In the Hands of Gods

I couldn’t move, not even as I watched the man I love disappear into the distance so fast, one could barely blink. I was only slightly aware of his wife standing adjacent to me on the blood-soaked field, stained from the morning’s battle. Those might be her sobs I could hear rising above the roar of the flames engulfing our Western Wood. Somehow none of the rage and death and loss mattered anymore. I could barely even smell the smoke and ash of our forest burning to cinders. Love is strange like that. It muffles and blurs everything else. All I knew in that moment was that she’d taken him. Finius had mouthed off to our Goddess, Diana and she had swept him up onto her horse and stolen away to the Land of the Gods. Don’t get me wrong, I had no delusions about Fin and I. I knew there was to be no life for us. He had a wife to love and I had a town to rule. What I did expect was to be able to at least set eyes on him, to know he was safe, even if it was in the arms of another woman. Now, he was gods only know where, a prisoner beyond rescue. In his last moments here, locked in the Goddess’s grip atop her massive horse, Fin didn’t look to his wife, but shot his gaze to me. The sadness in his eyes filled me with longing and regret, but I did nothing. Didn’t even move. And he was gone. He shouldn’t have looked at me; it prompted his Eleanor to stare in my direction. I met her eyes across the crowd and in that moment, she knew all that had passed between her husband and me, and bitterness tainted her tears. Maybe this knowledge saved her from greater suffering. Maybe that’s just the crap I say to comfort myself. I had always regretted hurting his wife like that. But now what did it matter? Fin was gone, and all I could do was stand there and watch the last of our Western forest burn away to charred stumps and ashes, the scar of Diana’s anger. I was that forest: reduced to colorless husks, all vitality burnt away. From behind me I heard footsteps. The moon had risen some time ago and lit Eleanor beautifully in her sorrow. Her auburn hair fell in disheveled curls around her face and still managed to look elegant. If I’d worn mine like that I would have looked dingy. I kept my straight hair braided back and out of the way, as was expected of me. Looking at her, it struck me that we couldn’t be more different. There was something gentle and fluid about her, extending even to the heather grey cloak encircling her shoulders and draping delicately to the ground. I began to feel constrained by my form-fitting breast plate and mud-brown trousers. The leather was taut around my legs and caked in a thick layer of ash. “I want you to find him.” she said. “I know not what passed between you and I do not care. All that matters is that you bring him back to me.” I just stared. What else do you do when requested to rescue your lover and bring him home to his wife? I allowed myself a moment to get it straight: she was asking me to leave the town where this morning’s battle had named me ruler, to somehow find and travel to the Land of the Gods, and if that wasn’t enough, to pit myself against a goddess! I guess I had it coming. Eleanor had no love for me, it would mean nothing to her if I didn’t return. Irrational visions filled my mind, of finding Fin and running away together; leaving behind wife, town and responsibility. Maybe what Eleanor was asking wasn’t impossible… I looked into her eyes and guilt monsooned over me. He’d never abandon her. And I couldn’t ask him to. Stiffly, like an ashen statue come to life, I turned and felt my legs carry me toward our town. I said nothing to Eleanor, but no words were needed.