My love, you should not be awake. I've spoiled you with stories.

Now you won't sleep without them.

What will you have tonight? The Sultan's daughter? The glass

mountain? Esmerelda and Clothilde?

Oh, sweet, I should have known. Very well, close your eyes and

listen. Next time you can tell this tale to me...

***

All have heard of Ran One-Eye who long ago fought great battles and

slew terrible monsters and freed castles under siege, more labours

than ten men could perform in one lifetime. Most of these exploits

happened only in songs and stories, made to cheer long nights and

pass hard journeys. But some are true, or based in truth. My tale

is one of these.

There was a man, young and handsome, tall and broad, born in this

land to serve the Queen. From childhood he trained to be a warrior,

disciplining body and mind until both were sound and strong and

quick. He excelled at the sword, at the staff, at the spear. Those

he wrestled tumbled to the mats as easily as lovers were whispered

to tumble into his bed. He spoke but seldom, but when he did, men

listened. He was marked for greatness and for the Queen's favour.

His name was Ran.

At twenty, Ran still bloomed a little with untested youth. Looking

at him, one could see the harder, massive man he would become. But

at that time his dark hair still curled a little on his shoulders

and neither his body nor his heart bore the weight of scars. He

took pleasure in combat, in camaraderie, and in love.

Then came the war. Heavy losses in the Queen's forces made him a

leader early.

The sight and smell of death sharpened his face to grim edges, his

mind to brutal keenness. But it dulled his heart, for how else

could anyone endure unto the end, sending friends and lovers out to

die?

The warriors fought and the mages cast their spells and still the

enemy pushed them back and back. Despair began to creep through the

ranks like a mist curling around their feet, slow and threatening

to stifle them.

On the final day, the Queen herself rode out to war and stood among

the ranks, as skilled with the sword as any of her army. The sight

of her sent a flame through them all and heartened them for their

bloody work. They shook off their fatigue, their sorrow, and their

injuries and set to, filled with such vitality as they had never

known.

Ran fought as one in a dream, as though his body was not his own.

He found himself encircled by the enemy, back to back with the

Queen, and between them they slew thirty men in an hour. But still

the enemy kept coming and then he knew no more.

At last the day was won. The Queen rode home triumphant, but Ran

was taken up dead.

His body lay with many others in a tent, but when they came to take

it out for burning, they found him moving and alive, despite his

wounds. They brought him to the healers who were astonished to find

him recovering. Within a day, he was up and awake. But he could not

speak. Or would not.

They sent for a senior mage, since those who tended the injured

were mystified. When she saw him, she turned aside and told them to

bring him to the city, to Byron, high mage and advisor to the

Queen.

Before the week was gone, Ran stood before Byron. He still had not

yet spoken, though he was completely well otherwise. Byron passed

his hand over Ran's face, then sat in silence for a moment. Then he

stood. "You belong to us now, Ran," he said. "But the Goddess

requires balance in this matter. Walter." He addressed a young man

standing beside his chair.

Walter's name and father were of our northern land, but his mother

and his countenance were of a land far south. Eyes, black and

shining as his close-cropped hair, were set deep in his fine-boned

face and his skin glowed a clear olive. He stood tall and proud and

fit, but with a strength born of asceticism rather than action.

Though young, his brilliance was well known, and many thought Byron

intended him for his successor.

Walter moved to stand beside Ran, facing Byron. And Byron told them

how the Goddess called them now to change places, for the mage to

take up the sword and the warrior to lay it down. For a year, he

said, they would teach each other all they knew. In a year, they

must be ready to serve. Byron stepped forward and took the hands of

each. "Do you understand?" he asked them.

"Yes," Ran replied, speaking for the first time since the battle.

Walter only nodded.

Joining their hands together, Byron touched them both on the

forehead. "Then it is done. From this moment, you have become each

other, Ran is now Walter, Walter is Ran."

Then Byron left, for he had urgent business with the Queen. And

when the land learned next day of her death, though she had been

but slightly wounded in the battle, a rumour went about that she

had given her own life and more to the Goddess in exchange for the

safety of her lands. But that is another story.

The people murmured about Walter and Ran as well, for such a thing

had never happened before. Some said that the Goddess herself had

appeared to Ran (though he was called Walter now, someone was sure

to interject) in death and had touched him and sent him back to do

her work.

And so for a year, Walter, who had been the warrior, learned magic

and science and theology. And Ran learned the arts of war. Both

excelled, as student and as teacher. But though they shared their

knowledge freely, their hearts and minds were closed to each other.

They served the Goddess and the new King, as they ought, but

severally.

It troubled Walter. He had taken up his new life willingly, sure of

the touch of the Goddess on his heart. But what of Ran? Underneath

his serenity, was he bitter at the change that had been thrust upon

him?

Now and again, while they ate, or rested, or lay in their beds at

night, both knowing the other did not sleep, Walter tried to talk

of his concerns. But always he was met by a change of subject or

heavy silence. It sorrowed him, both that Ran might be unhappy, and

that his companion was not also his friend.

There were moments, rare moments, when they had sparred each other

breathless, with staves or with words, that Ran met Walter's eyes

and it seemed he was about to laugh. But the laughter was trapped

within him, somehow, and Walter never knew what more he could do to

release it.

The year was nearly up when they travelled out into the

countryside, to wander for a week and make their living from the

land. Walking and finding food by day, camping and studying the

stars by night, they spent three days in a silence that grew louder

by the hour.

By the fire that evening, Walter once again spoke to Ran, asked him

what was in his heart. Once again, there was no reply, but

something like sadness flickered up in Ran's eyes. Or perhaps it

was just the firelight.

Walter looked at Ran, unable to tear his gaze away from the calm,

proud face, made dusky by the dim light. From the arms and

shoulders, massive now and more powerful than before. From eyes

black as the darkness that crowded around them. Walter looked and

all his concern was overwhelmed by desire, stronger than questions,

stronger than the darkness. Swiftly, he moved closer. Slowly, he

brought one hand up to touch Ran's cheek. For a hundred years, or

maybe it was just a moment, neither moved. Then Ran drew Walter

down and kissed him.

Walter felt the callouses of Ran's palms against his skin, the burr

of Ran's cheek against his own, the heat of Ran's mouth upon him.

He responded in kind, as they grappled in a struggle that would be

sweet to win, sweet to lose. After a time, they ceased to strive

and began to teach and learn, schooling each other as they had the

whole year before, but now in a common subject. When their

knowledge was complete, they still moved together and Ran's eyes

were open and full of joy.

By the fire, they slept, leaving wards to keep the watch, and

Walter's dreams were bright with flames and colours and warm with

Ran against his back.

In the morning, he turned, remembering, to take Ran into his arms

and found him gone. But the embers had been stirred into a blaze

and soon Ran returned with wood and water. Walter went to him and

took him by the shoulders, moving to embrace him. But Ran merely

stood, arms at his sides, and his eyes were curtained once again.

Walter asked him what was wrong, cajoled and apologised and swore,

but when he found himself shaking Ran, he let go and walked away.

For how can one argue with a man who will not speak?

They resumed their journey. It seemed to Walter that something had

shattered inside him and the sharp edges cut him with every step.

He walked behind Ran and watched him instead of the path, tried to

guess from the set of his shoulders how he might feel. For the

first time since the year began, Walter doubted the Goddess,

wondered if this was really what he was meant to be. Was this what

Ran had suffered the whole year? This uncertainty? This fear? Fear

of losing himself.

He resolved to try one more time when they stopped. For they could

not go on this way. Bemused, he pondered just what he would say and

how he would say it. From the sun overhead, he judged it nearly

midday. Very soon now.

A scream rent the murmuring quiet of the forest. Quickly, they

turned to follow it and the sounds of fear and fighting grew

louder. They burst into a clearing and found it in confusion.

A small group of travellers defended themselves against a group of

brigands. Only six, Walter counted quickly, but more than a match

for the few hale men and women protecting their children and their

goods. In that first instant Walter reached for his sword and found

a staff instead. Then he remembered his training and composed

himself, drawing on the power of the Goddess, to provide a shield

for the travellers and push the bandits back. Beside him, Ran drew

his sword and pressed into the fray.

This was the first time they had been so tested, using their new

skills to save and take lives. Walter stood completely still,

forcing his mind to concentrate. The tide of the battle began to

turn. He saw Ran, fighting well, with strength and determination.

Ran felled his man and Walter saw another coming, expected Ran to

turn and meet him. But Ran only stared. He had never killed a man

before.

Too late, Ran swung around and took a blow across his face. He

staggered back and blood ran down his cheek.

Walter saw red flowing like blood over his own vision, felt red

pounding like blood in his head, heard red singing like blood in

his ears. The shield fell away from his control and for an instant

he knew the berserker's madness was upon him. Then it took him

completely and all was red and white and flame and blood.

When next he knew himself, he was bound hand and foot, but covered

and warm. A woman came near, but not too near, and asked him how he

was. She told him how in a frenzy he had slaughtered four of the

brigands and sent the last one fleeing. How he turned, then, on the

travellers. And how Ran had stepped before him and taken hold of

him, somehow calming Walter enough so he could be restrained. And

now it was the next day.

Fearing the worst, Walter asked to be released, to see Ran. She

would not touch him, but soon Ran himself was there, stooping over

him. Walter stared at the bandages on that calm face, crossing

Ran's forehead and cheek, covering his left eye. Walter could not

speak.

Ran removed the bonds and helped Walter to sit up. "The eye is

gone," he said. "But I see more clearly without it." And he

embraced Walter and kissed him.

Still in a haze of sleep and shock, Walter took once more from the

power of the Goddess and touched Ran's face, gently. Full healing

was beyond him, but he did what he could to ease the pain and close

the wound. In that moment, he felt the Goddess touch them both,

speak to them together. And all was made known to them.

They took their leave of the travellers and once more resumed their

journey, walking together in the day and holding each other in the

night. They never returned to the city, but wandered always where

the Goddess led them and helped those in need. Both warriors, both

mages, two men as one in body and mind.

All their deeds would fill a thousand nights of stories and songs

and all their love would fill a thousand hearts brimful and

overflowing. And in the end, it is said, they did not die, but the

Goddess took them to herself, for their love was stronger than

death.

***

And you, my dear, are sleeping sweetly, your hair black lace

spilled over your pillow and your face silver in the shimmering

moonlight. Our child sleeps too, within you. The Goddess grant

safety to you both. And know that my love for you is stronger than

death.

F I N I S

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