Artio

Her eyes fluttered open. A dim blue light shone into them. She ignored it and closed her eyes; she was not ready for wakefulness. Just a few more weeks, she thought. And with that thought, her dreams twisted around her, and the light was forgotten.

A month later, her eyes opened fully. They were swirling gold, ever-changing like flames.

The light was brighter now, and it annoyed her. Silently she cursed it, then yawned, closed her eyes and return to sleep. As she did, prayers of far off people entered her mind. They were asking for spring, for change, for her. She pushed them away and thought once more; spring could wait. She did not want the colour or warmth of spring.

Grief still wrapped its all-encompassing arms around her. What she wanted was blissful sleep. In sleep, she could forget that her lover had grown old and left this realm. In sleep, she could see her again, young and smiling. But in sleep, people’s prayers infected her dreams. Farmers begging, pleading for spring. Mothers asking for food to feed their children. Children desperate for warmth.

She saw them as they prayed, and she padded between them, looking carefully at their thin, weather-beaten faces, pausing at each one. She stopped and stared longer at an old woman. Her round face was covered in wrinkles, and her hair hung white around her shoulders, but she was smiling. Her gaze looked past Artio at some unseen thing. She reminded Artio of someone.  

“It must be strange to get old.” The old woman turned to her, and their eyes connected, and the old woman’s eye burnt into her. Something deep inside her remembered something, and she longed for something, for someone, but the scene shifted.

A man she knew appeared. His mouth opened, and he spoke slowly, “Artio, you need to wake up.” She looked at him. He stood tall and shimmered. On top of his head were antlers with green plants wrapped around them. Was she Artio?

She replied anyway, “Spring will come when I decide.” The man disappeared, and the dreams turned back to snowy villages and dwindling people praying. She saw scarifies of lambs, offerings of bread and milk and promises of worship. But still, spring did not wake.

Her golden eyes opened again; light glared in this time. She squinted. It was too much to ignore. A familiar voice called inside her mind, “Artio, you need to get up.” She snarled. Her muscles sluggishly responded, and she stretched, much like a cat would after a nap. There was just enough space in the den. She reached her big paws in front of her as much as she could. Then she flopped back on her side and curled her head into her hind leg, and closed her eyes.  

“Artio, don’t make me come get you.”

What fool would wake a sleeping bear, Artio thought, let alone a sleeping God. She heard the voice chuckle, and the light flashed in again, right in her eyes as if someone was aiming. The voice came from outside this time and sang, “Artio, lazy bear, you need to get up.” She growled at the sing-song voice. It did not stop.

“Lazy bear, don’t make me come in.” She stretched again and poked her head through the snow covering her winter den. Her nose twitched, looking for the scent of her rude awakener. When she did not find one, she heaved the rest of her body into the sun.

“I am so glad I didn’t have to pull you out.” Artio turned around and bared her teeth at the man from her dream. His long curly hair blew in the wind, and his golden eyes shone at her.

“Oh, how I have missed you over winter, sister.” He said sarcastically, with a grin on his face.

Artio lifted a massive paw and swatted her brother. It went straight through him, and she lost balance and toppled into the snow. He laughed playfully at her.

“Of course,” she growled, “You are never really anywhere, Lux.”

“Still half asleep?” He tutted playfully, “Silly bear, do you even know the date?” Artio did not care what the date was. She wanted to be fully asleep in her cosy winter den. But she was up now, and she was hungry. With a final glare at Lux, she turned around and started down the snow-covered mountain in search of breakfast.

“Wait,” He called after her, “Don’t you want to talk to me?” She snorted in reply.

It was not long until she came across a deer carcass. She stopped, her big black nose twitched thoughtfully. She decided it was fresh enough. She would hunt something else when she woke up fully. She sank her teeth in and began to enjoy her breakfast when the illusion appeared again.

“You’re late,” Lux said patronisingly at her.

She looked up from her breakfast at him. He clearly had not got the message that she was in no mood for games. Her eyes fixated on him. Golden flames grow and pour out of them. She pulled herself up onto her hind legs, towering over the annoying God. She lowered her head to him and let out a thunderous roar in his face. The ground shook. Birds leapt squawking from trees, littering the dimming sky. Tiny mice in their dens huddled closer together. Far off, a brown bear decided to search for food in another valley. And the illusion dispersed into golden dust and floated away on the wind. She was alone. Serves him right for waking me, she thought as she settled down for a post-breakfast nap.

Her dreams were plagued with pain. Her lost lover stood young and gleaming with colourful daisies in her hair. Artio reached out, and the woman’s skin wrinkled, her body curved, and her hair turned white. The flowers dried to brown. Then women fell, too frail to stand, and Artio caught her and looked deep into her brown eyes as the life faded out of them. Artio’s heart broke all over again. Even with her magic, her lover had grown old and died.

This is why you never love mortals, her brother had told her, their lives are too quick – blink, and you miss them. A chasm of emptiness filled her heart. The dream changed, but the sadness stayed.

When she opened her eyes, the sky was dusted with a thousand stars. She spotted a light brighter than any star on the side of the far-off mountain and sighed. She watched the glow grow closer and began to form the shape of a stag. Then stag stood before her; long-legged, leaf-covered antlers reaching to the sky and golden. Lux was always golden.

“Made me came all this way in the flesh, didn’t you?” Lux said.

She huffed at him. He was being persistent. But she really did not care why he was here. Her heart was too heavy to care. She turned her attention away from him on to the deer in front of her. She felt him flinch a little, and she laughed in a way only a bear could.

“Artio, are you going to stay a bear all spring?”

She wanted to. She could do. Bears do not worry about emotions; bears worry about eating and sleeping. But she was not a bear; she was a goddess. Her golden eyes watered as memories of a dancing girl with daisies in her hair flooded her mind. She pushed her grief away. She could ignore it.

Lux walked around her and shifted to a man. She lifted her massive head and looked him in the eyes. They were just like hers, golden, the eyes of the Gods. His face softened. He knew. Artio had disappeared earlier than usual, and now she had only gotten up thanks to his persistence. Lux always knew when he was needed. Even before Artio cared to admit she needed him. What else was a brother for?

“Artio. You can’t ignore it forever.”

She could, she would, and so she heaved herself up and ran. In her bear form, she could bound further and faster than any mortal bear could. She could run to the edge of the Earth and further if she wanted. But she just wanted to forget. So she ran until the stars faded and the sun rose then set, and the stars reclaimed the sky. The moon rose above her, full and bright. She ran until the moon was high in the sky. She leapt over mountains that pierced the sky. She crossed rivers that rushed, lusting for the sea. She passed sleeping villages nestled in frozen valleys.

And finally, she stopped.  Atrio looked down into the valley below and knew where she was. She had not dared to think about where she was going. And yet she had come here. She would never escape it, it was part of her now.

She looked down on the town lit, both by the full moon and its reflection on the snow. It gleamed, and her gaze fell across the valley to the white stone temple, the temple that had brought her here all those years ago. It was where her eyes first met her lover’s eyes, where their lips had first touched, where Atrio had fallen in love. She had called this place home for so long, but it had been Roisin. Beautiful Roisin had been home. Now it was hollow.

Artio stumbled down the hill. Drunk on memories, laying in the tall green summer grass, watching the mayfly dance. The sleepless nights of stars and love. Roisin’s warm embrace.

She reached the sleeping village and walked the cobbled streets. The place was strange without her, as if it was from an entirely different realm. Artio found herself in front of their house. It looked the same. It was the same, and yet it would never be the same. She pushed her way inside. Her bear body just managing to squeeze through the door. The air had a chilling stillness to it. She lifted her  nose, Roisin’s smell still lingered. She saw Roisin in every cobwebbed corner and on every dusty shelf. But Roisin would never be there again. Roisin was gone, and Artio was alone again. Artio turned and left. She wanted her; she needed her. Who was she without her? She looked up at the temple glowing white in the moon.

In the hills, the stag stood, brighter than the moon. He could run just as far and as fast as his sister (he liked to think faster, but he was wrong). Lux looked down on the village, surprised to have tracked her here. His eyes flicked over the streets. He saw the bear, blue in the moonlight, hurrying up the other side of the valley and he knew where she was going.

As Lux walked through the village, he almost felt Artio’s pain. He had many mortal lovers, but he never kept them as long as Artio did. It was less painful that way, but Lux had never loved the way Atrio did, so thoroughly with her whole self. He tried to get her to stop, but every couple hundred years or so, she would fall in love and forget her previous pain. This one had been a long love, and so this winter had been the longest in a millennium.

He reached the temple of the Spring Goddess. There at the entrance was a statue of Artio in her human form, palm facing forward carved with the rune of change. Her other hand held the flame of life.

As he walked into the temple, he shifted into a man with antlers. The whole temple radiated Artio. As he searched, he let his hands trail on the walls. She had carved herself into each stone. He listened to his footsteps echo as he walked and this place would be sacred until the Earth was eaten by fire.

He found her because he always found her. She was curled up in the courtyard, moonlight dripping off her. The Spring Goddess was beautiful, even when sheathed in pain. She lay four legs splayed below a statue. The statue was new since his last visit, but the likeness was unmistakable. Roisin.

He watched the bear as she lifted her massive head, “She’s gone. She’s really gone.” Tears fell, piercing the snow. “I’m alone,” she wailed.

Lux stepped closer, keeping her gaze. He really looked at her. Artio felt it deep within her very being. He looked deeper than she would let herself look. He found the love and grief for Roisin and held it, and for a second, let himself feel all of it; how endless her love was and the abyss of pain left in its place. Then he reached out his own rune-covered palm and held it on her forehead. Artio pushed into it.

Her bear form melted away into a young woman. She fell into him, and he held her while she sobbed. Around them, white snow melted, and the green grass that had waited patiently all winter was uncovered, and snowdrop bloomed around them.

Finally, Lux softly spoke, “Yes, Artio, she is, and it hurts, but you will never be alone.”

All around the valley, the snow melted, and spring bulbs started to seek the sunlight. Tomorrow, the people would praise the Goddess and rejoice for spring had finally come. Tomorrow, Atrio would hurt a little less.