Chapter One - King Menes - The Monarch
The world turned lazily, in the sun peaked over the horizon, bathing the endless desert landscape with a soft golden glow. The disc of light slowly lifted the cool of the night from the rolling dunes of sand.
Creatures of the day began to emerge from their burrows. or wake from their simple night time slumber.
Dozens of animal species made of the desert ecosystem, most of them small. Rodents or snakes, or perhaps a insect or their cousins. There were birds here and there, who picked off these small creatures and fed of of them, as other sources of food were non existent.
But people were seldom interested in these small game, it wasn't enough to feed anyone. Besides, most people eat grains, grown on the banks of the river Nile, five miles to the west. The hunters in these lands hunted or sport first, and food second.
Slowly and carefully, a figure, dressed lightly and loosely crept over the top of one of the dunes. Once at the top, the figure squatted down, resting their knee on the desert floor, not yet worried about the heat as daybreak had not been long passed.
From their back, they drew a bow, and slipped an arrow onto the string. Carefully, they drew back, closing one eye to maximize vision with the other.
Down the shaft of the arrow, they saw their target. A gazelle, standing nearly still a good hundred meters away. The figure was not put off by the distance, they had dealt with more difficult lengths.
They lined up the hot, making sure that missing was inevitable, and then while breathing out, they fired.
The arrow sped through the air, and cut into the gazelle. A fatal shot to the had, it died before it even hit the ground.
Lowering the bow, the figure stood up, and raced down the sand dune to their fallen game. An act that required a mixture of running, sliding, and nearly falling to be accomplished.
One at the animal, the kneel beside it, pulling a knife from its sheath. They got to work, stripping the animals flesh, salvaging all the edible parts while discarding those non consumable. In the desert, for a traveling hunter, this is how they ate. No farmer would give grain to a foreigner.
They had just flicked the meat off their hands and was about to place it into a large sack that they had acquired when they felt a prickling on the back of their neck.
They didn't move, knowing that doing so could perhaps be the last action they ever made.
A harsh voice spat behind them. "Stand up, girl."
The young woman slowly pushed herself off the ground and straightened her posture, looking straight ahead.
The pressure on the back of her head increase. She felt a hand start to run down her side, and had to resist the urge to cut it off. It stopped at her sheath, unhooking it from her waist and tossing it aside. Then the hand moved to her quiver, and removed her arrows, removing her bow from her back as well, sliding it out across her arm.
There was a soft noise as it hit the sand. "Turn around, girl. Slowly."
The woman turned, but not slowly. She blotted, foot flying backwards, there was a grunt as it connected with the man's face, sending him sprawling backwards.
Dagger in hand she turned around to face the man and was face to face with a dozen burly armed warriors. Some with spears, most with swords. She faltered.
The man she kicked was on the ground, blood flowing freely from his nose, which was bent at a horrible angle, another man knelt next to him. He glared at her with anger and absolute hatred.
A growl crept up from his throat. "You little b-"
"Enough!"
The man's voice died, and with it the slur of profanities he undoubtedly was going to hurl at her. The warriors looked behind them ,and slowly separated into two groups, leaving a path or someone to walk down the middle.
It was not the figure the young woman was expecting. She was expecting a large man, figure fit to be a leader in a world where men ruled. Instead she saw rather the opposite, while still a man, he was no Greek hero. He was elderly, what hair he still had going grey. His posture was stopped somewhat, and he moved more slowly than his men. Around his shoulders, instead of the leather armor that his warriors wore, he wore cloth stitched of gold, white, and blue. The robe trailing down onto the ground.
He stopped in front of the young woman, dark brown eyes looking into silver. The young woman recognized the expression, he was reading her.
"What is your name, child?" He said at last.
For a moment, the young woman considered not answering. He was a man, sure he had been polite so far, and had called off his brutes, but he was still a man. He probably was one of those brutes in the beginning.
But something caused her voice to rise up. "Artemis." She responded.
The old man cocked his head. "That is not a name of these lands." He said, simply. No questioning tone. He spoke again. "Do you come from far away?"
"Yes." She answered again.
The old man nodded, and turned towards his men. "You see? Her offense was not born of intention."
Artemis raised an eyebrow. "My offense?"
"These lands are sacred lands. The hill you came down from is the birthplace of the god Aten. The disc of the sun. These lands surrounding it, are lands where no hunting may take place. All game here belongs to the gods."
Artemis nodded. Tempted to inform him that the god Aten did not exist. The sun was driven by Helios, not some made up false god.
As if sensing her disbelief, he spoke again. "You may not be of these lands, Artemis, and therefore may not share our beliefs. But I hope you will understand, they are ours. And I would appreciate if you were courteous of them."
Artemis bit her tongue to keep herself from saying something she would regret. Instead she once again opted for simple. "Of course."
The old man nodded. "If you wish to hunt, we will take you to a land where the game is plentiful."
"Thank you but I can find my own way. I am a huntress."
The old man raised an eyebrow. "And I am a king."
And from there on out, there was no arguing. The old man got onto a hammock, which was hoisted onto the shoulders of two of the men, using a long stick. Artemis walked alongside him.
"How far away are these lands." Artemis was flashed a glare by the surrounding warriors. Presumably by not addressing the king with a title of respect.
"Five or six miles, Artemis," said the king. "They are lands where your hunting skill is allotted but also tested. Perhaps you will learn something new."
"I think my hunting skills are more than up to par, thank you." Artemis said dangerously.
The old man didn't even turn to her. "Then how do you explain your last kill?"
Artemis was stunned. To her, the hunt had been perfect. "What?"
"Your stance was all wrong, it was a wonder you even hit your mark. You are a hunter too used to sprinting after your prey, and firing on the move. You must learn patience."
"What? I have patience. I certainly have enough patience to hunt." Artemis' voice was that of wounded pride.
"Yes, you have much patience. So much so, that you waited a whole twenty seconds before asking how much further we had to go."
Artemis sputtered.
The king turned to her. His eyes kind. "My words are not to be taken as insults, Artemis. Everyone starts somewhere. You are young, and have grown up with an environment inhibiting your ability to hunt among these dunes. The desert here is unlike anything else on earth, it tests all those who enter it. You just have yet to pass yours."
Artemis didn't say anything, she kept her eyes fixed on the ground.
The king had a look of empathy in his eyes. "I was in your position once, do not feel bad, soon you shall have risen above it." Then he turned back, so that his body was parallel with the hammock, and closed his eyes.
Artemis walked with the men, they, not wanting to talk to her, pretend as if she was not there. She returned the ever so courteous gesture. They walked on for several more miles, in the distance she could hear the sound of flowing water. Plant life began to become more and more frequent around her, and she saw animals the likes of which she had never seen before as they scurried across the desert floor.
Eventually, they rose up onto a small dune, and looking over Artemis gasped at what entered her vision.
Flanked by trees, and foliage of a vibrant nature, a vast river spanned the gap between the two massive chunks of land. The sparkling water flowed slowly under the mid morning sun. She watched as massive creatures, with snouts larger than many animals she had seen,waded through the water, opening their massive jaws and butting heads with one and other.
Her astounded expression had not gone unnoticed. The king seemed to materialize beside her.
"The majestic hippopotamus. One of the many kings of the Nile river."
"What, you, the hippo, and a few water birds?" She asked.
The king's eyes twinkled in amusement. "More or less." He led her down the slope of the sand dune.
"Here, you can work your hunting to perfection, there are dozens of animal species of all sorts, that are more than populous among these banks. And, if the game on land does not suit you, fishing is a peaceful act you may give a try."
"With what pole?" Artemis asked.
"One that you craft yourself, of course." Artemis groaned slightly, as the king chuckled. "And now, unless you have anything further to ask, we shall be taking our leave. We have our own hunt, you see."
Artemis nodded. "Yes. But, just one thing."
The king motioned for her to continue.
"None of your mean are addressing you by anything other than, king. And even that is rare. If you could tell me, could I know your name?"
The warriors had a look of surprise on their ace. Evidently, no one asked the king for his name. But the king himself just smiled.
"Menes." He said, and nodded to her. "I wish you look, young Artemis. Perhaps one day, they shall tell tales of you, when my name has been long forgotten."
At the time, Artemis was little more than confused by the statement. It would be many, many years before she realized that the old king Menes had given her one of the grandest compliments that he could have given anyone.
Slowly, the old king clambered back onto his hammock, and he, with his warrior guards, slowly disappeared into the desert.
Artemis watched him go, a strange new feeling inside her. One she had never felt before in a man. Though they had spoken for little more than ten minutes, and known each other for little more than an hour, something told Artemis there was a lot more to the king than she could imagine. And that it was mostly good. That feeling she felt was respect.
And when, an hour or two later, after Artemis had spent the time grinding her skills to perfection as solidly as she could. When the body of the great king Menes washed up onto the shore, torn apart and beaten as if attacked by a wild animal, she folded his arms over his chest, put her knife in his grasp, and closed his eyes. Murmuring a quick prayer to the embodiment of death, before setting back off across the desert.
AN:
Yeah yeah, not the best thing I've ever written, ut it's hard to write about a man whose personality is completely unknown to us.
As you can see, this is another new story of mine, and my latest idea. You read fanfics all over the place, mentioning how Artemis has never held respect for any man in her life, except for maybe Percy. And that seems to be the approach of the book as well. Personally, I don't take it. She has been alive for over three thousand years, she must hare come across at least a couple scores of men who she had respect for. Whether for their personality, service to their country, addition to art or science, or their height of respect that they are held in by many people.
Essentially, this story will be a series of one shots. All through out history. There is no chronological order, I simply write about whoever I think about that Artemis may have respected in the past. There will be both nonfictional and fictional characters in the story, though the nonfictional ones will be more common.
As usual, read, review, favorite, and follow if you enjoyed it, and if you didn't go warship for three days at the Pharaoh Menes' tomb as an apology for offending him.
Also, if you have an idea for a person or me to write about, feel free to submit it in a review. Men only though, a woman would kind of defeat the point of the whole story.
Until next time, this is Hemlock Stones signing off.