same look. He didn’t quail either, although I hadn’t expected him to. I sighed and let the magic go, berating myself for even trying to use it. "You have never hunted the fat bull seals as they lumber onto the land. Never seen them turn like lightning when least expected, or rise up only to smash down again like a wave. Twice now," I breathed, turning back to study Elfir’s beloved face, "I have knelt beside you, my hands dark with your blood while I muttered spells to knit broken bones and close raw wounds. I have called you back twice from the deep journey. It will not be in my power to do so again. You should never have made the spears. Never have even heard the tale of their making. These are not weapons for throwing, Otterkin! They are made to match the man to the seal, to hold the weight of it at bay while it rips its heart to pieces on the blade. Only the bravest and most skilled would even think of using them. They are weapons of death, and that is what you court by making them."
Elfir stared at me for a moment then , much to my surprise, he laughed. "That’s what worrying you? Gods," he chuckled, sharing his amusement with the man at his side, "she don’t know me very well, do she?"
"No," Ulthanar agreed, sounding equally amused.
"Little mother." Elfir addressed me with quiet affection and decided patience. He handed the other spear to his oath brother and caught up both of my hands in his. My old fingers curled around those agile hands, feeling the strength that lay within them. I looked up from that touch and found myself lost in eyes the colour and depth of the summer sky. "I may not have hunted seals," he was saying, "but – believe me – some of things that Herc and I have hunted would make the worst bull on that beach look like – like - " He wrestled for a comparison, glancing at his friend for help. He wasn’t any; broad shoulders shrugged, the expression above them warmly amused. Elfir’s eyes rolled, offering a wordless acknowledgement that said you’re a lot of help before they turned back to me. "Like - a new born lamb," he decided, earning himself a snort from Ogan and a look of pure scepticism from me. "The thing is," he ploughed on, not put off by either reaction, "when it comes to hunting I know what I’m doing. And as for these spears - " His glance towards the offending blades held a hint of pride, one I could not blame him for. They were beautifully crafted. "I’ve been using spears just like these to hunt down wild boar since I was knee high to my grandfather. And they can be twice the size of a man and three times his weight, and when you get an old tusker on the end of your spear …" He broke off, probably realising that arguing along those lines was unlikely to sway me. He smiled instead, a gentle smile that turned my heart over. He was going, no matter what I might say, no matter how I might protest. I had adopted a lost child – and he had become a man in front of my eyes, a stubborn, determined man with his own mind and his own destiny. That was the day I knew he had outgrown my care. It was Elfir I had denied the right to the hunt. It was Iolaus, golden hunter, indomitable warrior, and true hero who had answered me.
That they were one and the same man was the joy and terror that held my heart.
"I know you’re worried," he said gently, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on my cheek. "Don’t be. We’ll be back before you even know we’re gone. And there’ll be seal in the stewpot tonight. You’ll see."
I feared for him - but I could no longer deny him. I pulled him into my arms and hugged those strong shoulders, offering a blessing as only a mother could. "Be bold," I whispered. "But be wary."
"You bet," he grinned, hugging me back before I could let go. "Hey," he laughed, reclaiming his spear from his brother’s hand, "the seals are waiting. Why are we?"
I caught at Ulthanar’s arm, holding him back as Ogan led the way down towards the waiting boats. He looked down at me with a quiet smile, the expressive lines of his face barely concealed behind the darkness of the beard that he had let grow in the manner of the folk.. "Watch over him," I begged softly, and the smile curved into a warm grin.
"I always do," he assured me, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Not an easy task, I read there and found him a smile of my own.
"And watch yourself," I added, not unmindful of the place he had found in my heart. The grin got wider still.
"That’s his job," he joked, and bent to bless me with a kiss of his own. "Twice, little mother? You’re catching me up ..." And he laughed softly and left, his long legs carrying him down the beach with easy confident strides.
I waited all that day, watching the clouds pattern the sky and the waves roll in with studied indifference. A long time before, in days when the son of my blood still played around my feet, I had spent another day waiting, scanning the sea for the returning boats. When the hunters had come home they had laid my true love at my feet, his body crushed and broken by the seal he had tried to claim. He did not live through the night; all my magic and my skill could not save him and he had left me to take the deep journey that each man makes only once in his life.
Only once ...
My soul had begun to wither that night. It had taken another hurt the day our son followed his father into the sea. It had become a shriveled thing, bitter and hardened against the cruelties of the world.
And a gift from the sea had given it new life, had nourished it with fire and hope and undemanding love.
I watched and I waited. One by one the women of the folk came to join me, creeping across the cold beach and shivering under their shawls. This was our life, a cold harrowing relieved only by the brief promises of summer. We knew it well and we did not complain, for all it bowed our backs and hammered at our spirits. We are the folk and we survive. That is what we do best.
Merian Ogansdatta came to stand beside me, her dark hair escaping from beneath her drape and fluttering in the cold wind. Winter was nearly on us. Her father and her three brothers were on that hunt, but I knew it was not them she watched for. Like me she prayed for blue eyes and a golden smile. For him she was just one of many - but she had come to me, and I knew the secret she had kept from him. Had kept from all the folk these four months past. She had stalked him and he had caught her at the Midsummer feast. When winter turned it would no longer be a secret. For now it was a silence between us; an unspoken truth to which we both clung, there in the cold wind and the dying day.
When the sun set, the boats came back.
And so did my heart.
He was first to leap to the shore, his hair a shimmer of gold that gleamed in the last light of the day. Another golden figure followed him; together they hauled the boat up out of the water and unloaded its cargo; broad shoulders fathered by a god hefted the weight of a huge bull seal, its tail dragging at his feet as he strode up the beach. I ran down to greet them, a mother among mothers and sisters and lovers, a tide of women that welcomed home the fortune for the coming year.
And what a fortune!
Six seals came out of those boats. Enough to feed the entire settlement and have meat left over. It was a good omen, but it paled into nothingness beside the welcome arms that lifted me clear off the beach in joyful greeting.
"What did I tell you, little mother?" my son laughed, putting me down at his brother’s feet. I looked up and my mouth fell open. The biggest, toughest bull seal on the whole beach -
It was fully eight feet long - and it must have weighed at least three times what I did. There was scarcely a mark on its sleek pelt, although there was blood painted across it - and blood painted over the two of them, a rich red rust that stained wool and leather and skin alike. Elfir was the worst; he looked as if he’d been bathing in it - with all his clothes on.
"Whose kill?" I asked, falling into step between them, Elfir’s hand under my arm and Ulthanar taking short careful steps to keep the balance of his burden.
"His."
"His."
They spoke in chorus and then laughed, sharing a glance of understanding and amusement at their synchronicity.
"We struck together, little mother," Ulthanar explained. "So we don’t know. But my spear broke, and he took the whole weight on the other to stop it from reaching round to bite me. So - strictly speaking - it’s his kill."
"Uhuh," Elfir denied. "All I did was hang on. Anyway – if you hadn’t been there to haul it off me afterwards I’d still be lying flat on my back with dead seal for a blanket."
My blood turned cold. "It fell on you?" I asked, reaching pull him round, to take a closer look at the bloodstains on his face. "Are you hurt? Is anything broken?"
He giggled at my expression. "Sort of, hardly, and just my pride - in that order," he informed me with a rueful grin. "It was already dead. I propped it up with my spear and went to get a closer look - "
"And he slipped on the bloody stones, went flat on his back, caught the spear butt and - "
"Got a face full of dead wet seal for my pains," Elfir concluded, looking a little embarrassed over the incident.
"Behold the mighty hunter," Ulthanar laughed, hefting the weight on his shoulder into a more comfortable spot and carrying it up the short sets of steps that front my house. "Now where do you want this?"
I waved him at the butchering slab at the back of the smoke house and turned to give my smaller son a more appraising look. Behind him Merian had put a foot to my steps and I discouraged her approach with a quick shake of my head. The truth she carried was a dangerous one; it would bind my otterkin’s heart and chain him to the folk beyond the time I had asked for. Such a binding would break him in two. His life was at his brother’s side, not with us, however much we cherished him – and I would not let that secret, so carefully kept, so wonderfully welcome, destroy the souls I had come to love so much.
She nodded agreement with my wisdom and turned away, letting me turn back to Elfir and immediate concerns. He endured my attention with a patient sigh, letting himself be drawn into the house and stripped of his blood stained clothing. There was indeed no major harm done, but his ribs were bruised and I put a little oil on to heat, scenting it with herbs and muttering a charm into its depths. Perhaps I was fussing overmuch, but even then I knew that he would not be with me much longer. And he had harrowed my heart; I felt I deserved a little indulgence for such pain.
Ulthanar came in from the butchery, his clothing now as bloody as his brother’s had been before him. I got him to strip too, stoking up the fire so that neither of them would take cold and carrying away the stained fabrics to where I could to set them to soak. When I came back they were both lounging in front of the fire discussing the hunt, the flicker of the flames reflecting off the gleam of naked skin. I caught back a soft breath of admiration; I had forgotten how beautiful they both were. Those bundles of wool and fur and warming fabric had hidden the taut shaping of muscle and the curve of sculptured bodies that lay beneath. I had gods sitting at my hearth; two of them, for all one was merely mortal and the other only half divine.
In front of me – an old woman, wrinkled and bent, weathered by time and by life – they seemed unconcerned by their nakedness. I hooked the now simmering oil away from the fire, tipped in a little tallow fat to thicken it and knelt down to apply its healing warmth where it was needed most. Elfir leant back against the nearest support to let me get at the damage, hooked his hands behind his head and sighed a quietly martyred sigh. His brother chuckled softly.
"You’d pay for that in Athens," he remarked, reaching to drop another piece of wood on the fire. The words earned him a withering look.
"If I were in Athens," Elfir pointed out patiently, "I wouldn’t be stinking of dead seal, ache like Tarterus or be in need of this kind of attention."
"Hardly," Ulthanar agreed, scratching at his beard where the blood had dried in it. "But I bet you’d still pay for it. Maybe I should suggest it to Salmoneus when we get back. A scented oil and massage service," he expounded, illustrating the idea with his hands. "Attentive women. No waiting. What do you think?"
My patient giggled, then winced because his ribs really did hurt. "He’ll love it. Herc," he asked, sitting up a little to consider his friend with a thoughtful look. "You feeling homesick?"
My hand froze in its careful application and I had to force myself to continue before he noticed my reaction to his question. Ulthanar shrugged. "Not really," he admitted. "Matter of fact I like it here. It’s just that - this isn’t our world, Iolaus. There are people that need us back home. There’ll be warlords starting up new campaigns and slavers selling innocents to heartless masters - I’m worried about my brother too."
Elfir grinned. "Iphicles - or Ares?" he asked. He got a similar grin in reply.
"Both," was the prompt answer. "But Ares mostly. He won’t have missed the fact that I’ve not been around for a while. Nor will the rest of the gods. I hate to say it but - "
"It’s time we went back to work, right?" The question was soft; a strong hand reached to curl around mine where it sat, frozen in mid stroke against the warmth of soft skin.
"Well -" Ulthanar sighed, wrapping his long arms around himself and staring pensively into the flames. "Time I did, in any case. You could stay here if you wanted too. You’ve found a home here - a family - "
"You’re my family, Herc." The pressure on my hand was gentle; he knew what he had to say would wound me, but he had to say it anyway. "Besides, you were right. People need us back home." His eyes turned briefly towards me and I saw the regret that lay within them. "I can’t live in a dream forever. No matter how good the dream might be. You need me, Herc. You need me to watch your back and drag you off to festivals and get myself into trouble so that you can come charging to the rescue the way you always do. Which I don’t always need, I’ll have you know - "
"I know." His brother’s expression had a sorrowed edge. "You’d be safe it you stayed here."
"Safe?" Elfir snorted disbelief. "Safe from winter storms and wild seals? Safe from ships full of angry raiders? I’d not last another season in this place before my deeds got me killed one way or the other. And that would break our little mother’s heart. Yours too," he added shrewdly. "Face it, Hercules, you’re stuck with me, like it or not."
Ulthanar, who was and always would be the son of Zeus and so cursed with a destiny, smiled a haunted smile. One that slowly curled into genuine and heartfelt pleasure. "I suppose so," he acknowledged softly. "Thanks," he added with decided gratitude, almost under his breath. Elfir giggled again - and then winced again, the look that chased across his face a mixture of chagrin and annoyance.
"Damn it," he complained, "Why, by all the gods, did I have to walk under that seal?"
I left them to their laughter and their plans and went to weep, silently, over blood tainted water and the weight of damp wool. The year was turning towards its end, and my sons were going to leave me before the season was out. It was for myself I wept, not for them. For the empty echo that the house would become, for the long days that would not have them in it, and for the longer years in which I would have nothing but memories to sustain me. I knew they had to go. I’d always known that, deep in my heart. Nor would I have given up the year just gone, not even to erase the pain of their leaving me. Memories are precious things. I would treasure each bright jewel of a day, keeping it safe within my heart.
When the washing was done, so was all my weeping. I had resolved to cherish each moment I had left, to laugh and to enjoy all that my sons had left to give me. Besides - the hunt had been a success. And a successful hunt always spelled a wild festival. I put on my finest shawl, curved a smile onto my face, chivied both my sons into their best clothing - and took them to the gathering.
It was a night to remember for many reasons. Ogan got drunk and fell off his stool trying to persuade young Terrel that an old man’s bed might be worth sharing. Farashell announced her choosing, which surprised nobody but brought a blush of embarrassed pleasure to Horgeth’s face when he finally realised she was talking about him. And when they passed the speaking stick my Elfir did not refuse it as he’d always done before. He took it with a mischievous smile and made the boldest boast of the evening - so far that was.
"I have been under - " and the whole of the gathered folk laughed because they knew what was coming next, "- the biggest bull seal on the beach today. And my brother and I brought it home," he added, grinning at Ulthanar and tossing him the staff with a flourish. The son of Zeus was the tallest among us; he sat with his back to the wall and his long legs stretched out in front of him because the benches were too low for his lanky frame, but he caught the staff easily enough and frowned at it with a thoughtful frown.
I held my breath.
I knew he’d been watching the game; I’d no doubt that Elfir had explained it to him. How each man would boast and pass the staff if there was no challenge to his claim. And how the next would need to top the previous bravado, or else decline the stick and pass it on. Would he pass? I knew him to be a modest man, not given to over praising himself. But this was festival - and a man’s standing among the folk was partly determined by how well he played this game. He knew - because I had told him – that there were many in the gathering who had laughed at Elfir in the past, taunting and teasing his stumbling words. The taunting had ceased after the raiders came, but they still watched to see him fail. Perhaps, I saw him thinking, that first boast was enough -
It wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t. One boast, however big the seal, would not buy the respect my son’s deserved.
Ulthanar – whose true name was Hercules, and who had the strength of a god but the heart of a man - looked up. A silence had fallen on the crowd. A pair of summer blue eyes were watching him with an almost pleading expectation, while challenging stares filled the firelit corners of the room. And he rose to the challenge with a confident smile.
"I was once swallowed whole by a sea monster whose stomach was bigger than this room," he announced in mild tones. "I squeezed its heart until it burst - and then I was able to escape."
The silence became a stunned one. It was an outrageous claim. I saw Jurgan open his mouth to challenge it - only to close it again. Everyone could see that there was no lie on the speaker’s face. To him it wasn’t even a boast. Just a statement of fact.
Eagle’s child, I smiled to myself. One who flies higher than all the rest. The stones do not lie.
He offered the staff on; one by one the men refused it, sharing doubtful looks and muttering among themselves. He was about to put it down and so end the game when a hand shot out in a demanding gesture. Elfir was standing in front of him like a defiant bantam cock, his smile full of recklessness while he waited to take his turn.
The look that his oath brother gave him was a measured one; it was followed by a warm smile and the staff itself, placed into the outstretched hand with amused confidence.
He can’t top that, my heart protested, aching a little that he should even try. Oh, Elfir …
"I have been a baby sitter for the youngest child of the Mother of all Monsters," he stated boldly. "And earned myself a kiss from her own sweet lips," he added, an afterthought delivered with a cheeky grin. Ulthanar laughed and took back the staff.
"That’s nothing," he decided, getting into the game with relish. "I was one of the two warriors that freed Prometheus from his chains and brought his gifts back into the world."
"Hey - no fair," his brother pouted. "I was on that expedition too, you know."
"Well, okay," came the immediate agreement. "One of the four warriors that freed Prometheus." The tall man grinned, holding out the staff. "Your turn."
There was more like that. Claim after claim, each more outlandish than the last. They competed with their own history, the staff going back and forth between them while jaws dropped open and eyes went very wide. No-one challenged. No-one dared.
And I wondered which of them would win - the child born of a god, or the mortal who had found his destiny at his side.
Finally, Hercules played his trump card. Straight out and with an honesty of heart, he made his next claim a clear and perfect demonstration of his regard for the man I had made my son. "I," he offered softly, speaking clear enough for all to hear but speaking only to his partner all the same, "have gone down into the underworld, bargained with the Lord of that domain - and returned my brother’s soul to the living world after his unjust death."
He held out the staff, but he kept his hand on it, his eyes fixed on the figure in front of him. Silence had fallen in the gathering hall. Total silence. Iolaus stared back, his lips working silently as he considered and then discarded options with which to match that incredible statement. I thought he was going to accede victory. And then he smiled and put his hand to the polished shaft, right beside the curled fingers that held it out to him.
"I," he said, delivering the words with the same soft intensity that his oath brother had used, "have followed a vengeful goddess back through time in order to protect a mother and her unborn son. Because that child would one day make a difference to the world that held him. And because he is like a brother to me - and my life would be nothing without him it."
Their eyes met across the staff, blue to blue, a look that locked in place and held time suspended between them. Nobody moved. Nobody so much as breathed.
Until Hercules laughed, shattering the moment into a thousand shards of unspoken emotion. Emotion that had no need to be spoken, because those two statements had said everything that needed to be said. "Guess we’re even then," he shrugged.
"Guess so," the brother of his heart shrugged back. "You want another drink?"
"Sure."
And that was what they did, handing the speaking staff back to Ogan, who accepted it gingerly and stared at it as if he expected it to be hot. It wasn’t - but no-one ever used that staff again. He went out before the next gathering and cut a new one, setting the original in a place of honour high in the gathering hall.
It was on the following day that the raiders came back.
Two ships loomed out of the late autumn fog, high prowed ships that glided towards the beach like silent ghosts, their oars muffled and their sails hanging limply from their tall masts. There was barely time to sound the alarm before the beach was filled with armed men. My sons had left for their usual morning scavenging. I was working in the smoke house and found myself trapped there, watching as the settlement swirled into panic and the air was filled with frightened cries.
Everything folded down into total confusion. Grim eyed warriors stalked across the beach herding sheep and women with equal disregard. I saw Ogan struck down as he tried to protect his daughter; the raider raised his sword for a killing blow - and a wild war whoop cut through the air, followed immediately by a golden haired whirlwind as Elfir sprinted out of the mist and intercepted the descending sword arm.
"Catch!" I heard him call, pulling the startled raider off his feet and tumbling him towards the broad shouldered figure that had been at his heels. Ulthanar did more than just catch - he caught, he lifted and he threw, sending the man flailing through the air and knocking down half a dozen of his fellows.
And that was just the start of it.
Elfir pulled Ogan to his feet and sent him and Merian stumbling in my direction. I beckoned them in to the suspect shelter of my smoke house and we stood there and watched while two men - and only two men - taught the raiders a lesson they would never forget.
They were everywhere, a brilliant dance of dazzling skill and sheer power that lifted my heart into my mouth and kept it there all through the conflict. Alone - and not fully in his wits - Elfir had held off an entire shipload until their numbers had overwhelmed him. Now, with his partner at his side and his true speed and skill at his fingertips, he more than demonstrated the truth of all that boasting the night before. The fight was not an easy one; they faced incredible odds and men more than prepared to kill them both, but they had a number of advantages and they used them to full effect.
The first was simple surprise. The raiders never expected the folk to offer more than a token defense; before, they’d maybe killed one or two of us and left the rest to seethe with helplessness while they seized whatever they wanted. It took them a little while to realise that the settlement was actually defended, and that was to cost them dearly.
The second advantage was their fighting style. I didn’t know much about conflict, but I’d always thought men fought with sword or spear, defending themselves with shields and armour. The raiders certainly seemed to think that was the way of things. Neither of my sons were armoured – in fact, both had stripped away an encumbering layer, losing the thick oiled wool jumpers I had gifted them to keep out the cold. One was clad in his soft gold leather jerkin, the other in an equally soft grey sealskin vest, neither of which had been designed to keep sword blades at bay. Hercules - my Ulthanar, the eagle’s child - didn’t really bother with weapons. He strode into combat, using his broad hands to strike and disable, sometimes picking up an adversary and using him as both shield and weapon, sometimes dodging blows with easy feints and moves, and sometimes vaulting a startled shoulder to strike down another opponent with a swift kick. Iolaus - my Elfir, my Otterkin - fought with everything. Hands, feet, elbows, knees, borrowed swords, discarded sheilds, snatched up polehooks, grabbed nets, his best friend’s fist, anything and everything that came within reach. He danced through the melee, tumbling between legs and scrambling up onto shoulders, twisting and spinning like the otter that the stones had named him and dealing devastation as he went.
And their third advantage was the way they fought together. They moved almost as one creature, nearly always aware of where the other was in the fight. When one was in trouble the other moved in to help. They exchanged opponents, watched each other’s backs and even threw each other around whenever the need arose. It was hard to follow at first - and I could barely breath for terror, watching as swords flashed around them in a dance of death. After a while though I began to see some pattern in their actions - and though I could not lose the tight band of fear that had clamped itself around my heart, I began to think that maybe - just maybe - I was not about to see my sons cut down and slaughtered before my eyes.
The beach rang with war cries; with the raiders’ throaty challenges and Elfir’s wild whoops of reply. At the beginning of the fight the morning mist helped our cause; it swirled around creating shadows and illusions, and there were raiders who struck at nothingness while one agile figure darted away and the son of a god loomed out of nowhere on the other side of them. Later the mist began to clear and the odds evened out a little. I saw my sons take blows; Ulthanar staggering back, only to wipe a broad hand across his bloodied lip and return to the conflict with stern eyed determination; Elfir knocked down to the ground, but rolling away before the following blade could cut the beach where he’d been lying. I winced at each painful contact, clutching Merian’s trembling shoulders as she knelt beside me and sought refuge in the tumbled layers of my skirts. They were only two - and the raiders were so many.
So many …
My heart recalled the bloody, bleeding mess that had been waiting for me the last time the raiders came. Tears filled my eyes; I remembered the gaping holes in wrists and ankles that my magic had barely been able to heal - and my soul cried out for the ending to be swift, for the gods to take these golden heroes before their enemies did. I did not want them to die - but nor did I want them to fall and be taken.
My fears were not unfounded - the raiders had always been cruel and arrogant men who treated defiance as an insolence in need of punishment - but that day the terrors that my heart painted were to prove unwarranted. The chaos of the conflict, the swirling melee, the clash of steel and the impact of flesh on flesh, slowly began to resolve itself into more directed order. Unconscious bodies began to litter the beach. Groaning men dangled from netting racks or lay dazed on stone clad roofs. Others could be seen crawling away; some towards the beached boats, other towards the rise of the cliffs and some just round and round in circles.
The fight narrowed down, the focus of the action spiraling to a final stand right in front of the steps to my house. Ogan, Merian and I huddled in the doorway to the smoke house, watching as events played out in front of us.
There were no more than ten or twelve raiders left by then; at least two of them were the captains of the expedition, golden torcs encircling their necks and their bodies weighted with the gleam of metal scales. One carried an axe, the other a two handed sword. They ordered their men to close in and form a circle, a ring of determined steel into which they stepped with arrogant confidence.
My sons took up a stance at the centre of that arena; they stood back to back, both of them breathing a little heavily and both marked by the fury of the conflict. Ulthanar’s right arm was cut, high up, just below the shoulder. His jerkin was torn and there was blood trickling from another slice across his left cheek. Elfir was favouring his left leg, trying to avoid putting too much weight on it; his right eye was bloodied and swollen, and his lip was bleeding. There was also a wild grin painted across his face, a distinct contrast to the stern expression that creased his partner’s features. None of their wounds seemed to be threatening ones, but they spoke to me of a thousand unseen bruises, of blows taken and not yet felt in the heat of the battle.
And the challenge that they faced was not over yet.
Two against two: fair odds in a fair fight, except that the armed men were still fresh, their strength held back from the battle, and the two they faced had spent nearly an hour in close combat. I had no doubt the arrogant princelings that advanced towards our determined defenders were certain of their victory; they boasted of it as they closed the distance, hurling taunting words and offering insults rather than threats.
"Hey, you brute," the man with the sword in his hand sneered, addressing the taller of my sons with disdain. "Get back to your ox-yoke. Stick to ploughing fields. Leave battle to real warriors. Men who know what to do with a sword."
"Men like you?" Ulthanar questioned quietly. "I don’t think so."
"You need a lesson in manners," the axe wielder chipped in, hefting his weapon with menace. "You – and that stunted getling beside you. Your brother’s got rocks between his ears, short stuff. What’s your excuse? Not enough room in that little head for any sense?"
"Herc," Elfir growled, "that one’s mine. Okay?"
"Okay," his partner answered. "Remember Curiandra?"
Even at that distance I saw Elfir’s eyes roll. "How could I forget? On three?"
Ulthanar nodded. "Three," he said, just as a sword swung towards him and an axe whistled in from the other side.
He dipped back, dropping down onto one knee and reaching behind him as he went. Elfir half matched the gesture, his left arm hooking over his partner’s extended arm as both legs bent and his body dropped so that their shoulders touched. I caught back a gasp as the sword blade swooshed harmlessly over both their heads - and then Hercules stood up again. It was a smoothly controlled and powerful motion; it pulled the smaller man up and over his right shoulder in one easy acrobatic leap. Iolaus’ feet flew out as he twisted over, knocking the advancing axeman flying. That was startling enough - but the trick didn’t end there. The tumbling body went on moving and the human pivot that supported it transferred the weight from one arm to the other; Hercules swung his partner round in front of him and mirrored the maneuver on his left side. The swordsman went down with exactly the same blow delivered from the other direction - and Iolaus landed back on his feet, right back where he started from.
He bounced once, let out a wild whoop of exhilaration, and leaped sideways with a spin, slamming a hard kick into the axeman’s chest as he tried to stand up. He went down a second time, and then a third as his agile attacker followed through with a doubled blow from the same foot.
On the other side of the arena the swordsman found himself being lifted bodily from the ground. Broad hands planted themselves at chest and stomach and then began to pass the man’s weight between them, spinning their victim round and round as it he were no more than a barrel lid. The spin picked up momentum; Hercules shifted his grip from chest down to ankle, swinging the armoured warrior round his head.
Then he let go.
The raider twisted away with a terrified cry, his body still spinning. He flew in a wide arc, his flailing pinwheel knocking down the men that defined the circle of menacing steel. Bodies collapsed to the beach. None of them got up again.
Ulthanar waited until the armoured man landed, nodding quiet satisfaction as the figure skidded over the cold stones and ended in a crumpled heap at the foot of my steps. Then he turned and watched while Elfir systematically pummeled the axeman into a similar heap, never giving him a chance to catch his breath or even lift himself any higher than one knee.
"You finished?" the son of Zeus asked conversationally.
"Nearly," his oath brother replied with a breathless gasp - and landed one more directed blow, delivering it with an athletic spin and a kick that was too fast to see. The axeman went down for the last time, his eyes rolling up into his skull and his body going utterly limp. "Now, I’m finished," Elfir concluded, panting for breath and grinning at his company. He glanced around and the grin grew a little wider. "Hey - so are they!"
"Yeah," Ulthanar agreed thoughtfully. "For now at least."
It was clear that the battle was over. The beach was littered with battered bodies and discarded weapons. Still, the battle was not the war and my heart sank as I took in the aftermath of the conflict. We can be a stern people when need demands; I have seen mothers leave a squalling infant on the edge of the cliff and walk away, letting the child’s fate be determined by the gods. But we are not cold blooded, and we are not murderers. And we had a problem.
The raiders had met opposition - and returned in force. This time they had been driven back, but our heaven sent guardians had a destiny that lay elsewhere in the world, and once they were gone we would be left defenceless again. If we spilt raider’s blood now that they were defeated and helpless, then we would be no better than they were - but if we let them go free, it would be to court our own deaths, to offer up our throats to the anger of their retribution.
I watched the thought - the understanding of that - sit heavily on Ulthanar’s brow as he considered the results of his handiwork. Now what do I do? his expression said. I wished I had words to answer him.
Elfir’s thoughts were more immediate - and endearingly welcome after the traumas of the attack. He was frowning at the sight of the folk, creeping from their hiding places to stare at the unexpected outcome of the raid. The frown became a crease of decided concern. "Little mother." The thought came to him with more than a hint of sudden panic. He glanced around in agitation, and his alarm only ended when he saw me step out of the smokehouse. "Thank the gods," he breathed with a look of decided relief and started to limp up the steps towards me.
I met him halfway down, running to meet him like a mother hen reunited with a lost chick. He laughed as I threw my arms around him, hugging me back with gentle affection. "Don’t tell me," he giggled, grinning at Merian over my head - which was pressed against the softness of seal skin, listening to the wild pound of his heart, "We had you worried for a while there."
"You had me worried the entire while," I scolded, pushing out to arms length and studying him with a mother’s frown. The soft skin around his right eye was turning black and his bottom lip was swollen and puffy behind his beard. But his smile was the most wonderful thing in the world to see. "Are you both mad? You could have been killed. Or worse," I added, turning his hand in mine and lifting his wrist towards me. I pressed old lips to the scars that lay there and his hand curled to cup my cheek with gentle fingers.
"Hey," he murmured softly. "This is what Herc and I do, little mother. It’s just - easier when I’m awake - "
I knew that. I had watched them both and seen the skill and experience they had employed; even the wild joy he felt in battle, the sheer exhilaration that had possessed him. It hadn’t been a killing joy, not the fey madness that could seize a man and turning him into a savage dispenser of slaughter; his elation had sprung from the challenge of the fight, the need to stretch speed and skill, to risk everything and still win through. In some ways he had been a joy to watch – but he was my son, and I had felt every blow he’d taken.
And I’d never seen either of them fight before; for all their wild boasting, how could I have known that two men could face such overwhelming odds and still win through?
"Well," I pointed out, trying to sound arch and look stern - when all I really wanted to do was weep tears of relief, "awake or not, you’ve added ten years to this gray head of mine today. Look at you. Black and blue from head to foot - and limping, too. Don’t deny it," I went on hastily, seeing his mouth open to do just that, "I saw you."
"It’s nothing, little mother," he said patiently. "Really. Now, Herc is bleeding -"
"And I’ll tell him what I think of that when I get to it," I shot back. "This is about you, and you take too many risks."
"Yes, little mother," he agreed just as patiently, sharing a look of martyred forbearance with Merian who’d emerged from the smokehouse with her father. She giggled and I threw her an irritated glare.
"Don’t encourage him," I growled. "It’s all very well being a hero and saving the day, but just what are we going to do with all these raiders now you’ve taught them a lesson? Had you thought of that? No - I didn’t think so."
"Mother," he tried to interrupt, but I was well into my stride, using those angry words to express the terror I had felt watching the battle rage across my beach. I loved this man – loved both of them, with a mother’s heart and a mother’s certainty. Had I known how skilled they were, how often they had faced similar odds, then I might have observed that fight with a far more forgiving eye. But I hadn’t known - and I had died a thousand deaths, watching the two of them risk their lives over and over again.
"Don’t you mother me, Elfir, Otterkin, Iolaus of Greece," I declared, the words tumbling out of me like spring melt released by the first sun of the season. "Do you have any idea how frightened I was today? I’ve watched raiders come and go every summer since before you were born, and they always came and then they went, and you - you and that stubborn brother of yours have to race in and stop them, and risk your lives defending us, and all they probably wanted was a few sheep and maybe a child or two and - I don’t care how many mothers might have been left weeping, because I have already wept all the tears I had to spare over the child I lost, and I couldn’t bear it if they killed you too - "
"Mother - Mother," he insisted, stepping forward and wrapping me in a determined bear hug, gathering me in with those strong arms until I ran out of breath and words all at the same time. "That’s enough, okay? I’m a little bruised, Herc’s a little battered and nobody has lost a child today. Or any sheep either," he added, mindful of how important the flocks were to the folk. "Like I said, it’s what we do - and as for what we do with them now - " He turned me round, so that I was looking out at the beach and the long low lines of the raider’s ships. Ulthanar was stalking across the strand, picking up unconscious men two at a time and carrying them back to their vessels as if they weighed less than a bale of straw. He tossed each one over a bulwark, none too gently, and then went back for the next. "I think Hercules has an idea."
It didn’t take my son long to load those ships; I think that Elfir might have gone to help had I not clung to him with determined arms. Some of that was selfishness, but I knew he was tired, and that the effort of battle was beginning to catch up with him. I would not have begrudged his brother his assistance, but to my mind the price of it would have been too high. For all his bold bravado, my Otterkin was only mortal; the child of a god stalked our beach that day, drawing on his gift of divine strength and summoning a seemingly inexhaustible energy with it.
He’ll pay for that later, I remember thinking as I watched him number our enemies and deposit them back in their long prowed vessels. Elfir was already paying the price of our defense. He was trembling a little and I made him sit down on the steps, crouching down beside him to run my hands over his damaged leg. It wasn’t a serious injury - little more than pulled muscle and bruised bone, but it gave me something to do while he watched his brother clear the debris of their conflict from the beach. It also meant he wasn’t exacerbating the damage by putting his weight on it; for all his dismissive reluctance he flashed me a grateful smile as I added the heat of whispered magic to my touch.
"Don’t fuss, little mother," he half protested, although without any force behind his complaint. His hand curled to brush my cheek. "If you wanna do something for me, you could fetch out some of your ale. My throat thinks it’s been cut - "
Hard work leads to thirsty tongues. Both of them would be downing mugfuls of my dark beer before the day was through. Merian ran to match his request almost before I had time to turn round. I frowned a little at her as she vanished into my house; such eagerness was unseemly when there had been no talk of choosing - and there would be no talk, however much she yearned for it. The year was nearly ended, and he would go before the winter was out. It was a foolish yearning anyway; she had had what she wanted from him, and that without obtaining fickle promises. They had barely said a word to each other in all the time he had been here - the first part of it because he couldn’t, and the second because she had no place in his thoughts beyond any of those eager women that had shared his warmth at a festival. Lidian for one. Justil for another.
Of course, if he had known -
Ulthanar finished his determined task, leaving the two captains until last; he picked both of them up, dunked them unceremoniously into a handy barrel of ice caked water to rouse them from their stupor, and frog marched them down to the sea’s edge. They struggled a little, but their hearts weren’t in it over much. They cursed him and they cursed us with vitriol, making promises about what they’d do on their return. "With a thousand men if we need it," one of them boasted.
Their captor let them rant, and just dropped them into the surf once he reached it
"All right," he said sternly. "Time for you to listen –and listen hard, because I’m not going to be responsible for the consequences if you don’t get the message."
His voice rang out clearly above the soft whisper of the sea; he meant for everyone to hear what he said, and that included the dazed warriors currently stirring in the bilges of the raider ships.
"This place," he announced with firm authority, "is under my protection. I and my - brother - " His glance back up the beach said a lot of things, and earned him a dazzling grin from the man concerned, "have taught you a lesson today, and we have no intention of letting you forget it. You’re busy thinking - they won’t be here forever. And you’d be right. But I’m not going to leave these people unguarded, and you are not going to come back. Ever. Understand?"
Two men sneered at him. "What ya going to do?" the taller of the two laughed. "Hang up a warning bell?"
"No," Ulthanar replied matter of factly. "I’m going to ask my uncle to watch the place for me."
"Oh - " the axeman mocked. "His uncle. I’m really scared now."
"He will be," Elfir confided, leaning towards me with conspiratorial glee. "Watch this. It’s gonna be good."
I didn’t really understand what he meant, but I was to see soon enough. Hercules left the two men sitting half in, half out of the water and strode forward until he was immersed up to his waist. He put his shoulders back and took a deep breath. "Poseidon!" he bellowed, the sound of that call echoing and re-echoing across out cliffs. "Poseidon!"
The bay was calm that day, a soft stir of water across which the mist had crept and the raider’s ships had followed. Slow waves rolled in, washing around leather clad legs before they broke with a pluther of foam onto the beach. The sound of the summoning died away, leaving behind it a hush of expectation. All sound died away; the cry of the gulls became a distant memory, the murmur of the sea whispered into nothingness. Elfir’s hand reached to curl over mine as I crouched beside him, my breath caught in my throat and my heart held in suspension. There was a knowing grin behind his beard and his eyes were firmly fixed on the figure of his brother, standing in the surf. Something was coming. Something that stirred the magic in the air, that spoke of power and whispered of eternity. Something ...
And then the sea stood up and spoke, with a voice like quiet thunder.
"You called?"
"Yes," Ulthanar acknowledged, tilting his head back to meet the eyes of the figure that now towered over him. The sea god was a vast wave, a shape sculptured out of glistening water and crowned with a restless surf. He dominated the bay, casting a cold shadow over the whole of the settlement. Somewhere behind me I heard a crash as a pottery mug hit stone; I remember it even now – the way Elfir glanced back, his face creasing into amused exasperation as he recognised that his requested ale had become an involuntary libation. I remember it because I could not look. My eyes were fixed on the presence of a god, my whole body trembling as I saw and heard the power of the sea made manifest.
We are a sea people: we live at the edge of its dominion, harvest its gifts and accept its challenges. It is the sea that sends us the seals. The sea to which we offer up our dead. It had been the sea that had gifted me with a son, that cold winter day which I will treasure in my heart forever.
And now I knew, deep in my heart, with a mother’s certainty, that it was the sea that had brought me my second son - and that same sea which would soon take both of them from me again.
Too soon ...
"You ready to go home?" The voice was deep - as deep as the oceans, spoken from the bottom of the abyss.
"Not quite. There’s something I need you to do for me first."
"Another favour? Don’t presume too much, son of Zeus. I have better things to do than babysit my brother’s children." The vast head turned, sea filled eyes looking down at where I crouched. I shrank down, feeling that gaze sweep over me. This was my god, and before him I was nothing. Less than nothing. I felt Elfir’s hand tighten around mine - a squeeze of reassurance, not fear - and then he climbed to his feet, meeting that searching gaze with determined eyes.
Blue eyes.
The sea smiled. "I see you found your friend."
"Yeah," Hercules agreed. "I found him safe and well - " Not quite the truth, but close enough to it. "- thanks to these good people. They’re a simple folk, Lord Poseidon. They’re not warriors. Just fishermen."
"I know." The god reached down and stirred the surface of the bay; a startled shoal of fish swam up his arm and swirled through the waters that made up his muscled chest. "So?"
"So they don’t deserve to be invaded. They don’t deserve to have their children and their livestock taken from them. They deserve a chance to live in peace. All I want is for you to give them some protection. To find some way to stop raiders like these - " and Ulthanar’s hand went out, indicating the ships and the men that cowered inside them, "- coming ashore like a pack of wolves."
"They are wolves," the ocean said, sounding vaguely amused. "The wolves of the sea. Why should I set a shepherd to watch your precious flock, nephew? Can’t they learn to defend themselves? "
"They shouldn’t need to," Ulthanar called back tightly. "They respect and honour the sea. Isn’t the life that gives them challenging enough? They fight winter storms and sea gales. They hunt in your domain for the meagre harvest it might give up - and they pay every price the sea demands without complaint. What honour and respect do these men give you?" His hand swept back to indicate the princlings who knelt in abject terror at the edge of the surf. "A few trinkets of gold once a year? A sacrifical lamb or two to earn your favour with the winds? The folk offer you their souls! Isn’t that enough?"
"Unto the sea we offer our hearts. Through the waters of the world we take the deep journey." Beside me Elfir began to repeat the words of our most powerful litany, his voice weaving them with quiet determination. "May our souls sing forever in the winds of the world. May we swim with the seal and ride the restless waves for all time. Let us come home. Let us be free."
"For the waters of the world are our life’s blood, and the salt that scours the sand is the seed that bears our children." I picked up the chant, adding my querulous voice to the strength that echoed in his. "We are born in the waters and to the waters we return. They are father to us and mother; they give us life and they take it away." Our combined voices were barely above a whisper, but somehow the words resonated across the entire settlement. Other lips took up the chant, adding depth and feeling to the ritual hymn. Hercules turned to stare at folk gathered behind him, and his expression was a startled one. He’d never heard the passing chant, since no-one among us had died while he had shared out lives. But Elfir had heard it; had witnessed it not once, but six times in that long year. I had so nearly sung it for him - and now he offered it up to the god who held the power of the sea in the palm of his hand. It was not a plea he shaped to back his brother’s request, but a challenge - and it was a wreaking of magic that he made with it, adopted child of the folk, ignorant of our mysteries but speaking from the depths of his heart.
"The beating of our hearts is in the coming and going of the tides. The breath we take is in the whisper of the wind across the surface of the sea."
The magic of the folk is in our words. They entangle our lives, binding us with oath and promise, shaping us with subtle forces that can be neither denied or ignored. When we choose, we speak as one people - and it was thus we spoke that day, asking for nothing other than a true measure of our worth.
"Take our blessing. In the arms of the ocean there is peace. In the deep places there is no fear. Let us come home. Let us be free."
As the chant ended a silence fell. A breathless silence in which not even the murmur of the surf could be heard.
And - finally - the ocean that was also a god bowed his head, almost as if in shame.
"Very well," he murmured. "I will find a shepherd to watch this flock. While even one of them remains in this place, this place will be protected. And you," he added, lifting his head to fix his nephew with a stern gaze. "When I return, you are going home. Before you stir up any more trouble. Understand?"
"Absolutely," Hercules affirmed - and then leapt backwards as the image of the god collapsed, sending a surge of water up onto the beach. The raider’s ships were lifted up by it, dragged back into the bay and wallowing in the sudden tumble of disordered waves. The two princlings both gave a cry of alarm and hurtled into the surf, wading waist deep and deeper as they fought to reach their respective vessels. For a moment or two it looked as if neither of them would make it - until my son waded after them and gave them a hand, plucking them out of the tug of the waves and tossing them in the relevant direction.
"And don’t come back!" Elfir called after them, laughing at their panicked predicament. Ulthanar turned to flash him a brief look of reproach that quickly became a matching grin of amusement. He was laughing softly as he waded back onto the beach, shaking the excess water from his hair. His long strides quickly covered the distance between us - and then both my sons were standing beside me, the taller of the two bending to help me to my feet while his brother giggled at his sodden state.
"You’ve got seaweed in your beard," Elfir observed matter of factly.
"Mmm," came the grunt of acknowledgement, a broad hand reaching the brush the offending object away. Its owner’s eyes were busy watching the ships depart.
"There’s a starfish in your vest."
"Okay. Thanks." That too was hooked out and thrown away with an abstracted hand.
"And limpets on your butt."
"What?" Ulthanar spun, making a valiant effort to check that possibility before realising that he was being teased. "Iolaus," he groaned, his eyes rolled skywards and Elfir collapsed into a howl of laughter at his expression. I tried to hide a laugh of my own behind my hand, but I wasn’t quick enough. "Don’t encourage him, little mother. Was that - chant your idea?"
"No," I shook my head. "He started it."
Sealskin clad shoulders shrugged. "Just seemed - right," the man concerned dismissed, a little abashed by the look of astonishment his brother gave him. "When you said what you said - I just remembered and - well, I didn’t expect him to hear me. Hey," he considered with sudden wariness. "You don’t think he might be - upset about it, do you?"
The astonished look became one of wry warmth. "Iolaus," Hercules half sighed, half laughed, "some days ..." He snorted softly and shook his head with quiet incredulity. "You help these people affirm their dedication to the power of the sea - and you’re worried Poseidon might be upset by it?" He reached out and wrapped a damp arm around his brother’s shoulders, hugging him with affectionate strength. "You just earned our ticket home, buddy. Probably with sufficient interest to pay Charon all those silver coins you owe him."
"I owe him?" Elfir grinned and jabbed his fist into sea soaked ribs. "You’re the one that never pays for those boat trips!"
The hug became a headlock; they began to wrestle with laughter and mock ferocity and I took a startled step backwards. "Boys!" I found myself protesting. "Boys!"
They froze, both of them turning to stare at me with sudden self-consciousness. I adopted the sternest look I possessed.
"Haven’t you two fought enough today?" I demanded, fixing them both with a disapproving stare. "Ulthanar, your arm is bleeding and you need to get out of those wet clothes before the wind freezes them on your back. And as for you, Otterkin, if you don’t get your weight off that leg, you’ll be limping for a week. Look at you - the two of you - fit to scare a mother off on an early journey. Just because - because you can summon gods and fight off entire hordes of raiders between you - doesn’t mean you can - you can - " There were tears in my eyes and a tremble I could no longer hide in my voice. I reached for them both blindly, putting out old arms to wrap the two of them in a fierce embrace.
I had thought I had used up all my tears. Wept away all that I had accepting that I would soon lose these two bright souls that I loved so much. But the events of that day had shaken me to the core. The rest of it passed in something akin to a blur. I remember that my sons tried to comfort me. I remember too, that I buried my grief in simple actions, things that came to me without thought or concern. I bathed and bound the wound on Ulthanar’s arm, and I bullied Elfir off his feet and into resting in front of the fire. And then - I think - I cooked. I don’t remember what, although it was probably tender slabs of seal meat, and sweet fritters made with honey and seaweed. For all I know it was seal meat seared in honey and salted fritters. I didn’t taste what passed my lips and my sons devoured what I placed in front of them without complaint. After the meal I sat down at my loom and I wrestled with the wool, working out my feelings with the soothing rhythm of the shuttle and each tightening of the shed. The folk came and went while I worked, men and women creeping to my door and offering up formal words of gratitude. They brought gifts too; knitted blankets, cured furs, carvings of wood and vessels made of fired clay. The offerings piled up, although the heap never grew quite high enough to hide Ulthanar’s embarrassment at their generosity. It was Elfir who took to gifting people back; a blanket offered as a shawl to warm old shoulders on their way back home, a pot filled up with sea coal to help succour a sickly child, a mug of mulled ale to keep out the winter chill - and a cheery keep the mug as it was refilled when the visitor took their leave. He handed out the richness of furs and the softest of hides to the mothers of our children and pressed other gifts into the hands of their fathers and their brothers. As the evening wore on his reasons for folk leaving with more than they’d brought became more and more outrageous - and the laughter he could barely hold back before they left finally echoed through the strange wilderness of mind into which I had retreated.
Oh, Elfir.
Oh, my Otterkin ...
I had so little time left to share with my family - and I had been wasting it, lost in as dazed a dream as the one in which he had been bound for so long. I put down my shuttle, left my loom, and went to share those last few precious hours.
None of us slept that night.
We talked and we drank dark ale until the dawn came. There was both a sadness and a sense of anticipation that wreathed my sons. I was losing them. They were going home. I watched as first Ulthanar and then his brother shaved off their beards, presenting me with clean shaven faces. The faces of strangers, who had strange names and belonged in some far off land. Hercules. Iolaus.
They smiled at me when I gathered up the shavings, sharing an indulgent grin between them, but I paid them no mind. I would have little enough to remember them by – and that mingling of golden curls was something tangible I could treasure. The sun was rising behind the hills, flooding the bay with cold light; time was racing away from us, and there was little I could do or say to turn it aside or change what was about to be.
Only one thing - and that was a silence on my lips, a telling I would not make, now matter how strong the temptation. I loved my Otterkin. His destiny lay at his brother’s side. And I would not tear him in two, would not bind him to my world, for all that I had the power to do so.
I had asked for one year.
And in that year I had been given far more than I had ever dreamed of ...
When the sun crested the highest hill, the god came back.
Quietly. He came without thunder or announcing omens, just rose up from the waters of the bay and stood there, waiting.
"Time to go," Hercules announced. Iolaus nodded, reaching to heft the pack I had wordlessly prepared and handed to him some time in the night. It didn’t hold much - just journey rations, a couple of warm blankets, and two skinfuls of my richest mead - but I knew that anything more would have been a burden and an embarrassment. I walked with them to the top of my stone steps, huddling a little into my shawl.
The wind was cold.
"Goodbye, little mother," Hercules said, holding my shoulders and pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. "And thank you. For everything."
"Fare well, my Ulthanar," I whispered, clasping his hand and squeezing it softly. "May the winds be sweet and the storms never strong enough to founder you." I pulled him a little closer, adding softly: "Take care of your brother."
"I will," he smiled, squeezing my hand back with gentle pressure before he let go. "I promise."
A hand touched my shoulder. I turned, meeting blue eyes filled with the brightest, sweetest look I have ever seen. It held a little sorrow, a warm and gentle smile - and a deep and loving gratitude that no words would ever adequately express. Nor did he try to; the owner of those eyes gathered me up in a fierce hug, wrapping his arms around me and pressing his cheek against mine.
"Be well, little mother," Elfir murmured. There was a catch in his voice and a gruffness to the words that fooled neither of us. "Tell Jurgan he and his brothers have to look after you. I want - a warm fire in the hearth and mug of your sweet mead waiting for me next time I drop by."
Next time?
I did not want to let go of him, or relinquish one moment of his warmth before I had to, but the generous confidence in his statement made me pull back and seek his eyes. He knew how the magic of the folk worked. Did he know what he was saying?
"My door will always be open for you," I found myself responding, turning a casual promise into true wreaking. "Both of you," I added, not wanting to bind one without the other. I tugged my amber ring from the finger it had warmed for over thirty years and thrust into his hand, using both of mine to close his fingers over it. "You will find safe haven among the folk, no matter how far you might stray."
"I know," my son smiled. There was the brightness of tears prickling in his eyes. He dipped forward a little hastily and bussed my cheek with his lips; the other cheek. The warmth of both kisses lingered for a long time afterwards. "Gotta go," he announced with bright dissemblence. "Can’t keep Poseidon waiting."
I pushed him away - a mother’s gentle encouragement - and stepped back, watching as he bounced down the steps to join his brother on the beach. "Ready?" came the question, and Iolaus nodded with tight determination.
"Yeah," he confirmed confidently; there was that same note of gruffness in his voice and I saw how Hercules registered it - warmly, and with a sympathetic smile.
"Okay," he said, and led the way down to the water’s edge with an easy and unhurried stride.
They were both one step away from the sea when they turned and looked back. The whole of the folk were gathered by then, a silent line of them, strung out along the curve of the bay in little clumps like beads strung on a necklace. I saw Iolaus - my Elfir, my Otterkin - pause to slip my ring onto his finger before lifting his hand in a generous gesture of farewell.
And then they were gone.
Seven years have passed since that day.
The raiders never returned, although one year there was wreckage and a body washed up on the beach. There is something out in the water, a vast and ponderous something that lurks in the deep channels out beyond the bay. Sometimes - in the summer - I have caught a glimpse of a fin, or a snout or something briefly breaking the surface, then vanish back into the depths, leaving a churning of surf and a heave of waves across otherwise calm water. The seals have been a little fewer since its coming, but not so few as to cause us concern. The folk know that they are guarded and do not begrudge their guardian a little of their own fortune.
Ogan took the deep journey three years back. Jurgan is wordsmith now. His sister Merian came to lodge with me barely a season after my sons’ departure. I have been teaching her all that I know; the healing songs, the words and the rituals. She is the one that gathers herbs on the hillsides now, the one who weaves charms into the narrow strips of cloth that the tablets make. She will make a fine old woman one day. But it won’t be soon. I have a little time left to me yet.
I sit and I work at my loom most days. Once it was Elfir who sat and kept me company at such work. Now there are other eager hands that card my wool and beg stories from my old lips. Young hands. Three of them that call me grandmother. Ilthis, the youngest girl child, who came into the world in the late summer, a gift of the seal hunt and the celebration that followed it. Esher, her sister, older by no more than half a season.
And Alus, Merian’s child, who was born to us after the worst storm of that winter.
Alus Elfirson.
His hair is a tumble of dark copper curls, a rich deep red in which hints of gold glint like hidden promises. His smile is bright and full of wonder and mischief. His laughter resounds through my house, his love is generous enough to embrace mother, grandmother, sisters and everyone – and his eyes are blue.
Deep blue. Like the sea.
He’s growing so fast. Another seven years and he will take his place among the men of the folk, learning how to hunt seal and having to struggle with the heavy nets out in the fishing grounds. But for now he is a child, and we cherish him, his mother and I. We watch him run along the beach and dance through the surf, and it is as if his father never left us. Otterkin. Otter’s child.
The stones named them both well.
It is high summer now, but the winter is never far away from us. The days will shorten and the nights turn cold - and my grandchildren will creep from their beds to watch as I stoke up the fire and set the jug of mead to stand on the hearth.
For your father and your uncle, I will say, and gather them up and tell them tales of that never forgotten year.
The year the son of a god walked among us and the folk were blessed with a freedom from fear.
The year that harrowed my heart and healed my soul.
The year I was gifted with a son by the sea ...
Disclaimer: No stunt seals were harmed during the course of this tale, but a number of raiders went home with broken noses and bruised egos. Poseidon will not say what he left to guard the folk, but believe me it’s big.
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