Echoes of the Goddess. Darrell Schweitzer
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* * * *
On the day before he was to leave for the wars, Zadain came upon his younger brother as he sat in the middle of a pasture with his face held between his fists. The boy was so caught up in his brooding that he did not notice the goats scattering at his brother’s approach. Nor did he mark Zadain’s dress: tall, leather boots, a blue tunic, a kilt set with metal strips, and a round helmet.
Said the elder to the younger, “Brother, you’ve always been a bit distracted, and I’ve always said that maybe your head isn’t right. But I know that something special troubles you. I’m not sure I’ll be back, where I’m going, so I’d like to set everything right between us before I leave. So tell me what your trouble is.”
When Ain saw that his brother was sincere, he unburdened himself of the whole story, but his trust was shattered when Zadain burst into laughter.
“You’re haunted by some dancing hussy you met in the hills? Do you mean that, after all the years in the world, after the Goddess has lived and died, you’ve finally discovered sex?”
“No! No! It isn’t like that at all!” The goats scattered as Ain shouted.
“Oh, I see. You mean to say that some lofty, ethereal creature appeared out of heaven, which can never be seen by any of us insensitive, vulgar mortals. Except you, of course—”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean—not exactly—”
“Goat crap! Now look here, idiot little brother—” Zadain grabbed Ain by the front of his shirt and shook him. “I’ll show you what sort of girl she is. I’ll go up in those hills this very night, and if she’s still there I’ll bring her back over my shoulder, like any other piece of loot—”
“No! You can’t!”
“I think I can.” Zadain shoved him to the ground. The lyre fell out of Ain’s bag and rattled over some stones. “Listen, little boy, when and if you ever grow up, you’ll find out what that thing between your legs is good for. You don’t play music on it!”
Helplessly, Ain watched his brother stalk off in the direction of the hills. And he watched the sun set behind those hills. The stars came out. He stayed in the field, allowing the goats to wander where they would. When he was sure that the new glow in the hills was not moonlight, he ran in that direction, stumbling over the rough terrain and falling painfully, but always pressing on. His father’s anger didn’t frighten him now. Nothing else mattered.
At last he reached a spot where, through a trick of echoes, he heard a dim strain of music. He was certain. And there was another sound. It was the lady. He was certain of that too. Was she angry, frightened, startled? No, she was laughing.
The light went out.
* * * *
Ain returned to the farm, again without most of the goats, just as the sun rose, but before his parents could reach for the switches, Zadain arrived. The elder brother was not visibly harmed, but he seemed diminished, emptied of all but a rudimentary awareness. He walked like a corpse rooted out of its grave. His face was blank. He only spoke when spoken to, and then without any feeling.
The younger brother looked on with knowing dread, but at the same time he was sure this was Zadain’s punishment for his blasphemy. He would not end up like this.…
Then Thain exchanged glances with Patek his wife, and they grabbed Ain by either arm, dragged him out of Zadain’s hearing, and demanded of him what he knew. The tale was recounted, and afterward the father spoke in a low, grim voice.
“And what do you think your lady will make of you now? After this?” He pointed to his elder son.
“Father, I don’t imagine. I can’t imagine. But I’ve heard old stories, about people who loved ladies like that, and I am sure that if she is pleased with my music, she’ll come to me again.”
Thain struck him in the face.
“You blind fool! Can’t you see that your brother is bewitched? I think you are too. I think your brain has melted away. Know this: I’ve heard of creatures like this lady before, and I haven’t been listening to idle stories or poetry. I know what she, or it, really is. She is one of the Bright Powers. The Bright Powers move about with the changing of the seasons, like clouds, like wind or the sun. They have no minds. Their outward forms are illusions. They are fragments of the Goddess, shards, splinters, motes of glittering dust. When a great image falls, it breaks into a million tiny pieces. These are the Bright Powers. They are remnants of the fair aspect of the Goddess. She had a dark side too, from which come the Dark Powers. People say that the Dark ones are more dangerous, but as you can see, this Bright one didn’t do your brother any good.”
“Father, I am sure you’re wrong. She is a lovely lady.”
Thain struck him again.
“Listen! I am not wrong! Foolish boy, know this from more years of experience than you’re ever likely to see! This is my judgment: I forbid you to make music, or to sing when you are in the fields, or otherwise to summon this Bright Power. If you do—” he looked back to where Zadain stood, still as a statue, then into his wife’s face, then back to Ain. His voice broke. He seemed about to weep. “If you do…If you do, then I have no more sons. You shall be turned out from this house, driven from all Randelcainé, as is the law. Understand?”
“Yes, Father. I do.”
Then Thain took the lyre and hung it on a peg inside the house. “There it stays,” he said, “until you’re over this madness.”
A little while later the thing that had been Zadain rose, took up shield and spear, and departed for the wars.
* * * *
The boy tended the flock for another two days, and he remained silent all the while, in obedience to his father. But then he knew that the time had come for him to go to the Bright Lady. This could not be blasphemy, he told himself. It could be no violation of the law. He would not summon her, as any village conjurer summons a spirit out of a tainted well. No, he would go where he had seen her last, and wait. Perhaps he would perish in the waiting, but he would wait all the same, so strong was the compulsion within him.
So he drove the goats home on the evening of the second day, and sat with his parents on the doorstep after supper, in the cool breeze. At first the talk was slow and faltering, as all were reluctant to mention Zadain, but then words came quickly and easily. Ain and his parents spoke of everyday things. Thain and Patek were pleased to see their son behaving sensibly once more. Ain was tense, but he dared not reveal it. He was about to go away, as Zadain had gone, but much farther, and perhaps he too would never return. He wished his brother could be with him.
It was nearly midnight when they retired. He lay above his parents in a loft which seemed vast and empty, now that Zadain was gone. But for all the unhappiness it might bring, he knew what he had to do. He put his ear to the boards beneath him and listened to his mother’s gentle breathing and his father’s snoring for a long time. Then he sat up, tied on his shoes, wrapped a cloak around himself, and climbed carefully down out of the loft. He paused in the darkness over his sleeping parents. He wanted to lean over and kiss his mother goodbye, but dared not, so he merely slipped away, into the kitchen, where he gathered some bread and cheese and dried meat into a bag, and slung a water skin over his shoulder. With tense, breathless stealth, he lifted his lyre down from the peg. Then he was gone. The night received him.
In darkness he walked toward the hills. The moon was just up and the sky very clear, so he could see the slopes before him, but the light did not reach into the lowlands yet. Each tree and boulder stood in black outline like some silent sentry in the land of the dead. But he knew the way intimately, having wandered over this ground since he was old enough to walk. Before long he came to the bank of the Endless River. This he followed until he came to where the land sloped upward. He followed the path he had taken on that first night.
He looked up at the cave mouth and saw a light. Fear shot through him. Bandits? Then he saw how foolish his fear had been. The