In the Name of the Goddess
Jun. 17th, 2010 12:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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marysuevirusTitle: In the Name of the Goddess
Book One: Heulwen, Chapter One: The Hunt
Fandom: a cross between the Marvel Universe and Arthurian Legend
Rating: mature.
Warnings: there will be violence and sex. maybe not language. but definitely the others. lots of religous references
Disclaimer: the Marvel men, even though hiding behind other names, do not belong to me. they belong to Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them. i'm simply borrowing them for the fun of it. i like putting them through hell, don't you know? i'm not making money from this, either. so don't even consider what you can score off me. i'm broke. not a penny to my name. the Sues belong to the women who thought them up, namely Dazzledfirestar, Nan, SFC, Gin and myself. don't steal them. they'll kick your ass. the name and concept of the Mary Sue Virus belong to Daz, who graciously allowed me to use it for my own personal pleasure.
Each face, a miniature of their mother's, crinkled in fear and immediate contrition. "We're sorry, Gran. We didn't mean to wake him." The oldest's voice was barely a whisper and she immediately knelt by the cradle so that she could soothe her brother as she'd seen her mother do so many times.
"What has you so excited, my girls?" the old woman asked and went back to her neat stitches. They'd been in the village most of the day, more than likely playing with the other children. They'd tagged along with their mother, who'd been called into the village to help a young mother with through the birth of her first child. Their father was working with the other men in the village in an effort to bring in the harvest before the first snows of winter fell.
She could feel it approaching, could sense the coming winter in the very depths of her bones. Something told her it would arrive early this year. That it would be hard and cold. Anyone in the village who wasn't properly prepared would freeze to death before the spring. That was something that hadn't diminished with age. She'd always known when the snows would come, had always known when the cold, deathly grip of winter would steal across the land. There was something about this one, though. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on.
"We heard some of the men working the fields talking about hunting." The oldest reported this with a hint that there was more of the story to share.
"They should be more focused on the harvest than hunting. There will be plenty of time to hunt when the snows come." The old woman nodded her head sagely with her words, knowing it for the truth that it was.
"But this would be a special hunt, Gran," the middle girl replied. "Master Gwynn said that he spied a white doe and stag in the forest today. When he told the others, they said they should hunt them down and kill them."
The old woman closed her eyes and set her sewing down. The winter would be worse than she'd originally thought if the villagers were seeing the White Doe so soon. It meant she had no time to waste. "Have you eaten, my lasses?"
"Not yet, Gran," the youngest told her. The old woman motioned toward the stew pot hanging over the fire. The oldest stood and moved to the hearth, where she used the metal hook to pull the arm the pot hung from out of the fireplace. The middle child had fetched bowls while the youngest found spoons and the chunk of day old bread meant to go with their meal. The bowls and spoons were of wood, older then Brialle. They'd been lovingly made by her long dead husband, a gift for their wedding. Most of the village still used trenchers of bread to eat from and few had seen the bowls as something they'd like. But the old woman loved them as much now as she had the day she'd received them.
The girls didn't need to be told to dish up some stew for their meal. The oldest of the three used the big ladle to spoon some up into the bowls for herself and her sisters. The middle child carried each freshly filled bowl to the table while the youngest portioned off the bread. Once each bowl was filled, the pot went back over the fire and the girls each took their place at the wooden table to eat. "Now. I will spin a tale while you eat your dinner."
"A story? Is this about the Goddess Morgan?" The oldest turned excited and eager eyes the old woman's way. She smiled indulgently at the girl and shook her head.
"No, poppet. This is a story of the White Stag and the White Doe." The girls stared at her, confused and curious by this change. She knew they'd been expecting to hear why the Goddess Morgan's tears meant rain but mention of the White Stag brought another story to the front of her mind. Since they were already thinking about it, she would start there.
"There's really a white doe?" The oldest girl had set her spoon down and was simply waiting for her grandmother to continue. The old woman nodded her head.
"There is. The Goddess Heulwen becomes the White Doe when she is deeply sorrowed. The White Stag is her brother, Hafgan. He was cursed to wander the earth for the rest of his days in the form of a stag." She stopped there and gave the girls an opportunity to absorb what she'd told them.
"Why was he cursed into a stag? And how was he cursed?" This question came from the middle child. Her brow was furrowed as she tried to work it all out. It was a sad world that her grandchildren lived in when they knew nothing about the magic that flowed all around them. It was in the very air they breathed, in the life that filled them, in every single blade of grass and every leaf upon every tree. Every plant, every animal, every human that lived upon the earth was filled with the magic of the Gods.
"He was cursed by a powerful seer who knew how to work magic. Hafgan was a handsome man and every woman who turned their eyes upon him could not help but fall in love with him. Mortal and Goddess alike found themselves ensnared in his trap. Hafgan knew this and used it shamelessly to get what he wanted." The old woman paused and allowed herself to recall the stories that she'd heard about Heulwen's brother. "One day, when he was traveling through the mortal world, he chanced upon a woman who was so beautiful, he knew he had to have her. And have her he did. The lass fell in love with him but he didn't return her affections. He told her this, saying that he couldn't allow himself to love a mortal no matter how beautiful she was. His words broke her heart and the mortal girl went to her mother."
"That was mean of him, Gran," the youngest intoned. Her face was solemn and serious.
"It was mean of him. But the Gods are fickle and do as they please. Hafgan was no exception."
"What happened when she went to her mother?" The oldest asked the question, a prompt meant to bring them back to the story.
"The girl told her mother what Hafgan had done to her, how he'd made her love him and had used her, then spurned her affections. The mother was a seer. She couldn't understand why she'd failed to see this event and warn her daughter to protect her. The seer was a powerful magic user and became enraged that any creature, human or God, would use her only child so. She called upon her magic and worked a curse, laying it upon Hafgan's head." The old woman paused as a slight breeze blew through the interior of the cottage and touched each of her granddaughters. They turned wide eyes to her and to one another, wondering if it was the magic of the seer in the story.
When they were once more calm and paying close attention to her words, the old woman went on. "The seer cursed Hafgan into the form of the White Stag, a mythical creature that would drive men to hunt it. The seer then told of a legend that said any man who could kill the White Stag would be the greatest hunter in the world. Many men tried. One or two even came close to ending the Hafgan's life. But the Goddess Heulwen, his sister, heard of the curse and let it be known that any man who harmed the White Stag would face her wrath."
"What was she going to do to them?" This came from the oldest, who had forgotten all about her food in favor of her grandmother's tale.
"Heulwen is the Goddess of the Hunt. Men who enter the woods in search of game do so under her protection. She has been known to hide the animals of the forest from those who have upset her in any manner. Hunters who do not wish to starve do well to always honor her and pay her the proper respect." The old woman paused and smiled a small, secret smile. "And she always protects her brother, cursed for an eternity into the form of the White Stag."
"Why would the men of the village risk killing him? And why would they kill her?" The middle child asked her question with a puzzled look upon her face.
"Because the villagers believe that killing them both would mean an easier winter for us. Killing them would only bring troubles to the village and the men responsible for their deaths."
"Why does Heulwen become a doe?" The youngest spoke softly. Her sisters turned to look at her, then turned back to their grandmother.
"Once upon a time, Heulwen fell in love with a mortal man. When he died, her sorrow was so deep that she took the form of a doe to grieve."
Three sets of eyes went wide with wonder. "She fell in love with a mortal man? Can the Gods do that?"
"The Gods and Goddesses are capable of feeling the same emotions that humans feel. Love and hate, happiness and sorrow. They experience them just as strongly as we can," the old woman informed her grandchildren. "And when Heulwen lost the love of her life, she hid herself from both the mortal world and the realm of the Gods and Goddesses so she could grieve in private. She was the White Doe for an entire winter. That winter was hard and long. Many people died, as did the animals. Now, when the White Doe is spied in the forest, it is said that the winter coming will be long and hard."
"How did she meet this man?" This from the oldest girl, who was fast approaching the age when her parents would begin pressing her to marry.
"He was threatening the White Stag." Again, her words were met with eyes gone wide in disbelief. The old woman chuckled softly. "This man was a great hunter. One day, he set his sights on the White Stag. It had been seen in the forests and it was his intent to prove his abilities. But Cernunnos had other ideas..."
~*~*~*~*~
Heulwen frowned as she followed behind a rather insistent falcon. It had flown into her sanctuary and landed on the high back of her chair, then launched into a fit of loud squawking that had not allowed her to ignore the bird. She'd known, based on the markings that glittered a brightly golden color on the bird's feathers that he'd been sent to her by the All Father. Knowing that the bird would not leave until she'd answered Cernunnos' summons, she'd left her haven to seek him out.
The trees she moved through were broad and tall, older than time remembered. Their branches were thick, their leaves bright and glossy green, growing in plentiful amounts so that the ground was cast in perpetual shadows. The air around her was heavy with ethereal mist that swirled around her ankles, that caressed her bared skin as she strode with purpose toward her destination. Strands of moss hung from the branches, ghosting across her shoulders and cheeks with each step.
A sense of knowledge seemed to permeate the air, pressing against her body as if it sought a way in. This was the All Father's seat of power, his place, where he created and destroyed. This was where all of the magic in the world resided, paired with every bit of joy and sorrow and rage ever felt. Flowing with those things in the ether was the knowledge that followed in her footsteps, knowledge that came from the All Father and every single creature of his design.
The path she was followed seemingly went on forever. The falcon remained ahead of her, gliding slowly in circles in order to keep her within its sight. On occasion, it would come to rest on a branch and wait for her to catch up to it, then it would take flight once again and continue leading the way. Just when Heulwen thought she could stand it no more, the trees broke apart and she stepped into a vast, verdant clearing.
A thick layer of brilliant green grass carpeted the ground with exception of the cobbled stone path that cut straight up the middle. The stones were lined with flowers of varying shades and shapes, all in riotous blossom. They waved gently on a soft, tender breeze, as if directing her toward the grand throne settled under a giant oak on the far end of the clearing. Trees stood straight and tall on either side of the clearing. They reached the sky and went beyond, branches stretching across the clearing to create a living ceiling of leaves. Light filtered through the canopy, turning the air around her into a haze of golden green. It lent a magical quality to the entire scene.
The falcon glanced at her before starting almost lazily toward the throne. Even across the distance, she could see the All Father sitting in it. He awaited her arrival with a small contingent of forest animals clustered around him. She approached slowly, wondering why he would send for her. Unless something serious happened, Cernunnos generally allowed his children to do as they would.
His posture suggested nothing terrible. He rested with one elbow propped on the arm of his throne, chin resting on the curve of his knuckles. His skin was tanned to a dark, walnut brown. It was almost the same exact shade of the hair upon his head, hair that hung long and loose around his angular face. A crown of ivy was woven into his locks, glossy green leaves peeking out from between the strands. His tunic was of the same shade green as that of the leaves adorning the trees and the grass covering the ground. The hose shaped to his legs was the brown of a tree trunk. If not for the scrolling vines of golden thread embroidered into the cloth of his tunic, the heavy golden torc that circled his throat and the glowing gold of his eyes, he could have been part of the forest around him. Part of the throne he sat upon.
His throne sprang out of the oak behind him, as if the tree had split into two and one side had been felled. The remaining stump acted as the seat of the chair, while thin branches grew up toward the leafy canopy. Leaves had sprouted off the branches and ivy had grown up around them. The different greens wove in and out of one another, forming a type of latticed webbing between the branches. Another set of branches formed the arms, broad and thick extensions of the tree that he could rest his arms on. Small red flowers ringed the base of his seat while more ivy covered the stump and climbed up the fully grown tree behind his seat.
As Heulwen neared, sunshine broke through the canopy of leaves and wreathed Cernunnos in a golden halo. She could see a glimmer of mischief in his eyes and wondered at it. Something brought her feet to a halt midway down the path. As if sensing her hesitation, he lifted a hand and waved her closer. Chiding herself for her moment of cowardice, she propelled herself forward until she stood before his throne. "You sent for me, Father?"
He nodded at her. The light around him brightened.
"There is no need to bathe yourself in a shower of golden light. I am not one of your little mortal followers. Such displays do not impress me," she told him. He smiled a moment, then the light dimmed and faded away completely. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the change in brightness. Even without the halo, there was no denying that he was a creature of magic. While she and her brothers and sisters could pass for human while in the mortal realm, Cernunnos would always be known as a God. "Why am I here?"
"I've a task for you, Heulwen."
"Can you not send another?"
"Nay. This requires your unique talent, my child." Something in his voice set her nerves on edge. If it required her unique talents, it had something to do with the forest animals. Though she gave no outward sign of it, her muscles tensed and she was simply, suddenly, more alert.
"Does some fool threaten my children?" And they were her children. While her brothers and sisters frolicked and fornicated with one another or with mortals taken in by their beauty, she alone had remained untouched. The mortals called her the Virgin Huntress. Legend had it that she would never know the touch of a lover's hand until she found a mortal hunter who rivaled her talents. For that reason, she'd only gone to the mortal realm sparingly. Even now, with her furred children threatened, the reasons had to be just and right, had to be strong in order for her to leave her sanctuary and travel to the mortal realm.
Cernunnos offered her a faint smirk. "The White Stag has appeared once more." She felt her heart still in her chest. He really didn't have to say anymore. She knew what her task would be. "A hunter threatens him. It is up to you to save him."
"Of course," Heulwen agreed with a nod of her head. She made to leave, but a lift of Cernunnos' hand stopped her. The mischief she'd seen in his eyes earlier was now shining brightly, as if the sun were glowing in them. And he wore a smirk she'd seen more than once before. "Is there something else, Father?"
"There is, my child." She tried to relax the tension that ran through her shoulders. She should have known that nothing with Cernunnos could be easy. "This task I've given you will require that you spend more than a few hours or even a day in the mortal realm."
She stared at him, wondering if this was some kind of jest. "This hunter can't possibly be that good." Had he just been in her thoughts? She wanted nothing to do with any mortal hunter or the mortal world. Perhaps she could suggest that he send Deryn to deal with this person. Of course, perhaps if she went, she could simply put an end to the threat by putting an arrow through the heart of the mortal. It would be a quick solution to the problem and it would give her great joy to do so. And it would see her back to her sanctuary before more than a day's time had passed in the mortal realm.
As if he knew what she was thinking, Cernunnos' smile spread and he shook his head. "You cannot kill him, Heulwen. He will need your help. He has challenges to face that will require the assistance of a skilled warrior. He will need you at his side."
"You cannot expect me to stay there and do as this mortal asks. What if he harms Hafgan? Am I meant to sit by and allow him to bring injury, possibly death, to my brother? If this hunter does anything to Hafgan, I will kill him."
"He will not harm your brother, Heulwen, if you stop wasting time and do as you've been told. Go to them. Save your brother. Help the hunter. Do not return until you have completed this task."
"Why am I needed for this task? If this hunter requires a warrior, send Deryn. You know how she relishes destroying that which stands against her. I am no warrior, Father. I am a simple huntress." It was a last attempt to get out of something she didn't want to do. She was sure that he saw it as such, too.
He gave her a soft smile, the kind that verged on becoming a smirk. The kind that said he knew something she didn't. She didn't like it when he gave her such looks. It meant nothing but trouble. "You must trust me on this, my child. You will understand eventually. When the time is right, you will know."
She clenched her teeth and forced a smile to her face. The last thing she wanted to do was let him see her displeasure at his secretive nature. He always seemed to take great joy in making her life as difficult as possible. "Thank you, Father. If there is nothing else?"
He started to give his permission, then thought better of it and stopped. "Remember one thing, Heulwen. You will have to be cautious while on the mortal plane. Take care in how you clothe yourself. Even though many humans are forsaking us, there are those who still follow the old ways. Some will see through your disguise and know you for what you are."
"Of course, Father. It will be as you say." She made sure she kept her tone even and respectful. His smile told her that he didn't believe her act for one moment. She lifted a brow questioningly.
"That is all. You may go now," he told her, waving his hand lazily in a dismissive gesture. Heulwen inclined her head slightly, then turned and started back the way she'd come. As her feet followed the uneven path of cobbled stones, she couldn't get the image of his knowing, smug smirk out of her head.
She wasn't going to like this task at all.
Heulwen stalked silently through the trees. Gone was the touch of all the gathered knowledge she'd walked through earlier. After her meeting with the All Father, this part of the forest seemed empty and dead, as if all the life was simply gone from it. She frowned. What had happened while she'd been meeting with Cernunnos? It was as if this part of the world had been left behind.
... Or forgotten.
Rumors had been running mad amongst her siblings of the loss of followers, of the coming of a single God. It was said that this new God was taking the place of herself and her brothers and sisters in the lives of the mortals. She hadn't paid much attention to such things, more than sure that her followers would never turn from her. Perhaps there had been more truth to the rumors than she'd first thought.
Time moved with a different fluidness here in the Gods' realm than it did on the mortal plane, so it was possible that her conversation with Cernunnos had taken longer than she'd thought. While it had only been a few minutes here, hours or days or weeks or even years could have passed there. What was happening?
She passed no one as she made her way to her sanctuary. That was lucky for them. And when she finally escaped into her personal haven, she stalked through a small forest of rowan, oak, yew and copper beech without taking any time to admire the lush beauty of them. She didn't stop until she stood before a smooth, glassy surfaced gazing pond. In it, she could clearly see her reflection. Her expression showed deep displeasure.
How was she supposed to do this? He wanted her to spend time with a mortal hunter. If she could simply kill the hunter, it would make things simple. But she couldn't kill him. Cernunnos would keep an eye on her to ensure that she followed his orders to the letter. Woodland creatures would follow her shamelessly and spy for him, reporting her every move back to him as if she was little more than a misbehaving child. Such conditions were not conducive to carrying out a mission.
Didn't the All Father know what he was asking her to do? The prophecy had been a part of her existence for a very long time. It was the reason that she only went to the mortal plane when her brother was in danger. Perhaps she was missing out on some of the things her sisters seemed to enjoy, but she'd seen what love could do to a person. Mortals fell in love all the time, only to have their hearts broken on a whim or by an accident of fate or even by a fickle God or Goddess.
And every ounce of evidence she'd seen so far pointed to the fact that she and her kind were just as susceptible to fancies of the heart as mortals. She didn't want to become one of those many who had loved and lost.
Sighing, she turned from the gazing pond to gather up the items she'd need on her trip to the mortal realm. The hunter threatening her would see her for the Goddess she was, whether it was what she wanted or not. Cernunnos wouldn't let her out of this journey. Something told her that he was trying to teach her some lesson, which meant she was not going to enjoy herself at all. But delaying her departure would only mean delaying her return.
Heulwen carefully slid from the light, airy gown she'd been wearing and slipped into her warrior's garb. In place of the single garment, she now wore two pieces. The skirt was little more than a band around her waist with two panels that hung down over the front and back of her legs. Since the panels didn't meet on the sides, a broad expanse of flesh was exposed to view. The top had no sleeves or straps. It was little more than a band of cloth wrapped around her chest. She wore gauntlets at her wrists and slippers upon her feet. A cloak rounded out the garb she wore when making a trip to the mortal plane.
Only two weapons went with her. The long wooden length of her bow was strung across her chest, accompanied by a compliment of arrows snug in a leather quiver. At her hip was the hunting knife she carried with her. There was no need to carry a sword. If she couldn't best a mortal with her powers, a sword would be of no use to her at all.
The last thing she clothed herself in was the aura that marked her as a Goddess. It was the power she carried, her gifts and talents that made her Goddess of the Hunt. She knew that many of her sisters wore their power constantly, as if it were a second skin. But she found that the aura of her power weighed her shoulders down. So when she secluded herself in her sanctuary, she shed it so that she could breathe free. In the depths of her sanctuary, she had no need to flaunt her mantle of power.
Fully clothed, Heulwen returned to her gazing pool and stared down at herself. With the power of her station riding her, the green of her eyes sparkled truer and the red of her hair burned brighter. Her skin shone as moonlight, a pure white that made the darkness of her clothes appear to be little more than shadows that clung to and caressed her body. All things considered, it was quite a sight to see. Mortals who saw her this way cowered at her feet and begged her forgiveness. It had happened often enough the other times she'd gone to the mortal realm. Chances were good that the mortal she was going to see would do the same. There were advantages to being a Goddess.
If only those advantages would make this task easier for her.
~*~*~*~*~
The path between the trees was lost to darkness and shadows. The sun was dipping below the edge of the world, allowing night to take control. Nocturnal creatures were stirring to life, calling back and forth through the forest to one another. Twigs and leaves snapped and crackled under tiny feet. Just as they snapped and crackled under hers as she moved toward the source of the wildly thundering pulse she could feel in her head. She was closing in on the White Stag. And the mortal who stalked it.
Heulwen needed no light to see by. The trees parted for her. She felt the brush of leaves against her skin, as if the plant life was paying homage to her. As if it was offering her its strength for the coming encounter. She thought that perhaps she would need much more strength than the trees were supplying her with.
The forest was thick where she walked, growing even thicker as she moved deeper and deeper into the heart of the woods. The wildness of the Stag, its rapid heartbeat and clinging fear, called to her from the center and she could see, through the occasional cracks in the trees, a flicker of flame where a fire burned. Though her gifts lay almost strictly with the beasts and the other woodland creatures, some part of her was capable of sensing the steady, slow beat of a man's heart. The hunter was with the Stag. And it felt as if he was... waiting.
As she neared the clearing where man and beast waited, her movements became stealthy and quiet. The trees and plants around her responded to her silent commands and gave her easy passage, muffled the sound of her feet against the forest floor. But it was all for naught. Both the Stag and the man had their gazes locked to the exact spot where she broke the tree line. And then the man surprised her by dropping to one knee in a sign of respect, his head bowing toward the ground. Moments later, he rose back into a standing position. "My lady."
The light of the fire slid over him, slowly moving fingers of golden illumination that reminded her of the way a man's hands followed the shape of a woman's body in the midst of sexual congress. There was something illicit about it. Something arousing. A flicker of something thick and alien flowed through her, leaving the muscles in her thighs quivering with the need to clench closed. The sensation confused her. That confusion made her mad and she allowed herself to be swallowed up by her anger. Without taking her gaze from the man before her, she addressed the Stag. "Go. Leave this place now and do not come back. I do not want to hear that you are in danger again."
She felt more than saw the Stag's wide green eyes assess her. He wanted to challenge her authority, wanted to remain at her side. But she wasn't the one who'd been cursed into an animal's form. She ignored him, kept all of her attention focused on the man standing near the fire. The Stag remained for several more seconds, then turned and galloped away into the night.
As the sounds of his hooves faded away, she became aware of the crackle of the flames as they ate at the wood in the fire pit. The night creatures had gone silent, as if holding their collective breaths as they waited to see what would happen. And the man simply stared at her, an almost fervent kind of adoration shining out of eyes so blue, they rivaled the summer skies. The fire kissed the blonde of his hair, painting it golden. It looked soft as silk. A strong chin glimmered gold with a day's growth of facial hair, above which sat lips that looked entirely kissable while still remaining utterly masculine.
He was clad in the clothes of a typical woodsman. His breeches were brown leather, worn so long that they molded to his legs perfectly. The bottoms were tucked safely into a pair of boots that ended mid-calf. The tunic he wore was a few shades lighter than his breeches, the bottom hem brushing the middle of his thighs. Just beyond him, spread out over the ground, was a plain, homespun cloak in yet another shade of brown, a quiver of arrows, a battered bow, both a sword and hunting knife and several small pouches and bags. It looked as if the man had settled in for the night.
Heulwen found her eyes straying back up to the dusting of gold on his chin, found herself wondering what his stubble would feel like against the softness of her skin. When he moved an arm, her attention was drawn to his hand. She noted the size of his palm and fingers, knew by simply looking that there was strength to be found in it. The bow he carried was large, made for a man who had worked hard all his life and developed muscles. She wondered if his touch would be soft and gentle, if the way he caressed a bared breast would belie that strength. A smile quirked his lips up in a faint smile. She imagined him kissing her, imagined that mouth moving across her flesh with lazy intention. Shivers tried to roll up her spine while muscles low in her belly contracted.
Shoving all those thoughts and feelings aside, she finally looked him in the eyes. "Give me one good reason why I should not kill you where you stand."
"No harm came to the White Stag, my lady," he replied. There was deep respect in his tone. It shone from his eyes as he stared at her steadily. "I only tracked him in hopes that I would be granted audience with you."
She frowned at that. Why had he been looking for her? There was something vaguely familiar about him, but she couldn't find just what it was. Instead of dwelling on minor, inconsequential details, she focused once more on his words. "You threaten my stag in hopes to attract my attention? Do you also hope that I will be forgiving and allow you to leave this sacred place alive?"
And it was a sacred place to her. Once, a very long time ago, her followers had held dedications in this spot. Woodsmen and their mates had come from far and wide to offer up children of their unions to her. Men and women, boys and girls, had all come to this place to dedicate themselves to the virgin Goddess and forests. Many years ago, before the loss of her brother and the telling of the prophecy, Heulwen had attended those dedications freely. She had laughed and smiled then, had enjoyed coming to the mortal realm. It had been a much better time then.
How dare he force her to relive those memories by drawing her here! "Speak, mortal. Tell me why I should spare your pathetic life."
Their eyes met and held across the distance. It seemed to her as if he was trying to communicate something to her through his stare. She had no clue what he thought she needed to know. And when it became apparent to him that she didn't understand his look, a frown of displeasure pulled the corners of his mouth down. "I do not come here and ask that you spare my life, my lady. I come here to ask that you aid me on a quest."
She fought the urge to cross her arms over her chest. It would do no good to show him that he'd upset her so fully. Instead, she lifted a hand and waved it negligently. The plants at the edge of the clearing rushed to do her bidding, forming a soft, leafy seat for her. Heulwen settled into the make shift throne and regarded him with an intense stare. "You would ask me to aid you on a quest? Have you no knowledge of whom it is you address?"
At her question, he sank immediately to his knees and bowed his head in reverence. When he looked up at her again, the knowledge of her identity was reflected in his eyes. "You are Heulwen, Virgin Goddess of the Hunt. Protector of the forests and the beasts that live within. This clearing is a shrine to you, created by my ancestors hundreds of years ago. It is in this clearing where those who wish to dedicate themselves to you are brought, where the ceremony is performed. It is in this clearing that I was dedicated to your service, my lady. Not once, but twice. My father and mother held strong to the old faith. They held strong to you, my Goddess. And it was they who offered me up to you. The first time was when I was a mere babe, freshly brought forth from my mother's womb. The second was when my father deemed me a man. I had seen eleven summers. I was once more brought to this sacred place and offered into your service."
She could only stare at him as he spoke. There was such certainty in his voice, such fervent belief in what he was telling her. And it simply wasn't possible. She hadn't attended a dedication in this clearing in a very long time. Though the children of her followers still chose to believe, so few of them were ever dedicated to her service. The boys and girls who were given into her service had always been strong hunters. Fierce protectors of those weaker than themselves, be the weaker walk on two legs or four. And when a family decided to dedicate their child to her, she always attended the service. She always touched the child with a hint of her power. She always marked them as her own.
She remembered each and every dedication she'd ever attended. Hundreds upon hundreds of children had been given to her in service. And she had seen every single one of them, had touched every single one of them. The last one had been long before this man had been even a seed growing in his mother's womb. She would remember touching this man as a boy. She would be able to see her touch upon him, would be able to see a glimmer of her power cloaking him. There was nothing there. She couldn't sense anything of herself on him or within him.
Perhaps something of her disbelief showed on her face because he hastened to continue. "You were here, my lady. You sat in that same spot, cushioned by the forest plants and trees as you watched my mother and father swear my life to you. In the end, you rose from your thorny throne and strode across the clearing to where I knelt. You bent over me and pressed you petal soft lips against my brow. Some... thing passed between us. When you lifted your head, the spot where your lips had touched my flesh tingled. You called me by name and told the forest that I was your servant. You said that it would always be a friend to me so long as I honored you."
"You say I called your name. What name is that? Surely I would remember the name of a man dedicated to my service."
"I am called Celyn, lady. And I am eternally at your service." Once again, he honored her station by bowing to her. He seemed so genuine. Every word he'd spoken had been laced with his belief that it was the truth. But she had no memory of his name, no memory of a young boy's face attached to that name and no memory of bestowing her blessings upon such a person. No memory of ever seeing him before in this most sacred clearing.
"You ask me to aid you in a quest. What is this quest?"
If he was taken aback by the abrupt change of subject, he said nothing. Instead, he lost some of the eagerness. His face fell into seriousness, making him appear older and more care worn. "I am in need of the skills of a great huntress, my lady."
"Surely you have such huntresses here."
"My village is under siege by a beast that I cannot defeat without help from you, my lady."
Heulwen allowed a hint of a smile to play at her lips. "If you are one of my devoted hunters, you have the strength to defeat any beast that you might encounter."
"Beasts of this world, yes. But the creature I must battle is nothing of this world. My village has been set upon by a wyvern. I have attempted to kill it by myself, but the foul thing still lives." He paused and took a deep breath. She saw a slight tremor in his hands, as if he felt a deep and burning rage. Or as if he were sorrowed. "People are dying, my lady. People I have known all my days upon this earth. Friends and family fall prey to the beast. I have vowed to destroy it, even if it takes my life. But I cannot defeat it without your help. Please, my lady. People long faithful to you need you. Please help them. Help me."
There was no pride in his voice. No shame in asking for help. Nothing but desperation. He truly wanted to save his people and would give his life if it would destroy the wyvern. Few mortals held such strong convictions in the face of their own deaths. His determination reminded her of a mortal man she'd once known. He had been a man of honor and had asked for her aid more than once. He'd even given his life to help one of her forest animals. The man before her was humbled in her presence. If he held arrogance in his heart, he'd had to put it aside in order to enter this place. Her temple would allow nothing else. It deemed him worthy. She could do nothing less.
Even if it wasn't what she wanted to do. Rising from her leafy throne, Heulwen strode across the clearing until she stood before him. Looking up into his eyes, she knew that this was the worst thing she would ever do in her life. But she couldn't deny him his aid. "We start for your village with the sun. I suggest you take your rest. Sleep with peace in your heart, hunter. We will be safe here."
~*~*~*~*~
Travel to his village didn't take long. It was barely a full pair of days from her temple to the outskirts of his village. During their time traveling, done on foot at a swift pace, there was little time for conversation. But it wasn't needed. Celyn moved with the grace of a stag, his feet barely touching the ground before lifting off again to propel him ever forward. They stopped at streams, taking short breaks so that he could regain his strength. By the noon meal, his hair was soaked with sweat, the moisture darkening it to a burnished gold and pinning it to his skull. If it discomforted him, he made no mention of it. His focus was centered on his village, on reaching it and destroying the wyvern.
At night, when they made camp under the sheltering limbs of a copse of tall, ancient trees. Then he would hurry to build a fire, to make beds for them from tall grasses and fallen leaves. He would catch a hare for the evening meal, offering her the best and most succulent pieces before filling his own belly. He would bring water up from a nearby stream. And then, when they had sated their hunger and thirst, he would tell tales of his father and mother. He would tell her of happier times, before he'd lost his parents and his sibling to some disease. He would tell her of the people in his village and of a girl who'd caught his eye when he was younger.
She made no mention of the melancholy she heard in his words when he spoke of his deceased family or of the girl. Some instinct told her that the girl had been taken from him. Either by death or by another young man. And, though she couldn't say why, she would tell him tales of her sisters and her brother before he'd been cursed into the form of a stag. She would do whatever it took to see him smile at her again.
When they settled down to slumber, she would silently chastise herself for her lapse in judgement. And she would promise herself that she would go back to being angered with him the next day.
The third day dawned with a bloody sun, a sure sign that there would be battle later. That Death was following on their heels. She spared a thought for that, hoping much against her will and better judgement that Death was not stalking him.
They touched the village's borders with the nooning. Even though the small huts were in the distance, she saw no activity. Heard no sounds. She could sense, through the animals that they kept, that the humans had locked themselves inside their homes. Fear was thick on the air, clinging to each building and plant. To their left was a gaping maw made of rock, obviously the cave where the wyvern had taken up residence. A pile of bones, stripped of meat and gleaming white in the brilliance of the sun, sat mounded up before the opening. The stench of death rose from it to clog her nose.
She cast her glance toward Celyn and saw him scanning the area. Already he had an arrow in hand, his gloved fingers curved loosely around the bow and its string. All he needed was a simple, single thought to bring the weapon into a ready position.
A woman's panicked cry rent the still silence. In an instant, she held her own bow. An arrow had been fitted to the string. "Mhairi! She's gone, Aengus. Our daughter..." An unholy shriek ate up whatever else the woman had been saying. With all the instincts she possessed, Heulwen lifted her eyes to the sky and watched, her bow and arrow sighted perfectly on the beast, as the wyvern glided toward its cave. A small, limp bundle of browns and pale creams was caught up in one of its clawed feet.
Her thoughts spread like wild fire, moving in many directions at once. A trio of wolves emerged from the trees, moving at a full run. A handful of hawks and osprey broke from the tops of the trees, their target the wyvern as it dove toward its cave. As soon as her furred and feathered friends were in position, she let loose her arrow. Celyn's arrow followed hers only a second later.
Time stood still, allowing her to see perfectly everything that happened next. The arrows both struck true, embedding themselves in the right eye of the winged serpent. It shrieked loudly with pain and the clawed hand that held the child opened up. The rag doll form tumbled almost bonelessly toward the ground. Hawks and osprey dove, their superior speed allowing them to catch up with the child before it hit the ground. With their talons, they caught at her homespun clothes and, while they didn't stop her fall, they slowed it until she landed on the ground with barely a thud. The wolves circled the girl, one facing her so that it could catch up her garment between its powerful jaws while the other two faced out to watch for the wyvern. Together, the three of them dragged her toward the village.
Assured that the child was safe, Heulwen returned her attention to the battle that lay before her. What she saw stopped her heart in her chest.
Celyn was caught up in a desperate fight with the beast, bow forgotten in favor of his sword. The wyvern had circled him in order to prevent him from getting away, its sharp talons lunging for him time and time again. Each assault saw him attempting to jump back without landing on the beast's body. Should that happen, he wouldn't be able to stand fast enough to save himself from its teeth and claws.
Why she should care if he lived or died, she had no clue. She only knew that, somehow, his living was important to her. She didn't even like him. She'd only come on this quest with him because she found him to be an honorable man. Over their two days of travel, she'd come to realize that the man held many qualities she admired. It mattered not to her that he was mortal. He was honest and brave and he cared so deeply for these people that he would willingly give his life to save them.
And he'd done something so few mortals had done before. During the night, when she hadn't been busy trying to distance herself from him by trying to hate him, he'd made her laugh. It was something so simple, something she hadn't thought would be important. But it had made her feel, if for only a moment or two, as if she'd belonged there at his side. That had scared her like nothing ever could.
The wyvern lunged at Celyn, driving him back toward the thick rope of its tail behind him. One of his heels came down on it, forcing him off balance. The sword flew from his grasp as he tumbled backward, his back slamming hard against the ground. The sharp fangs, nearly as long as her arm, grabbed for his leg. Her breath stilled in her throat for the few long seconds that it took for him to kick the beast in the snout and roll away. But one of the fangs still caught the leather of his breeches, sliced through it to leave a gash in his thigh just above his knee. At that moment, the forest around her could have been set on fire and she would never have known. All that mattered to her was Celyn and his survival.
She didn't recall stringing an arrow into her bow. She didn't remember reaching for it. Nor did she remember letting it fly. One moment, the beast was trying to eat the mortal hunter. The next moment, her arrow pierced the scales of its hide just below its wing. The monster, utterly enraged at loosing both its tasty morsels, turned and faced her. Anger burned in its remaining eye as the beast started scrabbling its way toward her, moving across the ground on swift legs.
She had another arrow flying across the distance without thought. As the arrow found its home in the beast's chest, the hawks and osprey she'd called upon to help the child dove at the wyvern's head. The wolves had moved up to flank her, offering her their protection from the rampaging serpent.
Celyn was just suddenly there, the sword in his sword flashing silver in the midday sun. The creature lunged at him, jaws gaping as it tried to find a way past his blade. But the sharp edge followed the beast's head no matter which way it moved. And, more than once, the sword's sharpened edge bit into the creature's scaly flesh.
The ground was splattered with blood, both human and creature. Briefly, she wondered why he'd asked for her help in defeating the wyvern because he seemed to be intent on doing so on his own. She didn't leave him to it, though. She helped as much as she could, launching an arrow at the beastie when she had an opening. Maybe if she'd brought her sword with, this would have been done by now. The fight needed to end because she needed to tend to his wound. Though it didn't appear to be too bad, it was bleeding steadily.
He stumbled, his strength obviously giving out. The wyvern dove at him, shoving him to the ground. For a moment Heulwen froze, afraid that he wouldn't manage to get out of the way. For reasons she couldn't even begin to understand, she didn't want to see the beast eat him. And it stopped her when she would have shot an arrow. The creature's mouth dropped open, its head falling forward in order to take hold of his legs. Celyn rolled away and came up to his knees. The wyvern's tail lashed out and caught him across the chest. The hunter was slammed back to the ground with force, where he remained for far too long.
Heulwen hurried forward, intent on pulling the hunter away from the creature before it could eat him up. But Celyn gained his feet one last time, face clenched in pain as he staggered toward his sword. It had slipped from his grasp and spun away from him across the ground. The wyvern had its own ideas and reared back. One of its legs left the ground, a sharp talon raking across his back. His tunic split to expose his flesh. Blood soaked into the rough weave of his tunic. He took two more stumbling steps before dropping to his hands and knees. His limbs shook, telling her that there was no way he could possibly defend himself.
A single thought saw the animals she'd called earlier leaping in for the attack. The wyvern couldn't defend itself from both the aerial and ground assault. Several of her arrows had pierced the thin membrane of the creature's wing, effectively taking away its ability to fly. While her woodland friends kept the serpent busy, she hurried past Celyn, sparing a moment to assure herself he was still alive, and scooped up the sword he'd dropped. She didn't want him to die. No matter what her personal feelings toward the hunter were, he still claimed to be one of her followers.
There was no way she would allow one of her hunters to die when she could do something to prevent it.
Heulwen scooped up the sword and turned to face the wyvern. It was trying in vain to battle the wolves, hawks and osprey that assaulted it. A thought sent them away, leaving her alone with the foul creature. It turned its remaining eye toward her and watched as she moved closer to it. "You will not have him. He is one of mine and is under my protection."
The beast shrieked at her, lunging toward her with all its speed and agility. Dust rose up off the ground in the wake of its feet. One wing hung low while the other slapped at the air uselessly. Great fangs loomed before her. But the sight of the beast charging her did not frighten her. She stood her ground and waited. When it was within striking distance, she swung the blade with both hands. The sharpened edge cut into its scales where it struck against the creature's neck. Heulwen pulled the sword through its neck, felt the beast's flesh give as the blade cleaved its head from its body.
A gout of blood arced out, staining the ground and splashing anything in its path. The fluid was hot against her skin, dripped onto the earth and the beast's severed head. The life that she'd previously seen in that one eye was gone now. Only feet away, the thing's body flopped around much the way a fish out of water did. More of its blood leaked from the neck. To ensure that the creature died, she shoved the blade through its head into its brain.
"Is it dead?" a soft, timid voice asked from behind her. Heulwen turned to find the villagers had left the safety of their homes. Several were tending to the girl that the beast had been clutching earlier.
"It is," she told the woman who had addressed her. "Gather wood and burn it. Destroy both the head and the body."
"Your man..." the woman trailed off, her gaze drifting over to where Celyn lay. "Will he survive his wounds?"
"He will. I will nurse him back to health." The woman nodded. Before she could speak further, a group of men approached them. Heulwen suspected that one of them was the village's head man. The woman gave a slight bow of her head, then hurried off to check on the little girl. The men stopped before her.
"We thank you for your assistance, my lady. The beast has plagued us for too long, taken too many of our children. If not for your aid, it would have continued until none of us remained. Then it would have moved on to a new village. We are forever in your debt, Heulwen. We will mark this day every year with a feast in your honor."
She wanted to argue with him that it wasn't necessary, but she said nothing. She'd learned long ago that humans would do what they wished. Instead, she inclined her head at him in acknowledgement. "You honor me, good sir."
"Is there anything we can do for you now, lady?" He motioned with one hand and two of the men moved forward with baskets filled with the fruits of their harvest. He intended to give the baskets over to her.
"Keep your harvest and use it to strengthen your village. All I ask for is the help of two of your men. Can they fashion a litter and help transport Celyn to the forest where I can care for him?"
The older man bowed at her and motioned again. The men backed off while others moved to answer her request. "I will have our healer pack the supplies you'll need. I will also send one basket with you. Celyn will require hearty fare to heal up from his wounds."
"Many blessings upon your village, kind sir." Heulwen offered him a smile. The headman bowed to her, then turned and hurried away. Without the villagers around to distract her, her attention turned back to the hunter who had brought her there. "Please, All Father. Do not let him die now."
~*~*~*~*~
"Did he die, Gran? Did Celyn die of his injuries?" The oldest girl sounded frantic, as if she would be unable to continue if she didn't get the answer to her question. The old woman had noticed, when describing Celyn to her audience, that the oldest of her grandchildren had looked more than a little intrigued. The old woman suspected that perhaps her granddaughter had a small crush upon the handsome Celyn. She couldn't blame the girl.
"Would there be a tale to tell if Celyn had died after his encounter with the wyvern?" the old woman smiled gently at the girls. The youngest one shook her head slowly, as if she had known all along that the hero of the story couldn't die so soon.
"Did Heulwen nurse him back to health, Gran? Did she fall in love with him when he was hurt? Did she profess her love for him as he lay in his sick bed?"
The old woman laughed at that. "Where did you get such romantic notions, my girl?" The girl shot a glance toward her mother, busy stitching up one of their father's old tunics. She should have known. Brialle had always had her head in the clouds, though she rarely admitted such a thing. "Well..."
"That's enough for this night, Mother. The girls should be abed. `Tis well past their bedtime." Brialle put her sewing aside and stood. The girls groaned and, as one, turned pleading eyes toward the old woman. Sighing, she shook her head.
"I'm sorry, my poppet. I'm afraid you must listen to your mother. But we can continue the story again tomorrow night. For there is much more to the tale than what you've heard this night."
Her words put smiles on their faces. Each of them stood to her feet and then moved in to offer up hugs and kisses to their grandmother. Oldest to youngest, they wrapped their thin arms around her and squeezed her tightly before brushing their lips against her cheek. "Good night, my poppets. Sleep well. I love you."
"And we love you, Gran." They disappeared into their corner of the hut. Brialle only turned a look upon her this night. The old woman ignored it and slowly stood from the chair she'd been sitting in. With aged steps, she crossed the floor toward her own sleeping cot.
"Good night, Brialle. Sleep well when you find your bed this night."
"Good night, Mother."
The old woman fell asleep that night with images of pagan Goddesses cluttering her head.
Book One: Heulwen, Chapter One: The Hunt
Fandom: a cross between the Marvel Universe and Arthurian Legend
Rating: mature.
Warnings: there will be violence and sex. maybe not language. but definitely the others. lots of religous references
Disclaimer: the Marvel men, even though hiding behind other names, do not belong to me. they belong to Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them. i'm simply borrowing them for the fun of it. i like putting them through hell, don't you know? i'm not making money from this, either. so don't even consider what you can score off me. i'm broke. not a penny to my name. the Sues belong to the women who thought them up, namely Dazzledfirestar, Nan, SFC, Gin and myself. don't steal them. they'll kick your ass. the name and concept of the Mary Sue Virus belong to Daz, who graciously allowed me to use it for my own personal pleasure.
In the Name of the Goddess - the Index
The old woman was busy stitching at a blanket for her grandson when the door to the cottage slapped open and three eager young lasses stepped through the portal. They were rosy cheeked and excited, their voices rising over each other's until theirs was a cacophony that made the wee lad whimper in his cradle. She reached out with a foot to set it rocking gently, then turned sharp eyes on her girls. "Shush, my poppets. Your brother is trying to rest. If you wake him, I'll be forced to spend time meant for tales soothing him."Each face, a miniature of their mother's, crinkled in fear and immediate contrition. "We're sorry, Gran. We didn't mean to wake him." The oldest's voice was barely a whisper and she immediately knelt by the cradle so that she could soothe her brother as she'd seen her mother do so many times.
"What has you so excited, my girls?" the old woman asked and went back to her neat stitches. They'd been in the village most of the day, more than likely playing with the other children. They'd tagged along with their mother, who'd been called into the village to help a young mother with through the birth of her first child. Their father was working with the other men in the village in an effort to bring in the harvest before the first snows of winter fell.
She could feel it approaching, could sense the coming winter in the very depths of her bones. Something told her it would arrive early this year. That it would be hard and cold. Anyone in the village who wasn't properly prepared would freeze to death before the spring. That was something that hadn't diminished with age. She'd always known when the snows would come, had always known when the cold, deathly grip of winter would steal across the land. There was something about this one, though. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on.
"We heard some of the men working the fields talking about hunting." The oldest reported this with a hint that there was more of the story to share.
"They should be more focused on the harvest than hunting. There will be plenty of time to hunt when the snows come." The old woman nodded her head sagely with her words, knowing it for the truth that it was.
"But this would be a special hunt, Gran," the middle girl replied. "Master Gwynn said that he spied a white doe and stag in the forest today. When he told the others, they said they should hunt them down and kill them."
The old woman closed her eyes and set her sewing down. The winter would be worse than she'd originally thought if the villagers were seeing the White Doe so soon. It meant she had no time to waste. "Have you eaten, my lasses?"
"Not yet, Gran," the youngest told her. The old woman motioned toward the stew pot hanging over the fire. The oldest stood and moved to the hearth, where she used the metal hook to pull the arm the pot hung from out of the fireplace. The middle child had fetched bowls while the youngest found spoons and the chunk of day old bread meant to go with their meal. The bowls and spoons were of wood, older then Brialle. They'd been lovingly made by her long dead husband, a gift for their wedding. Most of the village still used trenchers of bread to eat from and few had seen the bowls as something they'd like. But the old woman loved them as much now as she had the day she'd received them.
The girls didn't need to be told to dish up some stew for their meal. The oldest of the three used the big ladle to spoon some up into the bowls for herself and her sisters. The middle child carried each freshly filled bowl to the table while the youngest portioned off the bread. Once each bowl was filled, the pot went back over the fire and the girls each took their place at the wooden table to eat. "Now. I will spin a tale while you eat your dinner."
"A story? Is this about the Goddess Morgan?" The oldest turned excited and eager eyes the old woman's way. She smiled indulgently at the girl and shook her head.
"No, poppet. This is a story of the White Stag and the White Doe." The girls stared at her, confused and curious by this change. She knew they'd been expecting to hear why the Goddess Morgan's tears meant rain but mention of the White Stag brought another story to the front of her mind. Since they were already thinking about it, she would start there.
"There's really a white doe?" The oldest girl had set her spoon down and was simply waiting for her grandmother to continue. The old woman nodded her head.
"There is. The Goddess Heulwen becomes the White Doe when she is deeply sorrowed. The White Stag is her brother, Hafgan. He was cursed to wander the earth for the rest of his days in the form of a stag." She stopped there and gave the girls an opportunity to absorb what she'd told them.
"Why was he cursed into a stag? And how was he cursed?" This question came from the middle child. Her brow was furrowed as she tried to work it all out. It was a sad world that her grandchildren lived in when they knew nothing about the magic that flowed all around them. It was in the very air they breathed, in the life that filled them, in every single blade of grass and every leaf upon every tree. Every plant, every animal, every human that lived upon the earth was filled with the magic of the Gods.
"He was cursed by a powerful seer who knew how to work magic. Hafgan was a handsome man and every woman who turned their eyes upon him could not help but fall in love with him. Mortal and Goddess alike found themselves ensnared in his trap. Hafgan knew this and used it shamelessly to get what he wanted." The old woman paused and allowed herself to recall the stories that she'd heard about Heulwen's brother. "One day, when he was traveling through the mortal world, he chanced upon a woman who was so beautiful, he knew he had to have her. And have her he did. The lass fell in love with him but he didn't return her affections. He told her this, saying that he couldn't allow himself to love a mortal no matter how beautiful she was. His words broke her heart and the mortal girl went to her mother."
"That was mean of him, Gran," the youngest intoned. Her face was solemn and serious.
"It was mean of him. But the Gods are fickle and do as they please. Hafgan was no exception."
"What happened when she went to her mother?" The oldest asked the question, a prompt meant to bring them back to the story.
"The girl told her mother what Hafgan had done to her, how he'd made her love him and had used her, then spurned her affections. The mother was a seer. She couldn't understand why she'd failed to see this event and warn her daughter to protect her. The seer was a powerful magic user and became enraged that any creature, human or God, would use her only child so. She called upon her magic and worked a curse, laying it upon Hafgan's head." The old woman paused as a slight breeze blew through the interior of the cottage and touched each of her granddaughters. They turned wide eyes to her and to one another, wondering if it was the magic of the seer in the story.
When they were once more calm and paying close attention to her words, the old woman went on. "The seer cursed Hafgan into the form of the White Stag, a mythical creature that would drive men to hunt it. The seer then told of a legend that said any man who could kill the White Stag would be the greatest hunter in the world. Many men tried. One or two even came close to ending the Hafgan's life. But the Goddess Heulwen, his sister, heard of the curse and let it be known that any man who harmed the White Stag would face her wrath."
"What was she going to do to them?" This came from the oldest, who had forgotten all about her food in favor of her grandmother's tale.
"Heulwen is the Goddess of the Hunt. Men who enter the woods in search of game do so under her protection. She has been known to hide the animals of the forest from those who have upset her in any manner. Hunters who do not wish to starve do well to always honor her and pay her the proper respect." The old woman paused and smiled a small, secret smile. "And she always protects her brother, cursed for an eternity into the form of the White Stag."
"Why would the men of the village risk killing him? And why would they kill her?" The middle child asked her question with a puzzled look upon her face.
"Because the villagers believe that killing them both would mean an easier winter for us. Killing them would only bring troubles to the village and the men responsible for their deaths."
"Why does Heulwen become a doe?" The youngest spoke softly. Her sisters turned to look at her, then turned back to their grandmother.
"Once upon a time, Heulwen fell in love with a mortal man. When he died, her sorrow was so deep that she took the form of a doe to grieve."
Three sets of eyes went wide with wonder. "She fell in love with a mortal man? Can the Gods do that?"
"The Gods and Goddesses are capable of feeling the same emotions that humans feel. Love and hate, happiness and sorrow. They experience them just as strongly as we can," the old woman informed her grandchildren. "And when Heulwen lost the love of her life, she hid herself from both the mortal world and the realm of the Gods and Goddesses so she could grieve in private. She was the White Doe for an entire winter. That winter was hard and long. Many people died, as did the animals. Now, when the White Doe is spied in the forest, it is said that the winter coming will be long and hard."
"How did she meet this man?" This from the oldest girl, who was fast approaching the age when her parents would begin pressing her to marry.
"He was threatening the White Stag." Again, her words were met with eyes gone wide in disbelief. The old woman chuckled softly. "This man was a great hunter. One day, he set his sights on the White Stag. It had been seen in the forests and it was his intent to prove his abilities. But Cernunnos had other ideas..."
~*~*~*~*~
Heulwen frowned as she followed behind a rather insistent falcon. It had flown into her sanctuary and landed on the high back of her chair, then launched into a fit of loud squawking that had not allowed her to ignore the bird. She'd known, based on the markings that glittered a brightly golden color on the bird's feathers that he'd been sent to her by the All Father. Knowing that the bird would not leave until she'd answered Cernunnos' summons, she'd left her haven to seek him out.
The trees she moved through were broad and tall, older than time remembered. Their branches were thick, their leaves bright and glossy green, growing in plentiful amounts so that the ground was cast in perpetual shadows. The air around her was heavy with ethereal mist that swirled around her ankles, that caressed her bared skin as she strode with purpose toward her destination. Strands of moss hung from the branches, ghosting across her shoulders and cheeks with each step.
A sense of knowledge seemed to permeate the air, pressing against her body as if it sought a way in. This was the All Father's seat of power, his place, where he created and destroyed. This was where all of the magic in the world resided, paired with every bit of joy and sorrow and rage ever felt. Flowing with those things in the ether was the knowledge that followed in her footsteps, knowledge that came from the All Father and every single creature of his design.
The path she was followed seemingly went on forever. The falcon remained ahead of her, gliding slowly in circles in order to keep her within its sight. On occasion, it would come to rest on a branch and wait for her to catch up to it, then it would take flight once again and continue leading the way. Just when Heulwen thought she could stand it no more, the trees broke apart and she stepped into a vast, verdant clearing.
A thick layer of brilliant green grass carpeted the ground with exception of the cobbled stone path that cut straight up the middle. The stones were lined with flowers of varying shades and shapes, all in riotous blossom. They waved gently on a soft, tender breeze, as if directing her toward the grand throne settled under a giant oak on the far end of the clearing. Trees stood straight and tall on either side of the clearing. They reached the sky and went beyond, branches stretching across the clearing to create a living ceiling of leaves. Light filtered through the canopy, turning the air around her into a haze of golden green. It lent a magical quality to the entire scene.
The falcon glanced at her before starting almost lazily toward the throne. Even across the distance, she could see the All Father sitting in it. He awaited her arrival with a small contingent of forest animals clustered around him. She approached slowly, wondering why he would send for her. Unless something serious happened, Cernunnos generally allowed his children to do as they would.
His posture suggested nothing terrible. He rested with one elbow propped on the arm of his throne, chin resting on the curve of his knuckles. His skin was tanned to a dark, walnut brown. It was almost the same exact shade of the hair upon his head, hair that hung long and loose around his angular face. A crown of ivy was woven into his locks, glossy green leaves peeking out from between the strands. His tunic was of the same shade green as that of the leaves adorning the trees and the grass covering the ground. The hose shaped to his legs was the brown of a tree trunk. If not for the scrolling vines of golden thread embroidered into the cloth of his tunic, the heavy golden torc that circled his throat and the glowing gold of his eyes, he could have been part of the forest around him. Part of the throne he sat upon.
His throne sprang out of the oak behind him, as if the tree had split into two and one side had been felled. The remaining stump acted as the seat of the chair, while thin branches grew up toward the leafy canopy. Leaves had sprouted off the branches and ivy had grown up around them. The different greens wove in and out of one another, forming a type of latticed webbing between the branches. Another set of branches formed the arms, broad and thick extensions of the tree that he could rest his arms on. Small red flowers ringed the base of his seat while more ivy covered the stump and climbed up the fully grown tree behind his seat.
As Heulwen neared, sunshine broke through the canopy of leaves and wreathed Cernunnos in a golden halo. She could see a glimmer of mischief in his eyes and wondered at it. Something brought her feet to a halt midway down the path. As if sensing her hesitation, he lifted a hand and waved her closer. Chiding herself for her moment of cowardice, she propelled herself forward until she stood before his throne. "You sent for me, Father?"
He nodded at her. The light around him brightened.
"There is no need to bathe yourself in a shower of golden light. I am not one of your little mortal followers. Such displays do not impress me," she told him. He smiled a moment, then the light dimmed and faded away completely. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the change in brightness. Even without the halo, there was no denying that he was a creature of magic. While she and her brothers and sisters could pass for human while in the mortal realm, Cernunnos would always be known as a God. "Why am I here?"
"I've a task for you, Heulwen."
"Can you not send another?"
"Nay. This requires your unique talent, my child." Something in his voice set her nerves on edge. If it required her unique talents, it had something to do with the forest animals. Though she gave no outward sign of it, her muscles tensed and she was simply, suddenly, more alert.
"Does some fool threaten my children?" And they were her children. While her brothers and sisters frolicked and fornicated with one another or with mortals taken in by their beauty, she alone had remained untouched. The mortals called her the Virgin Huntress. Legend had it that she would never know the touch of a lover's hand until she found a mortal hunter who rivaled her talents. For that reason, she'd only gone to the mortal realm sparingly. Even now, with her furred children threatened, the reasons had to be just and right, had to be strong in order for her to leave her sanctuary and travel to the mortal realm.
Cernunnos offered her a faint smirk. "The White Stag has appeared once more." She felt her heart still in her chest. He really didn't have to say anymore. She knew what her task would be. "A hunter threatens him. It is up to you to save him."
"Of course," Heulwen agreed with a nod of her head. She made to leave, but a lift of Cernunnos' hand stopped her. The mischief she'd seen in his eyes earlier was now shining brightly, as if the sun were glowing in them. And he wore a smirk she'd seen more than once before. "Is there something else, Father?"
"There is, my child." She tried to relax the tension that ran through her shoulders. She should have known that nothing with Cernunnos could be easy. "This task I've given you will require that you spend more than a few hours or even a day in the mortal realm."
She stared at him, wondering if this was some kind of jest. "This hunter can't possibly be that good." Had he just been in her thoughts? She wanted nothing to do with any mortal hunter or the mortal world. Perhaps she could suggest that he send Deryn to deal with this person. Of course, perhaps if she went, she could simply put an end to the threat by putting an arrow through the heart of the mortal. It would be a quick solution to the problem and it would give her great joy to do so. And it would see her back to her sanctuary before more than a day's time had passed in the mortal realm.
As if he knew what she was thinking, Cernunnos' smile spread and he shook his head. "You cannot kill him, Heulwen. He will need your help. He has challenges to face that will require the assistance of a skilled warrior. He will need you at his side."
"You cannot expect me to stay there and do as this mortal asks. What if he harms Hafgan? Am I meant to sit by and allow him to bring injury, possibly death, to my brother? If this hunter does anything to Hafgan, I will kill him."
"He will not harm your brother, Heulwen, if you stop wasting time and do as you've been told. Go to them. Save your brother. Help the hunter. Do not return until you have completed this task."
"Why am I needed for this task? If this hunter requires a warrior, send Deryn. You know how she relishes destroying that which stands against her. I am no warrior, Father. I am a simple huntress." It was a last attempt to get out of something she didn't want to do. She was sure that he saw it as such, too.
He gave her a soft smile, the kind that verged on becoming a smirk. The kind that said he knew something she didn't. She didn't like it when he gave her such looks. It meant nothing but trouble. "You must trust me on this, my child. You will understand eventually. When the time is right, you will know."
She clenched her teeth and forced a smile to her face. The last thing she wanted to do was let him see her displeasure at his secretive nature. He always seemed to take great joy in making her life as difficult as possible. "Thank you, Father. If there is nothing else?"
He started to give his permission, then thought better of it and stopped. "Remember one thing, Heulwen. You will have to be cautious while on the mortal plane. Take care in how you clothe yourself. Even though many humans are forsaking us, there are those who still follow the old ways. Some will see through your disguise and know you for what you are."
"Of course, Father. It will be as you say." She made sure she kept her tone even and respectful. His smile told her that he didn't believe her act for one moment. She lifted a brow questioningly.
"That is all. You may go now," he told her, waving his hand lazily in a dismissive gesture. Heulwen inclined her head slightly, then turned and started back the way she'd come. As her feet followed the uneven path of cobbled stones, she couldn't get the image of his knowing, smug smirk out of her head.
She wasn't going to like this task at all.
Heulwen stalked silently through the trees. Gone was the touch of all the gathered knowledge she'd walked through earlier. After her meeting with the All Father, this part of the forest seemed empty and dead, as if all the life was simply gone from it. She frowned. What had happened while she'd been meeting with Cernunnos? It was as if this part of the world had been left behind.
... Or forgotten.
Rumors had been running mad amongst her siblings of the loss of followers, of the coming of a single God. It was said that this new God was taking the place of herself and her brothers and sisters in the lives of the mortals. She hadn't paid much attention to such things, more than sure that her followers would never turn from her. Perhaps there had been more truth to the rumors than she'd first thought.
Time moved with a different fluidness here in the Gods' realm than it did on the mortal plane, so it was possible that her conversation with Cernunnos had taken longer than she'd thought. While it had only been a few minutes here, hours or days or weeks or even years could have passed there. What was happening?
She passed no one as she made her way to her sanctuary. That was lucky for them. And when she finally escaped into her personal haven, she stalked through a small forest of rowan, oak, yew and copper beech without taking any time to admire the lush beauty of them. She didn't stop until she stood before a smooth, glassy surfaced gazing pond. In it, she could clearly see her reflection. Her expression showed deep displeasure.
How was she supposed to do this? He wanted her to spend time with a mortal hunter. If she could simply kill the hunter, it would make things simple. But she couldn't kill him. Cernunnos would keep an eye on her to ensure that she followed his orders to the letter. Woodland creatures would follow her shamelessly and spy for him, reporting her every move back to him as if she was little more than a misbehaving child. Such conditions were not conducive to carrying out a mission.
Didn't the All Father know what he was asking her to do? The prophecy had been a part of her existence for a very long time. It was the reason that she only went to the mortal plane when her brother was in danger. Perhaps she was missing out on some of the things her sisters seemed to enjoy, but she'd seen what love could do to a person. Mortals fell in love all the time, only to have their hearts broken on a whim or by an accident of fate or even by a fickle God or Goddess.
And every ounce of evidence she'd seen so far pointed to the fact that she and her kind were just as susceptible to fancies of the heart as mortals. She didn't want to become one of those many who had loved and lost.
Sighing, she turned from the gazing pond to gather up the items she'd need on her trip to the mortal realm. The hunter threatening her would see her for the Goddess she was, whether it was what she wanted or not. Cernunnos wouldn't let her out of this journey. Something told her that he was trying to teach her some lesson, which meant she was not going to enjoy herself at all. But delaying her departure would only mean delaying her return.
Heulwen carefully slid from the light, airy gown she'd been wearing and slipped into her warrior's garb. In place of the single garment, she now wore two pieces. The skirt was little more than a band around her waist with two panels that hung down over the front and back of her legs. Since the panels didn't meet on the sides, a broad expanse of flesh was exposed to view. The top had no sleeves or straps. It was little more than a band of cloth wrapped around her chest. She wore gauntlets at her wrists and slippers upon her feet. A cloak rounded out the garb she wore when making a trip to the mortal plane.
Only two weapons went with her. The long wooden length of her bow was strung across her chest, accompanied by a compliment of arrows snug in a leather quiver. At her hip was the hunting knife she carried with her. There was no need to carry a sword. If she couldn't best a mortal with her powers, a sword would be of no use to her at all.
The last thing she clothed herself in was the aura that marked her as a Goddess. It was the power she carried, her gifts and talents that made her Goddess of the Hunt. She knew that many of her sisters wore their power constantly, as if it were a second skin. But she found that the aura of her power weighed her shoulders down. So when she secluded herself in her sanctuary, she shed it so that she could breathe free. In the depths of her sanctuary, she had no need to flaunt her mantle of power.
Fully clothed, Heulwen returned to her gazing pool and stared down at herself. With the power of her station riding her, the green of her eyes sparkled truer and the red of her hair burned brighter. Her skin shone as moonlight, a pure white that made the darkness of her clothes appear to be little more than shadows that clung to and caressed her body. All things considered, it was quite a sight to see. Mortals who saw her this way cowered at her feet and begged her forgiveness. It had happened often enough the other times she'd gone to the mortal realm. Chances were good that the mortal she was going to see would do the same. There were advantages to being a Goddess.
If only those advantages would make this task easier for her.
~*~*~*~*~
The path between the trees was lost to darkness and shadows. The sun was dipping below the edge of the world, allowing night to take control. Nocturnal creatures were stirring to life, calling back and forth through the forest to one another. Twigs and leaves snapped and crackled under tiny feet. Just as they snapped and crackled under hers as she moved toward the source of the wildly thundering pulse she could feel in her head. She was closing in on the White Stag. And the mortal who stalked it.
Heulwen needed no light to see by. The trees parted for her. She felt the brush of leaves against her skin, as if the plant life was paying homage to her. As if it was offering her its strength for the coming encounter. She thought that perhaps she would need much more strength than the trees were supplying her with.
The forest was thick where she walked, growing even thicker as she moved deeper and deeper into the heart of the woods. The wildness of the Stag, its rapid heartbeat and clinging fear, called to her from the center and she could see, through the occasional cracks in the trees, a flicker of flame where a fire burned. Though her gifts lay almost strictly with the beasts and the other woodland creatures, some part of her was capable of sensing the steady, slow beat of a man's heart. The hunter was with the Stag. And it felt as if he was... waiting.
As she neared the clearing where man and beast waited, her movements became stealthy and quiet. The trees and plants around her responded to her silent commands and gave her easy passage, muffled the sound of her feet against the forest floor. But it was all for naught. Both the Stag and the man had their gazes locked to the exact spot where she broke the tree line. And then the man surprised her by dropping to one knee in a sign of respect, his head bowing toward the ground. Moments later, he rose back into a standing position. "My lady."
The light of the fire slid over him, slowly moving fingers of golden illumination that reminded her of the way a man's hands followed the shape of a woman's body in the midst of sexual congress. There was something illicit about it. Something arousing. A flicker of something thick and alien flowed through her, leaving the muscles in her thighs quivering with the need to clench closed. The sensation confused her. That confusion made her mad and she allowed herself to be swallowed up by her anger. Without taking her gaze from the man before her, she addressed the Stag. "Go. Leave this place now and do not come back. I do not want to hear that you are in danger again."
She felt more than saw the Stag's wide green eyes assess her. He wanted to challenge her authority, wanted to remain at her side. But she wasn't the one who'd been cursed into an animal's form. She ignored him, kept all of her attention focused on the man standing near the fire. The Stag remained for several more seconds, then turned and galloped away into the night.
As the sounds of his hooves faded away, she became aware of the crackle of the flames as they ate at the wood in the fire pit. The night creatures had gone silent, as if holding their collective breaths as they waited to see what would happen. And the man simply stared at her, an almost fervent kind of adoration shining out of eyes so blue, they rivaled the summer skies. The fire kissed the blonde of his hair, painting it golden. It looked soft as silk. A strong chin glimmered gold with a day's growth of facial hair, above which sat lips that looked entirely kissable while still remaining utterly masculine.
He was clad in the clothes of a typical woodsman. His breeches were brown leather, worn so long that they molded to his legs perfectly. The bottoms were tucked safely into a pair of boots that ended mid-calf. The tunic he wore was a few shades lighter than his breeches, the bottom hem brushing the middle of his thighs. Just beyond him, spread out over the ground, was a plain, homespun cloak in yet another shade of brown, a quiver of arrows, a battered bow, both a sword and hunting knife and several small pouches and bags. It looked as if the man had settled in for the night.
Heulwen found her eyes straying back up to the dusting of gold on his chin, found herself wondering what his stubble would feel like against the softness of her skin. When he moved an arm, her attention was drawn to his hand. She noted the size of his palm and fingers, knew by simply looking that there was strength to be found in it. The bow he carried was large, made for a man who had worked hard all his life and developed muscles. She wondered if his touch would be soft and gentle, if the way he caressed a bared breast would belie that strength. A smile quirked his lips up in a faint smile. She imagined him kissing her, imagined that mouth moving across her flesh with lazy intention. Shivers tried to roll up her spine while muscles low in her belly contracted.
Shoving all those thoughts and feelings aside, she finally looked him in the eyes. "Give me one good reason why I should not kill you where you stand."
"No harm came to the White Stag, my lady," he replied. There was deep respect in his tone. It shone from his eyes as he stared at her steadily. "I only tracked him in hopes that I would be granted audience with you."
She frowned at that. Why had he been looking for her? There was something vaguely familiar about him, but she couldn't find just what it was. Instead of dwelling on minor, inconsequential details, she focused once more on his words. "You threaten my stag in hopes to attract my attention? Do you also hope that I will be forgiving and allow you to leave this sacred place alive?"
And it was a sacred place to her. Once, a very long time ago, her followers had held dedications in this spot. Woodsmen and their mates had come from far and wide to offer up children of their unions to her. Men and women, boys and girls, had all come to this place to dedicate themselves to the virgin Goddess and forests. Many years ago, before the loss of her brother and the telling of the prophecy, Heulwen had attended those dedications freely. She had laughed and smiled then, had enjoyed coming to the mortal realm. It had been a much better time then.
How dare he force her to relive those memories by drawing her here! "Speak, mortal. Tell me why I should spare your pathetic life."
Their eyes met and held across the distance. It seemed to her as if he was trying to communicate something to her through his stare. She had no clue what he thought she needed to know. And when it became apparent to him that she didn't understand his look, a frown of displeasure pulled the corners of his mouth down. "I do not come here and ask that you spare my life, my lady. I come here to ask that you aid me on a quest."
She fought the urge to cross her arms over her chest. It would do no good to show him that he'd upset her so fully. Instead, she lifted a hand and waved it negligently. The plants at the edge of the clearing rushed to do her bidding, forming a soft, leafy seat for her. Heulwen settled into the make shift throne and regarded him with an intense stare. "You would ask me to aid you on a quest? Have you no knowledge of whom it is you address?"
At her question, he sank immediately to his knees and bowed his head in reverence. When he looked up at her again, the knowledge of her identity was reflected in his eyes. "You are Heulwen, Virgin Goddess of the Hunt. Protector of the forests and the beasts that live within. This clearing is a shrine to you, created by my ancestors hundreds of years ago. It is in this clearing where those who wish to dedicate themselves to you are brought, where the ceremony is performed. It is in this clearing that I was dedicated to your service, my lady. Not once, but twice. My father and mother held strong to the old faith. They held strong to you, my Goddess. And it was they who offered me up to you. The first time was when I was a mere babe, freshly brought forth from my mother's womb. The second was when my father deemed me a man. I had seen eleven summers. I was once more brought to this sacred place and offered into your service."
She could only stare at him as he spoke. There was such certainty in his voice, such fervent belief in what he was telling her. And it simply wasn't possible. She hadn't attended a dedication in this clearing in a very long time. Though the children of her followers still chose to believe, so few of them were ever dedicated to her service. The boys and girls who were given into her service had always been strong hunters. Fierce protectors of those weaker than themselves, be the weaker walk on two legs or four. And when a family decided to dedicate their child to her, she always attended the service. She always touched the child with a hint of her power. She always marked them as her own.
She remembered each and every dedication she'd ever attended. Hundreds upon hundreds of children had been given to her in service. And she had seen every single one of them, had touched every single one of them. The last one had been long before this man had been even a seed growing in his mother's womb. She would remember touching this man as a boy. She would be able to see her touch upon him, would be able to see a glimmer of her power cloaking him. There was nothing there. She couldn't sense anything of herself on him or within him.
Perhaps something of her disbelief showed on her face because he hastened to continue. "You were here, my lady. You sat in that same spot, cushioned by the forest plants and trees as you watched my mother and father swear my life to you. In the end, you rose from your thorny throne and strode across the clearing to where I knelt. You bent over me and pressed you petal soft lips against my brow. Some... thing passed between us. When you lifted your head, the spot where your lips had touched my flesh tingled. You called me by name and told the forest that I was your servant. You said that it would always be a friend to me so long as I honored you."
"You say I called your name. What name is that? Surely I would remember the name of a man dedicated to my service."
"I am called Celyn, lady. And I am eternally at your service." Once again, he honored her station by bowing to her. He seemed so genuine. Every word he'd spoken had been laced with his belief that it was the truth. But she had no memory of his name, no memory of a young boy's face attached to that name and no memory of bestowing her blessings upon such a person. No memory of ever seeing him before in this most sacred clearing.
"You ask me to aid you in a quest. What is this quest?"
If he was taken aback by the abrupt change of subject, he said nothing. Instead, he lost some of the eagerness. His face fell into seriousness, making him appear older and more care worn. "I am in need of the skills of a great huntress, my lady."
"Surely you have such huntresses here."
"My village is under siege by a beast that I cannot defeat without help from you, my lady."
Heulwen allowed a hint of a smile to play at her lips. "If you are one of my devoted hunters, you have the strength to defeat any beast that you might encounter."
"Beasts of this world, yes. But the creature I must battle is nothing of this world. My village has been set upon by a wyvern. I have attempted to kill it by myself, but the foul thing still lives." He paused and took a deep breath. She saw a slight tremor in his hands, as if he felt a deep and burning rage. Or as if he were sorrowed. "People are dying, my lady. People I have known all my days upon this earth. Friends and family fall prey to the beast. I have vowed to destroy it, even if it takes my life. But I cannot defeat it without your help. Please, my lady. People long faithful to you need you. Please help them. Help me."
There was no pride in his voice. No shame in asking for help. Nothing but desperation. He truly wanted to save his people and would give his life if it would destroy the wyvern. Few mortals held such strong convictions in the face of their own deaths. His determination reminded her of a mortal man she'd once known. He had been a man of honor and had asked for her aid more than once. He'd even given his life to help one of her forest animals. The man before her was humbled in her presence. If he held arrogance in his heart, he'd had to put it aside in order to enter this place. Her temple would allow nothing else. It deemed him worthy. She could do nothing less.
Even if it wasn't what she wanted to do. Rising from her leafy throne, Heulwen strode across the clearing until she stood before him. Looking up into his eyes, she knew that this was the worst thing she would ever do in her life. But she couldn't deny him his aid. "We start for your village with the sun. I suggest you take your rest. Sleep with peace in your heart, hunter. We will be safe here."
~*~*~*~*~
Travel to his village didn't take long. It was barely a full pair of days from her temple to the outskirts of his village. During their time traveling, done on foot at a swift pace, there was little time for conversation. But it wasn't needed. Celyn moved with the grace of a stag, his feet barely touching the ground before lifting off again to propel him ever forward. They stopped at streams, taking short breaks so that he could regain his strength. By the noon meal, his hair was soaked with sweat, the moisture darkening it to a burnished gold and pinning it to his skull. If it discomforted him, he made no mention of it. His focus was centered on his village, on reaching it and destroying the wyvern.
At night, when they made camp under the sheltering limbs of a copse of tall, ancient trees. Then he would hurry to build a fire, to make beds for them from tall grasses and fallen leaves. He would catch a hare for the evening meal, offering her the best and most succulent pieces before filling his own belly. He would bring water up from a nearby stream. And then, when they had sated their hunger and thirst, he would tell tales of his father and mother. He would tell her of happier times, before he'd lost his parents and his sibling to some disease. He would tell her of the people in his village and of a girl who'd caught his eye when he was younger.
She made no mention of the melancholy she heard in his words when he spoke of his deceased family or of the girl. Some instinct told her that the girl had been taken from him. Either by death or by another young man. And, though she couldn't say why, she would tell him tales of her sisters and her brother before he'd been cursed into the form of a stag. She would do whatever it took to see him smile at her again.
When they settled down to slumber, she would silently chastise herself for her lapse in judgement. And she would promise herself that she would go back to being angered with him the next day.
The third day dawned with a bloody sun, a sure sign that there would be battle later. That Death was following on their heels. She spared a thought for that, hoping much against her will and better judgement that Death was not stalking him.
They touched the village's borders with the nooning. Even though the small huts were in the distance, she saw no activity. Heard no sounds. She could sense, through the animals that they kept, that the humans had locked themselves inside their homes. Fear was thick on the air, clinging to each building and plant. To their left was a gaping maw made of rock, obviously the cave where the wyvern had taken up residence. A pile of bones, stripped of meat and gleaming white in the brilliance of the sun, sat mounded up before the opening. The stench of death rose from it to clog her nose.
She cast her glance toward Celyn and saw him scanning the area. Already he had an arrow in hand, his gloved fingers curved loosely around the bow and its string. All he needed was a simple, single thought to bring the weapon into a ready position.
A woman's panicked cry rent the still silence. In an instant, she held her own bow. An arrow had been fitted to the string. "Mhairi! She's gone, Aengus. Our daughter..." An unholy shriek ate up whatever else the woman had been saying. With all the instincts she possessed, Heulwen lifted her eyes to the sky and watched, her bow and arrow sighted perfectly on the beast, as the wyvern glided toward its cave. A small, limp bundle of browns and pale creams was caught up in one of its clawed feet.
Her thoughts spread like wild fire, moving in many directions at once. A trio of wolves emerged from the trees, moving at a full run. A handful of hawks and osprey broke from the tops of the trees, their target the wyvern as it dove toward its cave. As soon as her furred and feathered friends were in position, she let loose her arrow. Celyn's arrow followed hers only a second later.
Time stood still, allowing her to see perfectly everything that happened next. The arrows both struck true, embedding themselves in the right eye of the winged serpent. It shrieked loudly with pain and the clawed hand that held the child opened up. The rag doll form tumbled almost bonelessly toward the ground. Hawks and osprey dove, their superior speed allowing them to catch up with the child before it hit the ground. With their talons, they caught at her homespun clothes and, while they didn't stop her fall, they slowed it until she landed on the ground with barely a thud. The wolves circled the girl, one facing her so that it could catch up her garment between its powerful jaws while the other two faced out to watch for the wyvern. Together, the three of them dragged her toward the village.
Assured that the child was safe, Heulwen returned her attention to the battle that lay before her. What she saw stopped her heart in her chest.
Celyn was caught up in a desperate fight with the beast, bow forgotten in favor of his sword. The wyvern had circled him in order to prevent him from getting away, its sharp talons lunging for him time and time again. Each assault saw him attempting to jump back without landing on the beast's body. Should that happen, he wouldn't be able to stand fast enough to save himself from its teeth and claws.
Why she should care if he lived or died, she had no clue. She only knew that, somehow, his living was important to her. She didn't even like him. She'd only come on this quest with him because she found him to be an honorable man. Over their two days of travel, she'd come to realize that the man held many qualities she admired. It mattered not to her that he was mortal. He was honest and brave and he cared so deeply for these people that he would willingly give his life to save them.
And he'd done something so few mortals had done before. During the night, when she hadn't been busy trying to distance herself from him by trying to hate him, he'd made her laugh. It was something so simple, something she hadn't thought would be important. But it had made her feel, if for only a moment or two, as if she'd belonged there at his side. That had scared her like nothing ever could.
The wyvern lunged at Celyn, driving him back toward the thick rope of its tail behind him. One of his heels came down on it, forcing him off balance. The sword flew from his grasp as he tumbled backward, his back slamming hard against the ground. The sharp fangs, nearly as long as her arm, grabbed for his leg. Her breath stilled in her throat for the few long seconds that it took for him to kick the beast in the snout and roll away. But one of the fangs still caught the leather of his breeches, sliced through it to leave a gash in his thigh just above his knee. At that moment, the forest around her could have been set on fire and she would never have known. All that mattered to her was Celyn and his survival.
She didn't recall stringing an arrow into her bow. She didn't remember reaching for it. Nor did she remember letting it fly. One moment, the beast was trying to eat the mortal hunter. The next moment, her arrow pierced the scales of its hide just below its wing. The monster, utterly enraged at loosing both its tasty morsels, turned and faced her. Anger burned in its remaining eye as the beast started scrabbling its way toward her, moving across the ground on swift legs.
She had another arrow flying across the distance without thought. As the arrow found its home in the beast's chest, the hawks and osprey she'd called upon to help the child dove at the wyvern's head. The wolves had moved up to flank her, offering her their protection from the rampaging serpent.
Celyn was just suddenly there, the sword in his sword flashing silver in the midday sun. The creature lunged at him, jaws gaping as it tried to find a way past his blade. But the sharp edge followed the beast's head no matter which way it moved. And, more than once, the sword's sharpened edge bit into the creature's scaly flesh.
The ground was splattered with blood, both human and creature. Briefly, she wondered why he'd asked for her help in defeating the wyvern because he seemed to be intent on doing so on his own. She didn't leave him to it, though. She helped as much as she could, launching an arrow at the beastie when she had an opening. Maybe if she'd brought her sword with, this would have been done by now. The fight needed to end because she needed to tend to his wound. Though it didn't appear to be too bad, it was bleeding steadily.
He stumbled, his strength obviously giving out. The wyvern dove at him, shoving him to the ground. For a moment Heulwen froze, afraid that he wouldn't manage to get out of the way. For reasons she couldn't even begin to understand, she didn't want to see the beast eat him. And it stopped her when she would have shot an arrow. The creature's mouth dropped open, its head falling forward in order to take hold of his legs. Celyn rolled away and came up to his knees. The wyvern's tail lashed out and caught him across the chest. The hunter was slammed back to the ground with force, where he remained for far too long.
Heulwen hurried forward, intent on pulling the hunter away from the creature before it could eat him up. But Celyn gained his feet one last time, face clenched in pain as he staggered toward his sword. It had slipped from his grasp and spun away from him across the ground. The wyvern had its own ideas and reared back. One of its legs left the ground, a sharp talon raking across his back. His tunic split to expose his flesh. Blood soaked into the rough weave of his tunic. He took two more stumbling steps before dropping to his hands and knees. His limbs shook, telling her that there was no way he could possibly defend himself.
A single thought saw the animals she'd called earlier leaping in for the attack. The wyvern couldn't defend itself from both the aerial and ground assault. Several of her arrows had pierced the thin membrane of the creature's wing, effectively taking away its ability to fly. While her woodland friends kept the serpent busy, she hurried past Celyn, sparing a moment to assure herself he was still alive, and scooped up the sword he'd dropped. She didn't want him to die. No matter what her personal feelings toward the hunter were, he still claimed to be one of her followers.
There was no way she would allow one of her hunters to die when she could do something to prevent it.
Heulwen scooped up the sword and turned to face the wyvern. It was trying in vain to battle the wolves, hawks and osprey that assaulted it. A thought sent them away, leaving her alone with the foul creature. It turned its remaining eye toward her and watched as she moved closer to it. "You will not have him. He is one of mine and is under my protection."
The beast shrieked at her, lunging toward her with all its speed and agility. Dust rose up off the ground in the wake of its feet. One wing hung low while the other slapped at the air uselessly. Great fangs loomed before her. But the sight of the beast charging her did not frighten her. She stood her ground and waited. When it was within striking distance, she swung the blade with both hands. The sharpened edge cut into its scales where it struck against the creature's neck. Heulwen pulled the sword through its neck, felt the beast's flesh give as the blade cleaved its head from its body.
A gout of blood arced out, staining the ground and splashing anything in its path. The fluid was hot against her skin, dripped onto the earth and the beast's severed head. The life that she'd previously seen in that one eye was gone now. Only feet away, the thing's body flopped around much the way a fish out of water did. More of its blood leaked from the neck. To ensure that the creature died, she shoved the blade through its head into its brain.
"Is it dead?" a soft, timid voice asked from behind her. Heulwen turned to find the villagers had left the safety of their homes. Several were tending to the girl that the beast had been clutching earlier.
"It is," she told the woman who had addressed her. "Gather wood and burn it. Destroy both the head and the body."
"Your man..." the woman trailed off, her gaze drifting over to where Celyn lay. "Will he survive his wounds?"
"He will. I will nurse him back to health." The woman nodded. Before she could speak further, a group of men approached them. Heulwen suspected that one of them was the village's head man. The woman gave a slight bow of her head, then hurried off to check on the little girl. The men stopped before her.
"We thank you for your assistance, my lady. The beast has plagued us for too long, taken too many of our children. If not for your aid, it would have continued until none of us remained. Then it would have moved on to a new village. We are forever in your debt, Heulwen. We will mark this day every year with a feast in your honor."
She wanted to argue with him that it wasn't necessary, but she said nothing. She'd learned long ago that humans would do what they wished. Instead, she inclined her head at him in acknowledgement. "You honor me, good sir."
"Is there anything we can do for you now, lady?" He motioned with one hand and two of the men moved forward with baskets filled with the fruits of their harvest. He intended to give the baskets over to her.
"Keep your harvest and use it to strengthen your village. All I ask for is the help of two of your men. Can they fashion a litter and help transport Celyn to the forest where I can care for him?"
The older man bowed at her and motioned again. The men backed off while others moved to answer her request. "I will have our healer pack the supplies you'll need. I will also send one basket with you. Celyn will require hearty fare to heal up from his wounds."
"Many blessings upon your village, kind sir." Heulwen offered him a smile. The headman bowed to her, then turned and hurried away. Without the villagers around to distract her, her attention turned back to the hunter who had brought her there. "Please, All Father. Do not let him die now."
~*~*~*~*~
"Did he die, Gran? Did Celyn die of his injuries?" The oldest girl sounded frantic, as if she would be unable to continue if she didn't get the answer to her question. The old woman had noticed, when describing Celyn to her audience, that the oldest of her grandchildren had looked more than a little intrigued. The old woman suspected that perhaps her granddaughter had a small crush upon the handsome Celyn. She couldn't blame the girl.
"Would there be a tale to tell if Celyn had died after his encounter with the wyvern?" the old woman smiled gently at the girls. The youngest one shook her head slowly, as if she had known all along that the hero of the story couldn't die so soon.
"Did Heulwen nurse him back to health, Gran? Did she fall in love with him when he was hurt? Did she profess her love for him as he lay in his sick bed?"
The old woman laughed at that. "Where did you get such romantic notions, my girl?" The girl shot a glance toward her mother, busy stitching up one of their father's old tunics. She should have known. Brialle had always had her head in the clouds, though she rarely admitted such a thing. "Well..."
"That's enough for this night, Mother. The girls should be abed. `Tis well past their bedtime." Brialle put her sewing aside and stood. The girls groaned and, as one, turned pleading eyes toward the old woman. Sighing, she shook her head.
"I'm sorry, my poppet. I'm afraid you must listen to your mother. But we can continue the story again tomorrow night. For there is much more to the tale than what you've heard this night."
Her words put smiles on their faces. Each of them stood to her feet and then moved in to offer up hugs and kisses to their grandmother. Oldest to youngest, they wrapped their thin arms around her and squeezed her tightly before brushing their lips against her cheek. "Good night, my poppets. Sleep well. I love you."
"And we love you, Gran." They disappeared into their corner of the hut. Brialle only turned a look upon her this night. The old woman ignored it and slowly stood from the chair she'd been sitting in. With aged steps, she crossed the floor toward her own sleeping cot.
"Good night, Brialle. Sleep well when you find your bed this night."
"Good night, Mother."
The old woman fell asleep that night with images of pagan Goddesses cluttering her head.
