The Hanged Man: Part 8: Lithia
Post #79: In which sea and wolves ...
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RADULF
Radulf fingered the wolf’s eye in his pocket. He wondered if the amber eye was open as he passed his finger over the smooth round sphere. It made him cringe, thinking of touching an open eye, disembodied or not. He avoided doing so when he could see it, even knowing he must be touching the open eye often when his fingers sought its hidden shape during the day.
It had been days since he’d left Vasilisa with Marceau on Clytie’s beach, where the heavy sunflower heads swelled and the big flat rock sat rooted in the surf. He’d intended to stay longer, enjoying Vasilisa’s companionship and Marceau’s wisdom and warmth, until the day of the storm.
One morning, as he, Vasilisa and Marceau waited for Irvin and the children to appear for a swim, Radulf had passed by the fiery skull, whose eye sockets were cool and blank. He heard a sound like a muted hiccup and something shot out of the grinning mouth. Automatically, Radulf reached out and caught it. He thought he knew what it was — what it must be — even before he opened his hand to look. He rolled it in his palm and the glowing amber wolf’s eye he’d seen in his dream looked up at the three faces bent over it.
Vasilisa exclaimed in surprise and took an involuntary step back. “What is it?”
“I dreamt this,” said Radulf, rolling the heavy round marble in his hand. “Remember, ‘Lisa?” He’d fallen easily into the affectionate nickname Marceau had given her the first night.
“The one-eyed wolf,” she said. “And Odin told me to watch for the Sea Wolf.”
“The Sea Wolf?” said Marceau. “Ah, I see.” He looked searchingly at Radulf. “I didn’t know of this.”
“It didn’t seem important,” said Radulf. “I’ve had dreams of wolves. One was caught in a trap and gnawed off its leg to escape. Another’s eye popped out, an amber eye like this one.” He closed his fingers lightly over the eye for a moment, then opened them again, not liking to block the thing’s vision. “In one dream, I swam in the sea. I was the wolf, and one of my legs was chewed off. Then I met Vasilisa, and she said Odin told her to watch for the Sea Wolf. She asked him what it meant but he only said not to fear it.”
“When we met here on the beach, he told me about the dreams,” said Vasilisa. “I remembered what Odin said about a Sea Wolf. What does it mean, Father?”
“’Dulf! ‘Lisa!”
They turned and watched Clarissa pulling herself up the shore. Christopher bobbed in the surf near the flat rock.
Marceau picked the child up. She wound her arms around his neck and gave him a loud wet kiss.
“We’re here! We’re here! Let’s swim!”
“Where’s your father?”
“There!” She wriggled in his arms and pointed. Beyond the breakers, Irvin raised a hand in greeting.
Radulf carefully wrapped the eye in the sleeve of his discarded shirt and they spent the morning swimming. At midday, sun dazzled, chilled and waterlogged, Radulf and Vasilisa persuaded the others to come ashore and eat a lunch of fresh-caught fish.
Marceau had told the children the story of Clytie, not mentioning his relationship to her but making it a children’s story of adventure and wonder. Consequently, they developed a fascination with the budding patch of sunflowers and checked on them regularly, longing to see them bloom. Vasilisa told them about peasant children making sunflower houses and Christopher and Clarissa were enchanted, endlessly debating the best place to do this when the flowers bloomed.
Radulf took charge of the cooking, with Marceau’s help, who was surprisingly knowledgeable and skilled in the use of different kinds of seaweed and other flavoring harvested from the sea. Irvin tended the fire. He never tired of watching the bright flames consume the wood.
“We were talking of Sea Wolves when you came,” said Marceau, squatting over the sizzling frying pan. He stabbed at a fish with a fork and turned it over.
“I always loved those tales,” said Irvin.
“Tell us,” encouraged Vasilisa. “I’ve never heard of a Sea Wolf. What are they?”
“I’ve never seen one,” said Irvin. “The stories say Odin originally bred them for the Wild Hunt. He has wolves, you know. They lope across the sky at the heels of his horse when the year dies and winds groan in the gale. But Odin also rides the wind that rouses white horses and turns waves from fields of violet to rolling mountains of grey, and the wind screams in a voice only the sea knows. The Sea Wolves, it’s said, were bred to run before that wind, to snap at the heels of the white horses and break the tops of the towering grey mountains into steel drops of spume and spray. Their eyes are amber, their teeth pearl and their tongues coral. Now Poseidon breeds them.”
“They sound fearsome — and beautiful,” said Vasilisa. “I do love the way you talk about things, Irvin. It always sounds like poetry!”
He smiled, rather shyly. “I love the old stories,” he said. “The words stay in my mind and make pictures and I take them out and look at them over and over.”
“Talented fellow,” remarked Marceau. “You’ve made my green and gold Clytie’s story beautiful.”
Radulf thought he wouldn’t be surprised if Irvin and the children returned with Marceau. They’d become good friends and the children already looked upon the older man as a grandfather.
“All wolves are consummate survivors,” said Marceau. “They’re predators with a complex social structure within their packs. They choose to work with Odin and a few others. She of the crossroads, Hecate, has a wolf. Poseidon loves them. But wolves are powerfully wild. They can’t be tamed or compelled. They live by their own instincts.”
Radulf unwrapped the eye and handed it to Irvin, who drew in his breath at the open eye and examined it respectfully while Radulf told him how it had appeared.
“How does it happen that fellow had a Sea Wolf’s eye in his mouth?” asked Irvin, nodding at the fiery skull perched on its stick in the sun, looking entirely deceased.
“I think I know,” said Vasilisa. “I’ve been remembering the night I met Odin. He made a funny kind of gesture in front of the fiery skull. It was lit. He didn’t touch it, but passed his hand in front of it as though he caressed it. I think he put the eye in then.”
“A one-eyed Sea Wolf. A one-eyed god of wind and storm,” said Irvin thoughtfully.
“But what am I supposed to do with it?” asked Radulf. “What’s it for?”
“Eyes are for seeing,” mused Vasilisa. “Like the fiery skull.”
“I’m reminded of my nephew Morfran,” said Marceau. “When I first met him, he was seeking clarity. He wanted to see himself and the world with truth. That desire led him on a long journey.”
“He was at the initiation, but we didn’t get to know one another. Did he find what he was looking for?” asked Radulf.
“Yes. In a manner of speaking. Seeing things clearly is a daily practice, not a destination. Morfran found a partner and a community committed to authenticity and clear seeing, inward and outward.” He turned his deep-set grey eyes to Radulf. “What are you seeking, my friend?”
Radulf thought. “I’m not sure,” he said at length. “When I came back home, I sought forgiveness. I thought I needed it from others, but now I think maybe I needed it most from myself. Then I met you, Marceau, and your forgiveness made up for all I couldn’t get from others. In my time here I’ve found self-forgiveness, and now I’m at peace. I feel like an exile from my family and birth place, but I’ve found unexpected friendship lately, and that’s made me realize how lonely I’ve been. I never really had friends before. Maybe what I want now is to find a place to be at home with friends. I want to belong somewhere.”
“They say Odin collects unspoken prayers of the heart,” said Irvin dreamily, looking into the fire’s depths. He held the eye gently in his closed hand. “The prayers possess no words to anchor them to another ear, so they float in the wind until a gale flings them into the arms of the Wild Hunt, along with lost souls — and marbles, of course! Perhaps your heart whispered its desire to the wind and Odin heard and gave you the eye to help you find your way.”
They remained silent, considering that.
“But, how do I use it?” asked Radulf. He looked helplessly at Vasilisa.
She frowned. “Eyes,” she said, groping. “How do eyes work?”
“They open and shut,” said Marceau. “They see and they don’t see.”
“Yes,” said Vasilisa. “Eyes can be confused, can’t they? Not only confused, they can be disabled. We can say — no, I won’t see that. I don’t want to know. I won’t look.”
“But what’s seen can’t be unseen,” said Marceau. “Morfran learned that. Once we’ve clearly seen something, it’s too late. We might try to forget, but we can’t. Sooner or later, we must come to terms with it.”
“Eyes can be blind,” offered Irvin. “They can fail to function. Or they might function properly but we don’t understand what we’re seeing. We think it’s something else.” He handed the eye back to Radulf.
“Back to confusion,” said Vasilisa. “But confusion works in both directions. I mean, our eyes can be confused as we look out of them, but people who look at us from the outside might also be confused about what they see.”
“For that matter, we may see clearly outward and have poor vision when it comes to seeing ourselves,” put in Irvin. “Radulf and I talked about that before.”
“I’m more and more confused,” said Radulf. “I never realized how complex the idea of seeing is.” He looked down at the eye in the palm of his hand. It looked sideways, out to sea.
“Oh, Radulf!” said Vasilisa. “Sea Wolf! Don’t you see?” She shook her head. “There it is again. It’s a joke, a play on words. Sea Wolf — a creature of the sea and see, wolf. See with your eye.”
Radulf opened his fingers and let the marble lie on his palm. He looked down at it. “sea wolf,” he murmured to himself. “See, Wolf.”
“Don’t over think it,” advised Marceau. “Clearly Odin meant for you to keep it. You’ll understand why in time.”
***
A storm came out of the eastern sky over the sea. The morning had been hot and sultry, the air heavy with moisture and stagnant without the usual breeze off the water. After noon clouds gathered, towering white mountains changing from the color of whipped cream to blooming bruises on the skin of sky. The breeze stiffened to wind, abrupt, dank and cold. The water turned sullen pewter and heaved greasily.
Vasilisa and Radulf wedged their belongings between rocks well above tide line. Marceau, Irvin and the children were anxious to be off, safe away in deep water, but they didn’t like to leave the other two exposed to that sky.
“Go!” shouted Radulf, above the rising wind. “We’ll be all right! It’s only a summer storm! Get the children to safety!”
“Lie flat between the rocks!” bellowed Marceau. “Let it pass over you!”
“Go!” shouted Radulf again. “Look!” He pointed out to sea. The sky showed nearly black and water rose in eerie dark green mountains.
Marceau pulled Clarissa onto his back. She wrapped her arms around him. Christopher clung to Irvin and the two mermen dove into the side of an oncoming wave, veined with dirty foam.
Radulf took Vasilisa by the arm and they ran together, fighting wind and feeling a spray of sand and the first hard raindrops in their faces. They ran beyond the fire ring and the sunflowers to where a few large rocks scattered at the base of the bluff.
“Look!” Vasilisa paused, pointing up to the top of the bluff.
Radulf pushed his hair out of his eyes and followed her pointing finger.
A man stood on the top of the bluff, a cloak rippling around him like wings. His arms were outstretched, as though welcoming the storm. His raised his face to the sky.
“It’s Odin!” shouted Vasilisa.
Another shape, looking like a tattered grey cloud, flowed and streamed around Odin’s legs and feet. Radulf saw the lean body, upright ears and tail, every line of the wolf expressing excitement and primitive delight in the storm.
The rain began to come in sheets. Radulf dragged Vasilisa down between the rocks against the side of the bluff. They huddled together.
Vasilisa drew up her knees. Radulf put an arm around her, pulling her close for warmth, and wiped wet hair, both his and hers, off his face.
The wind howled and groaned. Rain fell in a solid wall. Through the rocks they could see waves throwing themselves onto the beach.
Vasilisa tensed in the circle of his arm. He searched for what had caught her attention. A wave hurled itself onto the shingle, hissing and foaming. He looked across the top of the waves, ridge after ridge of heaving greasy green and iron, and watched a wolf pack, flying before the wind, bounding through the tumult of water and sky. He strained to see clearly, but grey fur blended with grey wave and charcoal sky and water blurred everything. He couldn’t be sure he saw them at all, except Vasilisa clearly did, too. For a moment, he couldn’t tell what direction they moved, but another wave crashed onto the stones and he saw the startling red of lolling tongues and caught a gleam of white teeth. He remembered Irvin’s voice, saying, “Their eyes are amber, their teeth pearl and their tongues coral.”
They flowed onto the shingle and were met by a single grey shape, swift and lithe. They circled, leaping aside from waves, dancing in foam, white teeth bared, tails stiff and ears laid back. Long wet muzzles snarled and eyes glared with cold amber fire.
Radulf hardly breathed. He searched among the creatures for one with a missing foreleg or a missing eye, but every animal he saw looked fit and strong, unblemished. He was so caught up in the primitive beauty of the wolves’ meeting on the edge of land and sea he was slow to realize the rain dwindled. He could hear Vasilisa’s quick breathing next to him. The roar of the storm had quieted.
As though realizing this, the sea wolves broke out of their circling clump and swirled like a bedraggled grey feather, fanning out, bounding down the shingle and up the sides of the waves, melting out to sea, disappearing, even as Radulf strained to look, into spray and ragged clouds and the slowing wings of wind.
One wolf remained. It stood looking out at the waves, then trotted toward the fire ring and out of sight.
Radulf let out his breath. Vasilisa reached down and took his cold hand in hers.
It seemed to be hours later when they stumbled out of their cramped shelter, but Radulf realized the storm had lasted less than an hour. He felt as dazed as though he’d crouched under it all night. He could already see the sun behind the clouds. Wild waves had washed the shore line clean, reaching nearly to the fire ring and sweeping away their stack of firewood. The waves remained high and the water choppy, but already the ominous mountains of water had diminished to mere hills. A fresh breeze blew stiffly. Vasilisa shook out their bedding and draped it over rocks, weighting it down with smaller stones to keep it from flying away.
They were searching for dry driftwood when Marceau shouted and waved from the surf. The sun came back out.
Irvin re-laid the fire while the children excitedly told Vasilisa and Radulf about the storm. Having told the story, they wandered off to check on their sunflower tent. “Maybe the storm made them bloom!”
Marceau had just asked how Vasilisa and Radulf had fared when Christopher and Clarissa returned, pulling themselves close to Irvin.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s an animal,” said Christopher.
Radulf rose and strode to the patch of flowers. A wolf lay among the stems, licking at its drying grey coat. It paused in its ablutions and looked at him out of golden eyes. Two eyes, Radulf noted automatically. Radulf backed away and the wolf, looking completely relaxed, stretched out a back leg and returned to its grooming.
Vasilisa looked up at him when he reappeared beside the fire and cocked an eyebrow. He nodded at her, wordless.
Irvin coaxed the fire into life with a few pieces of dry wood Vasilisa had found sheltered under a rock. Radulf helped him while Vasilisa told what they’d seen during the storm. The children listened with wide eyes.
“That’s not fair!” said Clarissa. She flushed with annoyance. “I’ve never seen a sea wolf and I live in the sea!”
“Well, now you’ve seen a land wolf,” said Irvin pacifically. “And you don’t even live on the land!”
Clarissa pouted.
“Do you think Odin is still near, too?” asked Marceau.
“I don’t know,” said Radulf. “Maybe he was only here for the storm.”
“Why didn’t the wolf stay with him, then?”
Radulf shook his head. He looked into the fire, feeling Vasilisa’s gaze.
“Tell it again,” demanded Clarissa, “about the sea wolves.”
Obligingly, Vasilisa told it again, the others joining in with questions and comments, and Radulf retreated into his own thoughts.
Later, after the others were gone and they were alone, he and Vasilisa stood outside the sunflower patch. The wolf lay curled up, asleep.
“Do you think it’s for you?” she asked.
“Yes. I think it’s a guide.”
She reached down and took his hand. “I’ll miss you.”
Two days later, Radulf stood in the same place, packed and ready for the road. The wolf watched him approach, rose, stretched like a cat, and began to move inland. Radulf turned a last time and waved at Vasilisa, put his back to the sea and followed the wolf.