The Castle of the Cormorants

a cormorant

under his arm

married Ophelia.

She was still

wet from drowning.

She looked like

a white flower

that had been

left in the

rain too long.

I love you,

said Ophelia,

And I love

that dark

bird you

hold in

your arms.

Richard Brautigan

Xena wrapped her arms around herself as though for warmth, though in fact she was closest to the fire. She still felt cold. In this place, in this time, the story of Antony and Cleopatra not only filled her with shame, but also with horror.

She looked about at the people listening intently and wondered what they heard. The room was large, built with stone walls, filled with echoes and shadows; and yet in some way too empty. The fire flickered and crackled. The story poured into the silence.

Gabrielle considered it a love story of the simplest, most classic kind; tragic yet beautiful. To Xena it was grotesque. She had seen the enemy and had loved his face, had accepted the only goodness that his heart had – his capacity to love her – and had used it against him. She had killed someone whom she had loved, even though it was no ordinary love. Somehow that made it even worse.

It was no story for the fireside. It was a story to waken you in the night with terror at the darkness in your own soul.Xena thought that perhaps it was impossible for Gabrielle to imagine such darkness; and she wondered if any one of the listeners heard the horror within the story.

They had accepted the hospitality of King Othern, whose minions had found them wandering, lost, in his woods. Once they knew every forest and village in the land; now, it was all unfamiliar to them, and Ares in his newly mortal state was no help in determining everyday directions.

What they had remembered as rich, fertile farmlands was now wilderness; the villages mere hovels. They could not recognise their past in this strange present.

If Eve had not remained with the Amazons, learning in humility from those she had once persecuted, they perhaps might have steered away from the enclosed land. But they felt it only courteous to accept the night’s welcome, once being discovered on private land; and, after all, they had once been friends of kings.

The shadows ran up the narrow stone wall of the stairwell, long shadows of flames, and the people about the flames. Ares stepped down and saw that they were sitting about a large fire, Gabrielle on the side nearest the narrow circling staircase, with the others of the court sitting about her. Xena sat apart on the other side of the fire.

He paused a moment, noticing Xena looking acutely uncomfortable. So Gabrielle was telling a story; so, the story was about her. He moved a few steps lower and listened.

‘When she entered the room he was marking Rome
Across a map of the world – he saw no borders
Not because the people were free,
But because they were Rome.

‘What journey do you plan – she asked.
None, dreams alone, he added hastily, but she knew.
Kneeling, she offered up her arms, offered
What he could not reject; not her love, but her navy.

‘At first he moved to refuse, but she shook
Such unnecessary courtesy from her
As a maid shakes crumbs from a cloth.
Take it, she said, quieting his protests with a kiss;

‘I need no extravagant gestures
Such as these, from such a man;
Then she bowed her head. I know
You love me, she said –‘

Ares moved back a few steps, unable to hear another word of the tale. It angered him in so many ways. And now he looked back at Xena and saw she was staring at him, and her eyes were wide with guilt and horror. She rose, then, but he couldn’t bear to hear what she would say, and turned back to the winding staircase, and back to his room.

They had often been friends of kings. And so when the cheering began – as they rode up the winding road to the huge castle – and when it ended with flowers, and cries of joy as they came into the gates, they knew once again they had ridden into trouble.

The land was sick, because the king was sick, so they were told. And the king’s illness stemmed from a terrible wound that caused him great pain and would not heal.

Only the one who inflicted the wound could take it away; what hate had brought about, love would remove. The night that she entered his household, she also had to enter his room, and his bed.

They were cheering the one who had blighted them, knowing that now she would do what she had to to free them.

Xena hesitated a moment before rapping firmly on the wood of his door. Then she pushed it open, almost before he had time to answer.

‘Don’t.’

She pressed a hand to her chest; it ached, and there was an ugly taste in her mouth. He didn’t see, flat on his stomach on the bed, his head down.

‘Perfect choice, for this night. Did you ask her to tell it? I wanted that picture, of his lips upon your lips, his hand upon your –‘

‘I-‘

‘And then you killed him. You took all he could give, and destroyed him. It –‘

‘It sickens my soul.’ Xena whispered, her hand now to her head, now pressed against her mouth. He turned and watched her, then, her body, usually at ease with itself, now tense and tight, one arm wrapped across her chest, her hand at her face; the other around her waist, pressed into her stomach.

‘I don’t want you to do this.’ He said finally.

‘There is no other way.’

He exploded at that, leaping off the bed, moving over to her so quickly that she stepped back, finding herself pressed against the wall.

‘Don’t tell me that!’ He shouted. ‘You, with all your weapons at your disposal! A way of death at your hip, and at your back! The sharpness of your tongue, all your cunning – don’t you dare say you have no other way than your body!’

He stopped then, and his lip curled.

‘But perhaps it is your best weapon. After all, what benefit is it to destroy the body when you can always destroy the soul?’

Her head was throbbing, now, and she slipped down against the coolness of the wall, till she was sitting at his feet.

‘Why don’t you sicken my soul, Xena?’

She shook her head, resting now in her hands, her eyes shut against the too-bright light.

‘I don’t know.’ She replied. ‘I don’t know.’

"Look - that bird has a ring caught about its neck."

Xena turned and looked at the black waterbird perched on a branch behind them.

"That's a cormorant. A king's fishing bird. They train them to catch the riverfish, then deposit them at the king's feet. The ring is so they don't swallow the fish themselves."

The bird rose then, and dove into the river.

Xena found herself, hours later, lying back in bed, with a candle burning on a stand beside her.

‘Is it too late?’ She asked, scarcely aware of what she was saying.

Ares moved over to her from the other side of the room, and crouched down beside the bed until he was at eye-level.

‘No.’ He replied quietly. ‘It’s an hour before midnight.’

He rested a cool palm on her forehead, and for an instant Xena closed her eyes and let the comfort sink into her. Then she pulled herself up.

‘You’re still going to do this.’

Xena found her leathers hanging from the edge of the bed, and her boots standing at its foot.

‘This is more than I can bear.’

She fastened her breastplate and tightened the lacings at her back.

‘Don’t come back here tonight.’

She pulled on her boots and looked up at him.

‘I won’t.’ She told him, and then left the room.

Xena found her way to the Tower easily enough, evading the various guards and servants wandering about the huge castle.

What was worse, to kill outright, or to destroy covertly? To let live and fester, or murder cleanly?

She touched the circlet at her hip, touched the blade balanced at her back. He had said that, because he had given her the chakram, given her her first true sword, as well. Every weapon at her disposal was there because of him. Even her body . . . he had allowed her to heal quickly, without scarring, on so many occasions. Her body was desirable because of him.

She shook the thought away. The origin of the weapons was academic. It was she who wielded them. Spying out the Tower door, she strode ahead firmly and pushed it open.

He was there behind it.

Xena was truly dumbfounded.

‘You are mortal, aren’t you?’

‘Don’t do this.’ He laid a hand on her arm.

She was reminded suddenly of a bed in Chin, and the misguided friend who had tried to choose on her behalf.

‘What would you have me do, then?’ She hissed furiously. ‘Allow all this evil to continue unchecked? Don’t you know that’s exactly what will happen?’

‘I don’t care.’ He was calm in his desperation.

‘Well, that’s the difference between you and I.’ Xena replied wearily, pushing him aside. ‘I do.’

Ares saw her take the stairs two at a time, and pause before entering the Tower room.

Then he heard the door open, and the King’s low voice. Then the door closed.

The cormorant deposited the fish at Xena's feet, and Gabrielle laughed.

"So now you are royalty!"

With a quick movement, Ares picked up the black bird and snapped the ring from about its neck, then flung it back into the sky.

They watched it fly out of sight. Then they caught their own fish.

'I told you not to come back here.'

Xena hesitated at the door.

'I know.'

Ares reached out a hand and she took it, almost stumbling, and he steadied her.

'I told you not to come back.' He repeated, and then he kissed her hair, all black around her shoulders, dark, a shadow of darkness. Then he kissed her eyes.

'I know.' Xena replied, then made a sound like a wild bird, as he drew his fingers over her left breast. He kissed her lips a thousand times, then kissed her again.

'I try to leave, but somehow I always return . . .'

...h.o.m.e...
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