Chapter Four – The Sun in Her Hands
Sigurd awoke to find himself on something pale, gray, damp, and soft. Water was gently lapping his prone body.
As his mind struggled to collect itself, he registered that it must be cold (the water off the coast of his homeland had always been frigid) but he immediately realized otherwise. This water was tepid – no, warm.
He tried to comprehend the substance he was lying on. It felt almost like dirt, but dirt was rougher and drier. Still lying on the ground, he scooped up a little of this terrain and poured it back onto the earth. Much of it remained on his fingers.
He decided it must be mud, but as he thought about it, that didn't seem right. Mud ought to be darker, and didn't have little shiny specks in it like this did.
Dismissing the ground from his mind, Sigurd slowly pulled himself to his feet.
He was surprised to find three other figures lying unconscious a small distance away from him.
One of the figures was lying face-down, but Sigurd recognized him immediately by the lion pelt slung over his back and the club that lay not far from his hand. It was Heracles, one of the heroes that had lived with Sigurd in the…
In the Elysian Fields.
And then Sigurd remembered everything that had happened.
He remembered how Kronos had grown huge and flown up into the sky, how the Old One had announced his resignation. He remembered the huge gash in the sky, and the convulsing blackness behind it. And most of all, he remembered how he had been drawn up through the air and into that vast rip.
After that, Sigurd could remember no more.
He looked at the other two figures, and was not surprised to see that they, too, had been dwelling in Elysium. One of them he was glad to recognize as Cuchulainn, of Celtic origin, and among Sigurd's closest friends. Cuchulainn was dressed in attire that resembled a mixture of a king's stately robes and a knight's forbidding armor. He had red hair and a short beard.
Sigurd could not claim to know the other hero on the ground particularly well, but he could at least associate the man's face with a name. It was Yoshitsune, whose mortal life had been spent in Japan. Yoshitsune was a cordial soul who appeared peaceful and calm, but Sigurd had heard some of the old Japanese tales during the centuries he had spent in the Elysian Fields, and he knew that Yoshitsune had killed the entire Taira clan in order to avenge his father, who had been murdered by one of them. This one was unpredictable, Sigurd knew that much.
Sigurd tried to walk across the near-dirt and found it difficult. The near-dirt was not as solid as regular soil, and sank slightly under his feet as he walked. Still, he approached the three unconscious heroes and gently shook Cuchulainn's shoulder.
"Cuchulainn?"
The Celtic awoke immediately, giving a startled shout. This roused the other two, who looked as alarmed as Cuchulainn did.
Cuchulainn stared wildly at the creature that had waked him, but upon realizing that it was his old friend Sigurd, he calmed down, and his breathing became softer.
The first thing he asked was "Where are we?"
"I don't—" Sigurd began, but Heracles, who had stood up, cut him off.
"We're on the shore, that much I know."
"Then we're not in my homeland," Sigurd remarked. "There, the shoreline is covered with rocks. But here, there's only this peculiar gray sodden substance."
Heracles gave him an incredulous look, then laughed. "This is sand! Don't tell me you don't know what sand is."
"Come off it," Cuchulainn glared. "Where do you think he's from, Egypt?" He turned back to Sigurd. "I'm sorry I shouted like that. It's just… I had this horrible nightmare when I was sleeping. There was a huge snake, and it had me wrapped in its coils, and it kept squeezing, and I could feel the air escaping me."
Yoshitsune spoke for the first time.
"Sir, that is a strange occurrence indeed. For I too have had that nightmare."
"Me too," said Heracles, scratching his head. "Doesn't sound like a coincidence. What about you, Sigurd?"
"I don't know," Sigurd admitted. "I don't think I dreamed at all. Or if I did, I forgot it."
There was silence for a few moments, and Sigurd wondered what serpentine images were being reflected in the mind's eyes of the others.
Finally, Yoshitsune said, "There is still the question that Cuchulainn raised: that of where we are."
Sigurd looked to the east and west. The sand continued to run in either direction for as far as he could see. Behind them stood a long forest, and some distance to the west there was a small gap in the forest and a dirt path running through it.
"We should probably—"
"The best thing for us to do," Heracles announced, interrupting Sigurd for the second time, "would be to see where that path leads." He strode off towards the path. Yoshitsune allowed his eyebrows to furrow in disapproval before following. Cuchulainn and Sigurd exchanged a glance, and followed as well.
Sigurd found it a comfort to walk on solid dirt again. The sand was bearable, rather nice in fact, but it reminded him too forcibly that he was in unfamilar terrain.
As they walked along the path, the sun dipped lower in the sky, and soon it had vanished, leaving only darkness. To keep certain that they were close by, they tried to maintain conversation. However, the subject was generally whether any of them had any idea what had happened to all the hundreds of other heroes who had lived in the Elysian Fields, and since none of them did, the talk usually died quickly.
They had been walking for some time when a dull thud and a small cry of surprise broke the silence. Cuchulainn, who had been leaning to one side of the path, had walked into something along its edge.
"It's made of wood," he informed the others, who couldn't see it well. "I think it's a sign of some sort." He ran his hands over the surface. "Yes – there are words carved into the wood! But they're not in any language I understand."
(One matter that should be explained at this point is language. None of the heroes understood English; nor, however, were they speaking in Greek, Norse, Japanese or Celtic. They were speaking a different language, which combined elements from all the ancient tongues. It is the divine language used by all inhabitants of the Elysian Fields, and, in fact, the gods use it as well when addressing those of other cultures.)
"Perhaps they're not letters at all, but drawings," Yoshitsune suggested.
"No," said Heracles, gesturing to one that looked like the tip of an arrow pointing down. "That one looks like our Greek nu."
"Yes, but it's clear this isn't in Greek!" Cuchulainn said impatiently.
But the sign was driven from their minds when they saw a circle of light dancing around the corner up ahead. It flew up and down the treetrunks, crossed the ground, up the treetrunks again.
"What'sthat?" Sigurd wondered.
"Let's go find out!" Heracles cried, and he began to rush forward. But Yoshitsune stopped him.
"Restrain yourself," he warned in a hushed voice. "We would do better to stay where we are. I sense that this is the work of fairies."
"I agree with him," Cuchulainn added. "I've heard tales of the Fair Folk using light-tricks to lure in travelers at night."
Heracles reluctantly turned back. "Sissies."
But they didn't have to wait long. The circle came closer and closer to where they stood, until a woman walked around the corner.
She was quite young, and dressed in the strangest clothing any of them had ever seen. She wore a shirt of some flimsy material that left her arms completely bare, and instead of a dress, she wore a strange bluish-gray piece that didn't even come all the way down to her knees. The most peculiar thing about her was not her clothing, however. It was that she held the sun in her hands.
No, Sigurd decided, that was an illusion. But the small yellow cylinder she was holding provided a light much stronger than any candle he had ever seen.
When she noticed them, she came to a halt. In fact she looked ready to run in the opposite direction, until Cuchulainn spoke.
"Fair lady, can you tell me where we are?"
The woman looked incredulous. "You're kidding me, right?"
(At this point the matter of language must be revisited. The woman understood this divine language in the back of her head – all mortals do – and when the heroes spoke, she thought she was hearing English. As well, when she spoke, the heroes all thought she was speaking in the divine language.)
The heroes looked confused, and Sigurd said, "We're not kidding you. We simply want to know where we are."
The woman rolled her eyes – an action none of them understood – but then answered. "You're in Oregon. Right near Reedsport. That answer your question?"
"Oregon? Reedsport?" Yoshitsune whispered to the others. "These names are unfamiliar to me."
"Never mind, she's answered our question," Cuchulainn whispered back, and then he addressed the woman. "Thank you. We shall be on our way."
"Hold it!" the woman cried.
All the men stared at her.
"Why the hell are you dressed up like that?"
Their eyes shifted from her to their own clothing, and they thought she must have misspoken. It felt perfectly reasonable for each of them to be dressed the way they were.
"Beg pardon," Heracles said in an uncharacteristically cautious way, "but we were going to ask the same of you."
"What are you talking about?" she cried. "This is America. This is the twenty-first century. You look like something out of medieval Europe or – I don't know, Asia!"
"America?" Cuchulainn asked.
"Medieval?" Heracles wondered.
"What do you mean by 'the twenty-first century'?" Sigurd asked.
The woman heaved a huge sigh. "You know, the twenty-first century. 2000 A.D. Sheesh, it's not that hard to figure out."
"What do the letters 'A.D.' mean?"
"You know, like A.D. and B.C. Oh Christ, I can't be having this idiot conversation! Just tell me, where do you get off dressing up like that?"
They were spared having to answer her when a second person walked around the corner some ways ahead of them.
His skin was pale blue, and his face was of almost feminine beauty. A long strip of crimson cloth with gold tassels was draped around his torso, and he wore elegant, flowing leggings of a honey-yellow hue. A cache of arrows was slung over his shoulder, and he held a golden bow as tall as himself in his left hand. He wore an elaborate golden headdress engraved with rubies and emeralds. A U-shaped mark adorned his forehead.
"Ah, my dear friends!" he cried as he rushed to them. When he had approached, he addressed the woman. "Please excuse the strange fashions of my friends. They are among the guests to my costume party. You're invited too, surely, if you wish; although I'll warrant you'd need something more eccentric to wear."
As far as eccentric went, the woman looked as though she had quite a few things to say on the subject regarding the newcomer's dress sense – not to mention a word or two about body-painting – but she instead mumbled "No thanks" and walked back around the corner a little more quickly than etiquette demanded.
"Well, that's gotten rid of her," the newcomer grinned. "I see by your outfits that you, too, were living in the Elysian Fields only a short time ago. Although I don't believe we've met, have we? I'm Rama."
"I'm Sigurd."
"I'm Cuchulainn."
"My name is Yoshitsune."
"Heracles, here."
"I've heard tales of you all," Rama smiled. "You've done fabulous deeds."
"Not as fabulous as you," Yoshitsune commented. "I visited India several times during my life, and the Hinds were always telling stories about you and your exploits in the Ramayana."
"A trifle, a trifle," Rama said, waving his hand dismissively. "Now: I asked a few people, and I got a few words about where we are: Reedsport, and Oregon."
"So did we," Heracles said a little too quickly. He appeared jealous of the attention Rama was getting.
"But that doesn't tell us anything," Cuchulainn added. "All I know is, we awoke near the ocean's edge."
"Really? I woke up in the forest," Rama said. "Did you have any idea of which ocean it was? Sigurd, yours are a seafaring folk. Did you recognize it?"
"Not in the least," Sigurd had to admit.
"I hate to say it, but I'm pretty sure we're lost," said Cuchulainn.
Having settled this, they agreed to get some sleep and make plans for being rescued in the morning. But it was a long time before any of them could get to sleep, and even then, three of them were plagued with images of a great, vicious serpent.