26th Day of Oforce, 5539A
Glencorraid, Rekamifoke
Goliath watched the world from atop the hill.
It was the waning days of summer, and the sun beat down as hot as it ever dared to in Glencorraid. The warmth felt good on the teenager's face, and a small portion of himself let his body enjoy it and not feel guilty.
Down below, the village children had come around from west of the loch to pick the wild raspberries and blackberries that grew nearby in the tall grass. Mothers sprawled nearby on blankets, attending to sewing or crying infants. Occasionally someone would glance upwards and boldly stare at the youth, who stared right back until they looked away and resumed whatever it was they were doing.
The only one who never stared was Gretchen. Only a few months younger than he, the lass with the hair as long and as golden as Sif herself darted among the berry bushes, deftly avoiding their thorns as she played a running game with her friends. She would glance up shyly at the hill sometimes, and it was only then that Goliath felt compelled to turn his head. He loved to watch her, but somehow Gretchen looking at him made a great nameless fear rise in Goliath's chest. He hadn't felt fear since-
- that night. He'd come back of course. After swimming for what seemed like forever and then changing back into himself, Goliath felt the power was gone. All of it. It had come, and now it was over. How was a mere lad of twelve going to make his way in the world, alone and copperless?
By the time he returned home, his mother had cleaned up all trace of what had happened. Sterner and more steely than ever, she'd only hissed at her son.
"Yer neh tae ever speak a word o' this tae any mortal soul. Neh one word!"
And Goliath had obeyed, as he always had. But to his great delight, when he had woken up the next morning, the power was back. His mind, rested along with his body, had renewed it for him.
After the initial storm, where it did seem briefly that his mother might indeed be taken away, things had quieted down so now, approaching two years later, one might think it had never happened at all.
But there were differences. Almost no one came up the hill now. Even after Lady Mercy had saved the life of a man so badly wounded he wouldn't have made it to Aug Rondon, she and her son were still not spoken to except in the most perfunctory way. On the rare occasions they went down to the village, they might have been two skunks for all the reactions they got.
Fortunately- and to her son's amazement- Lady Mercy was still apparently favored by the gods. Her prayers still fed and clothed the two of them, and although things were tighter now, they still survived.
And yet for all that, one of the differences that now existed since that fateful night, seemingly the most insignificant one of all, was the one that hurt Goliath the most.
His mother would no longer let Goliath address her by anything other than "Lady Mercy."
The youth's eyes settled again on Gretchen. She was beautiful. He couldn't say it, but he could still think it. He could dream of other things besides-
Goliath winced as he felt his mother come and sit down beside him in the grass just outside their front door.
If the priestess noticed her son's reaction, she made no sign. Goliath wondered what she was doing. His mother was not one for idle time. He turned his head to look at her.
It never ceased to amaze Goliath how much he resembled his mother. She was only a few inches taller than he, with the same high forehead and brown hair, although she had much more hair than he did, and wore hers wrapped around her head in a unique circular style. Even the structure of their faces; nose, chin, eyes. All the same. Not for the first time, Goliath silently cursed the gods for not making him look just a little bit more like his father, so he might have been able to figure it out for himself, years ago.
But one thing he knew for certain now. His father, whoever he had been, was dead.
"Ye been havin' dreams a lot?" his mother suddenly asked.
Goliath blinked in surprise at the odd question, but Lady Mercy's eyes were blazing down at him like they always did. She expected an answer.
"Aye," the youth responded, turning away to look down the hill again as he did so. "Often the same, they are. Tha' man with the brimmed hat- he's got long gray hair, but I canna get a good look at-"
"'Tis the All-Father," the priestess cut in. "Odin himself."
Goliath drew in a great breath, his hand clasping at his chest. He gazed in awe back at his mother.
"The Most High One? The… the Father o' Victory himself? But, mother-"
The cleric scowled, fixing him with a baleful eye.
"Sorry- Lady Mercy," Goliath stammered. "But… but… I'm just a bairn! Why would the mightiest o' all gods take notice o' me?"
"Just a bairn?" repeated his mother, raising her eyebrows. "Tha' Talent ye've been honin' these pas' two years- ye thin' that came tae ye from the air, now?"
Flustered, Goliath couldn't answer, but Lady Mercy continued on as calmly as if they were discussing the weather. "Tell me, Goliath- ye've been even more absent-minded than usual- like ye've been thinkin'- or feelin'- other things. Wha' be they?"
The teenager had to look away. He hadn't known his mother had been watching him that closely, but he should have guessed- nothing ever got by her. And yet, her voice seemed clear of that judgmental tone it so often carried, so he decided to answer truthfully- at least as far as he could put it into words.
"'Tis… 'tis hard tae say, exactly," he muttered at length, looking out over Loch Arlou. "Ye might say 'tis a… a wanderlust. I ken I got this Talent tae save ye- that night- but if Laird Odin's let me keep it, then… there's somethin' I should be doin' with it."
Lady Mercy nodded the same way she often did when she gave Goliath his lessons. "And wha' do ye thin' ye should do with it?"
"Helpin' people." The answer seemed to come from Goliath's heart as much as his lips. "There's a lot o' bad out there, mother." He said the last without thinking, but she did not interrupt him. "A lot o' sufferin'. Folk need someone; neh just tae smite their enemies, but someone tae give them hope on those darkest o' nights when they canna find it in themselves."
His mother did not reply. After a while, he looked over at her, just in time to see her finish a silent prayer, opening her eyes and lifting her head again. She looked- not exactly happy, but relieved somehow, as if something she'd been hoping for a long time had suddenly appeared in her sight.
For a moment the boy thought she hadn't been listening to him, but then she turned back to him, and he saw a rare smile upon her face now.
"'Tis the Callin' ye feel, boy."
"The Callin'?" he gasped.
His mother nodded again. "My prayers have been answered- this time." She was silent a moment longer, and when she spoke again, her voice sounded casual enough, but Goliath could hear the tension beneath the surface. "Ye ken Svorlin?"
"The paladin?"
"Aye- the same. He'll be passin' through Glencorraid in a week or so's time. He'll be takin' ye on as his apprentice. When he leaves town, ye'll be leavin' with him."
"Ye've spoken with him, then." The boy's voice couldn't completely bury its accusatory tone. "With yer magic. Ye've been settin' me on this path withou' me even kenning."
Surprisingly, Lady Mercy simply nodded in acknowledgement. "Aye."
Mother and son stared out over the countryside for a while longer without speaking.
Goliath couldn't sort out the feelings building within him. Part of it was anger; his mother was using him as nothing more than a tool for her own ends, and she wouldn't even tell him why, or what those ends were.
But the other part was a kind of pride. He, the little runt; the outcast boy Goliath- a paladin? Svorlin was a humble man, but he was highly respected by everyone in Rekamifoke, as far as the boy knew. If Goliath could ever be a fraction of the man he was…
The youth turned towards his mother again as another question came to him. "But Svorlin's a paladin o' Tyr. If 'tis Laird Odin himself guidin' my path, shouldna I be taking up with one o' his paladins?"
"The All-Father has no paladins," the priestess responded, and then turned to regard her son again. "Ye will be the first."
Her eyes blazed into Goliath's as fiercely as her son had ever seen. He wanted to look away, but fear stopped him. Fortunately, Lady Mercy chose that moment to turn her attention back towards the hill even as continued to speak.
"Ye have a chance, Goliath- a slim 'un, mind, but a chance all the same- tae avoid my fate. Tae avoid eternal damnation fer yer mortal soul. The path-"
"How?"
Goliath almost never interrupted his mother, but even the very notion that he might someday become a paladin was filling the youth's heart with strength every second. Courage, and yet more than courage.
It was a desire to seek the truth.
"If yer soul be damned as ye say, how can ye still be a priestess? How could ye have sinned so badly tha' it would stain me so? An' how will becomin' a paladin save me?"
Goliath's new-found courage almost died then and there. Lady Mercy was glaring at him with far more anger than his simple interruption, in his opinion, warranted.
It was one of the hardest things Goliath had ever done in his fourteen years, but he did not look away from those ice blue eyes.
And for the first time ever, it was Lady Mercy who was forced to look away. However, she continued on as if he had not spoken. Apparently, only his last question was to be answered.
"The path o' the paladin is hard but righteous. Those few who can walk it are cleansed. Sins o' the past are wiped away, but ye must stay on the path at all times. And ye, boy-"
The cleric had to stop for a moment and compose herself before she could continue. She still did not look back at her son.
"Yer path will be even harder still."
That statement aroused Goliath's curiosity. "Why?"
"Few on all o' Aarde have the Talent, boy, an' neh one has it as powerful as ye." She swallowed hard. "But as in all things, there's a price tae be paid. Ye have the potential tae be neh just a paladin-"
She finally looked back at him.
"But a legend o' weal. A hero o' the sagas."
Goliath fell speechless.
He was thunderstruck. Every child always imagined him or herself a hero, and he had been no exception. Each boy or girl imagined a new saga, an epic tale of heroism starring themselves that would be retold along with the older tales night after night over the campfire. Songs sung long after they had passed on to join the Asgardians as an einherjar.
And even then, the tale would continue. One day, they would fight shoulder-to-shoulder with the gods themselves. Fight against the giants at the end of this world.
Ragnarok.
It took the teenager a moment to realize that his mother was speaking again.
"But fer even the shadow o' this tae be, ye must sacrifice, boy. Sacrifices tha' even Svorlin or the other paladins ken neh. For a line o' sin runs deep in ye, boy, so at all times ye must practice self-denial. At all times, ye must resist."
It seemed suddenly to Goliath that the whole world had gone very quiet, and when he asked the inevitable questions, it seemed that his words cast themselves out and away, where all the people of the village, of Glencorraid, of Rekamifoke, of all the wide world would hear it.
"Wha' must I resist, mother?"
"Dinna call me tha'," she responded, but it was little more than reflex. She turned her attention back down the hill, but with an indication to Goliath to do likewise, and he did so.
The children below continued to pick berries and laugh and play, oblivious to the weighty matters being discussed above their heads. Goliath's eyes sought out Gretchen. They had just lovingly settled on her when his mother's voice, quiet as it was, tore into him like a thunderbolt.
"Beware, Goliath. Beware the temptations o' the flesh."
The boy's head jerked back over to his mother. She continued to look below, and Goliath knew with a sudden, sickening feeling that she was looking directly at Gretchen.
"Ye are neh for tha', boy. The ways o' the flesh will corrupt ye as surely as any devil, fer ye were born but one step away from ruin. Only by remainin' pure in both heart an' flesh will ye have the strength tae walk tha' straight an' narrow path tha' ye must."
Goliath felt as if a dagger had punctured his heart. He looked again down at Gretchen- and the dagger twisted.
And the anger exploded out of him.
"Why? What ye say doesna make sense! Ye thin' I'm tae be a wanton carouser when I become a man? Ye think I'll be hoppin' from bed tae bed with nary a thought? Ye didna raise me tha' way! I'll respect women! I'll ken love, not lust!"
He would have gone on, but something stopped him.
For only the second time in his life, Goliath watched in awe as tears ran down his mother's face. The priestess continued to stare away, but he knew she wasn't seeing down the hill anymore.
"Love always leads tae lust," she whispered harshly. "Ye can even lust fer yer spouse. It's neh fer ye. It'll destroy ye, boy."
Goliath couldn't bear his mother's tears. He looked again down the hill, and he watched Gretchen's golden hair dance about in the breeze, he felt not only fear, but a cold emptiness that washed away the summer sun.
It felt like the rest of his life was being thrown into a dark, dank, hole.
"Mother," Barely a whisper came out. "I canna live withou' love."
Lady Mercy slapped him across the cheek.
Horrified, Goliath stared back at her. Despite her insistence that her Vow of Nonviolence had been irretrievably shattered that fateful night, his mother had done no hurt towards anyone, even such a little thing as slapping or spanking her son, either before or after that night.
He saw his own horror reflected in her eyes.
"Are ye a fool?" she shrieked. "Dinna ye see tha' terrible neet wha' lust can bring tae people? Death an' damnation, even tae the most holy! The day ye know love, son, is the day ye die- by yer own hand! Love kills, Goliath! Love kills! LOVE KILLS!"
Lady Mercy jumped to her feet and ran howling back inside their house.
Goliath couldn't bear to look down the hill anymore. He couldn't bear to see Gretchen- or anyone- staring up at that oddball child and his raving mother. He raised his eyes to the sun, his own tears now blurring that fiery orb into an indistinct golden mass- the same color as Gretchen's hair.
I can leave. I can leave righ' now. I can turn into a bird an' fly away forever. I'll never become a paladin; I'll never even have tha' slim chance o' becomin' a hero o' legend, but I'll still be able tae ken love. I might be damned after death, but at least I'll have kenned wha' life is.
A fourteen year-old boy tried to decide his life right then and there.
Freedom lay on the wings of an eagle, but that wouldn't give him what every paladin, or a boy who might one day be one craved; the truth.
The day ye die- by yer own hand.
And the truth lay behind the door of his home.
With trembling knees, Goliath rose to his feet and went back inside.
His mother sat by their plain wooden dining table. The cleric's head was down on the table, covered by her arms and her swirling brown hair, which had come undone. Her cries were slowly fading away as her son approached.
Barely daring to breathe, Goliath pulled up the other chair and sat down opposite her. They both sat in silence for a while, the only sound Lady Mercy's sniffling. One hand reached out for a cloth and pulled it underneath that mass of hair.
Slowly, she sat up, dabbing her eyes. She blew her nose and then gazed at her son, a sad smile on her face.
Goliath thought he'd never seen his mother look so old.
The boy suddenly felt another wave of sorrow come over him, but this one wasn't for himself.
Still, he had to know. He had to at least ask, but before he could, Lady Mercy leaned forward and stretched out her hand halfway across the table to him.
He stared at it dumbly.
"Yer sin comes from me, son," he heard her say. "That's why I dinna want yer callin' me yer mother. But tha' doesna matter now, I suppose. Ye'll be leavin' soon with Svorlin. And when ye do…"
Goliath continued to stare at his mother's hand. It was only with a start that he realized her voice had stopped did he look into those puffy, bloodshot eyes.
"Ye'll neh be comin' home."
Goliath felt as if he were being tossed around in a hurricane. He opened his mouth to protest- but nothing came out. Somewhere deep inside him, he could feel the truth of her words.
Or at least words she believed to be true.
"My poor bairn," Lady Mercy whispered, her eyes growing moist again. "My dear son- I'm sorry. I'm sorry fer what I've done tae ye."
Goliath saw her mother's fingers tremble, but he didn't take her hand.
He rushed around the table and hugged her.
And she hugged him back.
"Aye," his mother answered the unspoken question in Goliath's eyes while wiping her eyes again with a now very damp cloth. "The love 'tween a mother an' her bairn. There's no shame in tha', son. 'Tis a good an' pure thing. Ye'll always have tha' inside ye. Dinna ye forget tha', neither."
Goliath nodded solemnly, but while searching his mother's eyes, he knew he still had to ask the question.
"Wha' was the sin, mama?" he asked, ignoring his cracking voice. "Wha were Laird Drew an' Father Tyvold talkin' aboot tha' neet?"
Lady Mercy smiled that sad smile again.
"I canna tell ye, son, tho I ken it breaks yer heart not tae ken. But if ye did, 'twould be the final step tae damnation fer ye, and I'll neh have tha'."
"Why?"
"Because," the priestess replied, tenderly cradling her son's cheek with the same hand that had slapped it earlier. "If ye kenned, ye'd not leave. Ye'd stay here an' try tae save my soul instead."
Goliath's eyes narrowed. "Does tha' mean 'tis possible tae save yer soul too, mother?"
Lady Mercy's eyes narrowed right back.
"Only at the expense o' yer own, and I'll neh let tha' happen. I'll slit my own throat first. 'Tis my job now tae fight fer yer soul 'till my dying day, an' neh a thing in Asgard itself can stop me!"
Goliath could see her mother's familiar strength returning, moment by moment. She stood up and stepped back a pace, letting go of her son's hand.
"We've both got chores tae do, son. Let's get tae them."
The cleric headed towards her room, where her sewing awaited. Goliath walked slowly back towards the front door, but at the last moment he turned around.
"Mother?"
Just inside the doorway of her bedroom, she turned around to eye him, but said nothing.
The teenager took the deepest breath he could possibly imagine and tried desperately to keep his voice intact.
"Laird Drew or Father Tyvold. Please tell me, mother- which one was my father?"
Goliath saw the familiar anger begin to fill his mother's features again, but this time- somehow- he knew it wasn't directed at him.
"I canna answer tha' son, but I can tell ye this."
And now it was Lady Mercy who seemed to struggle to get the words out.
"One day, son, if ye persist an' sacrifice as I've told ye, and ye become a great paladin an' even more-"
Goliath could swear his mother's light blue eyes were blazing with fury now. The last sentence was pushed out through gritted teeth.
"One day ye may even meet the All-Father himself, Laird Odin, mightiest o' all the Aesir, face-tae-face. An' when ye do…"
One final tear rolled down her cheek.
"Ye be sure tae ask him tha' question!"
She slammed the door behind her.
"Well, Aslan?"
The paladin blinked. He could still hear the echo of the door closing, and almost looked around.
But then he realized that was far away and long ago.
He felt weak and tired. He didn't want to listen to Unru, but the illusionist's voice was directed at him again.
"You left more than your Rekamifoke accent behind when you left, didn't you, Goliath? You left your name behind as well. Why? Tell us the full story of what happened that night. Tell us what horrid sins the righteous Aslan holds in his past!"
Those words. They were threatening to take him back again. To the pain of a young boy, to his shame and worry and his loneliness and his-
Wait a minute.Aslan blinked again, but this time it was from confusion.
A thought was trying to break through all those terrible feelings.
Unru was saying something else again, but the paladin held up a hand to silence him.
You left your name behind, as well…
As if awakening from a long sleep, Aslan slowly rose to his feet again, focused his light blue eyes firmly on his opponent in the Revealing Duel-
And smiled.
"Unru," he said softly, shaking his head from side to side. "You blew it again."
The illusionist frowned at him.
"What?"
Aslan started to walk back towards the circle, speaking as he went.
"You almost had me with your image, but you distracted me at the wrong moment, and I was able to outwit you. And now you've done it again. You put a question in my mind, and that got me to thinking, not only about how to prevail in this Duel, but about something deep in my past, as well. Let me start with a question. How did you know that tavern conversation was about me?"
Unru seemed taken aback for a moment. "What do you mean? Who else could it have been about?"
Aslan stopped at the edge of the circle. He wiped the remnants of his tears away and looked at them curiously, as if he was bemused that he had been crying at all. When he looked back at the Yatian mage, his expression had hardened.
"I'll tell you how you knew. It was because you already knew my name was Goliath."
Unru stared at the paladin for a moment, and a slight tremor went through his frame, but he said nothing.
Aslan raised an eyebrow. "No comments? Then let me make a few. I didn't leave my name behind that night! I changed my name only after I had fallen as a paladin and then atoned- and that happened years later- after we had met you that first time in the dungeons of Venom!"
The illusionist's eyes widened in recognition.
"That's right, Unru! I was still Goliath then, but you forgot that in your eagerness to find a weapon to use against me, didn't you?"
"He's right," Elrohir cut in. "Goliath didn't change his name to Aslan until after we'd arrived here on Oerth."
Unru glanced over at Cygnus, who was nodding his confirmation.
"So?" he huffed, turning back to face the paladin. "What difference does it make when you changed your name? There's still deep mysteries in your past, Aslan. Mysteries, and probably murder as well. Tell me how that fits into your sanctimonious attitude!"
"What difference does it make? It makes all the difference, Unru- don't you see?"
"I only see you attempting to evade the subject," the illusionist sneered.
"Then I'll tell you what you need to know. As for the events of that night, I swore a solemn oath to my mother that I would never tell a living soul about what transpired then, and I never have- not even to my friends here. And I will carry that promise to my grave-"
"Ah, ha!"
"Take your 'ah, ha's' to the All-Father, Unru, not me! Even you know that I became a paladin after the events of that night. After! That means Lord Odin, the most powerful god in Creation- stop rolling your eyes, Argo- that the most powerful god in Creation looked into the soul of a young man and determined that he was still worthy to become a paladin! And later, even after he had fallen, determined that he was worthy to become one again!"
Aslan paused to catch his breath. Unru just stared at him.
"That," Aslan continued, "is what I meant earlier. I never realized that until just now, when you mentioned my name."
The paladin's deep voice dropped in volume. He almost seemed to be musing now.
"That means no matter who I am, he's always had faith in me. Past, present and hopefully- the future."
Aslan looked up again at his opponent, and a hard smile creased his features.
"If you still have a problem with that, Unru, I'll be sure to send a special prayer to Lord Odin, letting him know that you think he's not fit to judge us mortals. But for now- just for tonight probably, but for now- I'm at peace with who and what I am."
"Sometimes just having a good cry does wonders," Sitdale offered.
Aslan considered this and nodded, then abruptly took another step forward and pointed across the room at his opponent.
"And now- it's my turn!"