My foot bumped into a rock buried under the snow as a couple of sparrows flew above us, heading toward a certain cabin. A descendant. . . someone of my blood. But for a descendant to exist, I'd need to have started a family at some point, right? Unless. . . was it an immaculate conception thing?
By the gods, I hope not, I thought, thinking up a storm.
Possibilities turned over in my head, flipping like coins tossed into the air, awaiting a defined outcome once they landed on the ground or in someone's hand.
Another sparrow flew overhead. And by now, Pyra and Red were both staring at me while I tried searching my brain like a— little box you typed words into. The name eluded me, but I had bigger fish to fry. Red's question was important, maybe more than I initially realized.
With the speed of a random lightning strike, my brain spat out a name.
"Mekyla," I said.
And before either member of my pack could ask who that was, one of Ruka's memories drove by and snagged me by the shoulder, carrying my ass on a ride I did not ask for. Or. . . actually, I guess I had in a way. It was only starting to dawn on me that when one was an immortal goddess, they had centuries of memories to store, which was, frankly, a lot. More than any human could comprehend. The one I was dragged into came 400 years ago.
***
Sea salt danced in the air under a lazy afternoon sun outside the tiny fishing village of Ty'rella. Out in the bay, a few sandfins leaped between small waves, creatures that were similar to dolphins that carried the protective shell of a turtle.
I smiled watching them. The few wolves I'd brought with me, Topaz, Black Tail, and Riera, were running in the sand before they went out to splash in the water. They barked with playful energy, and I smiled. We didn't visit the ocean often because I preferred the cover of trees above me and the mountains sheltering me. But even a landlocked soul like myself could appreciate the beauty of the tides rising and falling on a rhythmic schedule. . . for a little while.
"C'mon, you three," I said, giggling at the canines darting through sea foam. "We saw to the Red Sky Pack. Mission accomplished. Let's go home."
Home was a good week of running if we kept a hard pace. And while I wasn't in a huge hurry, I didn't like being away from my established territory for long.
I started to turn south when the scent of tearfruit hit me. It'd been years since I'd tasted it, an oceanside produce only harvested once every five years. So much went into growing them. They fetched quite a bit of coin in most markets due to their scarcity. Once picked, they didn't stay good for long, maybe three or four days. So those who harvested them often rushed the fruit to market or distributed them to their families and village.
Turning toward the scent, I saw a figure sitting on the outskirts of Ty'rella with a large platter of fruit a few feet in front of them.
My wolves were continuing to play in the surf, so I shrugged and walked slowly across the sand toward a collection of 12 huts surrounded by beached boats belonging to the Ty'rella fishers.
Arriving at the platter of tearfruit, I found a woman that appeared to be in her 30s with black shoulder-length hair watching me. She hadn't taken her eyes off me since I started this way. Her golden skin that carried the warmth of each day's sun was covered only by a small brown skirt and a white sleeveless top. The woman's green eyes continued watching me as I took in every detail from her toned arms to her modest breasts that barely showed under her shirt.
"I never thought another divine one would visit our humble little village, certainly not in my lifetime. But who should walk up to the backside of my home? None other than the Wolf Goddess," she said with a raucous voice, a little deeper in tone than I was expecting.
Looking down at the spiked purple fruits at my feet, I sat with my legs crossed and offered the girl a smile. I'd come over for the fruit, but she was stunning to the point of it being hard to avert my eyes. The woman carried a firm jaw and toned legs that matched her arms. She clearly worked hard at pulling in fishing lines all day.
"Another divine beat me to your beautiful home? Such a shame," I said. "Now that's a race I hate to have lost. Who came to Ty'rella before me?"
"I was just a child, but the Seagull God came here to bless our little shrine some years back. He was noisy and, of course, demanded offerings of our best fish in exchange for the blessing. I wasn't nearly as enamored by his presence as I am yours here and now," she said, before motioning to the platter.
The little red dish jostled a little as her fingers traced its edge.
"These were just picked yesterday from my garden. I'd be honored to be able to brag about a goddess eating my fruit," the woman said.
My tail twitched, and I narrowed my eyes as a small grin revealed my canines.
"It's a generous offering, but I couldn't. Eating from the garden of a stranger, no matter how enrapturing, would be uncouth," I said, my mouth drooling in disappointment.
The woman shrugged.
"Well, I guess there's no other solution than for you to get to know me better. My name is Mekyla. I've called this village home my entire life. And my favorite color is orange," she said. "Oh, and once, when I was little, I stumbled upon a nest of bay hornets so big that when my foot squished it, an army of killer bugs filled the sky as I ran for my life."
I giggled and slowly picked up one of the fruits.
"Fine. . . Mekyla. You're no longer a stranger. So, I assume you escaped the fierce army of death stingers," I said, placing my claws between the spikes on the fruit and tearing it into three pieces. It came apart easily in my fingers, juices glistening in the afternoon sun.
Every time I remind myself, THAT'S why they call it tearfruit, I thought. And every time I eat some, I'm still surprised by how perfectly it tears apart.
The inside of the fruit was bright green and smelled three times as sweet as when the thing was closed. Eating one, my tongue was greeted with the familiar salty/sweet flavor this produce was so famous for. The juice in the fruit was sweet and acidic like most others, but the tiny white seeds inside were salty as ones harvested from a sunflower, but without the dryness.
I devoured the other two pieces before even realizing what I'd done. What can I say? I guess I'm not much of a "savor it" person. My belly is impatient.
Mekyla continued her story, motioning for me to have another tearfruit. That'd leave five on the platter.
While I ate, she talked.
"I ran for my parents' house at first until I remembered we had no door after the last storm tore it off. Then I ran for the water, finding one of our smallest boats close to shore. I flipped the thing and hid underneath for a couple of hours. I heard the hornets bumping into the boat and landing on its underside I'd exposed to the air. They were furious. But I outlasted them and lived to meet a lovely goddess," Mekyla said.
Finishing the second fruit, I snickered.
"Well, then consider me grateful. Had you not survived such deadly circumstances, I wouldn't be here today eating the fruit of the most tempting mortal I've seen in ages," I said.
"And. . . what exactly am I tempting you to do?" Mekyla said, leaning forward, her face moving closer to mine. She smelled like she'd been in the garden for the last several hours, hands pulling roots and leaves.
I didn't move away from her advance.
"Well, clearly you set this fruit out to lure me over to you. And when I appeared, you tempted me with a rare fruit that only grows once every half a decade," I said.
Mekyla raised an eyebrow as I felt my stomach do a flip or two. Maybe even three, which was a rarity.
"Did you enjoy eating my fruit?" Mekyla asked.
"Very much," I said.
"So the Wolf Goddess enjoys being tempted. I wonder if I might tempt a divine one even further," she said with a wicked grin. "We don't get many visitors to our remote village, so I welcome good company when it appears."
About that time, my wolves returned from the water, shaking off behind me and coming over to meet the woman I'd been chatting up.
Topaz pawed the ground a few inches away from the platter of fruit, and I gave a soft growl indicating that he wasn't to touch it without invitation.
Black Tail sniffed at my hands and licked two of my fingers while Riera didn't hesitate to invade Mekyla's space, sniffing at her hair, wet snout brushing the gardener's ear.
She laughed until Riera stood on her hind legs and placed her front paws on Mekyla's shoulders, pulling her down into the sand on her back. That brought a raucous laugh from both of us as Riera sniffed at the woman's cheek and then belly.
Apparently satisfied, Riera returned to me, nuzzling my cheek as the gardener sat back up.
"Seems you have the approval of my wolves, Mekyla. Tempt away," I said.
She reached onto the platter, Topaz's eyes following her every move. And then she tore a fruit apart and handed a piece to each of my wolves.
Topaz might have accidentally nipped her fingers in excitement at the treat, but he didn't draw blood. Riera sniffed at the fruit and hesitated before eventually taking it from the gardener. And Black Tail used his paw to push Mekyla's hand to the ground where she released the tearfruit. Only after her fingers were clear did he devour it.
"So, I can tempt not only the Wolf Goddess but her canines as well. That does wonders for my ego," she said, finally taking a fruit herself and eating it.
I snickered. She was so forward and flirty that I didn't even realize we'd spent an hour talking so far over the fruit.
Sunset approached as Mekyla motioned toward a house with her head. It looked like a cozy shack on the sea built into the sand far enough that the tide wouldn't threaten it. She'd painted her house a bright orange and nailed driftwood over the tops of her windows.
"It's going to be dark in another hour. Why not stay the night here with me? I have nobody else in my house."
I drew in a sharp breath. There it was. We were just flirting back and forth, and now I had an invitation to settle in for the night with a complete stranger. . . who'd offered me fruit from her own garden.
"Well, I certainly don't want to be rude," I said, my voice trailing off just short of a yes. I wanted to give the gardener a chance to back out if she suddenly got uncomfortable and too excited with the flirting.
But Mekyla doubled down, flashing me a wink.
"That's what I like to hear. I don't have a regal palace to welcome you into, but I can promise you this much. You won't leave my home bored," she said.
"It has been a while since I've had entertainment. So that definitely makes your offer all the more tempting," I said, as she showed me her home.
***
Back on the mountain, we'd nearly reached the base on the other side. Our party had walked in silence. I could tell Pyra and Red had more questions. My wife was making that face she only brought out when she was calculating something.
Katira was technically the first to step off of the mountain. We'd left the snow behind us a couple of hours ago, and she was happy to be back in a warmer environment.
Before us now wide plains and grassy fields stretched out as far as the eye could see. We'd left the forest behind, and with it, what I'd come to recognize as my familiar territory. I'd reincarnated in the grotto for a reason.
The forest we'd traversed was important to me. I felt it inside of my chest, a mindful whisper that uttered "home" whenever my mind thought back to those endless trees behind the mountain we'd descended.
"Okay, Rook. I'm really sorry to pry. Can you just— if you're willing, I'd like to know more about this. . . Mekyla. Who was she? How did your line begin with her?"
I smiled thinking back on the memories of that oceanside village. While it wasn't anywhere near my home, I had fond feelings from there. Sighing and further exploring my memories, I started to tell them more about the fisher who'd tempted me into her home.
When I thought back to Ty'rella, that same whisper spoke another word inside me, "family."
***
As the sun set, Mekyla told me more about her life here. Her parents lived a few houses down, still both in good health, running a fishing boat together. Mekyla helped some with that, but she also tended a garden not far from town.
"You know they won't grow anywhere else? There's these marshes nearby that are perfect for growing the tearfruit. They need that brackish water to survive and produce fruit," she said, clearly proud of her work. I smiled and looked at her, eyes shimmering in the firelight.
I tore off a piece of bread from the loaf we were sharing and dipped it in honey, tossing it in my mouth.
"How long have you had the garden?" I asked.
She finished chewing on some bread before answering. I listened to fire popping as it devoured the logs in Mekyla's hearth.
"I started it when I was 10. This. . . wealthy merchant came to the market a few towns over. I was there selling fish. He bought some tearfruit but didn't understand that you eat the seeds with it. He spit them out, actually tossed the fruit onto someone's roof because he was so upset with the salty taste. When he left, I. . . found the seeds, rinsed them off, brought them back here, and planted them," Mykyla said, looking a little embarrassed, her cheeks burning so much I could notice them in the firelight and candles. "You probably think that's a little gross."
Shaking my head and drinking more of the wine we shared in a single goblet, I showed the gardener my claws, arching my fingers so she could really see the depth of the damn things.
"I've torn open more animals with these claws than I can count, even eaten stuff raw in the heat of a good hunt. Deer, rabbits, elk, jackabeasts, you name it. I've eaten it, sometimes cooked, sometimes not. So some spit-covered seeds you put in the dirt? Naw. That doesn't bother me in the least," I said.
She took my hand and ran her fingers over and between my claws slowly.
"How on earth do you pleasure the girls that fawn over you with claws this sharp? Do your lovers usually make it through the night?" she asked with a wicked grin.
I scoffed. Well— I tried. But it was more of a giggle.
"If I'm going to be intimate with a woman, I clip them. They grow back by the next morning," I said.
Mekyla's eyes widened. That seemed to shock her, as if every fact I revealed reminded her in a surprising way that I was a divine being. The gardener's fingers tailed down my hand to my wrist and stopped just short of my mark of divinity.
"What does it feel like?" she asked.
"Tell me," I said.
She hesitated for a moment, slowly moving her grasp down toward the lines in my skin. Somehow my other arm was covered in gooseflesh. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up, and shivers ran down my back. It was a full-on sensational evening for my nerves, apparently.
Fuck, how long has it been since I was last entertained or did any entertaining? I thought, failing to remember exactly.
"It feels. . . worn. Reliable. . . but threadbare from the centuries," she said.
Mekyla's eyes took on a somber sheen for a moment as she considered her words. I knew what they meant. I carried the years of life with me on the eternal road. That's what it meant to be a goddess. Divinity came with burdens and responsibilities. I was always on the move because I had wolves to protect, hunts to honor, and maybe once in a while, blessings to bestow upon mortals who worshipped me.
When the gardener's eyes came back from the mental journey of whatever eternal meant in her mind, she clearly had a question or two.
"Ruka. . . have you ever been somewhere you could call home?"
I shrugged.
"The Great Oakhurst Forest is my territory. I spend most of my time there. But sometimes I have to travel, like to help the Red Sky Pack."
"But. . . no permanent dwelling you can call your own? I don't know how a heart can handle that," she said.
More popping noises cracked from the logs as fire claimed every ounce of them.
I tore off another piece of bread and ate it without honey this time. The wheat was tougher without honey on top.
"I guess. . . that's the difference between a mortal heart and a divine heart. Ours are made to be part of this world wherever we need to be for as long as we need to be. Yours? Is meant to be in a cozy home with a familiar fire and people who care about you," I said, lifting a finger to run down the side of Mekyla's face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"What's the longest time you've stayed in one place?" she asked.
And there was this way her earnest expression could coax any information out of me. Somehow, her words made me want to tell her anything the gardener wanted to know.
Sighing and looking at the pillows we sat on, I shrugged again.
"I don't know. . . a week? I'm a wolf. We have a tendency to move around a lot."
That earned me another laugh, albeit it one quiet enough that the logs were louder.
"The— what did you call them? The Red Sky Pack? They certainly move around a lot up and down the coast," she said. "I'm glad you helped them. They're great neighbors, keep the sea badger population in check. Without them, the badgers would overrun my garden, no matter how much I enclosed it."
She tore off another piece of bread and thought for a moment. I wondered what was running through Mekyla's mind, but I didn't have to wait long to find out.
"Maybe you should try sticking around one place for a bit," she said. "You might like it."
With a wolfish grin, I went in for the kill.
"I'm prepared to stick around this place for at least tonight," I said. "But I might be tempted to stay two nights if the entertainment is good."
She seemed to like that and leaned in close, enough that I could smell the honey and wine on her breath. Our hearts were both starting to race, but mine more so.
"I'm afraid I only have one bed to offer you. Would you like to make sure it's worthy of a goddess?" she asked.
I took her hand.
"You'd best inspect it with me. I might want to see if it's big enough for two bodies," I said, helping her up.
As we walked over to the bed, I finally heard Mekyla's heart overtake mine. And she was starting to sweat, which seemed a little unusual.
"Hey, if I came on too strong, I don't want you to feel pressured to do this," I said. "Honestly, I'm perfectly happy sleeping in a pile of my wolves on the floor."
The gardener sat down on the bed and shook her head. Mekyla looked out the window and rubbed her arm before biting her lower lip.
"Listen, I've heard a few stories about you, Ruka. I know that you're pretty exclusive with who you take to bed. You like women, and trust me, I clearly do too. Though I have been with a few men from the village and—"
I put a hand on her cheek.
"I don't care who you've been with," I said.
"Okay, great, but. . . how do you feel about women who were— um, born in the wrong body?" she asked, softly. "I just don't want you to climb under the covers with me and be. . . disappointed."
I shook my head.
"I don't care about that either," I said, holding her hands firmly. "I don't take men to bed, Mekyla. Only women, regardless of what they have under the covers."
The smile took a bit, but eventually, it captured over half of Mekyla's face.
"Okay, then. I believe you were promised some entertainment," the gardener said, moving up to meet my lips.
I laid mine upon hers, and it wasn't long before I was pulling her top off and climbing under the blankets together.
***
The mountain had only grown a little smaller since I'd finished my story. Or thought I'd finished it. Red and Pyra were both nodding slowly, putting the pieces together. And the bard cautiously asked, "What happened next? If you don't mind talking about it."
I shrugged. This was all just a recovered memory to me. I thought had no problems answering their questions. Though I was rather taken aback by how quickly the original Ruka moved to spend the night with someone.
Maybe that was just my leftover memories from having never partaken of that particular sin, but I'd seen sitcom couples move slower.
"Well. . . I guess she sweet-talked me into hanging around for a little while longer, maybe a couple of weeks. I considered it sort of a beach vacation, and we had lots of fun together. Then, on the morning I prepared to return to the forest, I was wrecked by inexplicable nausea. It was rough, and we figured out pretty quickly that Mekyla got me pregnant."
Red's eyes widened, but not nearly as much as Pyra's. The huntsman had mentioned having a similar lover to Mekyla before, so I don't think it was the process that shocked her, so much as the raw info dump that I had a bun in the oven. She'd apparently never known that before, and prior to her asking on the mountain, I didn't know either.
Ruka's memories were almost as unpredictable as the giant red juice guy that bursts through people's walls.
But the bard was left speechless.
"You. . . had a kid?" she asked. "How— what. I'm sorry to keep prying. It's all just a little hard to process."
"It's okay, Pyra. Let's see. What happened next? Ummmm, well I stuck around Ty'rella for the next nine months, moving in with my partner. Mekyla was amazing. I think this might have been one of the happiest times of her life. I blew up like any woman with child, and she was there for everything. Foot rubs, emotional breakdowns, telling me, the goddess, when I couldn't do something because it was, in her words, 'too strenuous for the body carrying our baby.'"
I'd tried to get us moving again in the direction of town, but Pyra was not in a hiking mood yet. So I finished the story.
"There was. . . life inside of me, Pyra. I'd never experienced that before. Some days were awful, especially toward the end. I was fucking miserable. But Mekyla was there every step of the way. I met her parents, and they became my family for those nine months. The village was so full of buzz, a goddess was going to give birth in their little fishing town. It was all anyone could talk about. And then, one hard night, after seven hours of labor, I brought a baby boy into the world," I said, suddenly unsure of how to feel about all of this.
My brain increasingly felt like these were my memories. It was as if this baby had grown in my womb, and I'd birthed him into the world. And I guess that was true of this body. But Lea had never— I'd never. But here I had.
Fuck. . . this might be the messiest mental sorting yet, I thought, rubbing my belly and trying to imagine not knowing what it was like to be pregnant. Life. . . for nine months I'd carried it, and then what? I looked through the memories that were resurfacing.
"Ruru? What did you name the boy?"
I paused, tears coming to my eyes as I realized what the original Ruka had done, the choice she'd made. My chest tightened, and suddenly, her depression was my own. Because I carried these memories now, not her.
"Mekyla named our son Rethalu. I didn't feel right helping to choose a name for a boy I wasn't going to raise," I said, looking at the brown grass around me. In some patches, it came up to my knees.
Red gasped, but Pyra went stone cold. Her tail poofed, and she slowly turned toward me, something in her eyes I couldn't identify until she took a step in my direction, one that carried all the tension of a charging bull in a slow advance.
"I'm sorry, goddess. Did you say that you didn't raise him?" she asked.
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I replaced the conversation between myself and Mekyla over and over. We'd come to an agreement, but it was one nobody was happy with. When I could finally speak, and the world stopped spinning for a moment, I said, "We agreed that if I stuck around to help raise the demigod, it would put him in more danger than if the village concealed him. Their homes were pretty isolated. Everyone in the village was on board with the plan. They would keep him safe and hidden from demigod hunters. And within a few days of birth, I started off for my territory again."
The bard just kept shaking her head.
"How could you?" she finally whispered. "Do you have any idea what happens to a child when a parent abandons them?"
That struck my heart like a dagger, and I clutched my chest, which was still tightening and weighed down with grief. I'd given him away, the boy I carried. The sweet cub with golden skin like his mother, covered in hair with ears and a tiny tail that matched my own.
I'd held him in my arms, rocked him, and weighed our options again and again. Because, dammit, I'd been happy during that nine months. It was a relief to have a reason to be anchored to a home with people who cared about me, not worshippers, but family.
But I couldn't justify attracting demigod hunters to the village. Their attention could not follow Rethalu.
"Pyra. . . I didn't. It wasn't me who chose to do that," I said.
The bard advanced and put a finger in my face. And I could see her tears now as well, somehow bigger than my own. She stifled a sob with her words.
"Children. . . as their minds develop, and they start gaining the ability to think, the ability to ask themselves rhetorical questions, do you know what the first one is for those who had a parent bail?"
All I could do was shake my head.
"They question where mommy went. Why didn't she stick around? Where is she now? Will I ever see her again? And when the answers don't come, those questions turn inward with a sharp pain of blame. Was it my fault? Did she leave because of me? Is there something wrong with me? Why wasn't I good enough to stay around for? Did she ever love me?"
I fell to my knees.
"And when an abandoned child is done cutting themselves to pieces on the inside with those questions, maybe they'll have someone who cares enough to mend their heart. But even with all the love and care in the world, all the years in the world, and all the distance in the world, they'll always remember those questions. On nights when things get too quiet and the heart grows heavy, those questions reappear, Ruka. Believe me, I know. I've been that demigod. I still am."
My tears fell into the grass, and nausea flooded my guts. I couldn't handle the pain of giving away a child and the disappointment from Pyra.
Desperately, I tried again, to deflect something, any amount of this agony.
"It wasn't me," I said. "Ruka did that."
The bard shook her head, wiping one of her eyes and nose on her shirt.
"No, Wolf Goddess. You don't get to tell everyone you're Ruka and then bail on that identity the moment some dark decision from the past bubbles up. If you're Ruka now, then you were Ruka then. And no amount of excuses will ever absolve you of that abandonment," she said.
Red stomped her foot.
"That's enough, Pyra!"
We both looked up at her. Though she was facing the bard.
"Look, I'm sorry for the pain your mother has caused you through the years. I can't imagine what you've gone through, and I know this story has hit close to home. But you can't take that grief and pin it on Ruru. That's not fair to her, either of her. This was something that happened centuries ago, before you and I even existed. What right do we have to judge her for that choice?"
Silence fell over us as Katira walked over between my arms and put a paw on my chest. I picked her up and buried my face in her fur. I'd have taken mercy from anyone right then.
When we'd managed to piece ourselves together emotionally, our pack stood up. Red got us moving toward Mykova, where a little girl from my bloodline was about to be the target of a horrific spell. Nobody knew what would happen to her.
The sun fell from the sky, and we just kept going, too miserable to make camp until at last Red's legs would go no further. She'd spent all her strength for the day. And my wife was still recovering from the Despair.
I got a fire going, and we just ate some dried fruit and jerky from our packs. Nobody was in the mood to hunt tonight. Grey Paws and Streak stayed close, but Katira was even closer.
Just before I was going to turn in, Pyra reached across the fire to offer me a drink from a flask I'd never seen before.
Taking the peace offering, I threw it back, feeling the burn of something run down my throat. I coughed because, shit, that was strong, even for a goddess.
When I handed it back, Pyra sighed and took a drink, setting it between us.
At last, words found her, and she apologized.
"I'm sorry for what I said, Rook. You didn't deserve to be shit on like that, especially not from me. If you want me to leave, I can pack up and be gone before sunrise," she said.
Shaking my head, I reached for the flask and took another drink, this time only coughing half as much.
Progress, I thought.
"No, Pyra. You're pack until the day you die. No argument between us changes that. I know you've carried a saddlebag of grief from what your mother did to you. And I know those questions that you mentioned well. In my other life. . . Lea grew up in an orphanage. She asked her fair share of those things."
The bard looked like she'd been slapped across the face.
"But that's neither here nor there. I think the important thing is we stop that spell and help this little girl. I think I owe it to Ruka's— I mean my, bloodline."
And we stayed up for a little longer together, trying to find ways to reconnect through our shared pain of abandonment. We were all determined to make sure this little girl didn't grow up asking the same questions we did.