Work Text:
The Herald
He was born into the world alongside a small clearing by a creek. A monumental occasion: the cycle of nature, a birth, a cause for celebration. It is a dangerous moment to be subjected to the harsh reality of survival in this age. The birth of her kind was not taken lightly; it indicated a change of power, an usurpation.
Never mind that this was the third child she had encountered wandering her lands. She was heading south, towards the cliffs, towards the danger, when she finally heeded the imperceptible call that ached in her bones.
A gut-twisting pull that led her through multitudes of silver birches until she happened across the babe.
The water limbered past downstream, away from the tiny thing lying on its back, hands and feet clawed on the dirt. The little babe seemed content, no bigger than the rucksack she carried across her back, facing up at the ever-blue sky peeking through the trees.
Leaves quivered in the wind, escaping their bondage to fall to their disintegration on the dirt. New, more robust leaves will sprout from their empty places on that impassive branch high above, the birches, ever so renewing.
Perhaps that is what she felt – impassivity—a stark contrast from her first encounter with a younger of her kind.
She had put off the pull that had ached through her bones the first time around. According to human customs, she had just reached her age as a proud woman. Assuming the pain was an illness, she had chewed herbs and ignored any pangs.
The pain was only a constant that they had to grow accustomed to if she desired any chance of survival, especially as a nation. She knew the difference between her and those she surrounded herself with. Her people were delicate. She was not.
But eventually, it had become too much to bear, and she left her then-meager community of nomads, no longer able to afford to stay in bed all day. She was thankful that her people cared for her for months until they grew sick of wasting their hard-earned time on a never-healing girl.
But she didn't give up. She persevered, showing a resilience that was both admirable and inspiring, she thought.
The pain came and went, but didn’t hinder her from walking, so she did just that. She walked north, away from where she had homed the past few decades. It took a few months; she considered herself proficient in hiking briskly through the wilderness sprawled across her lands.
But amidst the pain and the journey, there was a constant yearning in her heart. She longed for that sea breeze, the smell of salt on her nostrils, and the splash of water droplets as it crashed across the uneven cliffs of her northern frontier.
Her people say the seaside can solve any illness, so she heeded their words. There was something magical where that horizon meets the ocean; she felt like could stare at that point for years, not noticing the passage of time. Enchanted, it enticed her to let her imagination run, wondering what lies beyond where she can’t see – and where she can’t go.
She knew that to her west was another landmass, and to her south, past the water, was yet another. Sometimes, she would stare at the horizon, feet awash with gentle waves, contemplating in her silence. The moon and the stars joined her sometimes, twinkling down from the heavens, keeping distant company.
Yet, she felt lonely. Not alone, her people constantly stay in her heart. But lonely. She had a mother once, decades ago. It was hard to remember; she was but a child. Born in the season when the leaves wean from their branches, her first memories were hazy and cloudy.
Her mother had cared for her, kept her warm, and breastfed her. And when she grew, she taught her how to forage, hunt, sew, and socialize. Her mother, steadfast and soft, was her whole world, and one day, when she was playing with her wooden toy sheep, her mother fell asleep and never woke up. Mother's people burnt her body; a bonfire more giant than she could even dream in her imagination.
They came from all over; some she knew, and some she didn’t. They carved stones from the hills, building a monument only suitable for her status. The woman who gave them purpose, who sacrificed herself as the figurehead for the Celtic peoples.
They said the gods would make it so that she would live comfortably in her afterlife. She stood at the ceremony's back when they called upon the ancient gods.
A woman she didn’t know gathered blue on her fingers and etched it on her face. She was far too young to understand her emotions, but the feeling was all-encompassing. Then came the tears. She was wrapped in strong arms, and she knew nothing would be the same. She had failed to see how her mother shed her strength, how her hair was falling in batches, her eyes ever so tired as they constantly fixed at the ground.
No, she was playing with her toy sheep, as all children tend to do. Reality came crashing down as mother’s ashes glittered into her favorite stream. Soon enough, her mother's people became her people.
Nevertheless, that toy sheep was there for her. It stayed with her when she left one tribe for another. She could never stay in one town for more than a few years. Her kind-hearted and welcoming people took pity on a little girl wandering through the wilderness.
Her people, so skeptical and worshipful, shifted their eyes on her when she had stayed the same age for decades. One tribe labeled her a god, a divine immortal sent from Nodens to help them rebuild after a devastating flood. They quickly disavowed her after she couldn’t miracle away the waters. Another called her an omen, saying that she was sent to ruin their crops and should be dealt with. Then, she felt the unforgiving lick of a fire, similar to how her mother burned. The flame was wild, begging for her body until skin gave way to bone, which all crumbled in the end to dirt.
Either way, she had to leave before she was held to scrutiny, clutching her sheep that now disappeared in her large palm.
It was in her rucksack attached to her back when she made her trek north. She was a woman now; she spun her wool and made her garments. She defends herself from the wolves that howled across the woods and the bears that wandered around.
The years that passed taught her everything, like how to distract herself from that discomfort that emanated through her body. The pull drew her to the top of a mountain, so high in the sky that she felt weightless.
It was then that she was put on the path of something that would alter her life.
It was alive and kicking the air when she laid her eyes on the naked thing, devilish in how all newborns are ugly. It lay on the ground, seemingly erupting from the earth; Ash dirt caked its body, leaving a sheen of cracked, hardened gray.
For a fleeting moment, she deluded herself into thinking this babe was left here by its mother. Perhaps there were too many mouths to feed; there could have been numerous reasons why a child would be abandoned.
It was a tough season, fall had not been bountiful, and winter promised an unforgiving freeze. But the climb up the mountain was steep, and the glen she had crossed to get here ever more so.
Most importantly, though, it was alive.
It was alive. It was breathing, and it was a nation.
She knew it was a nation, no question concerning it. A strange energy emanated from it that she had only felt once before – from her mother.
Perhaps she deluded herself into thinking she could limber down and ignore this entire situation.
And if she did, who was anyone to know?
It was only she who had seen this monster.
Centuries had taught her one thing – the most important thing – and standing a mere foot away from the babe, she felt her resolve crumble. She cared for her people’s children whenever she lived in a community. She knew from her understanding of human limits this thing should not have been able to survive even a few minutes in this cold waft.
Yet, here it was. Seemingly content to kick the air in self-made entertainment.
She had half a mind to pick it up and drop it off the cliff. It would strike the loch below and leave her alone.
As if to mock her, the babe abruptly began crying.
The breeze picked up strength, crying along with it, mocking her motionless figure, eyes set on the ground. The wind kept pushing her red locks in her eyes; her cheeks became ever so erubescent.
A nation-baby only meant one thing – she was being usurped. It was time to give leeway to the next representation, as Mother had done for her.
But she refused to believe. It had only been a few centuries. Heaven, it had been less than her mother had been alive.
Mother was from a distant land, far away. She regaled her with tales of caravans of people and endless land where she had come from when she was a babe. Mother had taken root in these isles, and then she was born. Born to replace her, to bring the now settled people to confidence and security.
“Britannia,” She had crowned her, “Land of the Britons.”
And then, she died. Britannia didn’t want to die. She was a grown woman, but she felt so alone that she desperately needed someone to hold her and explain. Explain why this was happening. She was perfectly capable of representing her people and had done an honest work of it. Now, to have this thing threatening her existence was a dilemma indeed.
“Remember, bairn,” a voice permeated her memory, “nations cannot die. We are built by the gods for a greater purpose. To embody our people and to fight for their glory is our true calling.”
“But mam, humans die, and we look like them.”
“Humans are fragile because it’s the way they are built. We don’t represent a single human. We represent all of them. If we die like one of them, then what becomes of us? Who carries their name and well-being?”
Mother was selfless. Compared to her, Britannia felt so narcissistic, but it's only fair; Mother had failed to remind her that nations do indeed die when their child takes their throne. When her people start worshipping the dirt baby, she will be forgotten. Britannia will cease to exist. The only thing remaining of her will be the legacy left behind with that baby.
She was always so selfish and daring. As a child, she had wanted everything; and her mother complied to the best of her ability. She got all the food, clothes, and toys she wanted. Once, when her favorite sheep – Dolly, she called it – had died, she attempted to bring it to the druid circle, begging them to bring her best friend back. They couldn’t reach her soul, they said. She was inconsolable, lashes clumped from the quantity of tears she had shed that day. Her mother pulled her against her bosom and ran fingers through her untamable red curls.
“See Britannia, the most important thing you need to learn in life is that you can’t control the passage. The gods have a reason why everything happens, and if we go against it, then we suffer in paralysis of the infinite decisions we have to make.” Her voice was always so steadfast and strong, melodic like butterflies flapping in the dancing wind. She gobbled it up like she was a dying girl.
“You have a responsibility to lead your people. You can’t fight everything that life gives you. Then, when will you have time to guide?”
The legacy she will leave behind with the baby won’t materialize if she abandons it. She will instill upon it her self the way Mother did her. She will teach it to be a proper adult and then a proper nation. It was her duty, if not for herself, but for her people.
Mind made up resolutely, she finally took a step towards the crying babe.
Realizing she had tuned out the screeching cries and the roaring wind, her feet carried her to the disturbed dirt upon which it lay.
It was a soiled thing, but its eyes shone. She recognized herself in them; it was her eyes replicated. A deep forest green and brown, dulled by the overcast weather. Only, its eyes were prominent, brighter than hers, irises with more life than she thought possible. It slightly unnerved her, but she reasoned that, as with all babies, it would become less pronounced come maturity. It only cemented that it was hers.
She had shared her freckles with mother – stars, they called it – and she shared her eyes with this thing.
She instinctively crouched down, hiking her dress so it wouldn’t get too dirty. To her surprise, the aching pain, which would have prevented her from that previous action, had definitively vanished. It was no longer impeding her movements, and it was because of this little thing. Calloused hands floated over the small body, hesitating for a moment.
This would be her child. Given to her by the gods. This was no babysitting for her people. No, she had full responsibility for it. She didn’t think she was prepared to become a mother. But it was fate, and fate was telling her it was time. So she complied.
With a heaving breath and a mental promise to avenge her mother, she started brushing off the earth that piled up on the babe’s body. The moment her hand touched skin, the crying stopped. It looked up at her in wonderment or confusion; she didn’t know, but she had felt a strange sensation in her heart. She dug her hands into the dirt under it and lifted it into her arms, cleanliness be damned. It hardly weighed much more than her rucksack, but she felt the pressure beating down her shoulders.
It was a boy, naked with wrinkly skin, piercing green eyes, and matted tufts of red hair. Similar to her own, she marveled. He was silent now, curled up against her chest, staring.
It was hard to understand what the bairn was thinking of; if she had birthed him, she would have the motherly instinct and the capability to read minds, she supposed. But alas, she figured having to teach this baby the responsibilities of nation-kind was more than enough bonding. It took less than a minute for him to fall asleep, soothed by the beat of her heart. The howling wind had stopped, and silence pierced the air, cut by her uneven breathing.
He looked so pale, almost glowing as clouds obscured the sun. She stood on top of a mountain in the highlands with a baby she had plucked from the earth. The situation both amused her and gave her anxiety.
“Alba. Your name is Alba.” The only response was a snuggle deeper into her body.
She had taken him downhill and wrapped him in her thickest blanket. Then, she set foot to find a settlement. Her people will help her take care of this baby until she can figure out how to approach him as a mother.
And help they did. Alba grew up to be a young child who could hold a conversation, work the fire, and produce his own meals without much help. But they couldn’t stay long. It took a few decades for Alba to transition from baby to toddler, but according to human norms, a transition of that nature will take a few years at most. Staying in only one village was dangerous. So they traveled from one to the next, and every time, someone eventually noticed that the boy was the same size for months. And when the people come across something they do not understand, it leads to rash decisions. She had done the same when she was a baby.
“But, mam, why can’t we just tell them who we are so we don’t have to move?” Britannia had complained. “I liked my friends there.”
“Because when you tell humans the truth, their minds can’t make sense of it.” Mother was always stern when Britannia nagged. “You will change their understanding of life, and everything they do will be associated with you explicitly. That would be like controlling fate, but she is wild. Now stop with the unnecessary questions and walk faster.” She had said.
Mother had died with no human knowing who she was, but everyone had met her. They all attended her funeral without having life-long relationships, but they all could feel a tug on their heartstrings. Britannia supposed that’s how her people would feel about her now.
Very soon, Alba became her main priority. She had juggled with the treason of putting her child above her people when it came to who she spent more time with, but she reasoned it was for the better good at the end of the day.
Alba had shed his meek babyness and had grown rambunctious. He was a terror to control and didn’t listen when it came to bath time. But whenever she engaged him with stories, he always held an attentive ear.
She grew to appreciate her motherhood, but there was always a fear pestering in the shadows. The fear of when her hair would start falling, of when her bones would quaver and weaken, of when she would die to leave behind Alba reigning. Though he was a small kid, and Britannia had been almost a lady when Mother had passed, so she reasoned she had more time.
Of course, that was until fate had decided to unravel yet another surprise.
She and Alba traveled southwest from their home in the highlands for the first time in almost a century. He was old enough to keep pace with her on his own feet, and she felt ever so grateful, although she tried not to make her relief show as he stumbled across the tall grass.
She had assigned him the task of foraging for berries when a pull festered in her stomach. An ache akin to when she was drawn to Alba. It compelled her south. She was entirely convinced this was her death. This would be when she falls, and Alba takes her place. It rumbled in her body, butterflies in her stomach, and pain in her lungs.
She should answer it. But what to do with Alba was the question. She had half a mind to leave him alone in the wilderness and walk off. Why should she help his murderer?
A quick glance at him showed him picking off delicious red goodness from the bushes. He had to reach on his tiptoes to grab the bunches at the top. He was so small. It made her uncomfortable to be so personally related to someone who was fated to destroy her. Perhaps this could be another lesson.
“Come, Alba!” He strayed for a few seconds before finally wandering over to her. “We have somewhere to be.”
She had tried to convince him to ride on the horse they were bringing. It was already carrying their luggage; she couldn’t fit, but her child's body was hardly heavy. He refused. It was quite endearing to visualize a child carrying hefty bags and keeping pace with her long strides, but only in certain situations. Now, she had somewhere to be with a migraine settling, pain in her abdomen, and an obstacle from swiftness.
Sometimes, she didn’t believe that her personality was the motherly kind. If her trying to convince him to sit on that damn horse had caused him to cry, that was between him, her, and the swirling wind. Oh, and the horse. They set determined foot towards her heartland.
They camped when dusk fell, washed in the crystal streams that cut through the hills, and ate off the land. She had slain a wild boar a few nights ago, which would last until they reached their destination. The destination was still unknown, but it motivated her to reach somewhere. Otherwise, she would just be traveling out of lethargy. They avoided her people for now; tensions had flared up recently, and while she and her child would be welcomed warmly, she did not want to risk showing priority to one of her tribes over others.
Around a week later, they had arrived. They had scaled numerous hills. It would have been tiring if they had not taken their time and if they had not been nations. Britannia felt her body being pulled, once more, into the forest through a dark, shadowed entrance. They left the horse outside, only bringing her rucksack, which she slang on her back. Alba did not hesitate, hot on her heels as she strode inside.
“Mamma, where we going?” He knew all his words, but he still needed to learn how to phrase them together.
“Not now, Alba.” She was busy attempting to stop her mind from wandering and her heart from anticipating, anticipating what? She didn’t know.
“But it’s dark in here,” He said as she pushed some hanging vines out of the way, immediately opening their scenery to a sunlit zone.
Warm sunlight in beams breezed in through the trees, plunging their eyes into sudden brightness. There was ample space in the glade for frolicking, which Alba jumped straight into. His thick ankles skipped through the soft, dewy grass as he ran from the dark pathway they had come from.
She didn’t know what to expect, but this surely was not it. Maybe a god would descend upon her to personally take her to the afterlife; she would appreciate it. Nevertheless, the only sound permeating the glade was the croak of frogs hidden in the grass.
“Ma! Come ‘ere!” She was rapidly brought out of her state of frozen stillness.
“MA!”
She assumed Alba had managed to catch a frog; he was quite fond of capturing and showing her every small animal he came across. So she grudgingly maneuvered through trees, following his voice.
Only, to lay her eyes upon not a frog, no, it was a baby. A baby from the dirt, inside a fairy circle, bathed by sunbeams. Alba was standing by it, not straying into the circle like she had taught him. Good boy.
Perhaps she should have had a more visceral reaction to the knowledge that yet another dirt baby had been foreshadowed in her life. She would live yet another day. Yet another day in fear of when she would finally die for certain.
“Ma, can we keep him?” Alba asked. “Please.” He knew no one could resist his begging eyes.
“It looks to me like you have a sibling now.” She was tired of one child. She didn’t know how to manage another. But the satisfaction from having a nation – albeit a child – to talk to had been helpful, and she found herself proud when Alba would go play with his human friends; instantly commanding all the attention.
He let out a sound of utter triumph, a large smile, and pranced around as Britannia reached down to lift the baby.
Another boy, he was smaller than her firstborn was when she found him. He had a more auburn sheen to his hair compared to Britannia and Alba’s flaming red. But he had her stars. Through his entire body, faint as it may be. They shared their freckles as a common ground.
She wasn’t sure about the logistics of which child would overpower her and when, but she decided to cross that bridge later. For now, she would care for this new baby, who had the nation's energy spreading from its body.
“Wha’s his name?” Alba asked as he finally came to a standstill, peering over at the baby in Britannia’s arms.
“Hmm, let me think.” She took a second. “Cymru, land of combrogi. That’s where we are.” She took the opportunity to teach Alba.
“Cyrmu..” Alba faltered on the pronunciation, that babyish lisp still lingering in his speech.
She ignored it, lightly shaking the silent baby in order to open his eyes. He had been asleep the entire time. In his closed fist was a mushroom, trapped. She would have tried to pry it away, but she knew that opening a baby’s clenched fingers was an impossible task.
After a few soft jiggles, Cymru opened his eyes sleepily. It was a vibrant blue-gray with no hint of brown. It quite matched her, she believed. He was understated, not quite fussy like Alba had been. Perhaps this would be easier for her than she thought. Her only duty was to ensure the well-being of her people by leaving behind a stable representative when she was gone.
She assumed that fate wanted her to care for both these nation children. She would do her part in preparing them for the dangerous world alone.
And that was the conclusion. She had two children to take care of; winter was setting, and spring reared her beautiful head. She had promised a family from their last village that she would visit for Imbolc. She would tell them that Cymru was an orphan that she had adopted. Which wouldn’t matter in the first place; after all, no human would judge their nation.
They stayed in the glade for hours, acquainting themselves with a baby that couldn’t even babble yet, but Alba seemed quite content to pinch Cymru’s fluffy cheeks for the hundredth time.
Afterward, they dispersed, heading into civilization once more.
Centuries had passed when she found herself in a small clearing by a creek, staring once more. Her third dirt baby was born.
She was very busy these days, at a crossroads of force and fate. When the aching pain had begun, she didn’t register it for quite a while, having been diluted with her walls breaking in. It had been a mistake, stumbling across this baby.
The falling leaves framed it as it stared up at the sky, half its body buried in the dirt. She brushed off the dirt and lifted it into her sore arms. It had been a while since she last held a baby; she was too important in the upper echelons of her tribes to be preoccupied with babysitting like she was during her earlier days.
She could ascertain her new child was blond based on the little hair he had. He slightly quivered in the chill wind. She needed to communicate with Alba and Cymru about their new brother; they were around somewhere– she could feel them.
“At least you don’t look like him.” He opened his eyes; it was a startling green. “Albion.”