Message Delivered

She drifted back to earth from a dream of moonlight shining down on the central courtyard of the temple as the women gathered to celebrate another full moon. The caw of a crow mingled with the sound of birdsong, a beam of sunlight warming her face and the rising grief that the temple was only a ruin now after so many centuries.

But they had celebrated last night which always invigorated her. She opened her eyes and stretched, reached to secure the sheath of her hunting knife on the belt at her waist before sitting up and straightening her thigh-length tunic.

Were not these woods, this small mountain all her own better than any temple? She had always preferred wilderness to the confinement of an enclosure. And the full moon had shone down, silvery light blessing her followers in their pale tunics among the trees. Her place in the world of mortals was nothing to complain about compared to some of the other gods whose power had dwindled much more.

The wolf cub slept curled against her as if she was mother and safe refuge. And she was, of course, because she protected all of her animals from being hunted. Nothing and nobody crossed the perimeter without her permission. Every creature warded by her influence knew and respected that boundary, staying always within the bounds.

She stretched, lifted the wolf cub, which did not wake, then crouched to deliver it into the grotto den to join mother and siblings.

A deer walked toward her and accepted a caress before ambling off again. The father wolf padded toward her to sit and stare into her eyes, wildness communing with wildness.

Solitude, but never loneliness, attended her more frequently than any of the women who had dedicated themselves to her service. Occasionally, one or more of them lingered through the night. The hardy ones slept directly on the earth as she did herself while the others brought blankets and an old woman required a newfangled air-mattress to be able to sleep under the stars.

She tolerated what was necessary these days, but never the newer technologies. On her request not long ago, Ciara had brought a mobile phone and a laptop to demonstrate their attributes and explained how they connected to the world wide web. She had imagined spiders weaving from the electricity sparked by lightning, constantly multiplying knowledge but also, which offended her, disseminating lies and falsehoods.

Dangerous, this web, because not all mortals were skilled in perceiving truth. Some believed what they wanted to believe or what would gain them an easier life or more profit or feed their dreadful ambitions.

Her followers, though, knew what was at stake. Each in their own way made a difference and did their best to encourage others to care about Gaia. Some mortals even knew the name of that goddess better than any other, apparently, from what Ciara had shown her. And the image of the life-giving planet hanging in space like a pearl of swirling blue and green and white—they had achieved a view that only the gods previously perceived.

Or someone riding Pegasus, of course. She frowned, not sure whether the winged horse persevered or had faded into a mere legend. How very many years had passed since she had seen him?

It perturbed her sense of rightness that men had walked on the surface of the moon, though this had, indeed, resulted in that beautiful image of the earth in space. Did they think their technology made them into gods? Since one of her many names was Selene, she took a personal affront at their audacity.

After shouldering her quiver, she picked up her silver bow and began to run, not chasing anything and certainly not being chased but just breathing in the morning air and rejoicing that she was still alive. This was due, in no small part, to her followers because they believed in her.

As usual, she eventually scrambled and climbed upslope to her favourite perch, appreciating each deep lungful of air as she gazed up at the radiance of Helios then brought her gaze down to the slopes of her mountain.

Her sharp eyes focused on the blot on the landscape instantly, watching as the man garbed in modern clothing raised a mobile phone to capture a picture of the view. Her view! And how had he gotten through the perimeter without her knowledge? Why had not one of the watchful crows given warning?

In an eyeblink, she stood near him, thinking she would summon the pair of wolves to chase and devour him, remembering a mortal pack of hounds chasing a stag who once had been her mortal friend.

The intruder turned toward her.

“Drop that thing,” she ordered, hating the mobile more than him in that moment. She wanted to crush it with a stone, drop a boulder to destroy the delicate mechanisms inside.

Replying with only a smile, he pocketed the phone.

His defiance heated her anger, arrow knocked to bow and pointing at the middle of the maroon jumper where gold writing proclaimed In Gods We Trust. The motto made her pause, only from curiosity but what did that matter? She did not want to know his story if he even had one.

Then he opened both palms and said, “This is hardly the welcome I expected.”

And his image shimmered, blurred, reformed. Wearing an elegant tunic, from winged cap to winged sandals, he was every inch a god. He flourished his caduceus and bowed deeply.

She frowned at the heads of the twin snakes which twined around his staff as if it was their fault. “Trickster! What message do you bring?” she asked, returning the arrow to her quiver and unslinging her bow in one smooth motion.

A wry smile twisted his lips. “Am I not allowed to visit unless I bring a message?”

Still moody, she frowned. “I suppose,” she said, though she preferred invited guests such as her followers, not unexpected intrusions on her solitude.

“Let’s start again,” he invited. “Long time no see.”

She shrugged. “That is your doing. You know where I am. Hardly likely that I would try and seek you out, now, is it?”

“True enough,” he replied. “Are you not even the least bit glad to see me?”

She stared into those mercurial eyes. “You won’t share that image on the world wide web.”

“Oh, how modern of you,” he told her. “But I promise only I will ever see any photos that I take here. I need to feed my soul in exile, you know. Memories only suffice so long.”

“So come back and stay,” she said and turned away, looking out over the landscape which showed no signs of mortal habitation.

“I would if I could, but I can’t so I won’t,” he replied.

She didn’t pursue the discussion, bending as the pair of wolves stalked toward her, reassuring the creatures that claws and fangs were not needed. How responsive all her animals were to her moods. “Go home to your cubs,” she whispered.

“Quite the little ecosystem you maintain,” her visitor said.

She did not deign to comment on his remark. The fewer words she spoke, the less opportunity he would have to craft rumours about her, though he would doubtless create his own. She knew very well what he could be like.

“Your brother is dead again,” he told her.

She turned and stared, thinking of that golden lyre forever silent and how they used to hunt together sometimes when the world was a better place less trammelled and oppressed by mortal kind.

“Again,” he repeated. “Sorry to perturb you. Your brother attended the funeral himself in the guise of an old woman, quite an excellent disguise including a black velvet hat with a lace veil.”

“You are both as bad as each other,” she told him, wishing she had listened more carefully and realised the supposed death was only feigned.

“He will be coming home soon,” the messenger soothed her.

Though that promise brought satisfaction, she kept her thoughts to herself.

“We all will,” he added.

“Oh?” she asked, unable not to rise to this bait.

“Our father has invited everyone,” he told her, raising his staff toward the cloudless sky.

She glanced upwards and wondered if she had imagined the low rumble of distant thunder.

“To what purpose?” she asked.

His shrug failed to answer her. “I am only his faithful messenger, not his confidant.”

“But where will we meet? I will not welcome an invasion. Nor will I abandon my mountain.” Her senses reached out to embrace every tree, every creature that she nurtured and protected. Her white crow, the leader of her sentinel crows, always travelled with her wherever she went, but she could not take all the other birds and animals along.

“Surely your man-haters can survive without you for a few days,” he jested.

She slapped his face and glared.

“This isn’t what I signed up for,” he complained, raising a hand toward his face.

She nearly told him that she might have drawn her hunting knife and spoiled those irritating features, though being immortal, he would soon have healed.

“Don’t blame the messenger,” he continued. “I merely spoke according to what is often your reputation, these days.”

“What profits a god to heed the misconceptions of mortals?” she said and walked a short distance away, annoyed that they forgot her role as the protector of children and the supporter of women bearing children.

How many women over the years had sought her out seeking the blessing of an easy childbirth or brought their children for her to bless? Not every follower embraced the solitary, chaste path as they would have done in the past. Some had families and that might well include husbands though, naturally, these stayed home to look after the children when she gathered her supporters.

“Forewarned is forearmed,” he told her. “I like to keep my finger on the pulse of modern times. I do understand, though, why you prefer to live in the past.”

She turned back toward him, tempted to tell him that she had travelled the world wide web on both a laptop and a mobile phone. But she did not want him spreading tales about her to the other gods, so she refrained.

Tucking his caduceus under his arm, he liberated his mobile from a travelling pouch and raised it. She wanted to knock it out of his hand, but held her temper, focusing instead on the mother bear and cub moving through a clearing some distance below them. Maybe his photographs would work a gentle magic on him and bring him home to stay.

Though he was a consummate liar, she recognised that he had meant his promise not to share images of her mountain. Otherwise, she would already have smashed the gadget.

“They found Troy,” he reminded her, returning to their conversation, “which was thought previously to be merely a story.”

She looked down at the ground, remembering the long enduring chaos of the Trojan war. The loss of life on both sides appalled her and most especially the mistreatment of women and children. She had done what she could but had wished even then that Prometheus had never shared the gift of fire which had led to the invention of armour and weapons and the creation of wars.

Then, with his usual swiftness, he stood beside her, speaking softly. “I understand that I enmesh myself in reality while you try to keep the past alive. I think it will be good for all of us to gather again. Maybe we will discover a better way forward somehow to keep anyone else from fading away due to the neglect of mortals.”

He withdrew and struck a formal pose once more, caduceus upraised, saying, “Message delivered.” He vanished instantly, a victim to his own impatient blood, no doubt already travelling toward the next god on his list to deliver his message.

She reached out to all the sentinel crows, not scolding but making them aware of his visit and that other divinities might well be turning up, some more welcome than others.