George Martin - The Way of the Wizard

I jumped backwards, almost slipping. “Stop it!”

His arms behind his back, he lunged towards me, head first, snorting and wheezing like a pig.

“Cerberus take you, Elpenor!” I covered my head with my arms, but he rammed into me, snorting wildly. I pushed him, hard, but he kept attacking. I couldn’t tell if he was growling, crying, howling — gods, what sounds — but he was beginning to hurt me, so mad as hell, I took a deep breath and snorted back. Loudly.

One more head-butt, but then he grabbed me in a fierce hug and — thank the gods — stopped making those sounds. I felt stupid, my face smashed into his chest, his dirty sweat slick and hot against my forehead, but I was glad he’d stopped attacking me. For the first time since I’d become human again, I could feel my heart beating wildly against my ribcage.

Finally he broke our embrace. “So, a pig at heart, eh?”

I rubbed my muscles where Elpenor’s hug had been a bit too tight. “Let’s just say it was the first time I’ve felt lucky to be under the captain’s command.”

He snorted, but more human than pig this time.

“Elpenor? You okay?”

He licked the snot off his upper lip, as if he were sampling a delicacy. “I liked not remembering, you know?”

“Uh-huh.”

“But now I remember.”

I didn’t know what to say. My own unwelcome memories had flooded back after the change from pig to man, but I’d managed an uneasy peace with the hellish bits, a trick my friend had never mastered. “Well, someone has to remember, right?”

“Think that’s what the crew’s doing downstairs? Remembering?” His mouth curved into a harsh smile. “Think the captain remembers anything about what we’ve been through? What we’ve seen?”

“No, but I remember. You remember.”

“Yeah, that’s my point. You wanna remember?”

“No, but—”

“But. you wish we were pigs.” His strange grin faded.

I chuckled. Snorted softly at him.

He snorted once, choked, turned away. He walked to the edge of the roof. “How about you get us some more mead.”

“A vine night?”

“Get the mead.”

I nodded, noticing the thickness in his voice, and the strained slope of his shoulders. Tears, then. The human kind of howls.

I walked to the far edge, saw a few wolves and lions pacing around the smashed remnants of the rhyton, and carefully lowered myself through the top floor window. Everyone was passed out inside, nymphs and men alike. I tiptoed my way through the sleeping house, down to the ground floor where the kitchen was.

I was bundling up a skin of mead and food, when, all at once, like a cry to battle, the wolves howled and the lions roared. Grabbing a kitchen knife, I ducked outside to see what the alarm was about. The beasts were clumped around the side of the palace, and I elbowed my way to the center.

Must have been something human left in the wolves and lions, for they backed away and left me alone, kneeling by my friend. Except for the blood running out of his mouth, Elpenor looked like he was resting. The slackness of his jaw, the lack of tension in the muscles around his eyes, he looked. not at war. My mind was stupid molasses, thick and slow-moving, unwilling to understand.

I put my head on his chest, hoping for a sign of life, but there was nothing. Unasked, air rushed in and out of my lungs; my chest rose and fell in response. The motion of breath never seemed grotesque until next to my friend’s stillness.

I stayed there all night long, hoping I could trade my breath for his. Hoping I could summon his life back from the underworld. Hoping he would lift his head, smile crazily and snort through the blood and spit. But he never did.

He never did.

Now it is the dead of night, three weeks to the day that Elpenor died, and I have just finished preparing two cups of spiced mead for Odysseus and Circe. I will place the cups beside their bed, and they will drink them in the morning, as is their habit. His with hemlock, hers without.

I will poison him, as he poisoned Elpenor. His was a double dose of venom: his toxic orders for brutality, followed by the whiplash of Circe’s enchantment.

Being a pig was too fatal a poison for my friend.

I approach the bed, tray steady, feet sure. Elpenor is with me, guiding me through the darkness of their bedchamber. They are both asleep. I place the hemlock cup on the table by his side of the bed. He does not stir. I cross quietly to Circe’s side, setting the innocent cup within easy reach.

I begin to leave, but stumble. There must be bed-clothes on the floor. I try to shuffle my feet free, but the bed-clothes rise higher. Or are they ropes? I kick, but the ropes tighten around my ankles, beginning to climb my calves. I want to scream, but force myself not to panic. Something skein-like, soft and warm, now reaches nearly to my waist. I pray silently to the gods: Help, for the love of my friend, someone help me.

The room lightens; the heat of flame warms my back. Turning, I see Circe, awake, her eyes aglow — a forest beast hunting in the night. Long fingers of green light tie me to her hands. I shake my head, try to clear my vision. Long, living threads have wrapped themselves tightly around my feet, my legs, my waist, up to my chest, trapping me by the bed. Behind her, prone, lays Odysseus. He is as dark as she is light.

“What shall I do with such a sad little murderer?” the sorceress says.

I struggle against her strange finger-threads.

“Don’t be so impatient.” Sparks fly out of her eyes, and the cords around my body squeeze once, twice. Warmth rushes through me, relaxing me. “Why do you seek to murder my beloved?”

Circe’s face blurs as the floor seesaws, as if I’m on the ship again. Her damn hands must be drugging me. The skein of fingers tightens, forcing my gaze upwards. Sea-green hair flows down her back, intertwining with her finger-threads as if she were a waterfall. I am a small raft floating helplessly towards the cascade of her. “He killed my friend, like he’s killed so many others.”

“He’s killed many men, but not your friend.”

“If Elpenor had never been a pig, he wouldn’t have. fallen off that roof.”

“But I am the one who enchanted you and your friend.”

“Odysseus is the one responsible. He’s the one who made you change us back into men.”

“Your friend longed to be a pig?” Her eyes flash at the question. “Why?”

“He. ” I hesitate, not certain of the true answer, not wanting to betray his memory. “He loved not being human,” I finally say. Close enough to the truth.

“And you?”

“I loved. being a pig,” I whisper.

“That is different than loving not being human?”

I hesitate again. The pressure of the cords increases, and the words tumble out of my mouth. “Elpenor liked forgetting he was human, forgetting he’d ever been human. I loved. the pleasure, the freedom, the chance to experience without having to think. I loved how there was no separation between me and my senses, and no division between good me and bad me. Gods, to be a pig again.” The wish falls easily out of my mouth, even though I have not once named my desire since that night on the roof.

“True or false. You seek your death. As your friend sought his.”

“No,” I struggle to raise my voice, but can’t. I am cocooned in calm. “False, he—” I do not know how to finish the sentence of what he sought, or didn’t seek. “I seek — I want to be a pig.”

How odd to see my heartbeat, pulsing in her watery skin.

“You long for my punishment. But what you wish for will not bring your friend back.”

“I know.” I swallow. For the first time since I’ve been drugged, shame rises within me. Tears burn the edges of my eyes. Her strange, strong embrace grows even stronger and the shame subsides. “But maybe pigs don’t remember their friends are dead,” I say.