***DISCLAIMER***I do not own the name Red Sonja or the character. I do however own the flight of fiction in which is to be found below, many thanks to Roy Thomas Barry, Windsor-Smith, and Dynamite Entertainment, as of course Red Sonja LLC.***
Red Sonja-
Twisted Sister!
Chapter I
Far from the villages that lie in the valleys of Modeso and the towns that sat so pleasantly rest in the misty capes and under the enveloping canopies of So Tu, and all the taverns and caverns of rough and ugliness and good lively fun that was the temperature of the time-whenever the time may be-was a woman who had set a task upon herself that demanded all of her humanity and power of form.
She was born with nothing, in a place that wasn't anywhere in any topographer's mental map of what might be a place of rest. Her father was no one to speak of and vanished soon after her mother did. Her older brother took to the fold of the royal sage, his spirit having been broken, then became one of the dark guard. Something of a pack of hyenas not paid to think but act on orders rooted in fear and as commanding as their basic instincts.
Her second eldest brother took to the cloth and paid for it. She supposed he supposed it was something of a test. Maybe it was exactly as he would have had it—martyrdom. Dying for someone else's beliefs, philosophical ideations and passions wasn't so noble a fate to her-selfish in a way. Selfless in another.
The third youngest brother tended bar for a local pig farmer, with his lame left leg, there want much he could do. Not much good at riding or taming beasts of any kind. Unless they were no bigger than his calf and could be herded with a stick. Which was why he maintained a small coop of chickens in the stalls behind his cabin.
The girl was two years younger than said brother and learned a lot from her family's failures. More so than their success. She thought that if they had set out to fail initially, they would have been doubly successful, then maybe she would have been able to find work as a jinx. Or a tainted fetish. Whichever hit the ear right.
She was not as her family was, although a Bronte, her phenotype was irregular and opposed the features of her father and brothers. This wasn't distance enough, so she changed her altered her identity, the elements be damned, ventured out to claim what she knew was within her grasp. She needed to prove to herself that what she felt was true.
At twenty, she shot up three feet. Her growth spurt challenging her balance and command of herself, she saw this as the first of many such personal challenges, and because of it, she turned her body into a weapon. A reality that earned her something of a reputation—however dark it may have been. The result was power. Power earned through victory. Her transformation had a strong psychological effect as well as physical, because no one paired her at all with the Brontes of Berwick. With her tall built frame and dark hair, she was beyond comparison to the poor family of a thousand tragedies.
At twenty-seven, when her physicality could do nothing more for her, she sought and visited a well-known hold in the middle of the stygian wood. It was said that the three soothsayers that lived within in weren't your garden truth-seers and possessed the ability to converse with those of the other side.
She visited the three women at their ramshackle hut, in the dark of the woods, alone, and unarmed, as per their rules for meeting. Strangely enough, through the thick oak door, the setting belied the very countenance of those three within the round moss-covered walls. They were anything but haggard and gaunt, wispy and moribund. Rather, they had the makeup similar to that in direct competition with Diana, or Athena, or any other being of divine beauty.
"My mothers. ." the woman said, her head lowered in deference—eyes not leaving the three long lithe figures barely outlined by a mysterious source of light. "I am the one who has called for you this night."
The room was larger than one should expect from the outside, the woman put this down to the secret ways of the three soothsayers.
"Mhm. . .let me see your eyes girl." The tallest of the three rose slowly from her position between the other two, her dark robes falling against her slim frame lazily, revealing smooth unscarred skin, practically wan in the areas touched by the moons silver light. She glided over to the girl who hadn't fully entered the room, covering the distance between them quickly and quietly.
The woman, unsure, but confident, stood to her full height as the tallest of the three looked over her, her neck long and craning over the young woman's face. "Look into mine. ." the slim lady said. The woman obeyed, and as she did, noticed flecks of silver and violet in the soothsayers round eyes, and something else. . The ghostly woman pressed her fingers into the other's wrists and felt her belly, pressing lightly.
"MM!" she suddenly removed her hands from the tense woman. "Sit down. . No. There." And the woman, measuring the three slim women of indeterminate age, sizing them up and wondering how much of a fool she was for leaving her weapons out in the woods. "What?" getting no immediate response from either, she watched as the three women whispered to one another, all without turning their heads to face the other. Then, the one on the far right spoke up, to her. "We can help you. . .your soul is wanting. . you know what we require. . .? Yes . .?"
The woman who sat afar closed her hands. "Yes. I know."
"Good." Her lips barely parted. "With us. . .down here." the far right one gestured with a small wave of her long fingers. The younger woman afar saw the woven carpet the soothsayer was referring to. It was moved aside with the middle sayers long foot, revealing a hidden door to a lower area. The same long foot slid the leather latch between her toes and lifted the heavy door. Sickly yellow light came from down under and stained the lower legs and thin dresses of the three ghostly women who stood atop it.
The woman wished she still carried a weapon-Entering rooms without many exits always felt to her like walking herself right into a trap, and her heart was beating like a rabbit held above an open flame. She watched as the three women slowly descended into the amber lighted cellar, down the ladder, one by one.
It was a strong handmade ladder and didn't move an inch under her weight. Below, the earth was bare littered with hay, sticks, and crates, jars, petrified and flattened creatures hung along with animal furs from the rafters, shelves of papers and dried ink wells and odd debris that had clearly stood the test of time. She supposed such irregular trappings were the accoutrement of these witch types.
It was colder and smelled like an open, festering wound. The cellar stretched on about a yard more than the upper level of the hut. From what she could see, there was an anteroom, unlit, and presumably much larger, with etched stones and what looked like candles and paintings about. She turned her attention to the three women who stood medially, by the only source of light: a small wax candle.
No longer wearing their dark robes, but earrings and stygian necklaces in lieu of, each woman stood equidistant to the other, with a chalice at their feet, their arms relaxed at their sides, and eyes, on her.
Over herrree. . . now. . .
The unarmed woman neared the other three, who, as she got closer, aged before her eyes, and when she assumed her place completing the four points at which they stood, the candle immediately went out, and just as quickly was relit. Its dark quality slightly unnerved the newcomer and meeting the dilated eyes of the others didn't ease the tension that was rapidly growing in the cold pit of a cellar.
Remoove. . yourrr. . clothing. . .show us your arms. . .
The newcomer obeyed, gelid all over.
The dilated eyes pooled over violet, underlit by the dark candle between them locked onto hers, and she felt something touch her hands. It was the others; they had joined hands.
Do not break the circle. . . keep your legs apart. . . . let yourselff feeel. . .and be open. . .
The woman felt a jolt through her body. Like someone had passed through her in a hurry, and she could no longer felt the boney hands gripping hers, no longer feel the cold earth on the soles of her feet. Then there was a loud and forceful,
THUMMP!
On the floor above them. Her heart was beating so fast she was sure it was to explode. If she could just—
Do not break the circle. . .he is here now. . .
Slow shuffling above. Like dragging footsteps. The cellar was darker than before. The old women around her were three times as aged as before, and trembled violently, dark liquid secreting from their bodies like black worms. She heard creaking behind her.
The ladder.
The emaciated crones slowly lowered themselves to the ground, bringing the woman down with them. The liquid that trailed from the three crone's eyes and navel and vaginas filled a small reservoir around the candle, then traveled up in a container just under where the candle stood. On their knees they leaned over their cups and gagged as fleshy masses came up from their bowels, out their mouths and into their respective silver chalices.
The woman directly across from the newcomer—the tallest of the three—leaned forward
Oopen yourself to mee. .
Her dripping lips parted as if to blow a kiss, stopped just near the mouth of the newcomer, releasing something into her. Then the soothsayer to the left turned her head to face the newcomer, also leaned in,
. . Oopen yourrrself to meee. . .
And transferred something to the unnerved woman- the third to her right did the same, and the woman felt as if she were being pricked and prodded from the inside out, as she developed a strong craving. Waves of heat and euphoria backed with a boring pain in her temples pushed her out of her mind, and for a fleeting second, saw the events from above, and shape of darkness behind her.
Pressure on either of her shoulders like massive warm hands covered in hair draped down her hypersensitive skin, itching her neck. Heat massaged her gooseflesh, and the craving came again, and again was followed by pressure.
Her left arm was pulled forward and held over the flickering gray candlelight. The pain like a frozen dagger being driven through her arm continued without respite. The soothsayers barely visible, their heads back, faces toward the ceiling, held her there, and gyrated with a strange unknown rhythm.
He is with you now. . . .oopen yourself up. . .ooopen yourself up to him. . .do not lie. . .let your soul speak. . .do not break the circle. . .do not break the circle. . .
She felt hairiness all over. A rough animal hide scratching and breaking the skin. She felt limbless and heavy and exhausted and invigorated all at once; it was maddening.
The women were cackling about her, clicking their tongues and teeth and waving about as if mimicking a rolling, flopping, wave on a beach. No longer holding hands, they began drawing and painting on the boarded wall behind them.
The smell of hot corpses filled her nostrils, she felt the burning again and wanted to vomit, then something was pulled from her, there was wetness and coldness and for a moment green gossamer dominated her vision. She shut her eyes and saw through the blackness, from above, as before, there was an animal lose down there with them—or a man?
Do you feeel it. . . .do you feeel his power. . . yess we can help you. . .we can help yoou. . .
Days and nights were frequently lonely. Not in the romantic sense but the generally so. It could be, that even the most dangerous warrior in all of Hyrkania-and arguably Pah-Disha—felt a touch of loneliness, and it sometimes was. Although for her, to live was to battle and to battle was to live, and she was happy to be alive.
The scarlet woman viciously ripped the large sword up from the loamy soil, back through the body of a formerly rambunctious braggart with wondering hands, and in a powerful whirl clove the tomato-like head of his pal who, until that moment, was dead-set on mounting the redheaded woman, with the intention of 'opening her up'.
His head fell to the sour earth along with his foul-mouthed buddy, and the redheaded woman let the weight of the large sword swing down and sink tip-first into the ground. Her chest rising and falling eyes wide, and body tensed she looked about at those that gathered around to see the bloody affair. She looked a frightening woman. A woman wearing only chainmail covering her blood-spattered breasts and thighs. Her wild and wavy hair falling like lava over her armored shoulders as she stood in a shop road with two dead men at her feet—sans head and legs.
"Any of you wish to try your hand!" she commanded more than queried. The townsfolk of meek spirit and meeker flesh were all but frozen by in terror. Most towns were not used to women killers. Silent and watchful, afraid to make any move lest the she-devil run them through with her blade. "I guess not then! Let that be a lesson to those test S—"
"A SILLY WHORE WITH A LUCKY STREAK?"
The warrior woman turned to see an amassing of bargoers spill out of the neighboring tavern as slop from an overturned trough might. A broad shouldered well-scarred, brute at their center, who gesticulated with a wave of the ugly axes he brandished.
"Yet another fool?" the woman stepped forward, pulling her weapon from the ground demonstratively swinging it with skill. "Am I to take up professional instruction?" the shirtless brute struck the axeblades together creating a spark-show causing those that watched to jump in their place. His mouth turned up in such a way that could only be interpreted as a smile—clearly, he was enjoying centerstage, and the murmurs and chatter of the gathering crowd. "You will make a fine companion—" the scar covered brute nodded. "For my dogs!"
The soused and surly bargoers behind him erupted in laughter, emboldened by their spokesman's bawdy talk, they moved around the scarlet goddess creating something of a circle, like jackals on the kill.
The woman before him lifted her sword, bloodstained and impressive when reflecting sunlight, aimed the broad sword at the behemoth. "Your move. Tiny."
Like a blind bull, the massive man charged straight at her, and in four steps he was in kicking distance. She could see one of his eyes was actually glass, and he was missing several teeth further in his mouth. A thick arm coming in for a mad swipe, she easily ducked under and sidestepped, wherein the brute pivoted instantly, channeling all his momentum in another wide arc, and tripped, on a boot, he didn't see.
His beefy face was met with the bare knee from the woman, pushing his face in. Then an elbow that knifed him in the back of his thick neck. The force sent him down into the muddy ground, charging the duplicitous crowd who clapped and whistled at the violent show.
"Look at the oaf!" came a voice from the crowd.
"Like a pig in slop!" the whole of the population of Grenville could have been present to jeer and mock the myopic brute with his head in the mud and rear in the air. "HA! JUST LIKE AN ASS HE IS! HAHAHAHAHHAH!"
The red headed warrior stood a step away with a smirk on her face and an arm on her waist. "Do you see now!" she rose an arm and turned to the public. "What happens when you chall-"
GRAAAAAH!
She was in the air before his blind axe swipe came near her legs, then down on his back she landed, her sword pushing through his muscular body. The crowd gasped. The brute dropped his axes.
AAAAAAAUUGGGHHH!
The big man coughed and choked, and touched the hunk of steel protruding from him, then shakily got to his feet, and those that looked upon the spectacle were horrified, some even left, but the drunken bar goers remained, stiff and quieted, watching their former champion struggle to support himself on wobbly legs, a muddy bloody mess.
He turned around to meet the fiery eyes of his superior, who gripped the brute with both hands by head, assisting him to his full height.
"B-b-bitch-!" he spat.
The woman took a step towards him, dug her boots into the ground, then shot her head into the musclebound grotesque's bald pate. The warrior let him collapse onto his back, and the sword smoosh into him even more, creating something of a pregnant pause in more ways than one, she then flipped him over, and ripped the broadsword out, wiping the blood on his pants. She even swatted the dead mans ass with the flat of the sword.
The crowd fell silent, and attendees extricated themselves in small numbers, those that remained weighted with the gravity of the knowledge of being in the presence of such a happening and dying to know what this lady would do next.
It was so quiet; one could hear the bells from the necks of cattle being carried on the soughing wind some miles away. Even the birds stopped their chatter, but the she-devil broke the silence.
"You!" she singled out a stout man with a mustache like tusks, a brown shirt with rolled sleeves and a stained apron covering his lower half. He lifted a shaky finger to his own chest, and those around him took a step back as if he might explode.
"A round of drinks. On me."
The small inn was as accommodating as one would expect when serving a lethal killer. The way he saw it, the drunker the better, should something happen, he would feel a whole hell of a lot better dealing with a devilish whore with a thirst for blood with a belly full of mead surrounded by a group of weak men than a devilish whore with a thirst for blood, pissed, sober, and surrounded by actual men, so, Gogurty kept the drinks coming, and whatever the she-devil asked for, he got, so long as he kept the skin on his back, a sword out of his ass, and his inn in one piece.
"Sonja! Sonja! Sonja! Sit over here! Come! Drink with us!"
A table in the north-western end of the inn, occupied by a handful of young women who, within Sonjas company felt sure enough to allow themselves drink among ruffians and bar-scum alike, called to their new idol, in competition with others who wanted a little more than her humor for the evening. The warrior took her eyes from the competitor before her to espy the little voices, she smiled, turned back to the man at the table with her, then slammed his arm down hard on the oak table. Toppling a tin flagon as coins and bills were tossed onto the tabletop.
"Damn fuckin!" the bar man cursed and gnashed his teeth. "Let's go again! Right fuckin now!" the victor stood and scooped up her winnings from the table into her hands. "I would Ergo, but I don't think your purse could handle it!" Ergo huffed and slapped the table, then a few others who egged him on. "Fine!" he spat. "You there, why don't you sit down so I can shut your mouth eh?"
Sonja left the table and turned to the other what called her over.
"Yes, young maidens! Business is concluded here! What is it you want?" the big woman stepped over to them.
"Make room! Make room girls!" said one of the coterie. She too had red hair—closer to blood-orange—and undid the silver tie holding it up, so as to take on Sonja's wild and unruly look. "How did you do that? Are you a friend of the gods?" she fired the questions. Sonja hadn't even sat down before the volley of questions came her way. "I've never seen a woman kill a man before. Most say battle is a mans business. Are you the best?"
Another girl, who sat opposite of the blood-orange haired girl, sipped her ale sparingly. "Of course! Did you see how she flipped in the air? Shhooo!"
"Like Colistania herself!" opined a dark-haired girl with green dress. "Or better!"
"Oh Mitra!" Sonja returned to the table, wooden stool in tow. "Never the likes Colistania! But maybe, one of you four, eh? So! You like swordplay, do you? Which of you little fighters' spits fire? Mm?"
Their eyes collectively held the sudden pressure put forth they couldn't voice, and gulped the watered-down ale halted by the Warriors question. Save for "Me! I can handle a cutlass as well as any man!" Sonja raised her eyebrows at the girl with reddish orange plaits. "Or better?" she added. "Jubilee you liar!" accused dark hair. "You've never even held a cutlass. She plays with a sickle! She's a farmer." Jubilee dunked her fingers in the spicy ale and flicked them at the girl third from her position. "Damn you, Mara! At least I can lift a weapon! You and scrawny arms!"
Sonja appreciating the fiery spirit the girls possessed but patted her hand on the table mollifyingly all the same. "Now, now girls that is all very well. A sickle is a fine weapon—the number of scoundrels that have fallen to me have known many a weapon, a sharp blade and strength of mind are all that is needed to best an opponent."
"What about skill?" questioned a girl who wore a brown bonnet. There were notches on the rim of it. seven exactly. Sonja smiled and tossed back the girls large tin flagon, its golden-brown contents disappearing into her mouth. "Yes lass. Skill is very important! Much like—" "Speed?" Came the somewhat slurred voice of the girl who sat between Jubilee and Mara. "Yes. Indeed." Sonja agreed, swiping her flagon as well. "Tell me. Do four know of anything by the name of Cedric? Or maybe you've heard of the Hay Man?"
The four girls looked amongst themselves. Searching within each other's eyes, it was apparent they had a deep connection. A history, these little ladies were close, and dear to one another. They collectively shook their heads.
"Ah. Tis is much."
"Why Sonja? Who is. . are . . .th—HUURRP!"
"AAww! Yuuck!" Mara practically leapt over the table to avoid the yellow stuff. "Oh Sky! You've got it all over me!" from slurring to swaying, Sky leaned on the scratched wooden table, wanting to hide her reddening face. The other girls laughed a little, but still moved scooched away from their friend.
"Here now, here." Sonja moved the table aside. "I think you little fighters ought to get some new air, and a bit of sun, eh? Let's go."
The four girls stood, leaving their finished flagons on the table, following where Sonja prompted them.
"HEEYY SONJAA!"
She didn't turn.
"WHERE YOU GOIN? GOT A BET GOING HERE! THINK YOU CAN SETTLE IT?"
"Do not worry!" She stopped in the open door to look back at the busy corner of rowdy men. "Sonja has not forgotten about you!"
She winked and stepped out onto the windy evening, where the four girls obediently awaited their new friend.
"Sonja?"
"Yes Sky."
"Could I one day be a big drinker as you are?"
Sonja could not help but laugh at this. "Maybe. But I think you will be better at lots of other things."
"Like what?"
"Yeah! Like what?" Mara added. "Dyes?"
"Ohh! May the gods grow toads in your belly Mara! Its going to wash out of your dress!"
"Apologize."
"Im sorry! By Erlichs beard!"
"So," Sonja interjected "where is it that you girls stay? Aren't you to be missed now?"
"Well, Mara and Sky live with me." Jubilee stated. "Felicity there, lives with her father."
"Oh? And what of this father?" Sonja turned her eyes to the girl in the bonnet, who hid hers quickly.
"Nothing much. He just. . .he just has a mighty temper. He has been ill or. . "
"A temper?" Sonja didn't like the sound of that, having known many a man who lorded over the weak to make themselves strong, she wished private meeting to judge for herself. It seemed she was feeling more and more responsible for the young lasses, guilt as well, even more so considering their recent acquisitions. "Surely, he isn't one of the brute types? What does your mother have to say of his mighty temper Felicity?"
The girl was silent, as were her friends. Jubilee gave Sonja a look. "Ah. I see." The warrior said. "You know. When I was a girl. My family was overtaken and killed by evil men. Those same evil men burned my home to the ground. I know loss Felicity. Friends. . others. .it makes one strong, even courageous."
The group was silent as they walked along the dirt thoroughfare. Passing carriages and shopkeepers that tipped a hat or simply nodded at the female warrior and her young companions. She noticed the way the Jubilee responded to the way the towns people viewed them, looking outwardly at them all, expectant. Mara as well, prestige Sonja thought, even Sky stuck her chest out a touch, but Felicity seemed to be lost somewhere within her head; a dangerous place for an isolated someone.
The company came at last to a small house off the road. There was a well out front of it, a beast stable on it left flank, and what appeared to be something of a farming stockade in back. Sonja spotted a stump with an axe embedded in it. Too large for a girl like Jubilee to wield—a scythe resting on a peg against the side of the house, and a cart with barrels, boxes, and other farming bric-a-brac.
"Your home Jubilee?"
The blood orange haired girl placed her hands on her hips, looked up and smiled. "Yup! Wanna meet my elders? They're just inside!"
"Wel—"
"LIIEEEVV! MMAXXYYY!"
In a mere second, the heavy wooden door opened, and two burly people lumbered out. The first in front wore a simple shirt, with seam lines all through it, and pants of hide. His face was a map of lines, each characteristic of someone with a good nature and heart. Sonja liked his energy. His hair was greying, and his physique was that of a laborer. "Hello!" the one behind him was a woman of lesser frame but equally imposing. She too, like Jubilee, wore a simple short dress with a leather belt, except hers held tools. Her boots appeared in continuous repair, and her hands were gloved like Sonjas. Her smile was warm and genuine, and the green sparkled from behind her graying hair. "Hello." She shook the warrior's hand vigorously. "I'm Maxy and this is Liev." The man offered his calloused hand. "I see you've made a new friend eh Jubilee?" "This is Sonja!" the girl said proudly. Sky popped in. "She killed the Skull crusher fro, mudbank!"
Sonja, having nearly forgotten the lives she claimed earlier, was more surprised that he had a sobriquet, than what it was . "That was his name?" She asked. "Well." Liev joined. "He was always asking for it. Gave us all reason to want to bash him in." "By the gods what a blessing!" said Maxy with a nod. Felicity having gone off with her friends around the rear of the house removed the possibility of questioning her further, so Sonja asked Liev and Maxy.
"Friends. .Felicity. Her father is. . in good spirits?"
This new line stopped the two a beat-the man had an evasive cast to his eyes, then corrected his posture. "That man is trouble. Once. . I had the fortune of calling him a friend. Even neighbor. . but he has since gone a different way."
"What do you mean?"
"Tis a dark day when the devil has a run with your heart. That man, lost to ruin, hurting from his wife. . lost to. . evil. ."
"But what about his daughter? Is she not in harms way? Why does she not take up residence here, with her friends? You are good people I can tell, so why does she remain there?"
". . Sonja. . we believe she loves her father. . .and" the woman for the first time revealed a capacity for vulnerability. Even if it may not have been her own, but in the keeping of another's. ". . her mother's passing was not her father's fault. . .but the felicity's."
The woman watched the whole scene as it unfolded. She felt something within her speak, and she silenced it to hear her own thoughts. It was spectacular how with so much ease that red devil was able to topple that giant of a man, and the other two before him. With such ease of skill! With such power! The broadsword when she it penetrated the meaty exterior of the goliath sent tremors through her, and she found her hand where it hadn't been, prior to the kill.
And so publicly! She tracked her with ease. It was part of the newness of her, and the other necessity in dominating the devil.
She would! Oh, and how she would!
It was a common thing though. She followed the she-devil all the way from Dead-Mans crook up until she alighted here in this soft tiny hoot of a town that was little more than a manure pit and smelled like one at that. She hated farms and cows and farmers and those miserable old fools who cleaned up after them.
Maybe it was where she was. She checked the bottom of her feet.
The woman retreated into one of her dark corners and shut her eyes. Night would overtake the town soon. Spirits and entities will have their run of the land and she would too.
She would be someone with whom even the great Kulan Gath would think twice before confronting! She would shake the earth and free those tortured and damned! The she-devil Sonja will know her soon enough, and her many friends.