He the great hero came to the waters edge and peered. Calling to the grottos deep it was simply as he feared, In deep waters lurked great monster of the deep, Given to Viking to raid village, town and keep. Vile its site, and ghastly ten tentacles that are outstretched Till their reach is greater still than the stad from east to west Though daunting this creature was in its awful might Gladir thought only of death or victory, and never once of flight.
Saga of Gladir – lines 2247-2255
There he runs, to shuttle thence from dusk to dawn. The morning star whence he lives and reigns, But the evening where he sallies forth - To battle the stars that fall to Ishtar. Lo! Icarus is his name, fallen once from height Remade by lord of light, and then rebelled To Marduk’s service in final war. But madness stricken, he is Janus in another life.
Hymn to Icarus Arisophocles, Hymns I:5
Long Count Date: 998.11.92
The globes seemed to shed waves of light on everything, it was an extravagance that she could only imagine affording, and here they were, one right after the other. She did not know that these were spheres of granite with phosphorous painted on, and that they were repainted regularly, but she would have been as impressed either way. The greenish glow made her believe, more and more, with each passing step in spirits, faeries as some called them, and in all forms of magic. Finally when she was half way up the first rolling hill, she felt, truly, chosen. There were stone and plaster walls that fenced in the estates, the orbed light made the imperfections in the surface take on the aspect of faces.
For a moment she stopped, and thought that this had to be her cave dream, and laughed at her seriousness of only a few moments before. Prophecy seemed to dwindle in her mind, if all it was, was a bit of light and some plaster. But, once on the errand…
Not long there afterward two large men, armed with rope and hook weapons stopped her. They both had heavy set faces, and they demanded to see her pass. But after examining it in a cursory manner and touching Amalthea’s seal, they questioned her no more and sent her along her way. It was slowly dawning on her how important a person Amalthea had to be, and the image of a “gentle old lady” was gradually changing to someone who was deeply respected for her giving aid and comfort and wisdom to a whole city.
But she could not allow herself to drift off into reverie on this issue, it was too easy to stumble in the strange light, with some of the cobblestones sticking up higher than others. The Hellenes did not take as much care with roads as the Latins did, even their expensive roads were not like the Latin model. She remembered from her childhood traveling up and down the one Latin road, and marveling at its smoothness.
To keep her spirits up she recited Homeric hymns – the god of epic poetry, who was said to be blind on the Olympus, the great volcano that towered in along the spine of the mountains, which was visible from the lowlands in even far away. She had not believed the myths and stories as a child, and had resolved to climb the mountain her self, and see the salt sea inside of the old caldera, and know that there were no gods there. But that was before. Her favorite hymns were not the “devotionals” which had the singer lament themselves, nor to the gods, but the hymns that were meant to give strength and aid. Now she needed them, and was having no difficulty finding many that suited her mood. She liked the Odes of Brachus as well, with their jolly mirth and praise of a good life well lived. A thing which still pulled at her – to marry, farm, trade, and raise a family in a simple, honest and comfortable way. Perhaps, after she had done this, it would be over, and the sight would give her the chance to be comfortable, and even to travel. She momentarily considered simply wandering off, and simply learning to use her gift in the wilderness, as stories told of heroes sometimes did – where, aware of their uniqueness, they had gone into exile. But that story was not her own, and she knew it.
At this point she half hummed and half recited:
I live and breath because others have done and died, I give and breed, for others in the future scried. I hope and wander, for the meaning of time and tide. The call to before, the call again, they ever call to me.
Such a strange word, tide, she had heard that the sea’s level changed somewhat during the day, the explanation being that the sun pulled upon the waters. But it was such a minor thing to be calling in the verse. But it was an old verse, very old, and she wondered if the tides were stronger once.
And so, she walked on, still not having any heaviness of foot, until she realized that off in the distance she saw the end of the globes, and there after the road was dark. As she walked closer, her heart moved from that lightness of happiness, to that lightness of palpitation and even fear. Her reason told her to be cautious, and caution gave way quickly. Suddenly she became convinced she was in danger, real danger. The shadows to the left and right suddenly took on a different aspect, and began to “feel” like those shapes without shape inside the “antechamber to dreams.”
And when she saw a black robed figure – or at least dark robed figure, she stopped in her tracks. Was this the Magus, or a test? She had, up until now, not thought about what “danger” meant. But of course one element of “danger” is “enemies”. She had not thought of herself as having enemies up until this very moment of her life. Rivals, yes, for attention, affection, and advancement. But not, until she looked at that figure, had anyone been an enemy. She knew hatred, but not the sense that she was hated.
On the deck of fortune telling cards in her pocket, the card labeled “I” is “The Magus”, who is dressed in white with a red toga. He has a glow wand, indicating that he is good, because he is on some holy mission, and before him are the suits – the synodic, the chalice, the staff and the wand, indicating the kinds of knowledge – magical, emotional, physical and intellectual. But this figure did not have anything kindly about its aura, and was hooded and dark. She felt for the belt pouch that had them, and had an impulse to hold them up as some sort of protection, she had read about spells where a strong aura gave an individual the ability to hold back spirits, and then discarded this as a foolish impulse that bubbled out of the churning feeling in her abdomen. She could feel the bubbles of gas, she was glad she had eaten little.
The figured beckoned to her, and began walking in her direction, she was paralyzed with fear, and simply stopped still. It was some time before it reached her – and then threw off the black hood and looked at her. He was darker of complexion than herself, but still quite young, or seemed young at any right, with a fine beard that was carefully pruned and kept short. He had a long aquiline nose, a flat face, and thin lips, but he was smiling and that made the sharpness of his features seem bright, rather than hawk-like, But she could easily imagine him with a more predatory look, that a bird of prey might have. But in all, he was better than average handsome, and did not, at this moment, seem like he was threatening. She realized that what she had mistaken for heft and bulk was a pack under his robe, and perhaps some other layers of garments. She saw him carrying a staff as tall as himself, and beneath the folds of his cloak she could see a glow lantern.
It took a moment but she realized that he had come prepared for a great deal more trouble than meeting one tired, confused, and frightened young lady on the road. She decided that her problem was that she had misidentified him, he was not card “I”, the Magician, but card “IX” – the Hermit, come to guide her. Armed with this, she walked forward to him, her head higher, and her gait more confident. She set her self firmly, adopted the formal tone that she used when making declarations while fortune telling and began:
“I am March Angela, Hermit, and I have been sent to you on a mission.”