Ranma 1/2 was created by Rumiko Takahashi and its characters belong to her, and her alone. I'm just kinda borrowing them. A few others are mine. The story below is for entertainment purposes only, and not to be used commercially. ...Obviously.
"Learning Curve"
Part XIX (v1.3)
by: J. Wagner
12,000 BCE
Dusk.
The man heard the wolf's growl, and felt the tension of the animal to strike, as from the assembly of spear holders another, smaller framed, form stepped forward, in an ornate mask framed by massive animal horns, in clothes decorated with strange and enigmatic symbols. The shaman paused, as if to consider the proper course of action, before deciding on shaking his staff vigorously. When that failed, he started to chant in long, run on pseudo-words.
The object of his ire frowned. It sounded like there was actually a female voice behind that mask, but the language was strange and incomprehensible, and he could not be sure. Stepping forward, he held his arms wide; lion skin cloak billowing behind him in the warm breeze blowing down from the heart of the island. He was a traveler, and a hunter, far from home. Large hands and great muscles tensed, however, in case he was not greeted civilly. They, like so many others, would not stand in the way of the Hunt.
"I greet you, in the name of the All Mother," he put forward, in the northern Zul'ylli dialect, the closest he knew that these people could understand. "I am..."
"We were warned of you, Dark Traveler." The shaman's fist clenched tightly on the old wooden staff, the many bird feathers imbedded in it shaking softly from the motion. "This is no place for you."
"My prey is on this island. I will continue the Hunt." He tipped his head to the side, slightly, recounting the number of spear bearers, and those armed with crude bows.
"You will leave here... or we will force you to leave." The shaman said, firmly.
The other man's frown deepened into a well-worn scowl, heavy jaw settling into its seemingly natural position. He was never one for much negotiation, nor did he care much for those foolish enough to oppose the Hunt. Years before, maybe, there would have been hesitation, but there was none now. His lips slowly parted, and he spoke a single word.
No sooner had said word left his mouth, than a great gray wolf, two hundred pounds of teeth and muscle, leapt forward, covering the distance in a heartbeat. Before the shaman could bring up any sort of defense, the animal was upon him with a horrible ferocity. His throat was in the animal's jaws, his back was on the ground, and he tasted only his own blood, not even feeling the snap of his spine as the great canid shook him like a rag doll. The party of spear wielders turned to the animal, as if to make some action against it, but only until the first two screamed and fell apart at the waist, cleaved almost cleanly in half. A greater danger - the animal's master, was already among them.
The lion cloaked man spun after landing from his jump, a three-foot long obsidian blade in one hand, and the broken neck of another spearman in his left. Arrows flew, at point blank range, from those few that kept their wits about them, only to be swatted out of the air by the dead spearman's corpse, swing like a club against a small swarm of insects, striking each out of the air without failure or miss. Readying the next set of flint tipped arrows, however, averted the tribesmen's attention from another danger.
Snarling, the wolf set upon them, swatting one aside with its haunches, before tearing the throat out of another, this time effortlessly and efficiently. Its master, meanwhile, continued his grim massacre, even after the warriors fled in disarray. The discipline and bravery of the cadre had simply fallen apart when faced with the speed, the power... the inhuman ability of their opponents. In the end, it looked like one would escape, having broken from the melee early on at top speed, until something gray and fast ran him down amid a rocky rubble strewn volcanic bed.
Wiping the blood from his stone sword with the furred hood of one of the slain, the traveler tied his weapon back onto its place on his belt and left thigh. Features unchanged, he approached the body of the shaman, and slowly removed the antlered mask. Soft features, middle aged, greeted him - so it had been a woman.
A foolish woman.
Checking the far back of the neck, where the wolf's teeth had not done much damage, he saw the small black etching in the skin, what would be called a tattoo centuries in the future: that of the coiled serpent and the spear. The sight of yet another human community corrupted was one he had become all too familiar with. Scratching it off with a finger, until a bloody gash obscured any sort of mark, the warrior barked out a short prayer to the All Mother. With that done, he stood up and looked out and over to the mountain dominating the center of the small volcanic island. There was a hint of ash in the wind. He held out his left hand, silently seeking comfort, companionship, and even understanding, and found the rough fur of his tracker and his only true ally. Scratching behind her ears, the man's face softened into a small smile.
"Soon." He said to the wolf, as much to assure himself as her.
They began the long walk, and resumed the Hunt.
"Soon, we shall have our prey."
Walking purposefully through the mist shrouded beachhead and deeper inland, he felt the blood in his veins boil and surge. The power within him was just now breaking the surface and beginning to emerge. At his side, as always, Wolf whined, sensing her master's agitation. Eyes narrowed and jaw set, the man made his way up the rocky hillside, and towards the summit of the volcano. After so many years, and so much spilt blood, this was where his prey had finally settled on making a last stand.
His prey was old, now. The years had not been kind to it, as he had sworn when the Hunt had began, in his youth, and it had slowly become infirm and weak as a result. But still, it was powerful. Beyond powerful. It was far more terrible years ago, when the prey, then the predator, came through the tiny village of Amaun, in the Land encircling the Sea. It had raided, and it had pillaged, for food, for All Mother idols, and most importantly, for slaves. He had seen it then, fat and spoiled and happy by centuries of devoted slavery. He had felt it in his mind, and he alone had thrown off the shackles of the prey's will to dominate.
His sword sharpened on the bodies of his own people, he had begun the Hunt.
The Hunt, and the promise of the Kill, had taken him to the far north, where the snow never melted, and where the Ice was as Water. In the time of years, it had taken him south, where the earth was not but stinking jungle and swamp. His youth lost, it had then taken him over the Deep Water. And, now, when he sensed that the Hunt was ending, either in his death or in his triumph, a feeling of unease and listlessness came over him. Regardless of outcome, this was the end... the culmination of his life.
Pausing, he checked the scent and the tracks, and confirmed what his Wolf was already indicating. It was leading him, purposefully now, to a battleground. Moving off the hillside, and around, he warily entered a dark cave. It was a trap, and for a moment fear and inadequacy wracked him - was he ready? There was a temptation to wait, to try and draw the Prey out, yet at the same time, offer it a chance to escape... Indecision quickly gave way to focus, in the Hunt, in survival, and most importantly, on revenge. He wanted it, he wanted it so badly it burned, and he was no longer willing to wait.
The prey was smart, and no doubt leading him to a place of its choosing. The cave was indeed dark, but the hunter's eyes adjusted quickly, and his other senses were more than powerful enough to compensate. Sweeping his large lion skin cloak off to the side, he advanced through the maze of high cavern walls and over jagged narrow crevasses. He was so close now, closer than he'd been in years; the sharp acid taste in his mouth was almost indescribable. It was mixture of fear, anticipation, acceptance, and closure that one only experienced once a lifetime.
Wolf started to snarl as she led him into a vast chamber, the ceiling invisible in the darkness. High above, as it started to slant inwards, were strange runes, the size of men. Perhaps painted, or imbedded in the rock, at his presence they began to glow like spirit lights. It was warm, too - musky, like a tepid swamp, or some reptile's lair. The hunter snorted at the smell. It was foul, and possessed of an alien quality unable to accurately describe. Below, at his feet, and all around him, the world started to shimmer, and it took a moment for the hunter to realize what it was.
The cavern was full of springs...
***
329 BCE
Hyrcania.
Artabazus stroked his beard, and considered the situation. The night was unseasonably, and unexpectedly, cold. The land of Hyrcania, that he knew intimately, was a part of the ancient Persian Empire until very recently, and nicely located on the southern shores of the Hyrcanian Ocean. The Elburz Mountains were just to the south and west, affording those in the region a comfortable, almost tropical, climate. The soil was fertile; in their time as its rulers, the Persians had considered it to be one of the special places that the supreme god Ahuramazda had created personally.
Tightening his bronze bracers, he grumbled something softly to himself, and watched for their guests. The moon was already up, though it wasn't quite dark enough for the great orb to start glowing. Looking to his left, he saw his benefactor - his locks of curled hair caught slightly in the breeze. The head of the man was imperceptibly turned towards the left shoulder, and his whole body seemed to both radiate calm confidence and a sort of anticipation. Without his helmet, the light from hundreds of fires shadowed his face and prominent eyebrows.
"Ah!" The man took a step forward, and smiled. "They come."
To his side, several other men shifted uncomfortably. They were unarmed, except for their leader's bronze sword. Off to the side, forming a veritable wall of metal shields and long sarissa spears, reaching up past three times the height of a man, the army stood at attention, and waited. They were elite hypaspists, 'shield bearers,' and technically all the protection any of the generals could ask for.
Perhaps, then, it was not really fear.
No, thinking about that, Artabazus realized he wasn't afraid, but rather apprehensive, and suspected the others were, too. They were meeting with people who were neither trustworthy, nor particularly friendly, who had fought against Artabazus's leaders, both old and new. They had even dared to assume the authority to negotiate, or to bargain. Perhaps it would have been a better thing, in the long term, if they had simply been dealt with, rather than talked to, simply out of curiosity.
Of course, Hercules had met them, so why not Alexander the Great?
"They approach!" A runner came forward, almost short of breath, and in no way due to the run. He bowed before Alexander, before being quickly dismissed.
The great leader cleared his throat, and spoke, out loud, "I do wonder if they speak Greek. It would be a terrible shame if they did not."
"A terrible shame, my King." Artabazus silently hoped they only spoke Persian. If so, he'd be able to translate, and dictate some measure of the conversation. The last great Persian King, Darius, had kept one in his court in Persephone, but what they were about to see here was something else entirely.
The clatter of hooves heralded their approach, and out of the hazy illumination of the many great campfires, they appeared. These that led their host were obviously warriors, bedecked in fine scale and splint armor, similar to that of Alexander's own Cataphract Cavalry. Their expressions were hard, and their eyes invisible, under the darkness of their helmets. In pairs, they dismounted, and formed an honor guard.
It was the next set, however: the archers (though they wisely kept their bows strapped behind them) that drove home just who and what they were. A hundred of them, eventually, all horse mounted, lined up as the walls of Macedonian infantrymen slowly backed away to give them room, and yet just enough room that their spears could drop, and in so doing, have the visitors dashed to pieces in a single maneuver. The archer women, and they were obviously women, both from their long flowing hair, of exotic colors and shades, and from their exposed left breasts, stood behind their honor guard, until a chariot, not of Scythian or Egyptian design, moved forward and came to a stop. Three women stepped from it, and walked forward.
Their leader - decked in gold dress and smelling of orange blossoms, was a tall, lithe woman, with bare arms hiding wiry and firm muscle beneath soft skin. Her high cheekbones, and bright eyes, gave her an exotic look; different than any the men had seen before. She was strikingly beautiful. She was undoubtedly Thalestris, Queen of the Amazons, hailing from the 'Kingdom' of Themiskyra, a fair distance to the northeast. Alexander had corresponded with her twice, via letters, over last year, demanding passage, recognition, and tribute. The first was refused, but the Queen had supposedly given in to the last two, and been desirous of a meeting between them.
Alexander's Generals were, Artabazus knew without looking, suspicious and wary of any forward plots or schemes from these warrior women. Hundred years prior, they had, under their young Queen Penthesileia, participated in the Trojan War, on behalf of Troy and King Priam. The Amazon outposts in the area had suffered as a result of the fall of Troy, at the hands of the Greeks, and they had never again set foot in Cappadocia, instead falling back to Arminia, where repeated raids finally convinced them to retreat ever further east - in almost seven hundred years, Greek eyes had not seen the legendary Amazon women as they passed from fact to fancy.
Among the Persians, Thalestris was known as a great conqueror in the eastern land of Massagetes and beyond. She was reputedly fearless of any man, decisive in battle, strong of sword arm, and comely in appearance. ...A great Virgin Queen. Artabazus crossed his arms, frowning, as the beautiful woman bowed politely to Alexander, just enough to be dignified and show respect, and yet far short of the submission required of all those who would stand before the Great Macedonian.
"I am Thalestris, Queen of the Amazons, Sovereign of Themiskyra." She stood slightly taller than Alexander, but he didn't seem to show any discomfort over it.
"You stand before Alexander the Third of Macedon, King of All Greece, Pharaoh of Ancient Egypt, Lord of Persia, Lord of Babylon, child of Phillip the Second, and Son of Zeus." Alexander grinned, mysteriously, and for an instant, the warrior woman balked. In naming so many titles, was he being sarcastic, contemptuous, serious...?
"Your tribute." She quickly, and obviously, decided to avoid taking the chance of not taking what he had said too seriously, and skipped straight to the first, but probably least important, order of business. She waved her hand at her entourage, and four of the armored female warriors brought forward a large wooden chest of gold. Laying it before the Great, they opened it, revealing three stacks of golden plates, unmarked, but pure. It was no small amount of gold that Alexander had demanded of them, but it was a tiny pittance compared to the horde that had been taken after the sacking of the Persian capital and taken from the vast Persian treasury. It represented more the fact that they had to pay tribute to him, rather than any amount of riches he was desirous of.
"It pleases me to see that your people are not so proud, or foolish, as to challenge my ...entreatments." Alexander dismissed the tribute with a gesture. He alone had been given 'permission' to enter Amazon lands, the women had steadfastly refused to let any of his explorers, representatives, or men anywhere near their lands. Still, for the moment, he was willing to overlook their stubbornness in this respect. Themiskyra was still far from his reach, presently, unless he went out of his way to subdue it, in which case Queen Thalestris had assured him that they would fight to the last woman warrior.
There would, indeed, come a time when Themiskyra bowed before him, but until then, there were more important, richer, and more populous targets for expansion. Which was his second concern in this meeting. Thalestris supposedly had extensive maps of the east, maps and information that Alexander both wanted out of curiosity, out of a sense of destiny, and out of simply practicality. From what he had heard, there was far more land to the east of Persia than he had been taught and led to believe.
"Great Alexander, I would ask for a personal meeting between ourselves," Thalestris spoke slowly, measuring every word. "After which, you may ask of the Amazon people would you would."
"A personal meeting?" The man seemed to consider it only half heartedly, before nodding in approval. "Of what nature?"
"My reasons for visiting were not purely rooted in my desire to cement a relationship between yourself and my people." She followed him as he walked, alone, past his Generals and to a large tent, from which came a soft glow. Her two servants kept behind as well, entertaining themselves in conversation with Alexander's generals, while her troops stayed as they were and at review. Pushing aside the flap of the tent, and into its lavish interior, the Macedonian King walked inside, though his eyes never left his guest.
She recognized his wariness.
"I have heard many things about your people, Queen Thalestris," he began, "Your history with my people has not been healthy one. Why come to me now, rather than wait for my armies to turn your way? Do you hope to find yourself in my good graces so easily?"
Thalestris seemed surprised by the coldness of his voice. "What occurred in the past, occurred in the distant past. When word came that the Gordian Knot had been undone, and that a single man, leading an army out of Greece, dared to challenge the might of All Persia, I prepared myself."
"You spied on me?" His voice betrayed equal measures shock, admiration, and anger.
"I knew of you, and watched your progress," Thalestris clarified, "I, too, am known as somewhat of a conqueror. The life of my people is not an easy one, beset on many sides by many powerful enemies. We are... being constricted, as if by some great serpent."
"And this affair concerns me, how?"
"The lands far to the east are vast and hostile, even as its once great kingdom is scattered and in disarray. Even a man of your ability will not be able to subdue it easily, or... possibly in one lifetime." She rubbed her hands together, and seemed to glide over to one of the drapes of Persian finery, testing the material delicately between her fingers. "The Amazons will never again bow to a man, Alexander of Macedon. Not even you. But... they can be made to serve you, and aid you, and in so doing, aid and strengthen themselves."
The man's brow furrowed in thought. "And how would I be secure in your loyalty? What do I have, save the word of an Amazon?"
"That..." Thalestris reached up, to the hem of her dress, and Alexander caught sight of a flash of steel, hidden amid other, less dangerous things. "Remains to be seen!"
She lunged, dagger flashing in the half-light. Alexander's blue eyes widened in surprise, then darkened drastically in rage, as his sword flashed out, and struck the weapon, knocking it aside. The King was no slouch in combat - he had been trained to fight since his youth, and he rushed into combat, leading his elite cavalry personally, not simply because it was good for morale, but because he enjoyed it. This Amazon woman would challenge him?
He silently accepted.
Hercules had bested many of them, in his time; surely another Son of Zeus could repeat the minor feat with but one, Queen or not. He brought his sword arm back, and Thalestris caught him at the wrist. Amazed by her strength in holding his arm at bay, and keeping the muscles from drawing it back into a position to strike, he felt the flat of her foot hook at his hamstring. Making a quick decision, he let go of his sword, twisted, and seized her wrist in his now open hand.
They hit the ground at nearly the same time.
A tiger strike to the sternum surprised him, and stunned the Macedonian for all of a half second, which the Amazon Queen used to break free of his partial grapple, and get back on her feet. Alexander, however, was almost on his feet himself, having tucked and rolled back, his light bronze armor flexible and well designed. He faced her, and saw her take up some form of fighting stance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his sword lying amid the remains of a smashed jug, water collecting on the edge.
Setting himself, Alexander focused on the woman, deciding only to make a grab for the weapon if the opportunity arose. He was skilled in the art of Pankration, in truth, one of the best, and if this Amazon woman thought that disarming him of his blade was any great advantage, she was sorely mistaken. He could already feel the rising power of his pneuma, feeding into his body and mind, focusing him on this single task. Then the woman was attacking, with animal-like jabs, growing rapidly in speed and ferocity.
Where, he wondered, had she learned to fight like this?
She was good, regardless. Faster by a fair margin than anyone he could remember seeing or fighting personally, and incredibly strong for a female of her frame. Still, even aside from her impressive physical attributes, her fighting technique itself puzzled him. It was obviously some form of animal-mockery, he could tell, but while he had observed martial fighting styles from across the known world, he had never seen anything like what this Amazon was doing, while whittling away at his crossed arms, and toughened torso. Amending that, it did vaguely remind him of something he had seen when he was in Egypt, in the Oasis of Siwa... the Monks of Sethu...
Thalestris lunged, fast as a cobra, and fingers like talons. Alexander was just as fast, however, and seeing opportunity, slipped past her attack, counterattacking with a heel kick to her left calf. The Amazon grunted from the blow, and tried to flip the man off his feet. It was a mistake. Pankration was primarily a grappling style of fighting, focusing first on getting an opponent prone or on the ground, and then taking advantage of that fact through the use of submission attacks or blows to the upper body. Her initiating a grappling maneuver with him was the worst thing she could have done.
Muscles straining, he pivoted and crouched, pulling back and kneeing her in the small of the back. Without hesitation he pulled her down completely off her feet. Hooking her legs, to avoid being kicked, he pinned her down with the weight of his body and bronze scale mail armor, locking her hands above her head. She struggled for only a moment, before relaxing, and appearing to give up attempting escape.
"You beat Thalestris," she said. Or maybe asked. He wasn't sure. Her Greek was starting to slur.
"Of course. I am Alexander. It is my place to conquer," he replied, calmly, when her head suddenly moved. For an instant, he thought she was going to try and head butt him, but instead, her lips caught his own, ferociously. The Great Conqueror's eyes bugged out, and the Amazon forced her tongue past his slack mouth and licked over his teeth, silently thankful she didn't feel any fangs. Then, just as quickly, it was over.
"What are you...?" He started, his grip on her still strong, but now his voice was obviously confused. Rose highlighting her cheeks, Thalestris licked her lips.
"Is Amazon tradition."
"Really?" He smiled. "How quaint."
"I have a proposal for you, Alexander of Macedon." She looked up at him, eyes dark and wide, her voice returning to well spoken Greek. "I wish a union... the blood of Artemis, and the blood of Zeus. The child of Amazon and Alexander... would it not be glorious? A glorious heritage for us both, a new Dynasty from which to rule over the entire world!"
"A worthy heir for you, and a girl child for me," she interrupted what she sensed as hesitation. "I ask no more, Great Alexander, than your seed, from which to grow a new future. ...None others are worthy."
His eyes closed, and when they opened again, the blue orbs shone brightly.
"How long will you be my guest here?"
"Thirteen Days," she answered, knowing that beforehand. The number was sacred to them, and if she could not seduce him into an Amazon marriage by the first day, it was unlikely he would relent anytime after that. Then there was the possibility that he would simply have them executed if she attacked him, as she would have to before they could conceive a child. Either way, rejection would be the death knell for the Amazon people, whether she died with a spear in her heart, or sentenced to rot of old age, her pride and her strength dooming her family line and her world.
"Thirteen Days?" His features settled into a smirk. "And any male child will be brought to me?"
"Yes," she answered, huskily, excitement flushing her features. "Thalestris... I will return, in such a case, until I get the girl child I need as my own heir."
He leaned in, his body pressing harder against hers, until their lips were almost touching. "Your people may not see fit to bow before me as their King... proud Amazon, but you will do this: You will call me King, and I will gift you with what you desire."
"Then..." She hesitated, for only a second. "I will call you King."
'If not Husband,' Her mind added, but soon enough, it found itself too preoccupied to care.
***
502 CE
Liang Dynasty China
"You've traveled far, honored guest. I trust the delay was not caused by any terrible inconvenience?"
The dusty traveler brushed himself off, his well-worn cloak a dark brown when once it had been a light ochre. Pulling back his hood, he looked over his shoulder, and down the flight of steps that led up to the mountain keep. The stairs had appeared, slowly, out of the ground, almost a mile back, from the lowlands below. The winding path had made its way here, to a mortarless stone building of high walls, and a sky white pagoda, invisible to those below, and nestled securely in the peaks around it. It was secluded to an extreme, but the cloaked man had known the way and recognized the signs miles back.
"There was some, but it was of little consequence once out of the Arablands." The stranger slipped off his traveling sandals, and got a good look at the one who had let him inside. He was a large warrior, at least six and a half feet tall, wearing a thick fur tunic, and baggy, loose pants.
"The Arablands?" The man got a far away look. "I went... once. Years ago. How are they now?"
"The Silk Road is nearly non existent, and it seems half the people one meets are bandits." The guest noted that his host had closed the massive metal-framed wooden doors with little effort.
"I'm sure you enjoyed the exercise." The mammoth man gave a polite bow. "I'm afraid I won't be able to show you around..."
"Bear blood?"
The man nodded.
"Think nothing of it. I believe I know the way." He inclined his head respectfully to the larger Musk warrior, and the two parted ways. Walking down the long hall, he stopped at a gleaming polished bronze shield, and checked his reflection in it. He could make out his features nicely in the metal surface, the high, prominent ears, slightly pointed, the slightly exaggerated nose and shallow chin. It was all perhaps a bit much, really - he had taken a bit more from his animal mother than he'd have liked, but the blood of the Jackal had always been a strong and dominant one.
"Ah... you must be Anun." Another Musk came up to him, a spry individual of slightly light build, with somewhat dark orange hair. He smiled broadly, displaying prominent canines.
"I am." Anun gave a small bow. "And you are...?"
"Bah'zel." He bowed back. "Blood of the Fox, obviously. Your grasp of our language here is impressive. I'm afraid my Egyptian is quite rusty. Most of the old languages are a bit rusty... no practice, you see. I can say 'Thank you' 'kill that man' and a bunch of other things, but a real conversation, I only wish!"
"Surprising. You talk a great deal..." Anun coughed, softly. "Are you...?"
"The Scribe for Lord Haabu? None other!" Bah'zel didn't seem to mind having his talkativeness pointed out. "I write a lot, so I guess its only natural I talk a lot, too."
"Yes, well. Setu prefers Scribes to be the silent type in his Court." Anun walked alongside the other Musk, keeping mental note of the place, in case he had to make another visit. It was quite lavishly decorated, though the ceilings were lower than he was accustomed to, and the general architecture not as... lofty or large in scale.
"Not very progressive. Silence is golden, but advancement comes through communication."
"Perhaps. But stability is not made through revolutions as the people here in Chi'in Ha seem so fond of."
"At least the land here hasn't been taken over by half a dozen different foreigners." Bah'zel seemed to get a small laugh out of that. Anun just frowned. "That's like the village mule - everybody's had a ride...!"
"I get the point." Anun cut his Asian counterpart off. "Is my lateness a problem for Lord Haabu?"
"Oh, no." Bah'zel shook his head, and fixed his hands behind his neck in a leisurely way. "The Dragon Lord had no problem postponing it for a few more days. We just kept the girl locked up a bit. Some of the warriors were put off with the delay, though. Having to subdue their future wives again without bruising them too much..."
Anun nodded slowly. "Understandable."
"In a way, you have to admit, it's sort of archaic."
"What?"
"You know... needing a witness from one of the other Musk Tribes to record the event. It's not like we don't have some semi-regular contact between everyone. And you know how much of a pain it is to get to the Musk in the Far East."
"Far West," Anun corrected.
"Far East, Far West... whatever. You get the general idea, though. I know it's an important occasion and all, and its good to keep comprehensive records of all the Springs, new and old, but I don't see why the other Scribe has to be there in person, when the information can be sent via courier." Bah'zel stopped in front of an open gate, where a Musk Warrior stood at attention.
"Scribe?" The guard asked.
"Get the girl. Tell King Haabu that the Setu Scribe is here and we're ready for the ceremony to begin." The fox-blood Musk paused, and faced his guest. "Unless you'd rather eat first?"
"No," Anun politely declined. "I'd rather get the ceremony over with first."
"Sounds good. Go get 'em." The Haabu Scribe motioned down the corridor, and the Musk warrior went off. Together, the two learned men went up a flight of stairs, and into an open area, with large pillars reaching up to the sky. Anun noted them, and sensed some familiarity.
"Greek?" He asked. "They certainly appear to be at least inspired in design."
"Part of a temple." Bah'zel sighed wistfully. "Way back when we brought some Greek warriors into the Tribe. It collapsed in a landslide a little over four hundred years ago, though, and was never rebuilt. We kept the pillars, though, and used them to sort of flank the path we're on. Which reminds me... you've been to Alexandria, right? I heard there was a fire... I was wondering how much of the library had been salvaged by the Setu Tribe."
"We were able to restore very little, I'm afraid. The whole of the land seems to have been overrun by these barbarian Christians, who while uneducated and good for only taking up space in our ancient lands, at least seem to have perfect the art of setting things to the torch. I was there... I saw what was left. We could not react in time to save anything of significance. Truthfully, we avoid most cities, now... the political atmosphere not what it used to be." Anun's face was impassive, but his voice betrayed his feelings in the matter.
Walking down the stone path, there was a moment of silence.
"I guess that's why we make backups," Bah'zel finally said.
"It is always prudent." Anun looked around, and felt a cool breeze move in from the west. "This is quite nice, actually. A pleasant change of pace from the desert, and the sand... and the crowds I passed through on my trip here."
"It's a beautiful country," The Fox-Musk agreed. "The low areas are all right, too. Most people don't give much trouble..."
"Amazons?"
"Yeah. A bunch of the witches." Bah'zel shrugged. "They're not a big concern, though. Usually pretty quiet, actually. Especially compared to the problems I hear your Tribe has."
"Yes... every time we try and deal with the Amazon problem to the west, particularly around the ruins of Carthage, it seems they just move and pop up somewhere else. Lately, they've settled themselves deep in the southern jungles, disrupting our activities there. It simply isn't worth the effort to go in and drive them out anymore." Anun realized he'd been getting angry, and calmed down. "It's terribly vexing, as you can imagine."
"Oh, I can. And here we are... Chouchuanshan."
"Large." Was the first word that came to mind. Anun leaned forward a bit, looking over the collection of cursed and uncursed springs. There looked to be over a hundred in all, some covered, but most open-air. It was the reason Bah'zel's tribe of Musk had settled where they did, overlooking the valley of springs. Every ten generations, the bloodlines of Musk needed to be refreshed by taking animal brides made into human form through the magic of a cursed spring.
The springs were a natural phenomenon, occurring across the world, and it was believed that most had been mapped out long ago by the Musk Tribes, when they started to scatter and wander, searching to expand, to avoid putting 'all their bread in one basket' so to speak. Around the small springs, the Musk made small outposts, to keep watch over the area, and near the largest sets of springs, the Musk settled and built their homes and fortresses from which to perfect their Art and their Existence. This set, however, was the largest Anun had ever seen, though he had heard of similar sized ones found by the Quasil Musk in the Far West.
"Yep. Pretty impressive." Bah'zel nodded, contently.
"Very impressive," Anun corrected. "How many actually have curses?"
"Oh... about half have recorded curses so far. Maybe a little more. Some of the smaller ones come and go every couple years. You know how it is... it's the same thing that happened to our old Woman Spring. One day, it just started draining away." The orange haired Musk Scribe started down the path, cut so it descended slowly and leisurely into the valley. Anun followed, listening to the different pools of drowned creatures they had down below. Some were reoccurring themes, world wide, like drowned birds and the like, but a few were exotic and unique to the region. There was a pool of drowned 'panda' which was some sort of vegetarian bear, in both a 'giant' and 'red' version... there was also a pool of drowned tiger, which wasn't a natural spring - a warrior had dragged a tiger from India to the springs, and drowned it, at the behest of the current Lord Haabu's grandfather.
There was also a very old spring, 'The Spring of Drowned Asura,' in which a statue of the Hindu goddess had fallen in. This was quite unusual, in that the statue hadn't been 'alive,' and cursed springs had never, to Anun's knowledge, 'bonded' to anything without a life force to it. Bah'zel himself had an interest in it for similar reasons, but its power and danger meant that he had to work under tight restrictions. There was also a spring of drowned octopus in a particularly stagnant pool, created by the Musk as an experiment a century ago. Another unusual spring was the spring of 'yeti-riding-ox-while-carrying-eel-and-crane.' When asked if they had any Yeti-men nearby, Bah'zel shook his head, indicating that they had been for the most part wiped out over five centuries ago, save for a scattering high in the mountain passes.
While they were talking, and the local Scribe was busy pointing out some of the more notable springs and geological features, Anun felt an advancing presence. Looking up at the path they had followed down, he saw a small group of Musk, lead by a tall figure in a white cloak, and dragonscale armor. Noticing that Anun's attention had shifted, Bah'zel quickly saw the same, and bowed down on a single knee as the dragon monarch approached. As he got closer, they could feel the tingle of the man's Ki on their own subdued auras - mentally, Anun compared him to Setu, and wondered which was more powerful. A battle between the blood relations would be, in a word, breathtaking.
"My lord," Bah'zel prompted.
"You may rise." King Haabu motioned for them to take to their feet, and they did. He faced the jackal blooded Musk. "You must be Anun, one of Setu's Scribes."
"Yes, King Haabu. It is an honor to visit your domain."
"Think nothing of it, Scribe." The dragon king gave a short laugh. "When this business is concluded, you must share tales of your travels, as well as news of my great cousin. I have not heard directly from the Egyptian Court in some time."
"It would be a pleasure, Lord." Anun gave a deep bow. "Are we ready to begin?"
"Yes. I believe we are." Haabu turned slightly, to the guards behind him. "Bring the girl forward."
Two mid sized Musk warriors walked up to the Scribes, holding steady a naked woman. To Anun, she was obviously Asian or near Asian, though not Indian. She was fair of size, and fine of build - a good choice, overall. A very good choice, actually, though he wondered where she had come across natural blonde hair in this region. She seemed to have already exhausted herself struggling against the two guards, and collapsed into a sort of semi-consciousness. Her eyes were half closed, and had a distant quality to them.
"Not a bad looker, is she?" Bah'zel seemed to have been thinking something similar, ribbing the Egyptian Musk rudely. "Especially for an Amazon peasant girl."
"She's quite suitable," Anun quickly agreed, and kept it at that.
"All right. This way!" The Fox-Musk clapped his hands together, and took them down a short set of wooden steps and into the actual springs area itself. The ground was lose, wet and slippery, but a series of slightly raised wooden planks and platforms crisscrossed the area, allowing visitors to walk around without risking slipping and falling into one of the cursed springs. He led the two guards and Anun a short distance, to a large nearby pool within easy access to the shore. King Haabu seemed content to watch from a distance.
Suddenly, the woman came to life, and started kicking and howling, like a mad animal. The guard held her easily, and after only a few seconds of furious struggle, she collapsed and became limp again. Only her mouth moved, in ragged gasps.
"No... no please. Please!" As they approached the spring, her voice became louder. "No please! Please don't! Lord Haabu! I have done you do wrong! No injustice! Spare me! Spare me, please! Oh please, I beg of you! Please please please pleaseplease..."
Bah'zel looked from the panicked girl, from where she was held by the two guards, kneeling at the edge of the spring, to his King. Haabu merely nodded, and the Fox-Musk faced the two guards.
"Do it," he said, simply.
The girl took in a great gasp of air, before the two Musk guards plunged her head below the water. To her credit, she held her breath for some time, as if delaying the inevitable for even a minute was of some great importance. When her air began to run out, however, the struggling began anew. Her legs kicked out, wildly, and her hands clenched and unclenched, trying to find purchase in something... anything. Bubbles rose from the water, as she breathlessly screamed.
In a few seconds, it was over.
Anun looked away, and saw that Haabu had already headed inside. Turning back to the lifeless corpse, its head still in the water, its body on dry land, he saw Bah'zel lean down and check for a pulse, making sure that she was dead. Standing, the local Scribe crossed his arms. "Well... she looks dead. Leave the body there for... an hour or two. No point taking chances with the spring not accepting the curse because we took the body out too early. Then have it disposed of in the low country somewhere."
"Problems?" Anun asked, when Bah'zel walked past him.
"Minor problems..." He trailed off after that, and clasped the other man's shoulder. "Let's get back inside. Tonight, in celebration of this event, we feast!"
"Learning Curve"
Part XIX (v1.3)
by: J. Wagner
12,000 BCE
Dusk.
The man heard the wolf's growl, and felt the tension of the animal to strike, as from the assembly of spear holders another, smaller framed, form stepped forward, in an ornate mask framed by massive animal horns, in clothes decorated with strange and enigmatic symbols. The shaman paused, as if to consider the proper course of action, before deciding on shaking his staff vigorously. When that failed, he started to chant in long, run on pseudo-words.
The object of his ire frowned. It sounded like there was actually a female voice behind that mask, but the language was strange and incomprehensible, and he could not be sure. Stepping forward, he held his arms wide; lion skin cloak billowing behind him in the warm breeze blowing down from the heart of the island. He was a traveler, and a hunter, far from home. Large hands and great muscles tensed, however, in case he was not greeted civilly. They, like so many others, would not stand in the way of the Hunt.
"I greet you, in the name of the All Mother," he put forward, in the northern Zul'ylli dialect, the closest he knew that these people could understand. "I am..."
"We were warned of you, Dark Traveler." The shaman's fist clenched tightly on the old wooden staff, the many bird feathers imbedded in it shaking softly from the motion. "This is no place for you."
"My prey is on this island. I will continue the Hunt." He tipped his head to the side, slightly, recounting the number of spear bearers, and those armed with crude bows.
"You will leave here... or we will force you to leave." The shaman said, firmly.
The other man's frown deepened into a well-worn scowl, heavy jaw settling into its seemingly natural position. He was never one for much negotiation, nor did he care much for those foolish enough to oppose the Hunt. Years before, maybe, there would have been hesitation, but there was none now. His lips slowly parted, and he spoke a single word.
No sooner had said word left his mouth, than a great gray wolf, two hundred pounds of teeth and muscle, leapt forward, covering the distance in a heartbeat. Before the shaman could bring up any sort of defense, the animal was upon him with a horrible ferocity. His throat was in the animal's jaws, his back was on the ground, and he tasted only his own blood, not even feeling the snap of his spine as the great canid shook him like a rag doll. The party of spear wielders turned to the animal, as if to make some action against it, but only until the first two screamed and fell apart at the waist, cleaved almost cleanly in half. A greater danger - the animal's master, was already among them.
The lion cloaked man spun after landing from his jump, a three-foot long obsidian blade in one hand, and the broken neck of another spearman in his left. Arrows flew, at point blank range, from those few that kept their wits about them, only to be swatted out of the air by the dead spearman's corpse, swing like a club against a small swarm of insects, striking each out of the air without failure or miss. Readying the next set of flint tipped arrows, however, averted the tribesmen's attention from another danger.
Snarling, the wolf set upon them, swatting one aside with its haunches, before tearing the throat out of another, this time effortlessly and efficiently. Its master, meanwhile, continued his grim massacre, even after the warriors fled in disarray. The discipline and bravery of the cadre had simply fallen apart when faced with the speed, the power... the inhuman ability of their opponents. In the end, it looked like one would escape, having broken from the melee early on at top speed, until something gray and fast ran him down amid a rocky rubble strewn volcanic bed.
Wiping the blood from his stone sword with the furred hood of one of the slain, the traveler tied his weapon back onto its place on his belt and left thigh. Features unchanged, he approached the body of the shaman, and slowly removed the antlered mask. Soft features, middle aged, greeted him - so it had been a woman.
A foolish woman.
Checking the far back of the neck, where the wolf's teeth had not done much damage, he saw the small black etching in the skin, what would be called a tattoo centuries in the future: that of the coiled serpent and the spear. The sight of yet another human community corrupted was one he had become all too familiar with. Scratching it off with a finger, until a bloody gash obscured any sort of mark, the warrior barked out a short prayer to the All Mother. With that done, he stood up and looked out and over to the mountain dominating the center of the small volcanic island. There was a hint of ash in the wind. He held out his left hand, silently seeking comfort, companionship, and even understanding, and found the rough fur of his tracker and his only true ally. Scratching behind her ears, the man's face softened into a small smile.
"Soon." He said to the wolf, as much to assure himself as her.
They began the long walk, and resumed the Hunt.
"Soon, we shall have our prey."
Walking purposefully through the mist shrouded beachhead and deeper inland, he felt the blood in his veins boil and surge. The power within him was just now breaking the surface and beginning to emerge. At his side, as always, Wolf whined, sensing her master's agitation. Eyes narrowed and jaw set, the man made his way up the rocky hillside, and towards the summit of the volcano. After so many years, and so much spilt blood, this was where his prey had finally settled on making a last stand.
His prey was old, now. The years had not been kind to it, as he had sworn when the Hunt had began, in his youth, and it had slowly become infirm and weak as a result. But still, it was powerful. Beyond powerful. It was far more terrible years ago, when the prey, then the predator, came through the tiny village of Amaun, in the Land encircling the Sea. It had raided, and it had pillaged, for food, for All Mother idols, and most importantly, for slaves. He had seen it then, fat and spoiled and happy by centuries of devoted slavery. He had felt it in his mind, and he alone had thrown off the shackles of the prey's will to dominate.
His sword sharpened on the bodies of his own people, he had begun the Hunt.
The Hunt, and the promise of the Kill, had taken him to the far north, where the snow never melted, and where the Ice was as Water. In the time of years, it had taken him south, where the earth was not but stinking jungle and swamp. His youth lost, it had then taken him over the Deep Water. And, now, when he sensed that the Hunt was ending, either in his death or in his triumph, a feeling of unease and listlessness came over him. Regardless of outcome, this was the end... the culmination of his life.
Pausing, he checked the scent and the tracks, and confirmed what his Wolf was already indicating. It was leading him, purposefully now, to a battleground. Moving off the hillside, and around, he warily entered a dark cave. It was a trap, and for a moment fear and inadequacy wracked him - was he ready? There was a temptation to wait, to try and draw the Prey out, yet at the same time, offer it a chance to escape... Indecision quickly gave way to focus, in the Hunt, in survival, and most importantly, on revenge. He wanted it, he wanted it so badly it burned, and he was no longer willing to wait.
The prey was smart, and no doubt leading him to a place of its choosing. The cave was indeed dark, but the hunter's eyes adjusted quickly, and his other senses were more than powerful enough to compensate. Sweeping his large lion skin cloak off to the side, he advanced through the maze of high cavern walls and over jagged narrow crevasses. He was so close now, closer than he'd been in years; the sharp acid taste in his mouth was almost indescribable. It was mixture of fear, anticipation, acceptance, and closure that one only experienced once a lifetime.
Wolf started to snarl as she led him into a vast chamber, the ceiling invisible in the darkness. High above, as it started to slant inwards, were strange runes, the size of men. Perhaps painted, or imbedded in the rock, at his presence they began to glow like spirit lights. It was warm, too - musky, like a tepid swamp, or some reptile's lair. The hunter snorted at the smell. It was foul, and possessed of an alien quality unable to accurately describe. Below, at his feet, and all around him, the world started to shimmer, and it took a moment for the hunter to realize what it was.
The cavern was full of springs...
***
329 BCE
Hyrcania.
Artabazus stroked his beard, and considered the situation. The night was unseasonably, and unexpectedly, cold. The land of Hyrcania, that he knew intimately, was a part of the ancient Persian Empire until very recently, and nicely located on the southern shores of the Hyrcanian Ocean. The Elburz Mountains were just to the south and west, affording those in the region a comfortable, almost tropical, climate. The soil was fertile; in their time as its rulers, the Persians had considered it to be one of the special places that the supreme god Ahuramazda had created personally.
Tightening his bronze bracers, he grumbled something softly to himself, and watched for their guests. The moon was already up, though it wasn't quite dark enough for the great orb to start glowing. Looking to his left, he saw his benefactor - his locks of curled hair caught slightly in the breeze. The head of the man was imperceptibly turned towards the left shoulder, and his whole body seemed to both radiate calm confidence and a sort of anticipation. Without his helmet, the light from hundreds of fires shadowed his face and prominent eyebrows.
"Ah!" The man took a step forward, and smiled. "They come."
To his side, several other men shifted uncomfortably. They were unarmed, except for their leader's bronze sword. Off to the side, forming a veritable wall of metal shields and long sarissa spears, reaching up past three times the height of a man, the army stood at attention, and waited. They were elite hypaspists, 'shield bearers,' and technically all the protection any of the generals could ask for.
Perhaps, then, it was not really fear.
No, thinking about that, Artabazus realized he wasn't afraid, but rather apprehensive, and suspected the others were, too. They were meeting with people who were neither trustworthy, nor particularly friendly, who had fought against Artabazus's leaders, both old and new. They had even dared to assume the authority to negotiate, or to bargain. Perhaps it would have been a better thing, in the long term, if they had simply been dealt with, rather than talked to, simply out of curiosity.
Of course, Hercules had met them, so why not Alexander the Great?
"They approach!" A runner came forward, almost short of breath, and in no way due to the run. He bowed before Alexander, before being quickly dismissed.
The great leader cleared his throat, and spoke, out loud, "I do wonder if they speak Greek. It would be a terrible shame if they did not."
"A terrible shame, my King." Artabazus silently hoped they only spoke Persian. If so, he'd be able to translate, and dictate some measure of the conversation. The last great Persian King, Darius, had kept one in his court in Persephone, but what they were about to see here was something else entirely.
The clatter of hooves heralded their approach, and out of the hazy illumination of the many great campfires, they appeared. These that led their host were obviously warriors, bedecked in fine scale and splint armor, similar to that of Alexander's own Cataphract Cavalry. Their expressions were hard, and their eyes invisible, under the darkness of their helmets. In pairs, they dismounted, and formed an honor guard.
It was the next set, however: the archers (though they wisely kept their bows strapped behind them) that drove home just who and what they were. A hundred of them, eventually, all horse mounted, lined up as the walls of Macedonian infantrymen slowly backed away to give them room, and yet just enough room that their spears could drop, and in so doing, have the visitors dashed to pieces in a single maneuver. The archer women, and they were obviously women, both from their long flowing hair, of exotic colors and shades, and from their exposed left breasts, stood behind their honor guard, until a chariot, not of Scythian or Egyptian design, moved forward and came to a stop. Three women stepped from it, and walked forward.
Their leader - decked in gold dress and smelling of orange blossoms, was a tall, lithe woman, with bare arms hiding wiry and firm muscle beneath soft skin. Her high cheekbones, and bright eyes, gave her an exotic look; different than any the men had seen before. She was strikingly beautiful. She was undoubtedly Thalestris, Queen of the Amazons, hailing from the 'Kingdom' of Themiskyra, a fair distance to the northeast. Alexander had corresponded with her twice, via letters, over last year, demanding passage, recognition, and tribute. The first was refused, but the Queen had supposedly given in to the last two, and been desirous of a meeting between them.
Alexander's Generals were, Artabazus knew without looking, suspicious and wary of any forward plots or schemes from these warrior women. Hundred years prior, they had, under their young Queen Penthesileia, participated in the Trojan War, on behalf of Troy and King Priam. The Amazon outposts in the area had suffered as a result of the fall of Troy, at the hands of the Greeks, and they had never again set foot in Cappadocia, instead falling back to Arminia, where repeated raids finally convinced them to retreat ever further east - in almost seven hundred years, Greek eyes had not seen the legendary Amazon women as they passed from fact to fancy.
Among the Persians, Thalestris was known as a great conqueror in the eastern land of Massagetes and beyond. She was reputedly fearless of any man, decisive in battle, strong of sword arm, and comely in appearance. ...A great Virgin Queen. Artabazus crossed his arms, frowning, as the beautiful woman bowed politely to Alexander, just enough to be dignified and show respect, and yet far short of the submission required of all those who would stand before the Great Macedonian.
"I am Thalestris, Queen of the Amazons, Sovereign of Themiskyra." She stood slightly taller than Alexander, but he didn't seem to show any discomfort over it.
"You stand before Alexander the Third of Macedon, King of All Greece, Pharaoh of Ancient Egypt, Lord of Persia, Lord of Babylon, child of Phillip the Second, and Son of Zeus." Alexander grinned, mysteriously, and for an instant, the warrior woman balked. In naming so many titles, was he being sarcastic, contemptuous, serious...?
"Your tribute." She quickly, and obviously, decided to avoid taking the chance of not taking what he had said too seriously, and skipped straight to the first, but probably least important, order of business. She waved her hand at her entourage, and four of the armored female warriors brought forward a large wooden chest of gold. Laying it before the Great, they opened it, revealing three stacks of golden plates, unmarked, but pure. It was no small amount of gold that Alexander had demanded of them, but it was a tiny pittance compared to the horde that had been taken after the sacking of the Persian capital and taken from the vast Persian treasury. It represented more the fact that they had to pay tribute to him, rather than any amount of riches he was desirous of.
"It pleases me to see that your people are not so proud, or foolish, as to challenge my ...entreatments." Alexander dismissed the tribute with a gesture. He alone had been given 'permission' to enter Amazon lands, the women had steadfastly refused to let any of his explorers, representatives, or men anywhere near their lands. Still, for the moment, he was willing to overlook their stubbornness in this respect. Themiskyra was still far from his reach, presently, unless he went out of his way to subdue it, in which case Queen Thalestris had assured him that they would fight to the last woman warrior.
There would, indeed, come a time when Themiskyra bowed before him, but until then, there were more important, richer, and more populous targets for expansion. Which was his second concern in this meeting. Thalestris supposedly had extensive maps of the east, maps and information that Alexander both wanted out of curiosity, out of a sense of destiny, and out of simply practicality. From what he had heard, there was far more land to the east of Persia than he had been taught and led to believe.
"Great Alexander, I would ask for a personal meeting between ourselves," Thalestris spoke slowly, measuring every word. "After which, you may ask of the Amazon people would you would."
"A personal meeting?" The man seemed to consider it only half heartedly, before nodding in approval. "Of what nature?"
"My reasons for visiting were not purely rooted in my desire to cement a relationship between yourself and my people." She followed him as he walked, alone, past his Generals and to a large tent, from which came a soft glow. Her two servants kept behind as well, entertaining themselves in conversation with Alexander's generals, while her troops stayed as they were and at review. Pushing aside the flap of the tent, and into its lavish interior, the Macedonian King walked inside, though his eyes never left his guest.
She recognized his wariness.
"I have heard many things about your people, Queen Thalestris," he began, "Your history with my people has not been healthy one. Why come to me now, rather than wait for my armies to turn your way? Do you hope to find yourself in my good graces so easily?"
Thalestris seemed surprised by the coldness of his voice. "What occurred in the past, occurred in the distant past. When word came that the Gordian Knot had been undone, and that a single man, leading an army out of Greece, dared to challenge the might of All Persia, I prepared myself."
"You spied on me?" His voice betrayed equal measures shock, admiration, and anger.
"I knew of you, and watched your progress," Thalestris clarified, "I, too, am known as somewhat of a conqueror. The life of my people is not an easy one, beset on many sides by many powerful enemies. We are... being constricted, as if by some great serpent."
"And this affair concerns me, how?"
"The lands far to the east are vast and hostile, even as its once great kingdom is scattered and in disarray. Even a man of your ability will not be able to subdue it easily, or... possibly in one lifetime." She rubbed her hands together, and seemed to glide over to one of the drapes of Persian finery, testing the material delicately between her fingers. "The Amazons will never again bow to a man, Alexander of Macedon. Not even you. But... they can be made to serve you, and aid you, and in so doing, aid and strengthen themselves."
The man's brow furrowed in thought. "And how would I be secure in your loyalty? What do I have, save the word of an Amazon?"
"That..." Thalestris reached up, to the hem of her dress, and Alexander caught sight of a flash of steel, hidden amid other, less dangerous things. "Remains to be seen!"
She lunged, dagger flashing in the half-light. Alexander's blue eyes widened in surprise, then darkened drastically in rage, as his sword flashed out, and struck the weapon, knocking it aside. The King was no slouch in combat - he had been trained to fight since his youth, and he rushed into combat, leading his elite cavalry personally, not simply because it was good for morale, but because he enjoyed it. This Amazon woman would challenge him?
He silently accepted.
Hercules had bested many of them, in his time; surely another Son of Zeus could repeat the minor feat with but one, Queen or not. He brought his sword arm back, and Thalestris caught him at the wrist. Amazed by her strength in holding his arm at bay, and keeping the muscles from drawing it back into a position to strike, he felt the flat of her foot hook at his hamstring. Making a quick decision, he let go of his sword, twisted, and seized her wrist in his now open hand.
They hit the ground at nearly the same time.
A tiger strike to the sternum surprised him, and stunned the Macedonian for all of a half second, which the Amazon Queen used to break free of his partial grapple, and get back on her feet. Alexander, however, was almost on his feet himself, having tucked and rolled back, his light bronze armor flexible and well designed. He faced her, and saw her take up some form of fighting stance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his sword lying amid the remains of a smashed jug, water collecting on the edge.
Setting himself, Alexander focused on the woman, deciding only to make a grab for the weapon if the opportunity arose. He was skilled in the art of Pankration, in truth, one of the best, and if this Amazon woman thought that disarming him of his blade was any great advantage, she was sorely mistaken. He could already feel the rising power of his pneuma, feeding into his body and mind, focusing him on this single task. Then the woman was attacking, with animal-like jabs, growing rapidly in speed and ferocity.
Where, he wondered, had she learned to fight like this?
She was good, regardless. Faster by a fair margin than anyone he could remember seeing or fighting personally, and incredibly strong for a female of her frame. Still, even aside from her impressive physical attributes, her fighting technique itself puzzled him. It was obviously some form of animal-mockery, he could tell, but while he had observed martial fighting styles from across the known world, he had never seen anything like what this Amazon was doing, while whittling away at his crossed arms, and toughened torso. Amending that, it did vaguely remind him of something he had seen when he was in Egypt, in the Oasis of Siwa... the Monks of Sethu...
Thalestris lunged, fast as a cobra, and fingers like talons. Alexander was just as fast, however, and seeing opportunity, slipped past her attack, counterattacking with a heel kick to her left calf. The Amazon grunted from the blow, and tried to flip the man off his feet. It was a mistake. Pankration was primarily a grappling style of fighting, focusing first on getting an opponent prone or on the ground, and then taking advantage of that fact through the use of submission attacks or blows to the upper body. Her initiating a grappling maneuver with him was the worst thing she could have done.
Muscles straining, he pivoted and crouched, pulling back and kneeing her in the small of the back. Without hesitation he pulled her down completely off her feet. Hooking her legs, to avoid being kicked, he pinned her down with the weight of his body and bronze scale mail armor, locking her hands above her head. She struggled for only a moment, before relaxing, and appearing to give up attempting escape.
"You beat Thalestris," she said. Or maybe asked. He wasn't sure. Her Greek was starting to slur.
"Of course. I am Alexander. It is my place to conquer," he replied, calmly, when her head suddenly moved. For an instant, he thought she was going to try and head butt him, but instead, her lips caught his own, ferociously. The Great Conqueror's eyes bugged out, and the Amazon forced her tongue past his slack mouth and licked over his teeth, silently thankful she didn't feel any fangs. Then, just as quickly, it was over.
"What are you...?" He started, his grip on her still strong, but now his voice was obviously confused. Rose highlighting her cheeks, Thalestris licked her lips.
"Is Amazon tradition."
"Really?" He smiled. "How quaint."
"I have a proposal for you, Alexander of Macedon." She looked up at him, eyes dark and wide, her voice returning to well spoken Greek. "I wish a union... the blood of Artemis, and the blood of Zeus. The child of Amazon and Alexander... would it not be glorious? A glorious heritage for us both, a new Dynasty from which to rule over the entire world!"
"A worthy heir for you, and a girl child for me," she interrupted what she sensed as hesitation. "I ask no more, Great Alexander, than your seed, from which to grow a new future. ...None others are worthy."
His eyes closed, and when they opened again, the blue orbs shone brightly.
"How long will you be my guest here?"
"Thirteen Days," she answered, knowing that beforehand. The number was sacred to them, and if she could not seduce him into an Amazon marriage by the first day, it was unlikely he would relent anytime after that. Then there was the possibility that he would simply have them executed if she attacked him, as she would have to before they could conceive a child. Either way, rejection would be the death knell for the Amazon people, whether she died with a spear in her heart, or sentenced to rot of old age, her pride and her strength dooming her family line and her world.
"Thirteen Days?" His features settled into a smirk. "And any male child will be brought to me?"
"Yes," she answered, huskily, excitement flushing her features. "Thalestris... I will return, in such a case, until I get the girl child I need as my own heir."
He leaned in, his body pressing harder against hers, until their lips were almost touching. "Your people may not see fit to bow before me as their King... proud Amazon, but you will do this: You will call me King, and I will gift you with what you desire."
"Then..." She hesitated, for only a second. "I will call you King."
'If not Husband,' Her mind added, but soon enough, it found itself too preoccupied to care.
***
502 CE
Liang Dynasty China
"You've traveled far, honored guest. I trust the delay was not caused by any terrible inconvenience?"
The dusty traveler brushed himself off, his well-worn cloak a dark brown when once it had been a light ochre. Pulling back his hood, he looked over his shoulder, and down the flight of steps that led up to the mountain keep. The stairs had appeared, slowly, out of the ground, almost a mile back, from the lowlands below. The winding path had made its way here, to a mortarless stone building of high walls, and a sky white pagoda, invisible to those below, and nestled securely in the peaks around it. It was secluded to an extreme, but the cloaked man had known the way and recognized the signs miles back.
"There was some, but it was of little consequence once out of the Arablands." The stranger slipped off his traveling sandals, and got a good look at the one who had let him inside. He was a large warrior, at least six and a half feet tall, wearing a thick fur tunic, and baggy, loose pants.
"The Arablands?" The man got a far away look. "I went... once. Years ago. How are they now?"
"The Silk Road is nearly non existent, and it seems half the people one meets are bandits." The guest noted that his host had closed the massive metal-framed wooden doors with little effort.
"I'm sure you enjoyed the exercise." The mammoth man gave a polite bow. "I'm afraid I won't be able to show you around..."
"Bear blood?"
The man nodded.
"Think nothing of it. I believe I know the way." He inclined his head respectfully to the larger Musk warrior, and the two parted ways. Walking down the long hall, he stopped at a gleaming polished bronze shield, and checked his reflection in it. He could make out his features nicely in the metal surface, the high, prominent ears, slightly pointed, the slightly exaggerated nose and shallow chin. It was all perhaps a bit much, really - he had taken a bit more from his animal mother than he'd have liked, but the blood of the Jackal had always been a strong and dominant one.
"Ah... you must be Anun." Another Musk came up to him, a spry individual of slightly light build, with somewhat dark orange hair. He smiled broadly, displaying prominent canines.
"I am." Anun gave a small bow. "And you are...?"
"Bah'zel." He bowed back. "Blood of the Fox, obviously. Your grasp of our language here is impressive. I'm afraid my Egyptian is quite rusty. Most of the old languages are a bit rusty... no practice, you see. I can say 'Thank you' 'kill that man' and a bunch of other things, but a real conversation, I only wish!"
"Surprising. You talk a great deal..." Anun coughed, softly. "Are you...?"
"The Scribe for Lord Haabu? None other!" Bah'zel didn't seem to mind having his talkativeness pointed out. "I write a lot, so I guess its only natural I talk a lot, too."
"Yes, well. Setu prefers Scribes to be the silent type in his Court." Anun walked alongside the other Musk, keeping mental note of the place, in case he had to make another visit. It was quite lavishly decorated, though the ceilings were lower than he was accustomed to, and the general architecture not as... lofty or large in scale.
"Not very progressive. Silence is golden, but advancement comes through communication."
"Perhaps. But stability is not made through revolutions as the people here in Chi'in Ha seem so fond of."
"At least the land here hasn't been taken over by half a dozen different foreigners." Bah'zel seemed to get a small laugh out of that. Anun just frowned. "That's like the village mule - everybody's had a ride...!"
"I get the point." Anun cut his Asian counterpart off. "Is my lateness a problem for Lord Haabu?"
"Oh, no." Bah'zel shook his head, and fixed his hands behind his neck in a leisurely way. "The Dragon Lord had no problem postponing it for a few more days. We just kept the girl locked up a bit. Some of the warriors were put off with the delay, though. Having to subdue their future wives again without bruising them too much..."
Anun nodded slowly. "Understandable."
"In a way, you have to admit, it's sort of archaic."
"What?"
"You know... needing a witness from one of the other Musk Tribes to record the event. It's not like we don't have some semi-regular contact between everyone. And you know how much of a pain it is to get to the Musk in the Far East."
"Far West," Anun corrected.
"Far East, Far West... whatever. You get the general idea, though. I know it's an important occasion and all, and its good to keep comprehensive records of all the Springs, new and old, but I don't see why the other Scribe has to be there in person, when the information can be sent via courier." Bah'zel stopped in front of an open gate, where a Musk Warrior stood at attention.
"Scribe?" The guard asked.
"Get the girl. Tell King Haabu that the Setu Scribe is here and we're ready for the ceremony to begin." The fox-blood Musk paused, and faced his guest. "Unless you'd rather eat first?"
"No," Anun politely declined. "I'd rather get the ceremony over with first."
"Sounds good. Go get 'em." The Haabu Scribe motioned down the corridor, and the Musk warrior went off. Together, the two learned men went up a flight of stairs, and into an open area, with large pillars reaching up to the sky. Anun noted them, and sensed some familiarity.
"Greek?" He asked. "They certainly appear to be at least inspired in design."
"Part of a temple." Bah'zel sighed wistfully. "Way back when we brought some Greek warriors into the Tribe. It collapsed in a landslide a little over four hundred years ago, though, and was never rebuilt. We kept the pillars, though, and used them to sort of flank the path we're on. Which reminds me... you've been to Alexandria, right? I heard there was a fire... I was wondering how much of the library had been salvaged by the Setu Tribe."
"We were able to restore very little, I'm afraid. The whole of the land seems to have been overrun by these barbarian Christians, who while uneducated and good for only taking up space in our ancient lands, at least seem to have perfect the art of setting things to the torch. I was there... I saw what was left. We could not react in time to save anything of significance. Truthfully, we avoid most cities, now... the political atmosphere not what it used to be." Anun's face was impassive, but his voice betrayed his feelings in the matter.
Walking down the stone path, there was a moment of silence.
"I guess that's why we make backups," Bah'zel finally said.
"It is always prudent." Anun looked around, and felt a cool breeze move in from the west. "This is quite nice, actually. A pleasant change of pace from the desert, and the sand... and the crowds I passed through on my trip here."
"It's a beautiful country," The Fox-Musk agreed. "The low areas are all right, too. Most people don't give much trouble..."
"Amazons?"
"Yeah. A bunch of the witches." Bah'zel shrugged. "They're not a big concern, though. Usually pretty quiet, actually. Especially compared to the problems I hear your Tribe has."
"Yes... every time we try and deal with the Amazon problem to the west, particularly around the ruins of Carthage, it seems they just move and pop up somewhere else. Lately, they've settled themselves deep in the southern jungles, disrupting our activities there. It simply isn't worth the effort to go in and drive them out anymore." Anun realized he'd been getting angry, and calmed down. "It's terribly vexing, as you can imagine."
"Oh, I can. And here we are... Chouchuanshan."
"Large." Was the first word that came to mind. Anun leaned forward a bit, looking over the collection of cursed and uncursed springs. There looked to be over a hundred in all, some covered, but most open-air. It was the reason Bah'zel's tribe of Musk had settled where they did, overlooking the valley of springs. Every ten generations, the bloodlines of Musk needed to be refreshed by taking animal brides made into human form through the magic of a cursed spring.
The springs were a natural phenomenon, occurring across the world, and it was believed that most had been mapped out long ago by the Musk Tribes, when they started to scatter and wander, searching to expand, to avoid putting 'all their bread in one basket' so to speak. Around the small springs, the Musk made small outposts, to keep watch over the area, and near the largest sets of springs, the Musk settled and built their homes and fortresses from which to perfect their Art and their Existence. This set, however, was the largest Anun had ever seen, though he had heard of similar sized ones found by the Quasil Musk in the Far West.
"Yep. Pretty impressive." Bah'zel nodded, contently.
"Very impressive," Anun corrected. "How many actually have curses?"
"Oh... about half have recorded curses so far. Maybe a little more. Some of the smaller ones come and go every couple years. You know how it is... it's the same thing that happened to our old Woman Spring. One day, it just started draining away." The orange haired Musk Scribe started down the path, cut so it descended slowly and leisurely into the valley. Anun followed, listening to the different pools of drowned creatures they had down below. Some were reoccurring themes, world wide, like drowned birds and the like, but a few were exotic and unique to the region. There was a pool of drowned 'panda' which was some sort of vegetarian bear, in both a 'giant' and 'red' version... there was also a pool of drowned tiger, which wasn't a natural spring - a warrior had dragged a tiger from India to the springs, and drowned it, at the behest of the current Lord Haabu's grandfather.
There was also a very old spring, 'The Spring of Drowned Asura,' in which a statue of the Hindu goddess had fallen in. This was quite unusual, in that the statue hadn't been 'alive,' and cursed springs had never, to Anun's knowledge, 'bonded' to anything without a life force to it. Bah'zel himself had an interest in it for similar reasons, but its power and danger meant that he had to work under tight restrictions. There was also a spring of drowned octopus in a particularly stagnant pool, created by the Musk as an experiment a century ago. Another unusual spring was the spring of 'yeti-riding-ox-while-carrying-eel-and-crane.' When asked if they had any Yeti-men nearby, Bah'zel shook his head, indicating that they had been for the most part wiped out over five centuries ago, save for a scattering high in the mountain passes.
While they were talking, and the local Scribe was busy pointing out some of the more notable springs and geological features, Anun felt an advancing presence. Looking up at the path they had followed down, he saw a small group of Musk, lead by a tall figure in a white cloak, and dragonscale armor. Noticing that Anun's attention had shifted, Bah'zel quickly saw the same, and bowed down on a single knee as the dragon monarch approached. As he got closer, they could feel the tingle of the man's Ki on their own subdued auras - mentally, Anun compared him to Setu, and wondered which was more powerful. A battle between the blood relations would be, in a word, breathtaking.
"My lord," Bah'zel prompted.
"You may rise." King Haabu motioned for them to take to their feet, and they did. He faced the jackal blooded Musk. "You must be Anun, one of Setu's Scribes."
"Yes, King Haabu. It is an honor to visit your domain."
"Think nothing of it, Scribe." The dragon king gave a short laugh. "When this business is concluded, you must share tales of your travels, as well as news of my great cousin. I have not heard directly from the Egyptian Court in some time."
"It would be a pleasure, Lord." Anun gave a deep bow. "Are we ready to begin?"
"Yes. I believe we are." Haabu turned slightly, to the guards behind him. "Bring the girl forward."
Two mid sized Musk warriors walked up to the Scribes, holding steady a naked woman. To Anun, she was obviously Asian or near Asian, though not Indian. She was fair of size, and fine of build - a good choice, overall. A very good choice, actually, though he wondered where she had come across natural blonde hair in this region. She seemed to have already exhausted herself struggling against the two guards, and collapsed into a sort of semi-consciousness. Her eyes were half closed, and had a distant quality to them.
"Not a bad looker, is she?" Bah'zel seemed to have been thinking something similar, ribbing the Egyptian Musk rudely. "Especially for an Amazon peasant girl."
"She's quite suitable," Anun quickly agreed, and kept it at that.
"All right. This way!" The Fox-Musk clapped his hands together, and took them down a short set of wooden steps and into the actual springs area itself. The ground was lose, wet and slippery, but a series of slightly raised wooden planks and platforms crisscrossed the area, allowing visitors to walk around without risking slipping and falling into one of the cursed springs. He led the two guards and Anun a short distance, to a large nearby pool within easy access to the shore. King Haabu seemed content to watch from a distance.
Suddenly, the woman came to life, and started kicking and howling, like a mad animal. The guard held her easily, and after only a few seconds of furious struggle, she collapsed and became limp again. Only her mouth moved, in ragged gasps.
"No... no please. Please!" As they approached the spring, her voice became louder. "No please! Please don't! Lord Haabu! I have done you do wrong! No injustice! Spare me! Spare me, please! Oh please, I beg of you! Please please please pleaseplease..."
Bah'zel looked from the panicked girl, from where she was held by the two guards, kneeling at the edge of the spring, to his King. Haabu merely nodded, and the Fox-Musk faced the two guards.
"Do it," he said, simply.
The girl took in a great gasp of air, before the two Musk guards plunged her head below the water. To her credit, she held her breath for some time, as if delaying the inevitable for even a minute was of some great importance. When her air began to run out, however, the struggling began anew. Her legs kicked out, wildly, and her hands clenched and unclenched, trying to find purchase in something... anything. Bubbles rose from the water, as she breathlessly screamed.
In a few seconds, it was over.
Anun looked away, and saw that Haabu had already headed inside. Turning back to the lifeless corpse, its head still in the water, its body on dry land, he saw Bah'zel lean down and check for a pulse, making sure that she was dead. Standing, the local Scribe crossed his arms. "Well... she looks dead. Leave the body there for... an hour or two. No point taking chances with the spring not accepting the curse because we took the body out too early. Then have it disposed of in the low country somewhere."
"Problems?" Anun asked, when Bah'zel walked past him.
"Minor problems..." He trailed off after that, and clasped the other man's shoulder. "Let's get back inside. Tonight, in celebration of this event, we feast!"
