Harry Turtledove - The First Heroes

The First Heroes

New Tales of the Bronze Age

Harry Turtledove

and

Noreen Doyle

Copyright Acknowledgements

in memory of

POUL ANDERSON 1926-2001

Contents

Definition ................................................................................. 4

Introduction ................................................................................. 4

"The Lost Pilgrim" by Gene Wolfe ........................................... 5

"How the Bells Came from Yang to Hubei"

by Brenda Clough ............................................................ 20

"The God of Chariots" by Judith Tarr ..................................... 26

"The Horse of Bronze" by Harry Turtledove ........................ 41

"A Hero for the Gods" by Josepha Sherman .......................... 66

"Blood Wolf" by S. M. Stirling ............................................... 73

"Ankhtifi the Brave is dying." by Noreen Doyle ..................... 86

"The God Voice" by Katharine Kerr & Debra Doyle ............. 103

" Orqo Afloat on the Willkamayu"

by Karen Jordan Allen ....................................................... 111

"The Myrmidons" by Larry Hammer ...................................... 126

"Giliad" by Gregory Feeley ............................................... 135

"The Sea Mother's Gift" by Laura Frankos .......................... 159

"The Matter of the Ahhiyans" by Lois Tilton .......................... 172

"The Bog Sword" by Poul Anderson ...................................... 181

BRONZE AGE:

(noun)

1) archaeology/history;

a period of cultural development

marked by the use of copper alloys,

such as bronze.

2) Greek mythology;

the era of the third race of humanity created by Zeus.

Their armor, their houses, and their tools were bronze,

for they had no iron.

Their strength was great, their arms unconquerable.

Terrible and strong,

they were followed by the nobler and more righteous

heroic race

that fought the Trojan War.

Introduction

Storytellers have been writing and rewriting the Bronze Age since the Bronze Age, and their enthusiasm

shows no sign of waning.

Sometime before 1500 B.C. an Egyptian wrote down a series of stories about King Khufu, for whom the

Great Pyramid had been built a thousand years before. In the seventh century B.C. Babylonian scribes

incised onto eleven clay tablets their own adaptation of the much earlier Sumerian epic of Gilgamesh—and

recorded a sequel on the twelfth. Homer's tales of the Trojans and Achaians inspired Mediaeval and

Renaissance romances. All of this, and everything else you have ever read, is possible because literature

itself was born during the Bronze Age. This singular invention, the written narrative, preserved for us the

names and deeds and a little of the personalities of the first recorded individuals.

It was the beginning of history—literally, as archaeologists define the period before the development of

writing as prehistory.

It was an age of new technology and experimentation (writing, metallurgy, the wheel) and evolving social

forms (statehood, standing armies, the merchant class). It was an age of exploration, when Egyptian

expeditions set sail for the incense terraces of Punt and Odysseus wandered his way home. And it was an

age of magic: the gods so familiar to us, from Ishtar to Poseidon, attained recognizable name and form and

power.

So we turn our eyes toward a past when kings were gods, voyagers were heroes, and tin was the key to

cutting-edge technology. And as we look back—and forward and a little sideways—we see that Bronze

Age figures, at once familiar and strange, remain around us everywhere.

The -past is a foreign country that cannot be visited but rather only glimpsed on the horizon. When we try for a

closer view, through the spyglass of history or archaeology, our view is invariably distorted by distance, by our

choice of focus, and by the curvature of our lens. If, however, we were to attempt landfall, could we navigate the

currents of time to an intended moorage? And would we find a world any more familiar than might a sailor who,

informed by rumor and legend and sightings through his telescope, has disembarked from his storm-swept ship onto

an alien shore? Would the landscape around us remain distorted and strange to our expectations?

Renowned author Gene Wolfe takes us on such a voyage across the ancient Black Sea and the wider gulf of time

itself. He shows us anew people, places, and events that, separated from us by more than three and a half millennia,

authors and filmmakers have made unjustly familiar.

The Lost Pilgrim

Gene Wolfe

Before leaving my own period, I I resolved to keep a diary; and in-'deed I told several others I would,

and promised to let them see it upon my return. Yesterday I arrived, captured no Pukz, and compiled no

text. No more inauspicious beginning could be imagined.

I will not touch my emergency rations. I am hungry, and there is nothing to eat; but how absurd it would

be to begin in such a fashion! No. Absolutely not. Let me finish this, and I will go off in search of breakfast.

To begin. I find myself upon a beach, very beautiful and very empty, but rather too hot and much too

shadeless to be pleasant. "Very empty," I said, but how can I convey just how empty it really is? (Pukz

1—3)

As you see, there is sun and there is water, the former remarkably hot and bright, the latter

remarkably blue and clean. There is no shade, and no one who—

A sail! Some kind of sailboat is headed straight for this beach. It seems too small, but this could be it.

(Puk 4)

I cannot possibly describe everything that happened today. There was far, far too much. I can only give a

rough outline. But first I should say that I am no longer sure why I am here, if I ever was. On the beach

last night, just after I arrived, I felt no doubts. Either I knew why I had come, or I did not think about it.

There was that time when they were going to send me out to join the whateveritwas expedition—the little

man with the glasses. But I do not think this is that; this is something else.

Not the man getting nailed up, either.

It will come to me. I am sure it will. In such a process of regression there cannot help but be metal

confusion. Do I mean metal? The women's armor was gold or brass. Something like that. They marched

out onto the beach, a long line of them, all in the gold armor. I did not know they were women.

I hid behind rocks and took Pukz. (See Pukz 5—9) The reflected glare made it difficult, but I got some

good shots just the same.

They banged their spears on their shields and made a terrible noise, but when the boat came close

enough for us to see the men on it (Pukz 10 and 11) they marched back up onto the hill behind me and

stood on the crest. It was then that I realized they were women; I made a search for "women in armor"

and found more than a thousand references, but all those I examined were to Joan of Arc or similar

figures. This was not one woman but several hundreds.

I do not believe there should be women in armor, anyway. Or men in armor, like those who got off the

boat. Swords, perhaps. Swords might be all right. And the name of the boat should be two words, I think.

The men who got off this boat are young and tough-looking. There is a book of prayers in my pack, and

I am quite certain it was to be a talisman. "O God, save me by thy name and defend my cause by thy

might." But I cannot imagine these men being impressed by any prayers.

Some of these men were in armor and some were not. One who had no armor and no weapons left the

rest and started up the slope. He has an intelligent face, and though his staff seemed sinister, I decided to

risk everything. To tell the truth I thought he had seen me and was coming to ask what I wanted. I was

wrong, but he would surely have seen me as soon as he took a few more steps. At any rate, I switched on

my translator and stood up. He was surprised, I believe, at my black clothes and the buckles on my shoes;

but he is a very smooth man, always exceedingly polite. His name is Ekkiawn. Or something like that. (Puk

12) Ekkiawn is as near as I can get to the pronunciation.

I asked where he and the others were going, and when he told me, suggested that I might go with them,

mentioning that I could talk to the Native Americans. He said it was impossible, that they had sworn to

accept no further volunteers, that he could speak the language of Kolkkis himself, and that the

upper classes of Kolkkis all spoke English.

I, of course, then asked him to say something in English and switched off my translator. I could

not understand a word of it.

At this point he began to walk again, marking each stride with his beautiful staff, a staff of polished

hardwood on which a carved snake writhes. I followed him, switched my translator back on, and

complimented him on his staff.

He smiled and stroked the snake. "My father permits me to use it," he said. "The serpent on his own is

real, of course. Our tongues are like our emblems, I'm afraid. He can persuade anyone of anything.

Compared to him, my own tongue is mere wood."

I said, "I assume you will seek to persuade those women that you come in peace. When you do, will

they teach you to plant corn?"

He stopped and stared at me. "Are they women? Don't toy with me."

I said I had observed them closely, and I was quite sure they were.

"How interesting! Come with me."

As we approached the women, several of them began striking their shields with their spears, as before.

(Puk 13) Ekkiawn raised his staff. "My dear young ladies, cease! Enchanting maidens, desist! You suppose

us pirates. You could not be more mistaken. We are the aristocracy of the Minyans. Nowhere will you find

young men so handsome, so muscular, so wealthy, so well bred, or so well connected. I myself am a son of

Hodios. We sail upon a most holy errand, for we would return the sacred ramskin to Mount Laphystios."

The women had fallen silent, looking at one another and particularly at an unusually tall and comely

woman who stood in the center of their line.

"Let there be peace between us," Ekkiawn continued. "We seek only fresh water and a few days' rest,

for we have had hard rowing. We will pay for any supplies we receive from you, and generously. You will

have no singing arrows nor blood-drinking spears from us. Do you fear sighs? Languishing looks? Gifts of

flowers and jewelry? Say so if you do, and we will depart in peace."

A woman with gray hair straggling from under her helmet tugged at the sleeve of the tall woman. (Puk

14) Nodding, the tall woman stepped forward. "Stranger, I am Hupsipule, Queen of Lahmnos. If indeed

you come in peace—"

"We do," Ekkiawn assured her.

"You will not object to my conferring with my advisors."

"Certainly not."

While the queen huddled with four other women, Ekkiawn whispered, "Go to the ship like a good fellow,

and find Eeasawn, our captain. Tell him these are women and describe the queen. Name her."

Thinking that this might well be the boat I was supposed to board after all and that this offered as good a

chance to ingratiate myself with its commander as I was ever likely to get, I hurried away. I found

Eea-sawn without much trouble, assured him that the armed figures on the hilltop were in fact women in

armor ("both Ekkiawn and I saw that quite clearly") and told him that the tallest, good-looking, black-haired,

and proud, was Queen Hupsipule.

He thanked me. "And you are . . .?"

"A humble pilgrim seeking the sacred ramskin, where I hope to lay my heartfelt praise at the feet of

God."

"Well spoken, but I cannot let you sail with us, Pilgrim. This ship is already as full of men as an egg is of

meat. But should—"

Several members of the crew were pointing and shouting. The women on the hilltop were removing their

armor and so revealing their gender, most being dressed in simple frocks without sleeves, collars, or

buttons. (Puk 15) There was a general rush from the ship.

Let me pause here to comment upon the men's clothing, of which there is remarkably little, many being

completely naked. Some wear armor, a helmet and a breastplate, or a helmet alone. A few more wear

loose short-sleeved shirts that cover them to mid-thigh. The most remarkable is certainly the captain, who

goes naked except for a single sandal. (Pukz 16 and 17)

For a moment or two, I stood watching the men from the ship talking to the women. After conversations

too brief to have consisted of much more than introductions, each man left with three or more

women, though our captain departed with the queen alone (Puk 18), and Ekkiawn with five. I had started to

turn away when the largest and strongest hand I have ever felt closed upon my shoulder.

"Look 'round here, Pilgrim. Do you really want to go to Kolkkis with us?"

The speaker was a man of immense size, bull-necked and pig-eyed (Puk 19); I felt certain that it would

be dangerous to reply in the negative.

"Good! I promised to guard the ship, you see, the first time it needed guarding."

"I am not going to steal anything," I assured him.

"I didn't think so. But if you change your mind, I'm going to hunt you down and break your neck. Now,

then, I heard you and Eeasawn. You watch for me, hear? While I go into whatever town those split-tailed

soldiers came out of and get us some company. Two enough for you?"

Not knowing what else to do, I nodded.

"Me?" He shrugged shoulders that would have been more than creditable on a bull gorilla. "I

knocked up fifty girls in one night once. Not that I couldn't have done it just about any other night, too,

only that was the only time I've had a crack at fifty. So a couple for you and as many as I can round up

for me. And if your two have anything left when you're done up, send 'em over. Here." He handed me a

spear. "You're our guard 'til I get back."

I am waiting his return; I have removed some clothing because of the heat and in the hope of

ingratiating myself with any women who may return with him. Hahraklahs is his name.

Hours have passed since I recorded the account you just read. No one has come, neither to molest our

boat nor for any other reason. I have been staring at the stars and examining my spear. It has a smooth

hardwood shaft and a leaf-shaped blade of copper or brass. I would not have thought such a blade could

be sharpened, but it is actually very sharp.

It is also wrong. I keep thinking of spears with flared mouths like trumpets. And yet I must admit that

my spear is a sensible weapon, while the spears with trumpet mouths would be senseless as well as

useless.

These are the most beautiful stars in the world. I am beginning to doubt that I have come at the right

period, and to tell the truth I cannot remember what the right period was. It does not matter, since no one

can possibly use the same system. But this period in which I find myself has the most beautiful stars, bar

none. And the closest.

There are voices in the distance. I am prepared to fight, if I must.

We are at sea. I have been rowing; my hands are raw and blistered. We are too many to row all at once,

so we take turns. Mine lasted most of the morning. I pray for a wind.

I should have brought prophylactics. It is possible I have contracted some disease, though I doubt it. The

women (Apama and Klays, Pukz 20—25, infrared) were interesting, both very eager to believe that I was

the son of some king or other and very determined to become pregnant. Apama has killed her husband for

an insult, stabbing him in his sleep.

Long after we had finished and washed ourselves in this strange tideless sea, Hahraklahs was still

engaged with his fifteen or twenty. (They came and went in a fashion that made it almost impossible to

judge the exact number.) When the last had gone, we sat and talked.

He has had a hard life in many ways, for he is a sort of slave to one Eurustheus who refuses to speak to

him or even look at him. He has been a stableman and so forth. He says he strangled the lion whose skin

he wears, and he is certainly very strong. I can hardly lift his brass-bound club, which he flourishes like a

stick.

If it were not for him, I would not be on this boat. He has taken a liking to me because I did not want to

stay at Lahmnos. He had to kidnap about half the crew to get us out to sea again, and two could not be

found. Kaeneus (Puk 26) says the crew wanted to depose Captain Eeasawn and make Hahraklahs captain,

but he remained loyal to Eeasawn and would not agree. Kaeneus also confided that he himself underwent a

sex-change operation some years ago. Ekkiawn warned me that Kaeneus is the most dangerous fighter on

the boat; I suppose he was afraid I would ridicule him. He is a chief, Ekkiawn says, of the Lapiths; this

seems to be a Native American tribe.

I am certainly on the wrong vessel. There are two points I am positive of. The first is the name of the

captain. It was Jones. Captain Jones. This cannot be Eeasawn, whose name does not even begin with J.

The second is that there was to be someone named Brewster on board, and that I was to help this

Brewster (or perhaps Bradford) talk with the Lapiths. There is no one named Bradford among my present

companions—I have introduced myself to all of them and learned their names. No Brewsters. Thus this

boat cannot be the one I was to board.

On the positive side, I am on a friendly footing now with the Lapith chief. That seems sure to be of value

when I find the correct ship and reach Atlantis.

I have discussed this with Argos. Argos (Puk 27) is the digitized personality of the boat. (I wonder if the

women who lay with him realized that?) He points out—wisely, I would say—that the way to locate a

vessel is to visit a variety of ports, making inquiries at each. In order to do that, one should be on another

vessel, one making a long voyage with many ports of call. That is my situation, which might be far worse.

We have sighted two other boats, both smaller than our own.

Our helmsman, said to be an infallible weather prophet, has announced that we will have a stiff west

wind by early afternoon. Our course is northeast for Samothrakah, which I take to be another island. We

are forty-nine men and one woman.

She is Atalantah of Kaludon (Pukz 28-30), tall, slender, muscular, and quite beautiful. Ekkiawn

introduced me to her, warning me that she would certainly kill me if I tried to force her. I assured her, and

him, that I would never do such a thing. In all honesty I cannot say I have talked with her, but I listened to

her for some while. Hunting is the only thing she cares about. She has hunted every large animal in her part

of the world and joined Eeasawn's expedition in hope of hunting grups, a fierce bird never seen west of our

destination. They can be baited to a blind to feed upon the bodies of horses or cattle, she says. From that I

take them to be some type of vulture. Her knowledge of lions, stags, wild swine, and the dogs employed to

hunt all three is simply immense.

At sea again, course southeast and the wind dead astern. Now that I have leisure to bring this account up

to date, I sit looking out at the choppy waves pursuing us and wonder whether you will believe even a

fraction of what I have to relate.

In Samothrakah we were to be initiated into the Cult of Persefonay, a powerful goddess. I joined in the

preparations eagerly, not only because it would furnish insight into the religious beliefs of these amoral but

very superstitious men, but also because I hoped—as I still do— that the favor of the goddess would bring

me to the rock whose name I have forgotten, the rock that is my proper destination.

We fasted for three days, drinking water mixed with wine but eating no solid food. On the evening of the

third day we stripped and daubed each other with a thin white mixture which I suspect was little more than

chalk dispersed in water. That done, we shared a ritual supper of boiled beans and raw onions. (Pukz 31

and 32)

Our procession reached the cave of Persefassa, as she is also called, about midnight. We extinguished

our torches in an underground pool and received new ones, smaller torches that burned with a clear, almost

white flame and gave off a sweet scent. Singing, we marched another mile underground.

My companions appeared undaunted. I was frightened, and kept my teeth from chattering only by an

effort of will. After a time I was able to exchange places with Erginos and so walk behind Hahraklahs, that

tower of strength. If that stratagem had not succeeded, I think I might have turned and run.

The throne room of the goddess (Pukz 33—35) is a vast underground chamber of spectacular natural

columns where icy water drips secretly and, as it were, stealthily. The effect is of gentle, unending rain, of

mourning protracted until the sun burns out. The priestesses passed among us, telling each of us in turn,

"All things fail. All decays, and passes away."

Ghosts filled the cavern. Our torches rendered them invisible, but I could see them in the darkest places,

always at the edge of my field of vision. Their whispers were like a hundred winds in a forest, and

whenever one came near me I felt a cold that struck to the bone.

Deep-voiced horns, melodious and tragic, announced the goddess. She was preceded by the Kabeiri,

stately women and men somewhat taller than Hahraklahs who appeared to have no feet. Their forms were

solid to the knees, where they became translucent and quickly faded to nothing. They made an aisle for

Persefonay, a lovely young woman far taller than they.

She was robed in crimson, and black gems bound her fair hair. (Pukz 36 and 37) Her features are quite

beautiful; her expression I can only call resigned. (She may revisit the upper world only as long as the

pomegranate is in bloom—so we were taught during our fast. For the rest of the year she remains her

husband's prisoner underground.) She took her seat upon a rock that accommodated itself to her as she sat,

and indicated by a gesture that we were to approach her.

We did, and her Kabeiri closed about us as if we were children shepherded by older children,

approaching a teacher. That and Puk 38 will give you the picture; but I was acutely conscious, as I think

we all were, that she and her servants were beings of an order remote from biological evolution. You will

be familiar with such beings in our own period, I feel sure. I do not recall them, true. I do recall that

knowledge accumulates. The people of the period in which I find myself could not have sent someone, as I

have been sent, to join in the famous voyage whose name I have forgotten.

Captain Eeasawn stepped forward to speak to Persefonay. (Pukz 39 and 40) He explained that we were

bound for Aea, urged upon our mission by the Pythoness and accompanied by sons of Poseidon and other

gods. Much of what he said contradicted what I had been told earlier, and there was much that I failed to

understand.

When he had finished, Persefonay introduced the Kabeiri, the earliest gods of Samothrakah. One or

more, she said, would accompany us on our voyage, would see that our boat was never wrecked, and

would rescue us if it were. Eeasawn thanked her in an elaborate speech, and we bowed.

At once every torch burned out, leaving us in utter darkness. (Pukz 39a and 40a infrared) Instructed by

the priestesses, we joined hands, I with Hahraklahs and Atalantah, and so were led out of the cave. There

our old torches were restored to us and rekindled. (Puk 41) Carrying them and singing, we returned to our

ship, serenaded by wolves.

We have passed Ilion! Everyone agrees that was the most dangerous part of our voyage. Its

inhabitants control the strait and permit no ships other than their own to enter or leave. We

remained well out of sight of the city until night.

Night came, and a west wind with it. We put up the mast and hoisted our sail, and

Periklumenos dove from the prow and took the form of a dolphin (Puk 42 infrared) to guide us though the

strait. As we drew near Ilion, we rowed, too, rowing for all we were worth for what seemed half the night.

A patrol boat spotted us and moved to intercept us, but Phaleros shot its helmsman. It sheered off—and

we passed! That shot was five hundred meters if it was one, and was made by a man standing unsupported

on a bench aboard a heeling, pitching boat urged forward by a bellying sail and forty rowers pulling for all

they were worth. The arrow's flight was as straight as any string. I could not see where the helmsman was

hit, but Atalantah says the throat. Knowing that she prides herself on her shooting, I asked whether she

could have made that shot. She shrugged and said, "Once, perhaps, with a quiver-full of arrows."

We are docked now at a place called Bear Island. We fear no bears here, nor much of anything else.

The king is the son of an old friend of Hahraklahs's. He has invited us to his wedding, and all is wine and

garlands, music, dancing, and gaiety. (Pukz 43—48) Eeasawn asked for volunteers to guard the boat. I

volunteered, and Atalantah offered to stay with me. Everyone agreed that Eeasawn and Hahraklahs would

have to be present the whole time, so they were excused; the rest drew lots to relieve us. Polydeukahs the

Clone and Kaeneus lost and were then subjected to much good-natured raillery. They promise to relieve us

as soon as the moon comes up.

Meanwhile I have been leaning on my spear and talking with Atalantah. Leaning on my spear, I said, but

that was only at first. Some kind people came down from the town (Puk 49) to talk with us, and left us a

skin of wine. After that we sat side by side on one of the benches and passed the tart wine back and forth.

I do not think that I will ever taste dry red wine again without being reminded of this evening.

Atalantah has had a wretched life. One sees a tall, athletic, good-looking young woman. One is told that

she is royal, the daughter of a king. One assumes quite naturally that hers has been a life of ease and

privilege. It has been nothing of the sort. She was exposed as an infant— left in the forest to die. She was

found by hunters, one of whom had a captive bear with a cub. He washed her in the bear's urine, after

which the bear permitted her to nurse. No one can marry her who cannot best her in a foot-race, and no

one can. As if that were not enough, she is compelled to kill the suitors she outruns. And she has,

murdering half a dozen fine young men and mourning them afterward.

I tried to explain to her that she could still have male friends, men other than suitors who like her and

enjoy her company. I pointed out that I could never make a suitable mate for a beautiful young woman of

royal blood but that I would be proud to call myself her friend. I would make no demands, and assist her in

any way I could. We kissed and became intimate.

Have I gone mad? Persefonay smiled at me as we left. I shall never forget that. I cannot. Now this!

No, I am not mad. I have been wracking my brain, sifting my memory for a future that does not yet exist.

There is a double helix of gold. It gives us the power to make monsters, and if it exists in that age it must

exist in this. Look! (Pukz 50—58) I have paced off their height, and find it to be four and a half meters or a

little more.

Six arms! All of them have six arms. (Pukz 54-57 show this very clearly.) They came at us like great

white spiders, then rose to throw stones, and would have brained us with their clubs.

God above have mercy on us! I have been reading my little book by firelight. It says that a wise warrior

is mightier than a strong warrior. Doubtless that is true, but I know that I am neither. We killed three. I

killed one myself. Good Heavens!

Let me go at this logically, although every power in this mad universe must know that I feel anything but

logical.

I have reread what I recorded here before the giants came. The moon rose, and not long after—say,

three quarters of an hour—our relief arrived. They were somewhat drunk, but so were we.

Kastawr came with his clone Polydeukahs, not wanting to enjoy himself without him. Kaeneus came as

promised. Thus we had five fighters when the giants came down off the mountain. Atalantah's bow served

us best, I think, but they rushed her. Kaeneus killed one as it ran. That was simply amazing. He

crouched under his shield and sprang up as the giant dashed past, severing an artery in the giant's leg

with his sword. The giant took a few more steps and fell. Polydeukahs and Kastawr attacked another as it

grappled Atalantah. I actually heard a rib break under the blows of Polydeukahs's fists. They pounded the

giant's side like hammers.

People who heard our war cries, the roars of the giants, and Atalan-tah's screams came pouring down

from the town with torches, spears, and swords; but they were too late. We had killed four, and the rest

were running from us. None of the townspeople I talked to had been aware of such creatures on their

island. They regarded the bodies with superstitious awe. Furthermore, they now regard us with

superstitious awe— our boat and our whole crew, and particularly Atalantah, Kastawr, Polydeukahs,

Kaeneus, and me. (Puk 59)

About midnight Atalantah and I went up to the palace to see if there was any food left. As soon as we

were alone, she embraced me. "Oh, Pilgrim! Can you . . . Could anyone ever love such a coward?"

"I don't ask for your love, Atalantah, only that you like me. I know very well that everyone on our boat is

braver than I am, but—"

"Me! Me! You were—you were a wild bull. I was terrified. It was crushing me. I had dropped my bow,

and I couldn't get to my knife. It was about to bite my head off, and you were coming! Augah! Oh, Pilgrim!

I saw fear in the monster's eyes, before your spear! It was the finest thing that has ever happened to me,

but when the giant dropped me I was trembling like a doe with an arrow in her heart."

I tried to explain that it had been nothing, that Kastawr and his clone had already engaged the giant, and

that her own struggles were occupying its attention. I said, "I could never have done it if it hadn't had its

hands full."

"It had its hands full?" She stared, and burst into laughter. In another minute I was laughing too, the two

of us laughing so hard we had to hold onto each other. It was a wonderful moment, but her laughter soon

turned to tears, and for the better part of an hour I had to comfort a sobbing girl, a princess small, lonely,

and motherless, who stayed alive as best she could in a forest hut with three rough men.

Before I go on to speak of the extraordinary events at the palace, I must say one thing more. My

companions shouted their war cries as they battled the giants; and I, when I rushed at the one who

held Atalantah, yelled, "Mayflower! Mayflower!" I know that was not what I should have said. I know I

should have said mayday, but I do not know what "mayday" means, or why I should have said it. I cannot

offer even a hint as to why I found myself shouting mayflower instead. Yet I feel that the great question

has been answered. It was what I am doing here. The answer, surely, is that I was sent in order that

Harry Turtledove - The First Heroes

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