Morning was cold and clear, with a few scudding clouds far off on the eastern horizon, a weakly shining sun, shedding no warmth, peeking through them. The village was already awake, the men dragging boats from the beach into the water, women bringing up baskets with the dried and mended nets and some small snacks for the day’s work. Little was being said, both from a lack of energy and the long familiarity everyone had with each other.
When the stranger first appeared on the path, no one paid her any mind. No one ever came out of the forest, they went in, looking for firewood and easily captured game. Not all came back. It was old Nelly, with no husband, and nothing to do until the nets needing mending again, so saw her first. She stared at the stranger, then started into the village, then stopped and looked again to make sure she was seeing a real thing and not a spirit. She clapped her hands to her face and ran into the village, cackling madly and pointing occasionally up the path towards the stranger, who stood there silent, still heavily cloaked and cowled.
One of the younger women noticed the stranger next, and her panicked scream brought everyone else running, the men with heavy boat oars and bait hooks. The crowd rushed forward and formed a semi-circle around the stranger three-arm length distance. Afraid to press forward, but unwilling to leave the stranger alone, they all stood there and waited.
Minutes of leaden silence passed, broken only by muffled hoarse coughs from the crowd. Finally, the stranger pulled back the cowl. A woman was revealed, plain faced, with a pleasant enough smile and dark hair pulled back from her face.
"My name is Prill. I have skills as a healer and a medicine maker. I have come to live here, to grow old here and to die here. I also bring a son, who will be a hero." Saying this, she drew back the edge of the bundle she was carrying and revealed a small blonde manchild.
…..It had been five years since Prill had come to the village, and her magic was great. The villagers guarded her jealously, and sold her skills to other near-by settlements. Her son grew, already taller and stronger than most children twice his age. His eyes were blue and his hair the yellow of a summer sun. He was going to be hero, it was obvious…..
…..It had been ten years since the healer had come to the village, and prosperity had followed her. The children were healthier, the men lived longer and the women bore more babies that lived past their first year. Her son was now as tall as any of the men in the village, and stronger than most. He played in the fields and meadows near the village and the woods held nothing he feared. He regularly entered and returned with game, nuts and fruit for his mother and he gave away the extra un-selfishly. He was going to be a hero, and everyone told him so…..
…..In the late spring of his fifteenth year, raiders swept in from further up the coast, men from a village that had given up fishing and taken up killing and looting. The boy saw them coming from afar, organized the villagers, and slew the leader of the raiders himself. The other young men of the village adored him and the elders talked openly of making him the headman. He was already a hero here and yearning for more adventures than this simple village could provide him…..
…..In the summer of his seventeenth year, he left the village, to seek his fortune in the outside world. The entire village wept, save his mother, who gave him a bag of bronze coins, a new kilt and a sword she’d kept all these years, wrapped in oiled leather in a chest under her bed. The son marveled at the sword, kissed his mother good-bye and promised her that he’d remember the lessons she’d taught him. He left, seeking to be a hero…..
…..News traveled slowly to the fishing village, when it did at all. In the summer of what would have been the boy’s 20th birthday, news reached them that he had lead a revolt of slaves against evils masters in the port city to the north, setting all the captives free and slaying the head slaver himself. He was on his way to being a hero…..
…..Three more years passed, and the tales of the boy’s exploits grew and grew. Evil wizards, dangerous monsters and vile dictators all meet their end on the point of his sword. He was reputed to have gathered a following around him, men, women and other creatures eager to follow him. He sent back small gifts to his mother, who treasured them and waited hopefully for her hero…..
…..Another four years passed, with no gifts and the news was changing. There were now reports he was attacking the kingdoms of the Inner Plains, kingdoms long since past the follies of war, where peace had lasted so long some no longer remembered war, nor knew anyone who had. It was said he was responding to the pleas of the common folk to remove the yoke of tyranny, but few seemed to believe it, though there were still those who said he must know what he was doing. After all, he was a hero…..
…..Five more years had passed, and the old, peaceful kingdoms had fallen to him, as had the forest of the magical elves and the hills of the peaceful gnomes. None now dared to reproach him for what he had done, not while the bones of his last detractor were still bleaching on the walls of his heavily fortified castle. He had now taken the title of Hero, though few called him that openly…..
…..A visit in the middle of the night, with no guards and no fanfare announced the hero to his mother. She seemed hardly to have aged, while he appeared to be almost her age. He filled the doorway of the simple hut, massive shoulders brushing the door frame, ducking to avoid hitting his head. His simple travel cloak was dusty and torn, and his clothing simple and well worn.
"I don’t not feel well old woman, and I do not trust those around me to tell me the truth, nor do I trust them not to try and poison me with some foul brew they claim will cure me. Beside, by admitting to sickness I may encourage someone to try and slay me, thinking me weak. I watched as a child as you cured these simple villagers of ills that should have killed them, and I know you can cure me. Tell me what you want and I will grant it to you. A kingdom of your own, a castle, fine horses, perhaps servants? All are within my power to grant you and I will if you cure me." He left the unspoken threat of failure hanging in the air between them.
The old woman sat at the table silently, staring at the boy who called himself a hero, that she no longer knew. Just as silently she stood and started to mix a potion. The pleasant smell filled the small room and relaxed the hero. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stomach to try and keep the pains at bay. "You know, none know I have come to seek you. I left suddenly, in the middle of the night, leaving only a mysterious message that I would return unexpectedly and everyone should be ready at any moment for me to suddenly appear." He grinned, then suddenly grimaced in pain and wrapped both arms around his middle. "Damn it woman, hurry up. My insides feel as if they are on fire."
She turned from her mixing and poured her draught into a clay cup and set it front of him. He stared at it for a moment, then looked at her. He then slowly pushed it over to her. "Take a sip first, would you mother?"
Her eyes filled with tears, she sipped from the mug without hesitation, then pushed it back across the table to him. He picked it up and drank deeply, slamming the mug onto the table. "Well woman, how long will it be?"
She smiled sadly and stood up. "Not long, it acts rather quickly. You know, I had hoped you’d be the hero this time. I’ve been through so many cycles I can hardly count them. Some have come close, but I truly had my hopes pinned on you. Did you bring the sword?"
The man frowned, his thoughts fuzzy. "Yes, of course I’ve brought the sword. Why would I travel to this backward part of the world without a sword?
She came over and sat down at the table again. "How are you feeling? You should be getting tired here rather quickly. You’ll be dead in a few minutes, you do know that, don’t you?"
The man roared and tried to stand, but his magnificent body would not obey him. He fumbled briefly for his sword and succeeded only in dropping it onto the dirt floor of the hut. She scooped it up and wrapped it tightly in the same oiled leather that she had taken it from all those years ago when he’d left the village to test his meddle.
He stared stupidly at her, his head getting harder and harder to hold up. "Why?" he mumbled, through lips that felt like blocks of wood.
She studied the table for several moments, and he feared he would get no answer, but she looked up. "It is an ancient curse, one from which I can not escape until I raise a true hero. It’s beginnings go back to the dawn of time itself, and I fear sometimes it will continue until the stars are old and worn out and the gods themselves have left the land. Each time they start out so promisingly, and each one disappoints me so badly."
He stared at the mug on the table and she looked at it also. "Oh, that? Unfortunately, it would take much more than that to kill me. I’m not really sure if I can die. Maybe that’s why I want this curse to end more than anything, so I can simply stop existing. Mortal men run around, trying this potion and that magic to try and live forever. I can tell you from bitter experience, eternal life is not something to be lusted after."
His head fell forward onto the table with a thud, and she poked him cautiously. Satisfied he was dead, she gathered her belongings and put them outside the hut. Using her lamp oil liberally, she soaked everything inside the hut, then dashed the last of the container into the barely flickering fireplace. Dull red flames quickly enveloped the hut as she walked away into the darkness…..
…..On a dark mountainside, with no witnesses, a dull red glow appeared. Hell opened up and spat out a hero…..
The End
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