Daughter of Heramacles
A Legend of Armengar
In the months following the formation of the Volksraad, weariness was often upon Heramacles. Though he loved his people very much, it was often that he felt his patience with them wane. Well could he understand that his people had never known anything but slavery, and that their hearts were ill used to the burden of freedom. Yet there were times when he would wish that they might not leave such a burden on him, for there were times when he felt almost brought low by the weight bequeathed to him.
On one such night, Heramacles took him to the edge of the plateau, for he wished for a night's solitude, far from the demands of his people. Heartsick he was, for though he longed only for the company of equals, his people yet hailed him as their leader and sought to thrust the responsibilities of rulership upon him. No comfort could he find in the city, for all held him in awe. Denied to him were the simple pleasures of companionship, for he could find none to accept their equality. As he lit his campfire, Heramacles reflected on his dreams. Gone were his hopes of family, for he had instead taken an entire nation as his children. No wife would he take to sit with in his last days, to share memories of their life and watch their children grow; for while many were willing, he wished for a partner and not a servant. Thinking on all that he had sacrificed for his people, Heramacles allowed himself the comfort of a single tear, and then laid himself down to sleep.
Heramacles dreamt.
He dreamt that he was being held in the arms of a beautiful woman, with hair as red as flames and eyes as green as the forest. He dreamt that her lips touched his forehead and that the worries which bore him down dissipated like the morning mists before the glory of the sun and that where her fingers touched his back all tension fled from his muscles. He dreamt that he looked into her eyes, and she into his, and she opened her mouth to speak to him...
Heramacles awoke to the sound of concerned voices. Worried perhaps that he had left them, his people had come looking for him during the night and stood now gathered nervously about him. Yet if they had hoped for reassurances, they were to be disappointed. Their querying voices broke over his awareness like the sea over rocks, and he stood numb to their relieved touches; lost as he was in the fading memories of the tender touch of female hands and eyes of deepest green...
Over the coming weeks the Volk had cause to wonder at Heramacles, for a change had come over him. Whereas he had always had a boundless love for his people, it had been less in evidence of late. His temper had been short, and it seemed always that he was torn between his own desires and his duty. Now though his love shone through clearly once more, and all commented that he was much more his old self. And if he sometimes seemed distracted and gazed out over the walls of the citadel, what did it matter now that Heramacles was back with them? Yet over the months, Heramacles once again became despondent. Though his people accomplished much and began to make the citadel truly their home, yet the demands placed upon him did not lessen. In truth, the demands grew more every day, for the people sought his wisdom in every aspect of their lives. Not one wife would name a child without seeking his blessing and no carpenter would embellish a chair without ascertaining whether it pleased him. Bit by bit, day by day, Heramacles felt as though he was being worn down by his people.
One day as a blacksmith sought his opinion on sword he had wrought, Heramacles finally felt his anger overtake him and let free with his wrath. "By all the ancestors" he proclaimed, and his voice was like thunder, "have you no wit at all to make your own decisions? Must I take you all by the hands and guide you like babes, lest you fall and strike your knees on the rough ground? Does not one amongst you have the courage to take responsibility for your own lives? Best I had left you all to languish in slavery, where your masters would have organised your lives for you!" With that he stormed from the citadel, leaving a silent and confused people in his wake. Stalking from the city he burned as he strode across the plateau, for a great shame was upon him. Though he wished with all his heart to do what was right for his people and protect them from all harm, he felt that he was failing them for they lacked insight into their own lives, and it seemed that he lacked the patience to guide them. His mind racing and his limbs coursing with anger, fear and regret he ran from the plateau to the river, whereupon he tore his clothing from him and dived into a deep pool. There he swam until the strength was gone from his limbs and then pulled himself from the water. Lying on the bank with water streaming down his face from his hair and from his very tears, he fell into an exhausted sleep.
Heramacles dreamt...
In his dream she came to him again and allowed his fears and frustrations to dissolve in the warmth of her embrace. His worries she stole from him with kisses on his brow and his tears she wiped from his face with her hair. Long into the night she held him until his trembling ceased, and as he drifted off to sleep he finally thought to ask who she was. "Don't you know?" she asked as the light faded from his eyes.
Heramacles awoke alone on the bank of the river, and yet her voice stayed with him and echoed in everything he saw around him. Beside him his clothes lay neatly folded, and sheltering him from the wind stood a new growth of laurel bush. Beneath his head, a pillow formed of sweet leaves was formed and the embers of a small fire glowed yet, taking the chill off the morning air.
Don't you know? the voice queried in his mind, and in his mind a suspicion began to form.
All through that day Heramacles laboured alongside the people of Armengar in the fields and it was noted by many that he seemed distant. Though he worked so hard as to shame any other three men in the field, it was clear to all that his soul was not in it. Worse, he seemed to be distracted by the smallest things, for he would often stop to examine a single blade of grass, or a solitary rock for long minutes before returning to his work. That night, Heramacles left behind the worried glances of his people and set out alone to the edge of the plateau. Once there, he sat down by a small clump of bushes and waited. As sleep came to claim him, he called out to his love that he would await her in slumber and then laid himself out to rest.
Heramacles awoke the next morning distraught, for she had not come to him that night. Standing up to his full height, he looked out over the plains and called out for her, and yet no answer was forthcoming. Dejected and overcome with grief, Heramacles returned home to the citadel.
The next night, Heramacles took him to the pool where he had swam two nights previous and called out to his love - "Should you not come to me now, then may I never love another again! I shall await here this night for your arrival."
The next morning as dawn arose, Heramacles was struck with grief on two fronts. Not just had his love not come for him, but he had made a promise he could not keep - for it was not in his heart to not love.
Yet just as it was not his way to harden his heart against love, so too was it not his way to give up. So that next night he took himself to the high places above the citadel and stood upon the loftiest point. There he raised himself to his full height and addressed the night sky. "I cannot abide this existence any longer. Should you not come to me now, I will cast myself from this mountain, and breathe the air of this world no more."
Saying that he strode forward towards the edge of the cliff and made as though to cast himself over. Bracing himself to jump, he heard a faint voice which gave him pause. I will greet you in slumber.
Content then, Heramacles laid himself down to sleep.
In sleep she came to him and was every bit as beautiful as he remembered. Her eyes spoke of a sadness that made the heart wish to break on the spot. Her mouth spoke of laughter that made that same heart wish to soar over the towering mountains. And her hair caught the light in such a way as to make the heart wish never to beat again, lest it lose that perfect moment. Greatly joyed was Heramacles to see her, and yet as he rose to meet his love, he saw that his joy was not shared. A single tear trickled down her cheek and her hands trembled. Whereas before her embrace had robbed him of all ill feeling, now he felt that she drew strength from him and from the warmth of his encircling arms. Eventually Heramacles gathered the strength to withdraw from her grip, and to hold her tear-soaked face in his hands. Looking her in the eye, he addressed her. "Amnor" he said, for he had guessed aright who she was, "why do you weep? Are we not together now as we shall ever be? Have you not come to my embrace once more? Are you not content to be my love?"
And then did Amnor tear herself from his grip, and walk to face out over the cliffs; for she could not bear to face him. "My love," she began, her voice almost breaking with every word. "Would that I could comfort you always, and be forever thine. Would that I could come to you as I came to you that first night on the plateau, or that night by the river. Yet three times and three times alone could I be yours, and when we part this night I may appear to you never more."
To Heramacles it felt then as if a mighty giant had struck a blow to his chest, and the breath was driven from him. In despair he could find no words to say, for his dream was shattered. No tears would come to his eyes, for the shock was too great. And no cry would escape his throat, for it was sealed with grief. When finally he recovered the power of speech, he spoke thusly: "I cannot bear to live without you, and so I must take my own life. When I am returned to the land, then we will be together for eternity. I will cast myself from these cliffs as I promised, and we will be as one."
Amnor made no move, yet simply said, "Nay my love, you will not"
At that, the dam that held Heramacles' tears finally broke, for he knew that she spoke truth. No matter how great his despair, nor how much he might long for her, he could never leave his people so selfishly. Like a great wave, his sorrow rose up to sweep him away and he fell weeping to the ground. One final time then did Amnor gather him to her and take from him his woe. Almost unto the hours of dawn did they lie entangled in each others arms. Finally, as the eastern sky grew light, Heramacles spoke. "I do not wish to be alone," he said.
"Then sleep my love" spoke Amnor, "and I will ensure that you never are." Then breathing softly on his forehead, she caused him to enter a magical sleep. Then rising from his side, she called to her the spirits of flame, from whom all passion comes and bade them to do her one great service. From Heramacles, she plucked a part of his pattern and from herself she did likewise and as she held them aloft, the flame spirits melted them together until they were one. Then kissing Heramacles softly, she left him her gift and parted from him one last time.
Heramacles awoke that morning to the crying of a babe, and found that beside him lay a new-born girl child. Though she was scarcely come into the world, it was plain to him that she would have flaming red hair, and eyes as green as the forest. And then finally did Heramacles know peace, for he had finally found someone who he would love and who would love him in return until the end of his days. Though he was parent to an entire nation, he finally had a daughter.
Or at least, so the tale says. What truth is in it is difficult to tell, and yet consider; does it not tell the single greatest truth of all? What that truth is, I will leave you to decide, for that is how Heramacles would have wished it.
All Works are © Original Author
(OC Author - Fergal O'Brien)