I met him on a pilgrimage. It was that magical month of May and all along the road from Santiago to Finis Terrae, the time had not yet ripened and therefore, few others ventured yet. Come another moon and there would be the beginning of the real season of pilgrims.

They say a pilgrim should not begin the route until the mind has determined that which the pilgrim seeks. I know better than this but I am no ordinary pilgrim. The truth is, a pilgrim thinks one thing is sought, but it is always another that is waiting to be found at the end of the road.

Where I thought I was seeking solitude, I found companionship. Seeking closure, I found a new beginning. And where I sought peace, I found passion.

The first day out of Santiago, I spent more time bemoaning my stupidity in buying my boots just before I left home to come on this pilgrimage. But it had been such a spur of the moment decision to come that I'd not really had the time to break them in as I should. I was sitting upon a bench along the path that had been paved from Roman times when I heard this deep voice say, "You are only ever issued one pair of feet."

I looked up into sparkling eyes and a man's smile. To this day, I don't really know why I accepted his offer to walk with me until we reached the doors of the next hostel for pilgrims on this route. But I did. He distracted me from my blisters and I found the will to cling to the big walking stick I had and somehow, we made it in. I lost track of him as I sat by the fountain and simply soaked my feet. Everything was quiet when I opened my eyes and looked around. He'd left a bundle of gauze and a roll of white tape. I could have kissed him.

They tell you not to bring anything you don't need on this trek. I think maybe I took them too literally. He was much better prepared than I was.

I next saw him the following morning. He was about to set off but he seemed to be lingering. When he saw me, he made me take off my shoes and let him examine my technique at bandaging. An hour later, I was on the path and I'd picked up a traveling companion.

The best thing about him was that he didn't feel he had to talk all the time. And he was an interesting font of information. He knew the names of plants we passed and told me of medicinal uses for many of them. He talked a lot about how, long before Christians began doing this, the Romans and even the Celts had made these pilgrimages to the place we headed ... Finis Terrae. I asked him if the Romans had also called the gorgeous coastline along here by the name the Spaniards did: "Costa de la Muerte."

In response, he told me that it was there at Finis Terrae that Romans believed the physical world met a spiritual reality. "Just over the horizon from the precise spot of Finis Terrae is Tir-na-Nog, land of eternal youth. Those who traveled to this place in those times felt they witnessed a sacred spectacle each sunset. It was the place of the greatest spiritual significance in the known world," he said.

"Are you a scholar of ancient Rome?" I asked him.

"It is simply a time of history that has always captivated me," he replied.

He also noticed birds along the way and brought me to a stop to observe them. I asked him on the third day, after I met up with him late that afternoon, as we hiked just past Ponte Olveira, why he took such notice of birds. I thought to tease him, this man who had entertained me with tales of ancient Rome and talk of legends, fate and mythology.

"These birds, Max, are they omens to you? Or do you smile at them because they represent a free presence when all around us is the duty of this pilgrimage?"

He paused before answering and I smiled as his brow furrowed. His answer ... how it captivated me for its reverence to the question. "I once smiled at birds because they were free and I was not. Because I could will them to fly to warmer southern lands of my home as I wished to do."

"But now?"

"Perhaps this one speaks of my fate. Perhaps it is my spirit finding its way home."

"But you'd have to die before your spirit was released to find its way home, Max. Wouldn't you?"

I earned a grin from him and not for the first time since he'd become my occasional companion in this pilgrimage, I felt my physical reaction to his nearness as if he'd touched me. It was a feeling so unexpected and yet ... treasured for its warmth.

"I was a military man. I am no augur. I did not look for signs and portents on the field of battle. There, I was the master of my fate and would allow no other to shape my future. To be swayed in that way is a sure recipe for disaster... I leave that to more impressionable men than I."

"Astounding," I whispered to him. "What an answer. So unanticipated. Do you know, they say that on this pilgrimage one should bring the following attributes: awareness, awakefulness and appreciation. That answer of yours, it tells me you have followed that advice."

"How so?"

"You showed an awareness of my desire to know something compelling about you, a glimpse inside. You demonstrated that you are awake and attentive to my questions. And you gave me an answer that shows an appreciation for the lessons of your life."

"Since I have answered your question, may I give you one from me?" When I nodded, he tilted his head down and blinked twice before asking the question. And all the time he asked, his amazingly green-blue eyes examined me in this soft dance of seduction. His voice ... it held a quality that mesmerized me. "Your name intrigues me. I am a superstitious man by nature and read the portents - but they are rarely what they appear to be. Does your presence here suggest that I am in for a few unexpected experiences? For your namesake is a spirit who is quite unpredictable and playful. And dangerous."

"What a question!" I laughed out and thought how odd the sound was. I had not heard that woman laugh in too long. "I'm afraid Eris is just a name given by my mother who was, so she says, afraid of my lusty lungs when I first came out of the womb. She thought Eris fit that personality."

"And was she correct?"

I smiled warmly at him and gave him a wink before setting off again. "Would a woman who bears the name Eris really answer that question?"

"The oracles always speak in riddles. Are you now the mistress of my fate?" he called out to me as I strode ahead. I turned to be sure he could see me shrug my shoulders and then gave him a smile that I hoped conveyed the fact that there might be enough mysteries within me to intrigue a man who had proven of deep intrigue to me. He quickened his step to catch up to me, saying, "Then I must keep you in my sights at all times, my lady."

Later that night, we shared a meal in a tavern at Corcubion. We had reached this small town mid-afternoon after making a pact with each other to wait until the next sunrise to step upon the high spot at the town's edge where we would get our first glimpse of the wild sea of the Coast of Death.

Perhaps it was because we were so close to the end of our pilgrimage and to finding the things we sought but didn't know were waiting for us there ... but we engaged in a test of freedom that night. As the evening progressed and all turned to darkness outside, we lingered there at a rough table and drank a local Galician wine. When we finished the bottle, he asked the tavern keeper for cognac and gave me a pleased sigh to learn they had just that liquor available.

While we waited for the man to return with his cognac, Max turned and settled against the wall, his eyes drifting to the window that was open to the evening's breezes. I simply watched him and I mused aloud in this dreamy way I get when I've had just enough alcohol to make me happy and not enough to make me sad, "Sometimes, when the light's just right, you look familiar to me. Yet, I do know we've not met. Maybe you remind me of someone I've seen from far away and always wondered about."

"Or perhaps it was me you saw?" he asked. I liked his voice in this moment; so soft and yet arousing in its modulated pitch.

"I would have remembered a man such as you, Max."

"Then it is a good omen that you feel I am familiar. It puts you at ease with me, my lady."

"My lady? That sounded nice to be called that." Our fingers lingered near each other upon the rough wood of the table. "You're right, Max. I am comfortable with you ... but ... I am also so intrigued by this feeling that there is more to this than meets the eye. How is it that you've wandered into my pilgrimage and you've turned into such an agreeable companion to share this route with?"

"What man would not bring to bear all his finest attributes when in the presence of a woman like you? Nevertheless, I am flattered I have been a worthy fellow pilgrim."

After the tavern keeper brought his clear snifter to him, I listened to Max explain the significance of cognac to him as he swirled its deep amber in the small snifter. My eyes drifted with languor. I felt soft and relaxed. He sniffed in its aroma with an appreciative, soft 'ahh.' I looked longingly at his mouth, as it seemed to just be waiting to go into action. But he didn't drink right away. It made me anxious to see his lips part and ... and, yet, the way he took his time over this ritual of appreciating the cognac made me flush with the soft heat of denial of instant gratification. He told me that the warmth of his hands as he cradled the snifter would bring out the smoothness of the cognac. I was ... and there is no other word for it ... enchanted. I sighed along with him as he took the first sip and savored its taste upon his tongue before swallowing it.

"I've never tasted cognac before," I told him. He turned toward me and tilted his head as if he was going to say something but thought better of it. The wine ... it had affected me; but, still and all, I do believe my own pilgrimage's meaning was about to reveal itself in the boldness I felt... a boldness long gone from my mind. "You're enjoying that so much. And I'd like to taste what you're tasting. Now, you can either kiss me so I can enjoy the remnants of the sip of cognac you just took; or, you can order me a snifter of cognac for myself. Either way, let's linger... whether it's over the kiss or over the cognac."

A fire flared in his eyes and he did not even bother trying to hide what should have been obvious to me from almost the beginning: there was a definite spark of interest on his part.

"As I am a gentleman, I shall be most honored to offer any drink that you wish. But, whilst we wait for the barman to bring over the order, perhaps I could also be a gentleman- and offer you a taster? It would be preferable that you knew exactly what you were about to sample, would it not?"

I rose and went to his side of the table. I straddled the bench and waited while he took a sip of the cognac. When he made the first motion to lean in toward me, I reached for his lips and captured them with mine. There was ... something. I know not what. It passed from him to me and then back again.

An awareness of each other, I think.

Our lips opened slowly, slightly, and I sampled the cognac from the warmth of his mouth. His tongue swirled the heady smoke of the remnants of the fine liquor within my mouth, giving each of my taste buds ample opportunity to experience the fullness of the sample's rhythms.

And when the kiss was over, I returned to my seat.

"Shall we savor this experience all night? If it so pleases you, my lady?" He pulled my hand up to his lips and kissed the tips. "But first, your story ... and later - perhaps you would like to hear mine?"

So I told him of becoming a pilgrim. And he told me of his pilgrimage before he met me. It was only right we shared this part of our life's stories. They were a contrast. They were a complement.

Harmony. Had I found it there upon this scrap of land in Spain? There ... at the end of the earth? What would I find then in Finis Terrae in the next day? Would it be what I thought I should have sought? Or would it be what I'd sought without knowing it was destiny?

Portents. Augurs. Premonitions. Who knows when the gods play with mortals?

The next morning, I found him upon the ria of Corcubion. We watched the sunrise reveal the sea.

"This pilgrimage, Eris, began for me when I watched a small rust-breasted bird take flight. If I could have made a wish to be that bird who flew free of all constraints, I knew where I would fly to."

"Tell me, Max."

He put his hands on my shoulder as he moved close to me, his chest feeling solid and protective behind me. With his mouth at my ear, he told me the part of his tale that freed me along with the bird of his past, along with him: "To the sea. To the warm sun-drenched beaches of my homeland. I favor this rugged coastline of the northwest. Facing the open Atlantic. Mariners used to tell of sea monsters that lurked in these waters at the very edge of the world. As a boy, I was fascinated by the place and now, as a man, I yearned to return here, to its windswept rocks."

"I never realized you were a ..." I stepped out of his hold and looked at him. As if seeing him for the first time was possible only because he had chosen this mystical, enchanted place in which to uncloak the shroud of mystery surrounding him. "The Spaniard. You are the one they call The Spaniard."

He made a tiny bow to me. There was pride in him; pride to know I knew him and pride to have awed me. "Is this the reason for both our pilgrimages, Max?"

"You believe without proof?"

"Haven't you ever just known just enough and it's been exactly what you've known all along?"

"Your pilgrimage is not over, Eris. But it is close if you are willing."

And I knew ... somehow I simply knew ... that the tales I'd heard of a world that made this possible ... those tales were true. I wasn't surprised. I'd been searching after all. I just had never realized that this was what I'd been searching for in this pilgrimage. So, this is the truth after all: a pilgrim begins the real route when their mind knows that what they seek is what they find at the end of the road.

"The end of this road, Max. It's the end of the world. Do I dare?"

He turned me gently to face the coast again. Its rugged beauty was enhanced by the knowledge that when the sun set that night, I would be within the hold of the one place on earth where the mystical and the real mingled. Waves swirled around boulders out from a beach of haunting starkness where waves crashed upon coarse sand before sweeping back out through foam and mixed, tempestuous blues. Max whispered to me of finding the route to the water there before us.

"Imagine how one would be buffeted by the waves and only the strength in one's body can save you from being swept into the raging torrent? Does that not make you feel alive? Invigorated? Free?"

"Free. Alive. Yes. I can see that, Max."

"But I will not capture you and take you there. You must decide for yourself. Do you wish to taste the wilder edge of nature? To stand on the edge of my world and tempt the gods? Then come with me ...freely..."

We trod the remains of the old Roman road through Hermedesuso. As we passed Duio, he told me of a legend that on this site, an ancient Roman city was razed for its sins.

Was that an omen if we tempted some fate that called us forward to Finis Terrae? Or had all debts been paid long ago?

When we reached the beach, I let him lead me to a cove. We stripped to our bathing suits we'd each somehow known would be right for that day's adventure. My suit was deep gold as the Kallista apple. His suit was deep red, the gods' color of favor.

I hesitated at the edge and reached for his hand, for these currents shifted in ways I was unprepared to face alone. Into the waves we drove, him leading and me following. I felt the pull -- that deep, rhythmic, ancient pull of currents and relentless force of oceans the world over. He held me firm in his arms and it was here within the waves that we discovered each other's body.

This was the promise we made each other.

We made it not so long ago. And in this day, it was fulfilled.

I would not have gone on this pilgrimage unless searching for something that had once been offered in a chance remark. He would not have been searching unless I had made that chance remark to him in a conversation within a dream of an encounter: "If I am to be the mistress of your fate, tell me this, Maximus, and I will do your bidding: where would you have me take us if we dare to ever really meet?"

Here where the mystical becomes reality, our pilgrimage's purpose is realized: I am drawn now into a world where he is possible.

Will the fates be kind?