Okay... Hi guys just wanted to give a few pieces that may have been confusing
in the last chapter. Kyrie's name sounds like (Kree-re) and she as I have
stated in the last sentence is a she. Sorry if that bothered any one, but
just wanted to keep the facts truthful. Now on to chapter two...
The Trojan messenger had finally made his way to the small agricultural community. He was tired, out of breath, and covered in a fine layer of silt and dust from his week's journey to the town. The house in front of him was small by any standards, but well made. The walls were white washed and the roof was thatched, a small flock of goats milled around the side of the house penned in by small white pillars with fishing net strung between them. Outside of the home small footsteps could be seen in the mud which decorated an outcropping of lilies.
The aromatic scent of jasmine waft through the area. As it mingled with the acidic smell of ripe barely and humus. The Arabic land of Jordan smelled as beautiful as it looked. The house was framed against the gorgeous blue sky and rolling wheat fields. The edginess the young rider had felt all week began to melt away as his gaze roamed over the beautiful and peaceful land.
Not every creature seemed to be at peace with the land as the young man was. His horse, Papandrou, a fine Trojan stallion waffled about uneasily on the hot grounds.
Sliding off his horse the young man approached the hut where the Trojan scroll had been ascribed to be placed. Knocking on the door the messenger boy was greeting with the sounds of a young child running to the door. Stepping off the threshold of the small thatched hut the messenger suddenly noticed how weary he was. Breathing the aromatic scent of the waves of grain that surrounded the hut he did not realize how tired he was until he woke up inside the hut.
A small heart shaped face appeared in his line in his line of vision. Her skin was extremely tanned as if she labored everyday in the fields around the home. Her hair was the color of the purest white cloth, and it painted a startling look about her. The indigo eyes which sat surrounded by fine black eyes lashes gave her the look of all knowing. The young woman smiled, and offered him a bowl of steaming food. The messenger took it without hesitation. Watching the boy consume the stew with a surprising velocity, the young woman sighed quietly and took the bowl from the boy and filled it again with the hearty stew.
"This is good miss. What is it," he asked between mouthfuls.
"I didn't not think you would have that much energy left as hard as the ground you hit it." She smiled a brief wisp of uncertainty flashed through her eyes, "It is goat meat seasoned with thyme, and a few other seasonings." As she took the bowl from his hand and filled it a third time she repeated her question to the lad about his quick meeting with the ground. The messenger laughed, "Don't worry it is not he first time I've hit my head on the ground."
She nodded her head and turned around to a roughly hewn table and plucked a bronzed goblet from it and placed it against his lips.
"Here drink this. It is the finest sweet water in the region." She quietly said. He took it from her hands a greedily gulped it down as she stood watching him. "Do you feel better now boy," she questioned. He nodded his head. Smiling she plucked t bowl from his left hand and gently coerced the goblet from his right hand. "Now my dear tell me your name."
Standing up the boy gave a flourished bow and announced, "My name is Ignatius, my lady."
"Well then Ignatius tell me why you have journeyed so far out of your way to visit little me," she probed.
He laughed and pushed him self up from the hut's walls from which he was leaned up against, "I was ordered by the great Prince Hector to bring this scroll here." As he said these few words the woman's eyes went cold and squinted quickly to the messenger's hands.
"Oh and prey tell me what the majestic Prince Paris has done now Ignatius," she asked in an icy voice.
"How do you know it was Paris's doing," Ignatius questioned, slightly disturbed by her sudden change in demeanor.
"Because with a younger brother like Paris, it is impossible that his older brother has not become responsible for cleaning his mess up," she replied coolly.
"Yes ma'am that is true, but this time it seems that he has more than his share of problems," Ignatius spoke. He would be damned to eternity if he let this woman make snide remarks about the princes.
"Ah, to what dress has that young fool found himself up," She asked with a cruel pitch in her voice. Before even waiting for the boy to reply, "Go tell prince Hector that my services are no longer available to the kingdom of Troy. My pride is more that man can bargain for. He may take my counsel and contacts and throw them for the sea to swallow up."
"My lady if you wish me to explain further. It is not any man the young prince has upset, rather the great king Menelaus and Agamemnon."
During their conversation the young woman had found herself daintily fingering a small silver bowl. She ran her fingers over the engraved words in every heart I shall trust. From Kenos to Kyrie. But at the name of Agamemnon her head shot up, "You deceive me Ignatius."
The young boy shook his head. "King Hector told me that you know the great warrior Kyrie. Is this true," he questioned with the duel flames of inquisition in his eyes.
"Yes, unfortunately it is true my dear," she breathed. "Hand over that scroll my dear." Giving her the scrolling and with hands shaking Kyrie read the parchment and all that was enclosed within it. Knowing better than to break the news to her six year old she closed her eyes and held the tears threatening to overtake her. She turned to Ignatius, "Dear boy go fetch my horse from the stables outside the barley fields. Ride him to the Northwest and find the old man living in the next field over. Give him my horse. He will understand the meaning of this."
The messenger twisted around and walked out of the dimly lit hut. With a final step out of the home and into the fresh air he peered over his shoulder to look at the woman fingering the scroll with great care. He hopped on to his horse and rode of the stable with urgency nipping at his heels. Watching the form of Ignatius grow smaller and smaller she spun around and headed for her son's room.
Glancing in, she observed her son playing with his carved figurines. The young boy was six and had the pale eyes of his mother, but a dark shock of golden hair flowed from the crown of his head. He was a tall child nearly brushing his mothers elbow at the tender age he was at. Knowing deep within her heart that her son Taxiarchi would grow up to be just like his parents she wept silently. A fierce warrior with the love for his own people and with the fist of iron, however, he would never find the solace that both of his parents tried so hard to give him.
"Honey," She spoke. As soon as she spoke the words she regretted it. For those beautiful eyes turned towards her.
"What mommy" the young boy inquired.
"Mommy has to go back to where she came from," Kyrie said in a flat voice. By knowledge Taxiarchi understood this was a serious matter that was not to be taken lightly.
The boy cocked his head at an odd angel, "Is it going to be like I was four and you left for a long time and when you came back you were sad."
Faltering she chose her words carefully, "It will be something like that. Only this time I am going to bring that man that cursed daddy to justice."
Taxiarchi closed his eyes and sucked in a breathe of air. It was as if time had stood still and all that remained in the world was Kyrie and her son. "You will come back mommy, but this time you will bring some one with you and he will have more blood on his hands that you have ever seen."
This statement shook Kyrie to the core. She knew her son was a seer, but this was just unbelievable. I hope he is not true. I can not bring anyone else with war on their soul here. "Didos will take care of you while I am gone."
The little boy said no more, but turned his back towards his mother. The fierce love between mother and son was seldom understood. What few words they spoke meant a lot to both of them.
As her conversation with her son was done she walked out to the granary. Shuffling through the grain and chickens she located a darkly polished box. Lifting the box and thin layer of dust wafted through the air. Peering into the contents of the box Kyrie pulled out the three and a half feet tall Persian shield, her Spartan helmet with Chinese lettering. The English engraved shin guards and forearm guards, the lavishly decorated Persian breastplate was slightly tarnished, but it was nothing that polishing could not handle, the seven foot long javelins with obsidian tips, and finally a Japanese samurai sword with a slit in it. The slit was particularly useful for forcing enemy blades through and while the opponent was holding their sword in a quick flash break their wrist.
Taking the time to carefully done the armor over a coal grey tunic, Kyrie took time to take in the situation. The bastard is back and this time I will force him to pray to the gods that he had blessed Kenos' grave instead of spitting on it.
The whinnying of horses' assaulted her ears as Ignatius had pulled up. Walking out of the granary Ignatius immediately saw the legendary warrior Kyrie.
Extending her hand up to Didos she nodded at him, "Taxiarchi is in his room. Let him not fret over the life of the man I am about to kill." Escorting the old man to her hut she gave him the money needed to keep her household functioning and left him with the boy.
As Kyrie mounted the horse Ignatius began to ask,"Where is the woman from the house?"
To which the only thing Kyrie replied was to puller helmet off and give the boy and look at who the great warrior was. "I trust this is safe with you." Before he could even answer she had spurred her horse into action and speed out over the rolling lands of Jordon.
The Trojan messenger had finally made his way to the small agricultural community. He was tired, out of breath, and covered in a fine layer of silt and dust from his week's journey to the town. The house in front of him was small by any standards, but well made. The walls were white washed and the roof was thatched, a small flock of goats milled around the side of the house penned in by small white pillars with fishing net strung between them. Outside of the home small footsteps could be seen in the mud which decorated an outcropping of lilies.
The aromatic scent of jasmine waft through the area. As it mingled with the acidic smell of ripe barely and humus. The Arabic land of Jordan smelled as beautiful as it looked. The house was framed against the gorgeous blue sky and rolling wheat fields. The edginess the young rider had felt all week began to melt away as his gaze roamed over the beautiful and peaceful land.
Not every creature seemed to be at peace with the land as the young man was. His horse, Papandrou, a fine Trojan stallion waffled about uneasily on the hot grounds.
Sliding off his horse the young man approached the hut where the Trojan scroll had been ascribed to be placed. Knocking on the door the messenger boy was greeting with the sounds of a young child running to the door. Stepping off the threshold of the small thatched hut the messenger suddenly noticed how weary he was. Breathing the aromatic scent of the waves of grain that surrounded the hut he did not realize how tired he was until he woke up inside the hut.
A small heart shaped face appeared in his line in his line of vision. Her skin was extremely tanned as if she labored everyday in the fields around the home. Her hair was the color of the purest white cloth, and it painted a startling look about her. The indigo eyes which sat surrounded by fine black eyes lashes gave her the look of all knowing. The young woman smiled, and offered him a bowl of steaming food. The messenger took it without hesitation. Watching the boy consume the stew with a surprising velocity, the young woman sighed quietly and took the bowl from the boy and filled it again with the hearty stew.
"This is good miss. What is it," he asked between mouthfuls.
"I didn't not think you would have that much energy left as hard as the ground you hit it." She smiled a brief wisp of uncertainty flashed through her eyes, "It is goat meat seasoned with thyme, and a few other seasonings." As she took the bowl from his hand and filled it a third time she repeated her question to the lad about his quick meeting with the ground. The messenger laughed, "Don't worry it is not he first time I've hit my head on the ground."
She nodded her head and turned around to a roughly hewn table and plucked a bronzed goblet from it and placed it against his lips.
"Here drink this. It is the finest sweet water in the region." She quietly said. He took it from her hands a greedily gulped it down as she stood watching him. "Do you feel better now boy," she questioned. He nodded his head. Smiling she plucked t bowl from his left hand and gently coerced the goblet from his right hand. "Now my dear tell me your name."
Standing up the boy gave a flourished bow and announced, "My name is Ignatius, my lady."
"Well then Ignatius tell me why you have journeyed so far out of your way to visit little me," she probed.
He laughed and pushed him self up from the hut's walls from which he was leaned up against, "I was ordered by the great Prince Hector to bring this scroll here." As he said these few words the woman's eyes went cold and squinted quickly to the messenger's hands.
"Oh and prey tell me what the majestic Prince Paris has done now Ignatius," she asked in an icy voice.
"How do you know it was Paris's doing," Ignatius questioned, slightly disturbed by her sudden change in demeanor.
"Because with a younger brother like Paris, it is impossible that his older brother has not become responsible for cleaning his mess up," she replied coolly.
"Yes ma'am that is true, but this time it seems that he has more than his share of problems," Ignatius spoke. He would be damned to eternity if he let this woman make snide remarks about the princes.
"Ah, to what dress has that young fool found himself up," She asked with a cruel pitch in her voice. Before even waiting for the boy to reply, "Go tell prince Hector that my services are no longer available to the kingdom of Troy. My pride is more that man can bargain for. He may take my counsel and contacts and throw them for the sea to swallow up."
"My lady if you wish me to explain further. It is not any man the young prince has upset, rather the great king Menelaus and Agamemnon."
During their conversation the young woman had found herself daintily fingering a small silver bowl. She ran her fingers over the engraved words in every heart I shall trust. From Kenos to Kyrie. But at the name of Agamemnon her head shot up, "You deceive me Ignatius."
The young boy shook his head. "King Hector told me that you know the great warrior Kyrie. Is this true," he questioned with the duel flames of inquisition in his eyes.
"Yes, unfortunately it is true my dear," she breathed. "Hand over that scroll my dear." Giving her the scrolling and with hands shaking Kyrie read the parchment and all that was enclosed within it. Knowing better than to break the news to her six year old she closed her eyes and held the tears threatening to overtake her. She turned to Ignatius, "Dear boy go fetch my horse from the stables outside the barley fields. Ride him to the Northwest and find the old man living in the next field over. Give him my horse. He will understand the meaning of this."
The messenger twisted around and walked out of the dimly lit hut. With a final step out of the home and into the fresh air he peered over his shoulder to look at the woman fingering the scroll with great care. He hopped on to his horse and rode of the stable with urgency nipping at his heels. Watching the form of Ignatius grow smaller and smaller she spun around and headed for her son's room.
Glancing in, she observed her son playing with his carved figurines. The young boy was six and had the pale eyes of his mother, but a dark shock of golden hair flowed from the crown of his head. He was a tall child nearly brushing his mothers elbow at the tender age he was at. Knowing deep within her heart that her son Taxiarchi would grow up to be just like his parents she wept silently. A fierce warrior with the love for his own people and with the fist of iron, however, he would never find the solace that both of his parents tried so hard to give him.
"Honey," She spoke. As soon as she spoke the words she regretted it. For those beautiful eyes turned towards her.
"What mommy" the young boy inquired.
"Mommy has to go back to where she came from," Kyrie said in a flat voice. By knowledge Taxiarchi understood this was a serious matter that was not to be taken lightly.
The boy cocked his head at an odd angel, "Is it going to be like I was four and you left for a long time and when you came back you were sad."
Faltering she chose her words carefully, "It will be something like that. Only this time I am going to bring that man that cursed daddy to justice."
Taxiarchi closed his eyes and sucked in a breathe of air. It was as if time had stood still and all that remained in the world was Kyrie and her son. "You will come back mommy, but this time you will bring some one with you and he will have more blood on his hands that you have ever seen."
This statement shook Kyrie to the core. She knew her son was a seer, but this was just unbelievable. I hope he is not true. I can not bring anyone else with war on their soul here. "Didos will take care of you while I am gone."
The little boy said no more, but turned his back towards his mother. The fierce love between mother and son was seldom understood. What few words they spoke meant a lot to both of them.
As her conversation with her son was done she walked out to the granary. Shuffling through the grain and chickens she located a darkly polished box. Lifting the box and thin layer of dust wafted through the air. Peering into the contents of the box Kyrie pulled out the three and a half feet tall Persian shield, her Spartan helmet with Chinese lettering. The English engraved shin guards and forearm guards, the lavishly decorated Persian breastplate was slightly tarnished, but it was nothing that polishing could not handle, the seven foot long javelins with obsidian tips, and finally a Japanese samurai sword with a slit in it. The slit was particularly useful for forcing enemy blades through and while the opponent was holding their sword in a quick flash break their wrist.
Taking the time to carefully done the armor over a coal grey tunic, Kyrie took time to take in the situation. The bastard is back and this time I will force him to pray to the gods that he had blessed Kenos' grave instead of spitting on it.
The whinnying of horses' assaulted her ears as Ignatius had pulled up. Walking out of the granary Ignatius immediately saw the legendary warrior Kyrie.
Extending her hand up to Didos she nodded at him, "Taxiarchi is in his room. Let him not fret over the life of the man I am about to kill." Escorting the old man to her hut she gave him the money needed to keep her household functioning and left him with the boy.
As Kyrie mounted the horse Ignatius began to ask,"Where is the woman from the house?"
To which the only thing Kyrie replied was to puller helmet off and give the boy and look at who the great warrior was. "I trust this is safe with you." Before he could even answer she had spurred her horse into action and speed out over the rolling lands of Jordon.