Cyrene watched as the last patrons shuffled out of the inn. The common room had been packed with travellers and locals, all looking for a bit of Solstice cheer on a dark and dreary winter’s night. She appreciated the business, but wished some of them had stayed home to celebrate. She locked the door after shooing the last straggler out and hoped there would be no late wayfarers showing up to ask for lodging. The inn was already full and she hated turning people away, so anyone who showed up now would have to make do out in the stables. She sighed as she looked at the cluttered tables and slowly began clearing up, toting the trenchers and plates into the kitchen to be washed. Besides the dishes, she still had to see to the horses and chop some wood before going to bed.
Cyrene washed and dried the dishes mechanically, momentarily regretting sending the inn staff home early to celebrate Solstice with their families. But she would’ve felt guilty keeping them here on Solstice Eve, when they could be enjoying themselves at home. She felt a sharp pang of envy as she thought of all the happy families gathering around their hearths in anticipation of the Solstice. Cyrene had once done the same, but she no longer had any family and nothing much to look forward to. Most of the time she could forget her losses and just enjoy running the inn, hard as that might be at times. But at certain times of the year—like the Solstices and her children’s birthdays—she couldn’t help feeling overwhelmed by the loneliness that normally just hovered like a shadow in the recesses of her soul.
Cyrene smiled as she recalled some of the Solstices they’d celebrated at the inn. Sometimes it seemed like a lifetime ago, although it really wasn’t that long. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift, hearing the happy voices and peals of laughter as clear as a temple bell, almost as if the children were right there beside her. Lyceus had always been the most exuberant, running around and enjoying everything to the utmost. Tears stung her eyes as she realized she would never hear his laughter again, nor would she ever get the chance to chastise him for stealing treats from the larder. Remembering that she hadn’t checked the larder since morning, she wiped her eyes and opened the door to take a quick inventory. She was startled to see a deer carcass hanging just inside the door. Where had that come from? She usually paid one of the local hunters for fresh meat, but with the cold weather, deer had become scarce and she’d had to make do with chicken and pork from her own stock. She examined the deer, noting that it was fresh and well-dressed; it should last right into the new year. Her surprise doubled when she noticed a string of fish hanging from a rafter ... those hadn’t been there this morning either.
Cyrene closed the larder door and wondered if Toris might have put the deer and fish in there. But why would he be so sneaky about it? She hadn’t seen Toris in years and wasn’t even sure if he was still alive. He’d always been a bit more serious than Lyceus and Xena, taking his role as eldest a little too much to heart. Cyrene smiled as she recalled Toris demanding both drumsticks from the Solstice goose, claiming they were his right as the man of the house. Laughter bubbled up in Cyrene’s throat as she recalled the Solstice when Xena had smeared tallow all over the drumsticks before offering them to Toris. He hadn’t been so quick to assert his rights the following year. Toris’s decision to leave when Cortese attacked Amphipolis had seemed like cowardice at the time—she’d certainly heard enough people whispering about it—but considering what had happened to those who stayed and fought, Toris’s choice seemed like the proper one now. At least he hadn’t been foolish enough to follow Xena to an early death, like Lyceus had.
Cyrene made her way out to the stable, her thoughts now on her wayward daughter. She hadn’t seen Xena in years, but couldn’t help thinking about her ... hearing the whispers of travellers and seeing the sidelong glances from her fellow villagers didn’t help. Xena had grown into a legend since leaving home ... unfortunately, it was for all the wrong reasons. Cyrene couldn’t pretend Xena wasn’t her daughter, so she just had to ignore the looks and the gossip, hoping against hope that it would die down. But every time it seemed like people had gotten tired of talking about Xena, she’d do something terrible and get tongues wagging all over again. Cyrene hated Xena for everything she’d done, especially for leading Lyceus to an early death. But at times like this, she couldn’t help remembering Xena as she used to be, before Cortese. Xena had been a rambunctious child, never as serious as Toris, nor as exuberant as Lyceus, but somewhere in between. She’d had a sly sense of humour and a great capacity to care, especially when it came to animals and her family. Too bad she didn’t have that same regard for humanity in general. Cyrene opened the stable door and gasped in surprise. All the horses had been groomed and fed, all the stalls mucked out, and even the tack polished and arranged perfectly. She frowned, wondering when her staff had time to do all this; they’d been run off their feet all day with all the extra business due to Solstice. Maybe they’d taken turns slipping out to do a bit at a time, working away diligently all day until it was done. She made a mental note to give them all a bonus with next week’s pay.
As she trudged toward the woodpile behind the inn, Cyrene thought back to happier times, when the children had been young. They’d been so thrilled about Solstice, driving her crazy about their gifts and wanting to sample all the goodies she’d made for the feast. She wondered if Xena was feasting somewhere right now. Probably dining on something she’d stolen from an innocent family. Anger rose in Cyrene’s chest, threatening to choke her. Why did Xena have to take things so far? She’d started out wanting to protect the village from Cortese, but ended up far worse than he’d ever been. Every time Cyrene got word of another atrocity—that business at Corinth, the burning of a village near Delphi, rumours of raids in other nations—she wondered if she could’ve done something to stop Xena before she went too far. She couldn’t help feeling guilty about that, but sometimes on nights like this that were so full of good memories, she found herself worrying about Xena. That really made her feel guilty ... how could she worry about a monster? But that monster was still her daughter, and she just couldn’t make those old feelings vanish. She wondered if other warlords’ mothers worried about them. She snorted to herself, shaking her head at the fleeting thought of getting all the warlords’ mothers together for some kind of mutual support group.
Cyrene rounded the corner of the inn and stopped dead, staring at the pile of freshly cut and split wood. She knew immediately that none of her staff would’ve had time to do this. She didn’t recall hearing the sound of an axe, although with the inn walls being so thick and the noise from the revellers all day, Zeus could’ve loosed a thunderbolt in the yard and she probably wouldn’t have heard it. She looked around, but didn’t see so much as a footprint in the snow. Briefly, she wondered if Lyceus’s spirit was responsible, but she knew that was just wishful thinking. After a few moments’ reflection, she nodded to herself, thinking she’d solved the puzzle of who’d been doing these little chores for her all day: it had to be her fellow villagers. She knew they felt sorry for her, being all alone—not to mention having a murderous tyrant for a daughter—so they’d probably decided to give her a hand as a Solstice gift. She was both touched and annoyed; she certainly appreciated the extra help, but resented being the object of the villagers’ pity.
She shrugged, deciding to accept the gesture in the spirit it was given, took up an armful of wood and went inside to set it beside the hearth for tomorrow. After going around the inn to check the doors and put out the lamps, she stopped in front of the last one, guttering by the front window. As she looked out into the darkness, Cyrene sent a silent Solstice wish to Toris, wherever he was, and a silent prayer to Lyceus’s spirit, which she could still feel around the inn on magical nights like this. After a moment’s reflection, she found herself wishing Xena a good Solstice too, hoping she was safe and praying she’d see the folly of her ways and go back to being the girl Cyrene once knew. Common sense told her that could never happen ... Xena was too far gone and it would take a miracle to bring her back. But wasn’t Solstice the time for miracles? Cyrene wiped a tear from her eye and snuffed out the lamp before turning and padding silently off to her bedchamber.
**************
Xena watched from a hill above Amphipolis as the last light went out in her mother’s inn. She pulled her cloak tighter to keep out the chill, pondering her actions on the day. She’d managed to cut the wood and take care of the stables while everyone was busy, making sure not to leave a trace. She’d gone out to hunt and fish and run into some bandits preparing to assault the village. After running them off she’d taken her provisions to the inn, sneaking in to deposit them in the larder. She’d had to hide when her mother entered the kitchen and hearing Cyrene’s voice so close had caused her more pain than she’d anticipated. She’d wanted with all her heart to step out and talk to her mother, even running through various things in her mind that she might say. But she just couldn’t bring herself to go through with it, instead waiting until Cyrene left the kitchen and scampering off like a frightened rabbit. Xena shook her head, disgusted with herself. She’d faced warlords, giants, even gods without flinching, so why did the thought of talking to her own mother terrify her? Of course she knew the answer: giants and gods could only hurt her physically, while Cyrene’s anger and disappointment cut to her very soul. She wondered if the day would ever come when her mother might forget her anger and disappointment and forgive her. She shook her head, dismissing the thought abruptly; that would take a miracle, and she hadn’t believed in those since she was a child. Xena watched the inn for a few more minutes, then shook the snow off her cloak and turned Argo’s head to the west. Coming here had been a mistake. She’d gotten sentimental thinking about the Solstices she’d had as a child with Lyceus and Toris. But those days were gone and she could never get them back. She glanced back at the inn one last time thinking Good Solstice, Mother, before riding off through the trees, leaving behind the sleeping village ... and the ghosts of Solstice Past.
THE END