by Gene Wolfe
We are docked now at a place called Bear Island. We fear no bears here, nor much of anything else. The king is the son of an old friend of Hahraklahs’. He has invited us to his wedding, and all is wine and garlands, music, dancing, and gaiety. (Pukz 43—48) Eeasawn asked for volunteers to guard the boat. I volunteered, and Atalantah offered to stay with me. Everyone agreed that Eeasawn and Hahraklahs would have to be present the whole time, so they were excused; the rest drew lots to relieve us. Polydeukahs the Clone and Kaeneus lost and were the subjected to much good-natured raillery. They promise to relieve us as soon as the moon comes up.
Meanwhile I have been leaning on my spear and talking with Atalantah. Leaning on my spear, I said, but that was only at first. Some kind people came down from the town (Puk 49) to talk with us, and left us a skin of wine. After that we sat side by side on one of the benches and passed the tart wine back and forth. I do not think that I will ever taste dry red wine again without being reminded of this evening.
Atalantah has had a wretched life. One sees a tall, athletic, good-looking young woman. One is told that she is royal, the daughter of a king. One assumes quite naturally that hers has been a life of ease and privilege. It has been nothing of the sort. She was exposed as an infant—left in the forest to die. She was found by hunters, one of whom had a captive bear with a cub. He washed her in the bear’s urine, after which the bear permitted her to nurse. No one can marry her who cannot best her in a foot race, and no one can. As if that were not enough, she is compelled to kill the suitors she outruns. And she has, murdering half a dozen fine young men and mourning them afterward.
I tried to explain to her that she could still have male friends, men other than suitors who like her and enjoy her company. I pointed out that I could never make a suitable mate for a beautiful young woman of royal blood, but that I would be proud to call myself her friend. I would make no demands, and assist her in any way I could. We kissed and became intimate.
Have I gone mad? Persefonay smiled at me as we left. I shall never forget that. I cannot. Now this!
No, I am not mad. I have been racking my brain, sifting my memory for a future that does not yet exist. There is a double helix of gold. It gives us the power to make monsters, and if it exists in that age it must exist in this. Look! (Pukz 50—58) I have paced off their height, and find it to be four and a half meters or a little more.
Six arms! All of them have six arms. (Pukz 54—57 show this very clearly.) They came at us like great white spiders, then rose to throw stones, and would have brained us with their clubs.
God above have mercy on us! I have been reading my little book by firelight. It says that a wise warrior is mightier than a strong warrior. Doubtless that is true, but I know that I am neither. We killed three. I killed one myself. Good Heavens!
Let me go at this logically, although every power in this mad universe must know that I feel anything but logical.
I have reread what I recorded here before the giants came. The moon rose, and not long after—say, three-quarters of an hour—our relief arrived. They were somewhat drunk, but so were we.
Kastawr came with his clone Polydeukahs, not wanting to enjoy himself without him. Kaeneus came as promised. Thus we had five fighters when the giants came down off the mountain. Atalantah’s bow served us best, I think, but they rushed her. Kaeneus killed one as it ran. That was simply amazing. He crouched under his shield and sprang up as the giant dashed past, severing an artery in the giant’s leg with his sword. The giant took a few more steps and fell. Polydeukahs and Kastawr attacked another as it grappled Atalantah. I actually heard a rib break under the blows of Polydeukahs’ fists. They pounded the giant’s side like hammers.
People who heard our war cries, the roars of the giants, and Atalantah’s screams came pouring down from the town with torches, spears, and swords; but they were too late. We had killed four, and the rest were running from us. None of the townspeople I talked to had been aware of such creatures on their island. They regarded the bodies with superstitious awe. Furthermore, they now regard us with superstitious awe—our boat and our whole crew, and particularly Atalantah, Kastawr, Polydeukahs, Kaeneus, and me. (Puk 59)
About midnight Atalantah and I went up to the palace to see if there was any food left. As soon as we were alone, she embraced me. “Oh, Pilgrim! Can you … Could anyone ever love such a coward?”
“I don’t ask for your love, Atalantah, only that you like me. I know very well that everyone on our boat is braver than I am, but—”
“Me! Me! You were—you were a wild bull. I was terrified. It was crushing me. I had dropped my bow, and I couldn’t get to my knife. It was about to bite my head off, and you were coming! Augah! Oh, Pilgrim! I saw fear in the monster’s eyes, before your spear! It was the finest thing that has ever happened to me, but when the giant dropped me I was trembling like a doe with an arrow in her heart.”
I tried to explain that it had been nothing, that Kastawr and his clone had already engaged the giant, and that her own struggles were occupying its attention. I said, “I could never have done it if it hadn’t had its hands full.”
“It had its hands full?” She stared, and burst into laughter. In another minute I was laughing, too, the two of us laughing so hard we had to hold on to each other. It was a wonderful moment, but her laughter soon turned to tears, and for the better part of an hour I had to comfort a sobbing girl, a princess small, lonely, and motherless, who stayed alive as best she could in a forest hut with three rough men.
Before I go on to speak of the extraordinary events at the palace, I must say one thing more. My companions shouted their war cries as they battled the giants; and I, when I rushed at the one who held Atalantah, yelled, “Mayflower! Mayflower!” I know that was not what I should have said. I know I should have said mayday, but I do not know what “mayday” means, or why I should have said it. I cannot offer even a hint as to why I found myself shouting mayflower instead. Yet I feel that the great question has been answered. It was what I am doing here. The answer, surely, is that I was sent in order that Atalantah might be spared.
The whole palace was in an uproar. (Pukz 60—62) On the day before his wedding festivities began, King Kuzikos had killed a huge lion on the slopes of Mount Dindumon. It had been skinned and its skin displayed on the stoa, no one in his country having seen one of such size before.
After Kaeneus, Polydeukahs, and Kastawr left the banquet, this lion (we were told) was restored to life, someone filling the empty skin with new lion, so to speak. (Clearly that is impossible; another lion, black-maned like the first and of similar size, was presumably substituted for the skin.) What mattered was that the new or restored lion was loose in the palace. It had killed two persons before we arrived, and had mauled three others.
Amphiareaws was in a trance. King Kuzikos had freed his hounds, piebald dogs the size of Great Danes that were nearly as dangerous as any lion. (Pukz 63 and 64) Eeasawn and most of our crew were hunting the lion with the king. Hahraklahs had gone off alone in search of it, but had left word with Ekkiawn that I was to join him. Atalantah and I hurried away, knowing no more than that he had intended to search the east wing of the palace and the gardens. We found a body, apparently that of some worthy of the town, but had no way of knowing whether it was one of those whose deaths had already been reported or a fresh kill. It had been partly devoured, perhaps by the dogs.
We found Hahraklahs in the garden, looking very much like a lion on its hind legs himself with his lion skin and huge club. He greeted us cordially, and seemed not at all sorry that Atalantah had come with me.
“Now let me tell you,” he said, “the best way to kill a lion—the best way for me, anyhow. If I can get behind that lion and get my hands on its neck, we can go back to our wine. If I tried to club it, you see, it would hear the club coming down and jerk away. They’ve got sharp ears, and they’re very fast. I’d still hit it—they’re not as fast as all that—but not where I wanted, and as soon as I hit i
t I’d have it in my lap. Let me get a grip on its neck though, and we’ve won.”
Atalantah said, “I agree. How can we help?”
“It will be simple, but it won’t be easy. When we find it, I’ll front it. I’m big enough and mean enough that it won’t go straight for me. It’ll try to scare me into running, or dodge around and look for an opening. What I need is for somebody to distract it, just for a wink. When I killed this one I’m wearing Hylas did it for me, throwing stones. But he’s not here.”
I said I could do that if I could find the stones, and Atalantah remarked that an arrow or two would make any animal turn around to look. We had begun to tell Hahraklahs about the giants when Kalais swooped low and called, “It’s coming! Path to your left! Quick!”
I turned my head in time to see its final bound, and it was like seeing a saddle horse clear a broad ditch. Three sparrows could not have scattered faster than we. The lion must have leaped again, coming down on Hahraklahs and knocking him flat. I turned just in time to see him throw it off. It spun through the air, landed on its feet, and charged him with a roar I will never forget.
I ran at it, I suppose with the thought of spearing it, if I had any plan at all. One of Atalantah’s arrows whistled past and buried itself in the lion’s mane. Hahraklahs was still down, and I tried to pull the lion off him. His club, breaking the lion’s skull, sounded like a lab explosion.
And it was over. Blood ran from Hahraklahs’ immense arms and trickled from his fingers, and more ran down his face and soaked his beard. The lion lay dead between us, bigger than any horse I have ever seen. Kalais landed on its side as he might have landed on a table, his great white wings fanning the hot night air.
Atalantah embraced me, and we kissed and kissed again. I think that we were both overjoyed that we were still alive. I know that I had already begun to shake. It had happened much too fast for me to be afraid while it was happening, but when it was over, I was terrified. My heart pounded and my knees shook. My mouth was dry. But oh how sweet it was to hold Atalantah and kiss her at that moment, and have her kiss me!
By the time we separated, Hahraklahs and Kalais were gone. I took a few Pukz of the dead lion. (Pukz 65—67) After that, we returned to the wedding banquet and found a lot of guests still there, with Eeasawn and most of our crew. As we came in, Hahraklahs called out, “Did you ever see a man that would take a lion by the tail? Here he is! Look at him!”
That was a moment!
We held a meeting today, just our crew. Eeasawn called it, of course. He talked briefly about Amphiareaws of Argolis, his high reputation as a seer, famous prophecies of his that had been fulfilled, and so on. I had already heard most of it from Kaeneus, and I believe most of our crew is thoroughly familiar with Amphiareaws’ abilities.
Amphiareaws himself stepped forward. He is surprisingly young, and quite handsome, but I find it hard to meet his eyes; there is poetry in them, if you will, and sometimes there is madness. There may be something else as well, a quality rarer than either, to which I can put no name. I say there may be, although I cannot be sure.
He spoke very quietly. “We had portents last night. When we were told the lion had been resurrected, I tried to find out what god had done it, and why. At that time, I knew nothing about the six-armed giants. I’ll come to them presently.
“Hrea is one of the oldest gods, and one of the most important. She’s the mother of Father Zeus. She’s also the daughter of Earth, something we forget when we shouldn’t. Lions are her sacred animals. She doesn’t like it when they are driven away. She likes it even less when they are killed. She’s old, as I said, and has a great deal of patience, as old women generally do. Still, patience doesn’t last forever. One of us killed one of her favorite lions some time ago.”
Everyone looked at Hahraklahs when Amphiareaws said this; I confess I did as well.
“That lion was nursed by Hrea’s daughter Hahra at her request, and it was set in the heavens by Hahra when it died—again at her mother’s request. The man who killed it changed his name to ‘Hahra’s Glory’ to avert her wrath, as most of us know. She spared him, and her mother Hrea let the matter go, at least for the present.”
Amphiareaws fell silent, studying us. His eyes lingered on Hahraklahs, as was to be expected, but lingered on me even longer. (Puk 68) I am not ashamed to say they made me acutely uncomfortable.
“King Kuzikos offended Hrea anew, hunting down and killing another of her finest animals. We arrived, and she determined to avenge herself. She called upon the giants of Hopladamus, the ancient allies who had protected her and her children from her husband.” By a gesture, Amphiareaws indicated the six-armed giants we had killed.
“Their plan was to destroy the Argo, and with most of us gone, they anticipated little difficulty. I have no wish to offend any of you. But had only Kaeneus and Polydeukahs been present, or only Atalantah and Pilgrim, I believe they would have succeeded without much difficulty. Other gods favored us, however. Polydeukahs and Kastawr are sons of Zeus. Kaeneus is of course favored by the Sea God, as are ships generally. Who can doubt that Augah favors Atalantah? Time is Pilgrim’s foe—something I saw plainly as I began to speak. But if Time detests him, other gods, including Father Zeus, may well favor him.
“Whether that is so or otherwise, our vessel was saved by the skill in arms of those five, and by their courage, too. We must not think, however, that we have won. We must make what peace we can with Hrea, and so must King Kuzikos. If we fail, we must expect disaster after disaster. Persefonay favors our cause. This we know. Father Zeus favors it as well. But Persefonay could not oppose Hrea even if she dared, and though Father Zeus may oppose his mother in some things, there will surely be a limit to his friendship.
“Let us sacrifice and offer prayers and praise to Hrea. Let us urge the king to do likewise. If our sacrifices are fitting and our praise and prayers sincere, she may excuse our offenses.”
We have sacrificed cattle and sheep in conjunction with the king. Pukz 69—74 show the entire ceremony.
I have been hoping to speak privately with Amphiareaws about Time’s enmity. I know that I will not be born for many years. I know also that I have traveled the wrong way through those many years to join our crew. Was that in violation of Time’s ordinances? If so, it would explain his displeasure; but if not, I must look elsewhere.
Is it lawful to forget? For I know that I have forgotten. My understanding of the matter is that knowledge carried from the future into the past is clearly out of place, and so exists only precariously and transitorily. (I cannot remember who taught me this.) My offense may lie in the things I remember, and not in the far greater number of things I have forgotten.
I remember that I was a student or a scholar.
I remember that I was to join the crew of a boat (was it this one?) upon a great voyage.
I remember that I was to talk with the Lapiths.
I remember that there is some device among my implants that takes Pukz, another implant that enables me to keep this record, and a third implant that will let me rush ahead to my own period once we have brought the ramskin back to Mount Laphystios.
Perhaps I should endeavor to forget those things. Perhaps Time would forgive me if I did.
I hope so.
We will put to sea again tomorrow morning. The past two days have been spent making ready. (Pukz 75—81) The voyage to Kolkkis should take a week or ten days. The capital, Aea, is some distance from the coast on a navigable river. Nauplios says the river will add another two days to our trip, and they will be days of hard rowing. We do not care. Call the whole time two weeks. Say we spend two more in Aea persuading the king to let us return the ramskin. The ghost of Phreexos is eager to be home, Amphiareaws says. It will board us freely. In a month we may be homeward bound, our mission a success. We are overjoyed, all of us.
Atalantah says she will ask the king’s permission to hunt in his territory. If he grants it, she will go out at once. I have promised to help her.<
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This king is Aeeahtahs, a stern ruler and a great warrior in his youth. His queen is dead, but he has a daughter, the beautiful and learned Mahdaya. Atalantah and I agree that in a kingdom without queen or prince, this princess is certain to wield great influence, the more so in that she is reported to be a woman of ability. Atalantah will appeal to her. She will certainly be interested in the particulars of our voyage, as reported by the only woman on board. Atalantah will take every opportunity to point out that her hunt will bring credit to women everywhere, and particularly to the women of Kolkkis, of whom Mahdaya is the natural leader. Should her hunt fail, however, there will be little discredit if any—everyone acknowledges that the grups are a terribly difficult quarry. I will testify to Atalantah’s prowess as a huntress. Hahraklahs offers his testimony as well; before our expedition set out they went boar-hunting together.
We are loaded—heavily loaded, in fact—with food, water, and wine. It will be hard rowing, but no one is complaining so early, and we may hope for a wind once we clear the harbor. There is talk of a rowing contest between Eeasawn and Hahraklahs.
Is it possible to be too tired to sleep? I doubt it, but I cannot sleep yet. My hands burn like fire. I splashed a little wine on them when no one was looking. They could hurt no worse, and it may prevent infection. Every muscle in my body aches.
I am splashing wine in me, as well—wine mixed with water. Half and half, which is very strong.
If I had to move to write this, it would not be written.
We put out in fair weather, but the storm came very fast. We took down the sail and unshipped the mast. It was as dark as the inside of a tomb, and the boat rolled and shipped water, and rolled again. We rowed and we bailed. Hour after hour after hour. I bailed until someone grabbed my shoulder and sat me down on the rowing bench. It was so good to sit!