The Hermeporta Beyond the Gates of Hermes

by Hogarth Brown

  Illawara read from the dated entries that many of the herbs, medicinal barks, resins, alloys and animal ingredients had taken him years to collect - often harvested, on forays, when she had been away at school. Iona his unwilling accomplice. Illawara had noticed with increasing concern as she progressed through the Professor’s research, that he had come close to and then crossed the line between the rational sciences and the esoteric. His notes as she read on became ever more strange and disoriented.

  Images once delicately drawn with pencil and ink, then evolved into nightmares scrawled with paint and then with blood, as his experiments progressed from Alchemy into Witchcraft.

  Iona had told her, when he left for longer periods, that he had been away on business or visiting other Professors or Universities. In time, she had learned the truth. Illawara still gazed off into the distance as she pondered the things she had learned. ‘Have you ever thought of making some of the potions yourself, Illy?’ Hermes asked. Illawara frowned, before putting the Mystify back into the satchel.

  ‘At times, maybe’ she shrugged, ‘I could release the research and claim Molecular Bionics for myself - if I wanted - I know enough’ Illawara gave out a long breath, ‘but I couldn't do that. NO, I want us all to go back, I'll have Prom, he’ll sign the papers, and then I’ll release my research with Dad's. I’ve so much to show him. I’ve made so much progress.' She smiled somewhat at the idea. 'We'd win the Nobel Prize with just ten percent of it’ she mused, ‘honestly, we would’’ she added as if Hermes did not believe her. She chewed at her fingernail, ‘but the price, Hermes, the price.' Illawara smoothed her hair - her diamond glittering at her brow. 'I guess that a lot of people and other things must have died to make all of this stuff, and everything else he created…’ Illawara reflected.

  ‘Shall we go back home then?’ said Hermes.

  ‘Of course not’ snorted Illawara, ‘life goes on: since when has politeness long prevented progress?’ She shook her head, and breathed in the cooling air of Pisa, ‘no, it’s over now. He did what he did, and I’ve done what I’ve done, and nothing can change that.' Illawara cleared her throat, but took in another deep breath before she stood tall. 'Which reminds me’ she said creeping into a smile as she looked at Hermes, ‘I need to be a good friend and honour my bargain. It’s time we got you changed' she said, 'besides if I’m caught talking to a bird, I'll burn as a witch.’ Illawara laughed, at once full of cheer.

  Hermes hesitated, looking concerned, before hopping and fidgeting about on the ground. He had anticipated this moment for years with excitement and quiet dread - ‘C’mon dear don’t dawdle’ said Illawara, sounding like a Cockney governess, ‘let’s see wha’ ya look like under aawl them fev’ers’ she added as if she were a street character from Oliver Twist. Hermes shuffled around.

  ‘Well… Where should I stand?’ he said before Illawara snapped out of character.

  ‘I’ll put you over there on the floor; looks like this stone won't crack from the heat of the changes.’ Hermes bulged his eyes but gave a small nod in resignation as Illawara scooped him up to put him down again with care in front of her, after stepping to a wider expanse of stone flooring. Hermes did his best to stir courage within himself.

  ‘I’ve spent so many years like this, Illy’ Hermes paced on the spot, ‘I’m not even sure if I can remember what I looked like?' Hermes looked down at himself, 'to become human again - what if I don’t like it? What if I don’t like myself?’ Hermes added before jumping up to hover above the ground in rapid circles, as Illawara checked the slab of stone again for cracks. Illawara took the fruit juice out of her satchel and offered some of it to Hermes to give him energy, before finishing the rest herself.

  Illawara clapped her hands together, ‘well, there’s only one way to find out. You’ve said for years that this is what you wanted. Now stop flapping and rest on that stone.’ She said. Hermes obeyed her but did not stop talking.

  ‘I’ll be able to eat and chew again’ he said with excitement, ‘and use my hands to eat solid food, break my own bread - pick my nose even’ Illawara giggled.

  ‘I’m curious to see what you look like - I’ll still love you, but I’ll be disappointed if you’re ugly…’ She said. Hermes beak dropped open. His feathers stood on end.

  ‘I doubt that…’ He guffawed. Illawara raised her finger,

  ‘A quick question, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve always wanted to ask you: how did it feel the first time you were changed? Why and when did it happen?’ Hermes froze and seemed to gasp for air.

  ‘I, I…’ He tried his best to speak, but he couldn’t get the words out, as a flash of painful cramp darted through his stomach, he tried to conceal it, but Illawara winced in sensing his pain. In a rush, she crouched next to him.

  ‘Hush… it’s ok Hermes, its ok, I shouldn’t have asked: that was selfish of me. I know you can’t tell me yet what happened to you.’ she bent down and stroked the crest on his head. ‘But one day I’ll learn of it, I promise.’ Hermes nodded. Her words encouraged him.

  ‘Ok, let's get this over with’ said Hermes, able to speak again. Illawara clapped her hands again with glee, before reaching down to rummage in her bag for the little glowing bottle of Transformation Tincture. She gave the phial a shake to enliven its formula, which coiled and twisted like a blue storm behind the glass.

  ‘Are you concentrating Hermes?’ He nodded, ‘try and remember yourself as you were before.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m concentrating, Illy. Let’s hurry up it’s getting cold around here.’ He said, calling up from the rapidly cooling floors. With great care, Illawara began to unscrew the lid off the tincture. A wisp of gas escaped from the phial as the seal opened, and curls of cold blue fire began to ripple around the edge of the bottle, as Illawara began to expose its dropper.

  Crouching to aim above Hermes, Illawara pressed on the rubber of the dropper to allow three fire-like drips to fall on Hermes’ head and body. Hermes flinched. ‘Keep still’ Illawara cautioned, as the drops spread across him, until his entire body became encased in the gentle lapping of blue flames. When done so Illawara stood back with a grand gesture before she uttered the words she had practiced:

  ‘What has passed shall come again,

  What is forgotten shall be remembered.

  Unjust be the form this body maintains,

  So be this curse dismembered.'

  With a rush, the blue flames leapt up, and Illawara stood back as Hermes began to crackle like a firework. His short legs began to lengthen at speed: his petite wings began to stretch out into arms, and his primary feathers became fingers, while his long beak shortened into a fine nose. From the little bird emerged healthy bones, and new flesh could be seen manifesting through the shimmer of the blue flames. The curve of a neck, the arch of a spine, sculpting and forming as his sinews reshaped and knitted together, and ran in rivulets across the emerging body, as his ribcage, acting like a loom, gathered the loose threads of his flesh.

  Eventually, any remaining feathers were pulled within and absorbed by a rich brown human skin. Hermes’ little crest of feathers, so familiar to her, unfurled and spread across his scalp to become a thick mass of dark curly hair, as before Illawara’s eyes Hermes transformed back into a handsome youth. After the last of the flames had subsided, Hermes clutched at himself with embarrassment, trying to protect his modesty at finding himself naked in front of Illawara. She stood open mouthed at the manifestation before her - vapour lifted from Hermes' skin as he shivered in the chilling air.

  ‘OH, MY, GOD’ she exclaimed, ‘so this is what you look like. Not what I imagined at all’ she said, as Hermes glanced down at himself like a stranger. ‘My goodness’ said Illawara gawking as she walked around her friend, ‘you’re a real person…’ She then corrected herself ‘I mean, I’ve always known… it’s just I couldn’t imagine you like…’ Hermes clutched at himself to try and avoid her gaze. ‘Let me look at you' she said in half shock, and half giggle, her hand over her mouth.
Hermes stood un-amused.

  ‘I will not. Are you trying to flirt with me?’ Illawara almost screamed with surprise, stifling the sound by cupping her mouth with her other hand.

  ‘Your voice is SO different… I’m going to have to get used to it.' Wide-eyed, Illawara shook her head in disbelief, ‘well, you’re definitely not ugly.’ Hermes clutched at his nakedness

  ‘Stop staring at me. You're acting like that Trucker. You should be ashamed of yourself with your gawping.’ Illawara frowned and crossed her arms.

  ‘Oh c’mon – how could you say that? That’s cruel, please’ Illawara scowled, ogling, before giving out a wobbly whistle with he hands braced on her hips, ‘seems like the bird has become a cat’ She purred before sweeping away, 'besides, can you blame me for staring? I've had no idea of what you looked like before' she said before tossing her side pouch behind her, ‘you can cover your modesty with that.'

  ‘You've nothing else?’ said Hermes, ‘this not funny, Illy, I’m standing naked here'

  ‘I know' Illawara said still turned away, 'have you covered yourself yet?’ Hermes snatched up the side pouch from the floor and held it to his groin.

  ‘Yes, but do I have any clothes? Did you bring anything?’ he said, almost tumbling to the floor from dizziness and exposing yet more of himself.

  ‘I didn’t pack any’ said Illawara turning around, half shielding her eyes.

  ‘What? No clothes? You’re joking?’ Illawara shook her head.

  ‘I don’t remember you asking for those’

  ‘Oh, that’s just typical of you.’ Hermes raised his voice, ‘do you expect me to go to the Medici’s party naked? You’re totally irresponsible’ he huffed, ‘we’ve travelled here through hundreds of years in time, and you can remember to bring a pineapple but not trousers or UNDERPANTS.’

  ‘There are no trousers or underpants here in these times - even you should know that. But you may not need to wear very much after all?’ she declared.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Hermes,

  ‘Because I’m thinking of taking you as my Moorish manservant.’ Hermes stood incredulous as his jaw dropped open, ‘all the rage right now’ she added with a casual air. Hermes scowled.

  ‘Illy, really? Sometimes you're too much, just too much. You go too far with things. I’m not going to be paraded like some seventeenth century, Tarzan. If you’re going down that route, you’re on your own.’

  ‘Oh Stop your whining’ she said with a swipe through the air, ‘you said I was acting like that Trucker – or whatever he was: seems like you’ve lost your sense of humour along with your feathers' she said, but with Hermes’ evident anger Illawara could see that she had taken her joke far enough. 'It will be fine once I’ve figured out the best way to dress you.' Illawara scanned the courtyard with her eyes, 'but don’t fret the tincture will sort it… Besides, can’t a girl enjoy herself?’

  ‘NO’ said Hermes as he knitted his brows in disapproval.

  ‘You’re not my type anyway’ she added with a throwaway air. Hermes seemed unconvinced. But while Hermes observed Illawara peep around the enclosure he began to reflect and soften in his private opinion. She had made a huge sacrifice for them to be there. Hermes’ humanity would return to him in fits and starts. Illawara then saw something before she clicked her fingers, like a magician, and then rubbed her hands together before she declared with bravado: ‘OK, it’s time to go shopping.'

  ‘She’s crazy’ Hermes whispered to himself.

  ‘Hermes, my friend, watch and learn, watch and learn…’ added Illawara, as if in the character of a travelling showman. Helpless, Hermes shook his head with woe and tried to ignore the chill that crept across his buttocks. With nonchalant leisure, Illawara strode into the green enclosure, at the middle of the cemetery, where some wild roses were climbing their way up one of the side walls of the Camposanto. She plucked one of the yellow-pink flowers, a sprig of leaves and three of its thorns. She then half skipped back to place them in a small pile on the scorched stone that Hermes had vacated to shelter in an alcove. Illawara used the tincture again, allowing three drops to consume the flower and its parts before uttering:

  ‘For what is leaf be woven grained,

  For what is flower be fabric tamed,

  And from its pollen, our money gained.

  In rosy thorn - thy find thy scabbard,

  In rosy boots - thy stride maintained.'

  In an instant, the flames rose again as the tincture got to work on the rose and its parts. The petals of the flower began to stretch and then billow out, and to turn themselves into a wide sleeved silken shirt: yellow on the body, and then graduating to a blush on the cuffs and collars.

  The leaves, and then the veins of the plant began to break off here and there, and to twist themselves into elegant brocade that entwined at the cuffs and collar, before stitching and fixing in the present centuries’ style. The yellow pollen and stamens at the centre of the flower, swelled like seeds, to burst open into coins of Tuscan Scudo. The remaining leaves twisted and wove themselves into differing items: a fine green coat, followed by a cape, a hat, a waistcoat, stockings, and breeches, all with similar trimmings to the shirt. A pair of the thorns became two fine red boots, the third a handsome dagger and scabbard.

  With the work completed Illawara shook the items out in the fading light and the garments gave off a heady scent of wild rose, which filled the air before passing. She took up the dagger, and with a grand gesture unsheathed it from its scabbard - the high-pitched sound the metal gave out seem to shatter from the walls in tiny pieces. Glowing red reflections shone up and down the steel in the twilight as she inspected it. Illawara found a drying stem to drop upon the blade and posed satisfied when it fell sliced in half. Hermes looked on agog.

  ‘I take back what I said - wow, when did you learn to do all this?’ he added, but she gave a wry smile and remained silent. ‘I’m impressed’. Illawara nodded and tried not to look too smug.

  ‘I know my plants, remember… it took lots of patience and practice, but they can teach you their secrets - if you take care of them.’

  Contented with her work she turned away from Hermes and smiled to herself: ‘try on your things’ she said before returning the blade to its scabbard. Illawara turned away before Hermes dashed from the alcove to snatch up the clothes and try on his new attire. They fitted him perfectly. Once changed, and without a mirror to check himself, he allowed Illawara to make any required adjustments before subjecting himself to opinion. Standing back in his fine boots with his arms outstretched he asked:

  ‘How do I look?’ Illawara paused and tried to be objective in assessing him.

  ‘You look like a handsome nobleman, and one fit to grace any Medici gathering.’ Hermes grinned, the first she had ever seen of his, his smile as natural as the Moon. Illawara rubbed her eyebrow, ‘I hope I’ve not overdone it with the clothes? You’re very… colourful’ She said tilting her head, ‘I think we’ll get tongues wagging. I’d say we’re just ahead of the times, which isn’t a bad thing I suppose.’ Hermes could not help but respond to her praise. She watched his shoulders arch back, and his chin rise. With her main tasks achieved, Illawara removed the diamond from her brow to adjust the gem's strapping and attached it to her neck to wear the jewel as a spectacular choker. As if looking at a mirror, she adjusted her hair, making sure her dark silky locks lay untangled upon her high-embroidered collar. Cupping her hands, she then tweaked her bodice under her bust to pull herself up, and with a swish, she then straightened her skirts. Illawara didn’t need to ask Hermes how she looked - she shone.

  Confident that things were correct and everything in place, the pair chatted, reviewing, complementing and renewing their friendship in its changing nature - before remembering to take a dose of the Forked Tongue potion that Illawara had also packed in the bag. They took it in turns to place a few drops of the tincture on their tongues, and then swirl the liquid in their mouths. Their faces contorted to start with in taking the liq
uid, as the bitterness of the Forked Tongue tasted almost unbearable. They both shook their heads in a fit of discomfort at the flavour.

  But with time the mixture began to sweeten like honey as menthol vapour began to infuse their faces, and escape from their noses and ears. As the powerful concoction began to take effect, their confidence increased as their pallets arched and relaxed. The pair both gained a lucid sense of knowledge; knowing they could understand and answer Italian with clarity, and seemed to leech their knowledge from the very stones that surrounded them - stones that had absorbed conversations over so many years.

  With the unpleasant sensations over, Illawara and Hermes then readied themselves. With hasty practice the pair began to test each other: setting forward wild riddles, playing ‘I Spy’ and singing bits of David Bowie songs to each other in Italian. They cackled with glee, as the Italian language bounced out of them like bubbles of Prosecco. Satisfied they were fluent, the proud pair, with Hermes holding Illawara’s arm for balance, swaggered to the other side of the garden to make a discreet exit from the Camposanto. Few people were around as they strolled past the leaning tower of Pisa, and left the hallowed square via one of its side entrances. For a while at least, Hermes forgot his prior concerns and revelled in being human again - free, in part, from the curse that had bound him.

  In the deepening dusk, they both walked down Via Santa Maria, past some of the inns, taverns and Trattorias in search of a meal: Hermes grumbled that he had not eaten solid food in years, and Illawara also felt hungry. The locals of Pisa busied themselves either closing their stalls and shops or lighting candles inside to get their businesses ready for evening trade. The pair walked the streets – with Illawara supporting Hermes - while collections of small golden flames began to flicker behind the street windows: illuminating their path and flattering their grandeur.