Once upon a time
…that is how the tales begin, yes?
This tale begins before the birth of this child – one of three born to a dying widow. She was from a now-forgotten land, destroyed by war, famine, pestilence…and – of course – the Fourth Horseman, Death rode in their wake, harvesting the souls of those who passed beyond.
There had been a powerful Goddess once, known as The White Lady, who had protected the land and its inhabitants. Centuries before, belief in her began to die out, as the kingdom became more warlike and did not like the idea of peaceful coexistence with their neighbours.
Alia, the pregnant widow, had managed to reach a place of safety, despite the weakness caused by lack of food and the illness that caused her to cough from time to time.
Looking around the dark, overgrown room, she realised that it had once been a small shrine, a place of worship. Behind some ferns, she discovered a stained marble statue, re-carved by time to be almost featureless – though still recognisably female. As the coughs that racked her feeble body suddenly merged with contractions from her swollen belly, she lay before the statue on the moss-carpeted floor of the former shrine, crying out in agony.
There would be no-one there to hear her, of course – she’d made sure that she had no pursuers, that nobody could harm her or her unborn child. Despite her obvious lack of food, her pregnancy mound was large, almost comically so on so wasted a frame.
“Help me!” she screamed. “Have mercy – if not on me, for my baby!”
‘You are dying,’ a soft voice told her, almost as if it were her own thoughts, spoken in her ear. ‘Your time has passed, as all mortal things must.’
“But…my baby!” she screamed, panting through the pain with her eyes screwed shut. She flinched as careful hands felt her bump.
‘There are three children within you,’ the voice said.
Alia opened her eyes to see a blurred figure. A woman, wearing robes…the priestess of this abandoned shrine, perhaps?
“Please…save my babies,” she begged. “Even if you pledge them to this church, save them.”
‘You would give them to me?’ the woman was surprised. ‘My home was abandoned long ere this country destroyed itself.’
“Save my BABIES!” Alia screamed as her water broke. “KEEP them saFE! PLEase!”
‘I will watch over the children for you,’ the woman said. ‘And take them somewhere they can be safe. This place is no longer the haven it once was.’
“ThANk yOU!” Alia screamed through another contraction.
Each baby was wrapped in a blanket after the priestess had cut their cord. Alia lived just long enough to see the third baby born, then breathed her last in the abandoned shrine of the forgotten goddess.
The priestess shook her head and closed the young widow’s clouded eyes. ‘You gave them to me, Alia – so I will look after them. Rest well in my last house in this world. I will return to my true home with your children.’
She covered the dead woman with a blanket – which changed, merging with the mossy ground and becoming covered in small flowers. She looked at the three sleeping children. The eldest and youngest were girls with brown hair – the eldest’s was more chestnut, while the youngest’s was light brown. The middle child – a boy – had dark hair.
‘We are leaving this world, young ones,’ she said, allowing herself to glow as she finally showed her power. ‘I am returning home – to Godville.’
If anyone had been watching the abandoned shrine, they would have had to close their eyes as it grew brighter and brighter – then abruptly cut out.
Once more, the shrine was deserted, save for the overgrown plants, and a flower-covered mound before the former altar. Even its Goddess had finally abandoned this place.
This is the tale of the middle child gifted to serve that Goddess, the sole boy.
Many and varied his adventures, seasoned in ale and wine, for the life of a Hero is hard, and many drink to ensure they sleep well at night.
Mawhammer honoured his goddess and enjoyed her favour, winning many battles and being revived when he fell at the hands or claws of those he sought to end.
He thought of his sisters often, and sometimes thought he felt them thinking about him as the three of them made their way in this world.