Tim O’Neill, a character from seaQuest, is owned by MCA/Universal, Amblin Entertainment, and the Sci-Fi Channel. Joxer, from Xena: Warrior Princess, is owned by MCA/Universal. The character of Lycius and my depiction of Mnemosyne is owned by the author, and may not be used without express written permission. This story was written and is owned by the author. All other rights under the law are owned by the author. Copyright March 1997. This story has appeared in the 1997 edition of Talisman and in Whatever Gets You Through The Night #2 by Sockii Press in May 1998.

Until Time and Times are Done

Tim O’Neill looked down at the address in his hand. I can’t believe I’m doing this. On leave in Greece -- a leave I’ve been waiting months for -- and I blow it off. Some ghost gives you an address and demands you go there. I must be out of my mind. He shifted the package of goods under his arm, and took a swig of apple juice. Yeah, this is the place. Tim looked around, disbelieving. What’s left of it.

No building stood. No flowers grew. A ruined carcass of stones marked where, at one time, millennia ago, a foundation had rested. Ancient and rotting cloth drifted on the breeze from one of the few columns still standing. Weeds climbed and nestled in the cracked mortar.

I should leave right now. If I had any brains, I would leave right now.

“I knew you would come,” said a soft voice. Tim spun around, nearly dropping the parcel. A slight young man, with wispy pale hair and penetrating green eyes, stood calmly before him. A diamond shape was tattooed blackly in the center of his forehead.

A wierdo. Oh God, oh Blessed Virgin Mary . . . .

The figure smiled. “There’s no need to be frightened. You may call me Lycius. I, nor she whom I serve, have no desire to hurt you. Indeed, quite the contrary. Please, come inside the shrine.”

“What shrine?” Tim gestured to the ruin with his free hand. “There’s nothing there.”

“So you say.” Lycius smiled again, and walked toward the ruin. Tim followed, warily watching the boy.

A few steps forward, past a heavy stone marker, and beauty materialized in front of him, its impossibly dense curtain parting to reveal the truth, the reality of what stood on that spot. Stunned, Tim could only stare. I did not just see that. An ancient temple stood, intact, complete. Ivy and climbing roses wound around the columns, while bright red cloth fluttered banner-like in the soft Mediterranean breeze. Winged horses, carved in stone, elegant in their simplicity, but so real the observer wondered at their quiet, guarded the door. I’m not seeing *this* either.

Lycius turned to him, the breeze ruffling his long hair, and smiled. “You need not be surprised. Only those who serve and those of the blood can see what you now do before you -- it is an enchantment.” He spread his arms wide to encompass the area. “A gift. This....” He gestured to the temple. “This is where your bloodline began.”

Tim stared at the boy and set his parcel on the ground. He’s insane. “What are you talking about? I’m from Detroit. In Michigan. Not --”

“That is now.” Lycius smiled, and gestured toward the shrine. “This is then. This is what was, when the gods were respected and feared and loved. When the world was young and new and beautiful.”

“But I --”

“Timothy,” said the quiet voice. “Understand. This is the past. This is where your bloodline began, where you will come from millennia later. Watch. Learn.”

A sparkling appeared in the air outside the temple, about ten feet from them, and a young woman appeared. Lycius bowed his head in respect. She’s stunning. Absolutely stunning. “Her name is Mnemosyne, and she is the reason you exist.” Startled, Tim examined the girl more closely -- bronze skin, long black hair, warm brown eyes, around her forehead a silver coronet caressing a diamond.

Hoofbeats startled Tim out of his gazing, and looked up to see -- himself, dismounting from a horse. I’m definitely not seeing him. “He -- he looks just like -- like me! Exactly like me!”

“Yes, what did you expect,” replied the gentle voice. Tim fought down the irresistible impulse to strangle it. Oh, easy for him to say, he hasn’t just seen a Conan-the-Barbarian impersonator who just happens to look JUST LIKE YOU ride up and . . . kiss that gorgeous girl?

“What’s going on? I want answers, and I want them NOW!” Tim watched the couple. His double, with a faintly foolish grin on his face, carried the black-haired beauty in his arms and was twirling her in circles like a carefree child. She, delighted with it and with him, clutched him tightly and laughed and kissed him. Then, with soft words and a gentle kiss, they disappeared into the temple with a flourish.

Lycius sighed. “As I said, her name is Mnemosyne. His name is Joxer. He is also your ancestor.” He hesitated, and Tim made a gimme motion with his hands. His face saddened, and he said, “Let us enter.” He extended his hand, intending Tim to go first, but met with a refusal. “Very well.”

They walked through the doorway, and found the couple lying together on a red chaise among candles, flowers, and temple offerings. She lay close to him, her sheer gray skirt and silver belt draped off the edge. Mnemosyne fashioned a token with nimble fingers, encircling the silver amulet with bright silken cords. Joxer strummed a lyre, singing softly, his words and music twining around the incense on the air. Lycius continued. “Joxer was one of the consorts of Mnemosyne -- but not just any consort. He was her most desired, most beloved, her favorite. They adored each other. Only one thing stood between them -- a prophecy.”

“How can a prophecy affect anything,” moaned Tim. This whole day is not happening. Lycius laughed quietly. “You forget, Timothy, here, in this time, prophecies are not superstition. They are truth. This particular prophecy foretold that when Mnemosyne finally found her true love, her ‘soul mate’, as it were, they would be parted by Hades. For a time.” Lycius stopped, his face drooping with sadness again. “Then, when a lesser god decided it was time, they would be reunited for eternity. So Mnemosyne fashioned a spell to keep a part of him, a sense of him, with her until their reunion.”

Having finished her token, Mnemosyne draped it about Joxer’s neck. Kissing his temple, she drifted down slowly, lovingly nuzzling his cheek while gently tracing his lips with her fingertips. As her mouth and tongue kissed his throat, he craned his head back and embraced her, sinking his hands deep into those raven locks. Still she drifted, ever slower, shifting position, she exposed his left shoulder and kissed it, lovingly, deliciously, letting her hands rub his chest.

As Mnemosyne backed away from the kiss, Tim saw that the outline of her lips imprinted into Joxer’s skin. That’s just like -- “You carry an identical birthmark, yes?” Tim nodded numbly. “You are the firstborn, like your father, as his father before him, yes?” Tim nodded again.

“The spell passes through the firstborn -- only they carry Joxer’s likeness and the birthmark as proof of their love. It will not end until their reunion.”

A crashing metallic noise shattered the silence of the temple. Shouts and screams and hoofbeats followed hard behind. “What’s happening,” demanded Tim. “What’s going on?” He watched Joxer spring to his feet, grab his sword, and rush toward the door, only to be stopped by Mnemosyne.

“A group of thieves, cutthroats, that sort. They’re passing through, but we’re not in danger.” Lycius gazed pointedly at him. He turned back to watch the couple. “She doesn’t want him to go fight, she’s worried he’ll be killed. He says that he’ll be careful, he’s always careful. But she’s afraid.” Joxer then rushed outside into the bright sunlight and the fray of battle.

Only a few minutes passed before Mnemosyne ran through the doorway into the silence. Tim, quiet with fear and anticipation, followed her, hope weighing heavy on his heart. Oh please, don’t hurt her this way, not so soon . . . .

The high-pitched wail of a woman destroyed met him before the vision of her did. Mnemosyne sat close to Joxer again, holding him in her arms, but now her every move reeked of agony. Her hair tangled around them. Her skirt askew, her lacy pale bodice already drenched with blood. She ran her fingers gently down his cheek, the bloody tears flowing. A tear fell on his nose, and she kissed it away before dissolving into sobs. Mnemosyne’s keening began once more, a woman’s wail of love, tears, and solitude.

“Joxer’s death destroyed her. Even though she knew it would happen, even though she knew how painful it would be, it still destroyed her.” Lycius had tears falling from his eyes. So do I. “The prophecy said that one day, some day, he will return from the Elysian Fields to her arms. She has been waiting for over two thousand years.” He turned to leave. “She is still waiting today.”

“Wait!” cried Tim. “Mnemosyne. Who is she?”

“Who else, Timothy? Mnemosyne is the goddess of memory.”

Like a slow-waking dream, Tim found himself once again in the empty field next to the ruins. My face is wet. It was a dream. Right? A woman’s voice, the sound of silvery bells, whispered on the breeze: “I will remember you always and forever until time and times are done.” Oh God. It wasn’t a dream. He reached into his parcel for the item which the ghost named Lycius had demanded, and prepared to leave.

A few minutes later, Tim turned to head back to the boat, leaving his gift on one of the ruins behind him. A single candle, burning bright.

FINIS

Author’s Notes: Rationalizations: if Zeus can turn himself into a swan, a cuckoo, a bull, and who knows what else, then Mnemosyne can make herself human-size, making people think that all the Titans are gone. Besides, she’s important. And those other Titans didn’t seem terribly bright to me, anyway. :)

Feed the Muses, please....

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