Circa 130 BCE

Communing with the mother-goddess, Nerthō, in my dreams, I felt a slight breeze upon my face and heard her voice upon it. Your people are calling you, sister, she whispered in my ear. Stirring myself awake I heard a group of men in the distance, chanting in the old tongue. My people, the Darrihardōz tribe, were calling to me.

With some irritation I noted they were once again mispronouncing my name. These young ones did not appreciate the old ways. I stood and stretched, realizing that I had been dozing for days again, and curious to see what they had brought. Feeling the ache in my muscles I wrapped my chest and took up my bow and quiver as I left my cave and headed for the altar clearing.

Unfortunately they were still there when I arrived. They had chosen to take a short meal there in communion. It was an option they were allowed, I remembered sourly. I watched silently from the woods with only idle curiosity, waiting for them to depart, as I was loath to meet with them.

They sat around the flat stone altar in a semicircle, eating and talking companionably, obviously not really expecting an appearance. But a small bowl of leaves and herbs burnt on the stones, lending a sweet fragrance to the air. Next to it was their main offering, a fat haunch from what was obviously an unusually large buck. I was not particularly hungry, but it was generous I had to admit.

There were seven men, six of them familiar to me. The seventh was a young man in his late teens, unusually tall, grinning with the excitement of his first hunt, his hands and face bloody with the celebration of his first kill. That was common enough, but what caught my attention was a piece of jewelry he wore about his right arm: a torc of braided metal, leather and bone. I recognized it instantly, and realized the timing would be right.

With a flash I felt drawn to the recent past. I could clearly remember the young woman who came to my altar some sixteen winters prior, laying out blankets and furs and a fine iron knife, along with some gathered foods and meat. Unlike others who came alone, she did not leave her offerings and depart. She simply remained at the altar, sitting on her calves, nursing a newborn, waiting and quietly singing a little now and then. I lurked nearby, having no intention of meeting her, as I had grown tired of people in recent decades. But as nightfall approached it was clear she was not moving. I was a bit surprised, as it soon would be dark, but still she did not leave.

Reluctantly I had returned to my cave and donned my most impressive attire: a long cape fashioned from the hides of two wolves, a tunic of fine cloth, soft and glowing, left as an offering by some passing clan, and buckskin boots with fur and feather tassels. I also fetched up every bit of decoration that was easily at hand, festooning my arms and neck with armlets, rings and necklaces.

Dusk was upon us when I returned, and I was surprised that she had not started a fire for the sky was beginning to darken with a chill making itself felt. I approached quietly, for it would be unseemly to simply crash out of the woods like some lumbering beast. I was rewarded by a gasp of surprise when she looked up and saw me standing not more than an arm’s length from her.

“Juwunte matar kwi ken ert med tinom bharnoi?” I asked in the old tongue: “Young mother, why are you here with your child?” She was unlikely to fully understand the words, but could not mistake the tone or intent. She looked up at me, fear and hope mingling in her eyes.

“I’ve brought you many fine gifts,” she whispered, “so that I might plead for your blessing on my son.”

Now that was certainly different, and more than a little brave. Most women were too timid to approach my altar, as well they should be. I squatted before her, cradling my bow in my arm, and squinted at her. She lifted the child, extending him to me. I hesitated a moment, then set down the bow and took him from her. He squirmed and made a noise, sensing he had left his mother, but I made quieting sounds to him and stood.

“You presume much, mother,” I said softly, in the newer tongue these young ones used. Then I snarled and bellowed: “I am Tiwazō the Huntress, and care not for your womanly concerns! You are unwise to disturb me!”

The child squawked in fear as his mother put her face to the ground and begged forgiveness. I growled at them both, but then she looked up at me with pleading in her eyes. “My husband died last week, and I have only his brother Eidhaz to help care for us.”

I regarded her infant coolly, then moved my fingers to the back of its neck, considering. It would be easy enough to snap, barely a little pressure and a twist. It was tempting, for it would surely avoid a repeat of such foolish requests. I turned my head sideways, and stared down at her with a cold smile. She could clearly sense my intent, and tears of fear sprang to her eyes as I glowered mercilessly at her. I raised his head, pinching at his neck while he squirmed. “So this is part of your sacrifice to me? Perhaps I’ll take him.”

“Mercy! Please! His father died in the hunt!” she cried out, and buried her face again in the ground.

“Be still, you little fool,” I hissed, but for some reason I felt myself relenting. I stared at the infant, who was surprisingly quiet, merely making little grunting noises there in the dimming light. Suddenly he looked me in the eye and gave a little smile. I gave him a sour one back. He was not easily impressed, this little one. Finally I looked down at his mother, her face still down, obviously struggling to stay quiet though she kept making annoying little whimpering noises.

“Gather wood for a fire,” I finally snapped at her. “You’ll both be staying the night.”

With a small cry she leapt up and ran to begin her assigned task. I could sense her excitement and relief. I squatted down and leaned back, contemplating the child. It was the first I had seen up close in a very long time. He snuggled contentedly in my arms as his mother busied herself gathering fuel.

As she assembled a pyre of larger pieces and some kindling, I wondered what she would think were I to tell her she possessed a power I did not. As she produced a flint and a metal knife, I interrupted her.

“No. Here, take your son,” I said. With a look of relief, she reached for him, simpering and bowing a bit.

I relinquished the child and regained my feet, then dug in my belt pouch as I approached the gathered wood. From two pouches I gathered the powders of Thonaraz, the mixing of which a long-dead shaman had introduced me to long before either of these humans was born. I mixed them in my hand and poured them into the heart of the kindling, then took my own flint and knife and casually stuck them at the piled wood. It caught with a brilliant flash, and I suppressed a smile as I heard the young mother gasp. I smirked, and imperiously pointed to the ground at my feet near the fire. She scurried to the spot and sat obediently.

Surprisingly, I found myself curious enough to talk to her. Cooking some of the food she had brought to my altar, I even deigned to share it with her. We spent that night together, talking, caring for her child, and sharing company against the darkness. Her life was likely to be a hard one: married into a new clan, no family but her husband’s, and him dead after a minor wound during a hunt earned him a fever that never broke. She was not well liked by her sisters-in-law. I knew the feeling well.

As night wore on she began to nod off, and I allowed it. As she slept, cradling her son in her arms, I foolishly allowed myself to feel a little kinship with her. As the hours wore on, I heard the howling of a pack of wolves, and in them I heard a voice. Mortals would not understand the words, but I did: show mercy little sister, the brother-god said to me. At his words I found myself softening, and kept my watch silently over them.

When dawn began to break, the baby stirred, and in her sleep she put him to her breast. Watching, I decided to make gesture to her. I chose a torc fashioned of metal, leather and bone, drew it off my arm, and shook her awake. Startled, she looked up at me.

“He is to keep this with him always, so that I will know him when he hunts my woods.” She smiled at me gratefully, and thanked me.

“You are a beautiful and wonderful friend,” she said, reverently.

Annoyed that she should be so presumptuous I snarled at her, and grabbed her by the throat. She squeaked as I squeezed and dug my nails in a little. “You are lucky, little fool, that I did not cut out both your hearts and eat them,” I hissed. “Do you understand me? You earned my blessing once at my brother’s request, but you will tell the other women that had it been another day I’d have built a new altar from your bones.” Her face turned white, and she whimpered and closed her eyes. “Tiwazō the Huntress is no friend to women and children. She is cruel and quick to anger. Remember this!”

She nodded, then cried out as I savagely drew a scratch across her face and pushed her head against the ground again. “Be gone and never return!” I bellowed, then turned and stalked off angrily, ignoring her mewling apologies. Little fool.

Snapping out of my reverie, I noted that apparently my words had been well heeded. I never saw her again, nor had anyone attempted such a stunt again. Yet he still had my torc, and seemed to have grown in to quite a handsome young man. Yes, quite handsome, I thought as I stared silently.

Eventually, they all got up to leave. But rather than collecting their sacrifice, I took up my bow and set out after them. I knew where they were going, for the Darrihardōz tribesmen would almost always camp in the same clearing on their way back from trips to my altar. In short order I was downwind from them, but stayed concealed in the trees, still watching.

It was a welcoming sight, these seven men gathered about a fire to share tales and celebrate the accomplishments of the newest hunter. This was not nearly so common as times past, for these men were farmers first and hunters second, but the ritual, the rite of passage, was older than I, perhaps as old as man himself. I nearly decided to leave them be, for I was still weary of humans and their tiny lives. Still, it had been many years since I had enjoyed the company of a man, and that urge drew me closer. I crept stealthily through the trees and low brush as they drank some concoction and boasted to each other as men so often do.

I made my decision. There was still some time before darkness fell, and that was just as well. I stood up and very casually unstrung my bow. One of the men, sitting directly across from where I stood, saw me and simply stopped talking, eyes wide and staring. After a moment his companions noticed and all eyes turned to me, silence falling over them like a blanket.

I regarded them coolly, looking each in the eyes one at a time as with measured steps I moved into their circle. They remained seated and silent, watching as I walked a sinuous path about them. I was pleased to sense no more than mild concern from them, for it had been some time since I had done this and I was not certain they would all remember the rite. But they all looked excited, and remained seated as was proper. All were smiling, and the young man’s gaze was most confident of all, riding high on the thrill of his first successful hunt.

I stepped in front of him and reached out to touch his face. He did not flinch, but his deep brown eyes focused on mine as I slid two fingers under his clean-shaven chin and lifted it. I graced him with a smile.

“I know you,” I said, my voice low and quiet, “You are Slodhe, nephew of Eidhaz.”

“Yes,” he gasped in surprise, his spine straightening. I could hear the others’ reactions as well. I squatted to look him in the eye and slid my fingers down his neck and across his muscular chest, then traced my hand up over his shoulder and down his arm. I squeezed the hard muscles of his arm, feeling a tiny thrill, then fingered the torc there. This close I could smell him, his masculine scent swirling in my head, filling my lungs.

“You bear my talisman,” I whispered, then lifted my fingers to touch his lips, silencing him before he could speak. “Your mother brought you to me as an infant, seeking my blessing upon you.” I stood again and turned to face the others. “Would you agree that he has proven himself a man, and hunted well in my name?”

There were murmurs of agreement, but one was somewhat muted. I turned my attention to that one. Stepping toward him, I spied a mark on his right shoulder, a circle split in to three sections by curved lines radiating from the center. I had placed my mark on him many years before, on a day much like this one. I recognized it, and recognized his aging face suddenly. I smiled a bit at the obvious jealousy in his eye.

Bending my lips to his ear I whispered, “Only strong men win my favor, and only once. You know that. But you remember what I gave you, yes?” His chest swelled and he smiled at me, remembering, and laughed a little.

Patting him in a gentle goodbye, I turned and walked back to Slodhe and extended my hand. He glanced at the others, then grinned, taking my hand as he stood. My heart skipped a beat as I realized just how tall he really was. Stepping close I laid my hands upon his shoulders and pulled myself up to press my lips hard upon his. He hesitated just long enough to tell me what I wanted to know.

Biting his lip hard enough to draw a bit of blood, I suddenly let myself drop to the ground and stepped away from him, turning towards the darkening woods. “Try to keep up little man!” I sneered, then sprinted away.

I heard the older one laugh suddenly. “Don’t just stand there, boy!” my previously chosen pretty cried. “Go get her!” I laughed again as I heard Slodhe take after me as the men around the fire burst in to cheers of encouragement.

I tested the boy, crashing ahead at a breakneck pace then fading quietly in to the cover of the brush to double back and set off at an angle away from the altar clearing. He lost me for a moment, but simply began circling until he picked up my trail again. From then on he never faltered. I could have evaded him completely had I so desired, for I knew these paths far too well to let any hunter follow me against my will. But while I certainly did not make it easy, losing him was not my goal. On those occasions where I paused and let him come close enough for me to spy him, I could see that he was unconcerned, concentrating on his task yet aware of his surroundings. That he was enjoying himself immensely was unmistakable and all to the good.

Finally, I led him to one of my favorite spots, where the major stream through the area took a large dip, rushing down a rocky basin to form a deep, clear pool before meandering off towards the lake two days walk further down. I had a shelter there on the far side of the pool, really nothing more than a lean-to with dry bedding, firewood and some basic tools and supplies. I did not live there, but I often spent time there, and it had everything we would need.

As I heard his approach, I stripped off my clothes and bundled them about my bow and knife, then plunged in to the icy pool, holding my belongings high with one hand as I swiftly made my way across. The water was mountain runoff, clear and brisk, a gift from the mother-Goddess Nerthō. When I reached the far side I tossed my bundle upon the bank and sank back in to the water, submerging myself fully, rinsing away the accumulated sweat and dust from my romp through the green. I surfaced again there in the shallows, letting my knees settle to the bottom and turning to face him. I felt my breasts harden a bit as they bobbed near the surface, my shoulders above the water line, just as Slodhe emerged from the trees.

“You can swim, yes?” I mocked him, though it seemed a safe bet as his people made their home on the shore of the very lake fed by this stream. He confirmed my suspicions by casually shedding his leggings and boots and plunging in. He crossed the pool swiftly, using an oddly flailing overhand stroke I had never seen before. Always there are new things to learn, I mused. I stood then, the water up to my hips, waiting for him as he made his way toward me. We were both shivering from the chill water, but the air was warm and the sun had not yet set fully. As he stood in the shallows near me it was clear the cold had done nothing to dampen his enthusiasm. I grabbed him in an embrace then, thrilling at the feel of his hardness against me as I dug my fingers into his back and bit at his chest.

Suddenly I sensed awkwardness in him: he did not know exactly what to do, and I was frightening him a little?which I would not mind, except he began to sag, and that I could not have. So I relaxed a little, smiled up at him, and led him to my lean-to, where we pulled out the rolled furs and blankets stored there, spreading them on the grass in the last remaining spot of sunlight. Pushing him down firmly, I told him to relax, and took his manhood in my mouth. I reveled in his pleasure as he gasped and climaxed within moments.

When I looked up he seemed embarrassed, but then I moved my face above his, looking down upon him. “Oh no, my fine young man. This was only the beginning. You are young and strong, and now that we have calmed your fire, we will light it again slowly, and I will teach you about a woman’s body.” He grinned nervously, and I laughed.

And show him I did. Relighting his fire was no challenge at all.

Later we relaxed together in the twilight, our bodies quivering with the energy we had spent. We chatted amiably for a while. He mentioned some odd strangers who had been moving through the area that he was very curious about. This made me curious as well, but other than knowing they were camped to the south, he knew little more. Growing irritated with his tangled locks, I took his head in my lap and began working a comb through his hair. I felt dim memories sparking as I did so, but forced them away. He yelped as I pulled a knot a bit too hard, and I smirked at him. Running one hand idly over his shoulder as I continued teasing his hair, I decided to make more conversation.

“Tell me, boy, has your family chosen a mate for you?” I asked, not sure why I was asking.

“Yes. Her name is Thordiz. She is to be mine when we return from this hunt.”

“Ahh. So many firsts for you.” He pushed himself up from my lap and sat back. I smiled at him, sensing his unease.

“It’s getting dark. We should build a fire,” he said. He was glorious, his thick black mane spilling over his broad shoulders, framing his wide brown eyes in the dimming light. I reached out, taking his arm and sliding my other hand into his lap.

“Later,” I said. Then my mouth was on his, hard, and I felt his need rise again, delightfully.

He slept soundly as the fire began to gutter and die, but sleep eluded me. I sat up and moved carefully so as not to wake him, sliding over to the fire to add a few more sticks, sufficient to keep it going until dawn. Slodhe rolled away from the light, and I idly fingered the scratches on his back, amused at how he twitched a bit in his sleep as I did so. Gazing on him I was taken with an urge to wake him, to shake him from his dreams and tell him to go, that we were done here. Instead I rose and walked to the pool where the rushing of the stream covered the sound as I dove in.

The moon was up and quite bright, but I had to exercise some care as I climbed the rocky face of the hill, picking and choosing my way until I reached a large, flat stone I often used as a perch. It was cold, the warmth of the sun having long since been drawn away by the spray from the stream, so I pulled my legs up and wrapped my arms around them, resting my chin upon my knees.

Below me a small campfire glowed next to the sleeping man. He was really no more than a boy, despite his growth. Perhaps he knew enough to be a man. Perhaps he was strong enough. One thing was certain: come morning he would be going back to his people and taking up the mantle of manhood whether he was ready or not. Perhaps my having blessed him a second time would serve him well in the coming years.

I could keep him with me; it would be so simple to do. I could go back down there and wake him, talk to him, tell him I needed him. I could tell him I loved him for that would only be half a lie, and he would believe me. He would toss aside family and the certainty of a life he knew in favor of a red-haired demon-lover. We would retreat into the wild, my man and I, and make a place for ourselves in this lush and bountiful forest. We would share our time and our pleasures and I would teach him so many things he could not have even dreamed. Or I could return with him to his people, make of him a god-man, a leader of wisdom and certainty whose counsel would be sought after by all who knew him. We could rule the many clans and villages that made these lands their home. He would be shaman-chief, and I his totem and his trophy and the source of his power.

And he would grow old.

The day would come when he would look back and realize he had no sons, no daughters, and no grandchildren to delight in. Would wisdom and power be enough? Would he be able to forgive me all I had stolen from him? Would my love be enough? Would he come to resent me for what I had taken from him?

In the burble and splash of the water, I heard the taunting of the demon Loghaz: He is nothing. They are as dust, and worth nothing.

“Be gone, trickster,” I told him angrily. But I found myself wondering: Why had I gone to that camp, taunted those men, drawn the boy here? Simply because my own hunger was so strong I had been unable to resist? Here we were, this boy, sleeping soundly by the fire, his day and night complete with accomplishments that filled him with excitement and joy; and I, curled upon my stone, suddenly feeling tears, taunted by the Gods. I hid my face in my knees, and listened to Loghaz’s mocking voice burbling from the water, doing my best to ignore him as he urged me to kill the boy, to think how I would enjoy hearing his screams as I used my knife to….

I shook myself. “Quiet, demon, I cannot hear your lies!” I repeated it over and over, rocking back and forth until finally, finally, I heard only the water.

But when I looked up again, looked back at the boy, it was with different eyes, cold and hard. What right would he have to resent me? Such arrogance! That he might look upon all I might give him and call it poor recompense… but what else could he do, poor, miserable, short-lived creature that he was? How could I expect him to understand me when his view of the world was a narrow stretch of land, a lake, and a girl named Thordiz who waited at home to be his wife? He had no grand vision, no way to grasp what I was beyond offering some pitiful sacrifice on an altar, in hope that I might at least decline to cause mischief among his people. It would all be gone in a moment, just a brief interlude of struggle with perhaps some joy and a generous share of fear and uncertainty, all inserted in the miniscule space between that time before he lived, and that time after. Were I inclined to mercy I might indeed do him the favor of quietly cutting his throat tonight. I could spare him all the fear and pain the future held, and let his life end on a night of pleasure and happiness.

And would that be any more or less cruel than loving him?

Angrily, I leapt back into the water and swam to shore, returning to where he slept. As I walked back toward him, the fire shifted, launching a cloud of orange sparks skyward. I followed them as they ascended, my spirit dancing among them and laughing cruelly as I watched them slowly winking out, their energy spent. My spirit returned and my gaze fell to his sleeping form. The fire was warm on my backside as I knelt near him, and found my knife.

I began sharpening it with the whetstone from my belt, moving the stone along the blade with slow, deliberate strokes as I contemplated his face, feeling the fire some more. The fire gave something to those who sat about it, even if no more than some light to hold back the darkness, and a circle of warmth against the chill. What had I to offer that the fire did not? What had I been given in return for being forever outside that circle? Fire warmed, and changed, and emboldened, and sometimes destroyed. I was nothing compared to the fire, merely starlight, cold, unblinking, and changeless, perhaps lovely to behold, but beyond that… useless. Except perhaps to destroy.

Lost in these thoughts I barely noticed as the sky grayed with the coming dawn. The demon-God Loghaz’ voice began taunting me again from the burbling water, and finally, angrily, I leapt upon the boy’s sleeping form. He cried out as I let the weight of my knees slam into his arms. He struggled but for a moment, then froze as I showed him my knife. I pressed it into his neck, and then made my choice.

He at least did himself proud enough not to whimper as I removed the knife from his neck, turned the point toward his breast, and cut a circle and made my mark in his flesh. “Remember me and remember this night and what I have taught you, mortal,” I said. “It is a gift you shall receive but once.”

I then kissed his body a few more times, tasting his blood as it oozed from my mark gouged in his chest. Finally I caressed his cheek gingerly, and stood looking upon him one last time. Then, ignoring the demon’s taunting and the boy’s parting words, I left without another sound.

My appetite was sated for now. Slodhe had mentioned that there were strangers camped to the south, and I intended to find out more about them.

NEXT: The Roman

Posted on December 12th, 2005 by Zsallia
Filed under: The Past