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Coming Home/Spinka

Coming Home

Penina Keen Spinka

Chapter 1

In the saying goes, you can never go home again because either it has changed too much or you have. I had been far from home for thirteen years and had to agree. I had changed, several times over. The circumstances of my several changes have been told in another of my memoirs. This story speaks of when I returned home with a special friend. I call Timotheos my friend, but he and I had once been twin brothers. We would have different kinds of relationships in the future, but that night, when I found him on the western slope of Mount Olympus guarding his sheep while they slept, and playing a melody on his syrinx, he did not know what we had once been to each other.

I had seen syrinxes before, but never heard one played so well. Today, they would call it a shepherd pipe or a panpipe. Picture hollow reeds laid shortest to longest in a line and tied together by flat reeds or sinew. I listened to him play for a while and then begged leave to try it myself. I played him a melody he had taught me in his previous life. To my joy, it sounded familiar to him. He might even remember me after a while.

To Timotheos, I was a bearded stranger - a man of near thirty years to his twelve. That he had lived twelve years was more my figuring than his since my brother died thirteen years before. Villagers in the land we call ancient Greece today didn't notice such things as the passage of years except as it related to seasons and growth. The days before the oldest graybeard among them could recall was 'time out of mind.' It was enough knowledge for the lives they lived.

The changing seasons told farmers when to plant and harvest. Short, cooler days told shepherds to gather in the sheep before the snows. Too little stored fodder told them when to cull their herds. Longer days and new leaves said it was time for shearing. They drank ewe milk and wore sheepskins. They were simple folk, these villagers. I had seen their type before. Drop spindles and looms were new to them.

Timotheos' family lived in a village in the northeast part of the land of Achaea as Greece was known, near the border between Thessaly and Macedonia. The Mount was regarded as the home of the Olympian gods. On my travels through Achaea, I'd heard of their exploits. It was said these gods often changed form, sometimes to impregnate maidens or to amuse themselves with war games that left countries and families devastated.

Ares, my old friend and blood relative, thought himself a god as I had before my travels. We had learned the language of Achaea together and heard of this Mount Olympus. Humans were not permitted to the heights of the mountain, but our hosts did not know what we were. Ares was sure the restriction could not apply to him. Although he was far older than I and therefore stronger, I hoped he would survive his curiosity.

Personally, I had no such ambitions. If the Sun god truly lived on the mountain when the day was through, I could not imagine his palace ever being dark. As a creature of night, I could barely tolerate sunlight. Time would not change my aspect, but my strength and tolerance were supposed to grow. Ares could withstand daylight, but I feared it and emerged from caves or underground only when the sun had slipped behind Earth's rim.

As the youngest in a family of shepherds, it was Timotheos' job to help guard his village's flocks. His parents had not expected a fifth son, so when he was born they named him to honor the gods. It seemed to Timotheos he would always serve his older brothers. Once his beard grew, he was expected to find and wed a suitable maiden and thereby begin the process of fathering more shepherds as his father had. He told me he hoped to become proficient on his instrument so he might leave his village and see some of the world. He might entertain for his supper in great houses, those of chieftains and kings, and in temples. He might even become a priest himself, but he had not yet decided on his favorite god.

Grateful for my company and interest, he had freely shared his hopes and dreams. I had to be more circumspect. I told him my name was Radu and that my homeland in a far country north of Thrace, a country he knew of only in fable. It was called Hyperborea which in their tongue meant it was beyond the North Wind. Timotheos was as curious in this life as he was in his last. His eyes lit with excitement as he asked. "Is it true people there do nothing there but dance and sing? That's what the ballads say. They must be happy all the time. How could you have left them?"

I smiled at his innocence. "No country is happy all of the time. There was a great war and many of my people died. Our two greatest gods died, but before they did, they created new gods to avenge the dead and care for the survivors." What I said was true enough. What I did not say is that I was one of those new gods. "It is true though, that when we have finished our work for the day, that we do like music. A fine musician such as you would be honored." When he was my brother, he was one of our best musicians and our king, but I was not about to tell him that, at least not yet.

"I would love to bring you home with me. His vital signs rate quickened as he thought over my suggestion. "As far as playing for your supper, learn to play the lyre. Thracians invented them, but I've seen them in great houses here. You play with your fingers and you can sing while you play."

"Like Apollo?" he asked.

Timotheos picked up on my confusion. "When he's not carrying the sun across the sky, the traveling bards say he plays the lyre and sings for the other gods."

"Then I suppose so. Let me hear you sing." To my night vision, his face was as beautiful, lit softly by the stars and moon, but I thought his voice could charm birds from the trees. I had been told my sire was a moon god. In a distant land, I discovered that I was not a god at all. My kind had been created to protect our people. I had not been doing much of that while I explored new lands and gods and ideas, but I met a wise man, a master of shepherds in an Eastern land. He taught me that the earth has one real God and that I must use my gifts wisely.

Timotheos sang a simple song about a shepherd's life, of hills and trees and lakes trembling under winter winds. The song ended with the shepherd going home to a warm supper. It reminded me of my own childhood when I was human. The memory of those days as well as his song brought tears to my eyes.

I smelled the dawn's approach and knew I must hide from it, but I said I hoped I would see him again. He replied he would be here again tomorrow night. He also asked if I cared to go the shepherd's hut when the other boys came to take over his duties. "You are a stranger. Do you have a place to stay?"

"I do. I wish I could stay longer with you, but I have a problem with daylight. I cannot walk in it."

He met my eyes, cocked his head and looked into my soul. The youth's attention compelled me to say more. "I'm very strong and see better than most at night. The night gives me my strength, and blood." I lowered my voice at the last word. I had already said more than was prudent.

He did not blink at my revelation, but seemed to think over what I had said. "Are you like the new god Ares who came to our land from Thrace when I was little? He told the people he was a war god."

I nearly laughed that he knew of Ares. "I'm not a war god, but yes. I am like Ares. He is my uncle. We came to Achaea together."

Timotheos' mouth twisted as he took this in. So much for my good intentions, I thought. Instead of retreating in fear and awe, he smiled. "Ares took Aphrodite for his mistress. Her husband was angry and demanded justice, but the other gods laughed at him." I wondered how he knew. The lad seemed to hear my thoughts and winked. "Everyone loves gossip, and his priests brag of his conquests."

I should not have been surprised at Ares' success here or his boldness. Nothing frightened him, not even Apollo. Were the sun god and I in the same room, I would have been hiding under the bed. That reminded me. "The sun will rise shortly and I must go where it is dark."

"Tomorrow night, then?" he asked. "Will you come and find me?" He wanted to see me again. If my heart was like a human's it would have beaten faster.

"I can teach you more songs. I'm on the last part of my journey. If your parents give permission and you don't mind traveling at night, you can come home with me."

"I think I would like that. I already watch sheep all night and sleep in the daytime," he said with a friendly a grin. How different he was from a lad of my people who would have given me reverence, distance and blood, had I asked. I touched his cheek with my cool hand and wished him a good day.