The evening air was starting to cool off as Gabrielle made her way back to Najara's command tent, with Caesar at her side. The sun had sunk so low it was touching the horizon, and shadows stretched long across the ground. The mood of the detachment was relaxed and peaceful, sleepy, almost; Gabrielle couldn't help but be struck by the contrast between this camp and Xena's camp. Xena's camp—the little she had seen of it—had been full of rough, crude-looking men who shouted and cursed and fought with each other constantly, more like a pack of dogs than an army. Najara's camp, in contrast, was quiet, orderly; not just men, but women as well—not all of them soldiers—and even a few children were to be seen, sitting outside of low tents at fires, talking quietly. Music drifted from outside of some of the tents, and though there were soldiers crouched in the dirt playing dice games, the losers accepted their losses with more or less good grace. In Xena's camp, Gabrielle had seen men killed over such games. The peaceful atmosphere impressed her a great deal.
Caesar was balking as she gripped him firmly by the arm and drew him after her through the camp; he did not want to have dinner with Najara. "Let go of me," he demanded, yanking away from her hard; Gabrielle kept her grip determinedly. "I'm—I'm going back to the village. To the tavern. Let me go, you stupid little—" Though phrased with the arrogance to which she had grown accustomed from him, his demands lacked strength and force; they sounded whining, childish, not much like his earlier imperious dictates.
"No you aren't," Gabrielle responded grimly. "We're going to see Najara. To tell her about Xena's death like she asked us to."
Caesar looked away, his jawline tight. "You tell her," he said with dull resentment. "Leave me out of it."
"You know more about Xena than I do," Gabrielle said relentlessly. "You have to come in case there's something else Najara needs to know." Not in a million years would she have said what she really thought—that Najara's intensity intimidated and fascinated her both, and that she wanted him along so that she would not have to face the awesome force that was She of the Djinn alone. "Come on," she repeated, dragging him.
"She doesn't need to know anything," Caesar said peevishly. "Xena's dead. What could she possibly need to know?"
Gabrielle turned and looked at him, surprised by the level of bitterness in his voice. His face was turned away from her, as he looked at the treeline, and she could not see his expression. Honestly incredulous, she asked him, "Come on, don't you want to talk to her, after seeing that dance? I mean, you have to admit that was pretty impressive."
He flicked a glance back at her. "Xena could have done the same thing," he said again.
"Well, Xena's not here," Gabrielle said sharply. "Najara is. Come on."
Caesar looked over at her now, a long, sullen gaze. "Can't you leave me alone?"
It was the same question he had asked earlier, and again, Gabrielle wasn't sure he was simply talking about the present situation. "No," she said sharply. "Come on."
He stared at her some more. "I hate you," he said dully.
"Good. The feeling's mutual," Gabrielle shot back. She hadn't meant to say it; it just slipped out. She thought about taking it back, but he didn't seem to care one way or the other.
She hauled him after her, over his objections, toward the command tent. As they passed the lines of prisoners chained up and waiting trial, Gabrielle glanced down it, and her eyes found Stallonus at the end. She caught his eye across the distance between them. He looked back at her, and she indicated the tent and flashed him an encouraging smile. It did her heart good to see him smile back.
When they reached the command tent, the meal was already laid out. There was no table, Gabrielle saw; neither were there chairs, but a long white cloth was laid out in the center of the tent, with dishes placed on it. Brightly-colored silk and satin cushions were placed all around it, and the floor was covered with intricately decorated woven rugs. Gabrielle had heard the Romans had reclined on couches to eat, and she and her family had taken their dinners on stools around a kitchen table; this was a style of dining that she hadn't seen before. The dishes were handsome, but not luxurious; pewter and earthenware bowls held olives, cheese and figs; meatballs in sour cream; squares of flat bread surrounding a deep bowl full of hummus, and chicken stuffed with boiled eggs and rice. The food was plentiful but simple. Najara was sitting crosslegged at one end of the long white cloth, with Jett at her right hand, as servants moved around her to set out additional dishes. Even sitting casually on the ground, the Crusader was riveting, Gabrielle thought. One young woman set down a very ornate metal pot of a kind Gabrielle had never seen before; it rested on a silver tray and had a long spout attached to it. On the tray around it were four small glass cups.
"Welcome," Najara said politely as Gabrielle settled hesitantly to the ground at the edge of the white cloth. At her tugging, Caesar clumsily dropped down beside her, again, keeping her between himself and She of the Djinn. "I'm pleased to see you decided to come. A meal shared with friends is always a pleasure. I hope you aren't offended by the plainness of the food I have to offer," she continued, gesturing to the dishes set before her, "but I am accustomed to dining simply."
"Oh, that's fine," Gabrielle assured her. "This looks wonderful."
Najara smiled. "I'm glad," she said, seeming honestly pleased. She leaned forward to dip her hands in a silver bowl filled with water; dried rose petals floated on the surface. Gabrielle saw a similar bowl had been set out for herself and Caesar. At Najara's warm smile, Gabrielle leaned forward to do the same. Caesar did not; he was sitting stiffly beside her, watching the Crusader fixedly.
Najara bowed her head briefly, as did Jett. "In the name of the Light," she murmured, and Gabrielle hastened to bow her head as well out of respect. Najara straightened after a moment, and invited Gabrielle, "Please, go first."
"Are you sure?"
"You are a guest. It would be an honor to me."
"Well…If you insist." Gabrielle hesitantly reached out and plucked an olive out of the nearest dish. Najara nodded her approval. She picked up the strange spouted pot and poured out of it into the small glass cups; a steaming brownish liquid came out. Najara presented the cups to Gabrielle, who regarded hers dubiously, and Caesar, who stared blankly at her. Gabrielle dug her elbow into his ribs, and he took the cup, almost snatching it as if the Crusader's hand were a poisonous serpent. Najara politely didn't seem to notice.
"I apologize for serving tea instead of wine," she told Caesar. Tea? Gabrielle wondered, inspecting her glass. What's tea? "I understand that you Romans are fond of wine. However, I don't drink." Caesar looked as if he hadn't even heard her, and Gabrielle hastened to cover the breach.
"This is fine," she assured Najara, and quickly took a sip from the cup. The liquid was hot, strange-tasting, and very, very sweet. After a moment to get used to it, Gabrielle decided she liked it.
"You were one of Crassus's friends, is that correct?" Najara continued, addressing herself to Caesar. Caesar was staring at her with wide eyes; he made no answer. "I'm sure you already know this—Jett says he told you already, isn't that right?"
"I did," Jett nodded, taking a piece of cheese.
"—but you have the right to hear it from me as well. I am the one responsible for his death. I was forced to execute Crassus, a few years ago," she said solemnly.
Caesar was silent.
"He had slaughtered the village of Gardenias," she explained gently, "crucified them all down to the last man, woman and child; and when I gave him the opportunity, he would not accept the Light—very unusual. I think," she said thoughtfully, "he was counting on someone to come to his rescue; either that, or he could not humble himself enough to do so. It is to my deepest regret that I was forced to kill your friend," Najara continued, "and if there is anything I can do—"
"He was not my friend," Caesar said tensely. "I don't want anything from you."
"Speaking of friends," Gabrielle spoke up, emboldened, "there's a friend of mine. In among your group of captives."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Najara said with genuine regret.
"He's a bard named Stallonus; I know him from the bardic academy, before it was destroyed. He's an innocent soul, and wouldn't hurt a fly. He should be released. He doesn't deserve to be included with the rest of those criminals."
Najara listened politely to Gabrielle as she spoke, then replied, "If he accepts the Light, he will be."
If he accepts…. Gabrielle frowned. "Whether he accepts the Light or not, he should be released," she insisted, holding her ground. "He's a good person. He would never hurt anyone—"
"If he is a good person," Najara said calmly, "then he will accept the Light. He has only to accept the Light and swear to keep to its ways ever afterward, to be released."
"But what does accepting the Light have to do with whether or not you release him?" Gabrielle countered. "He says his family has always worshiped Isis—"
"Then he can be the first to come to the Light," Najara replied. "He has three days worth of time in which to make his decision. He may find it easier to do so with time."
"But Najara—" Gabrielle began.
Najara stopped. She put down her cup of tea and fixed Gabrielle with a look. Her face held its usual, courteous expression, but those pale eyes fell on Gabrielle like weight. Suddenly the young bard was aware that she was sitting in the presence of one of the three most formidable warlords in the world. "Gabrielle." The Crusader's voice was still civil, but firm. "I have told you my answer. If he accepts the Light, he will be released. I'm sorry, but those are the rules." She paused. Her eyes went briefly distant, as if she were listening to some internal voice; after a moment, their focus cleared and she seemed to come back to herself. "Besides," she added, "the djinn say not to trust him."
The djinn say not to trust him. Gabrielle felt her shoulder brush that of Caesar, and only then realized she had been drawing back from She of the Djinn, trying to retreat from that overpowering presence. She swallowed hard, trying to think of another line of persuasion, sensing it would be useless—the Crusader had delivered her last words with the air of someone laying down the law. There had to be something she could say, something she could do….
Her glance fell on Jett. Jett caught her eye and shook his head slightly, mouthing what looked like, No. Gabrielle drew a breath, then suddenly shoved the matter out of her head, to be dealt with later. It didn't look like she was going to get anywhere right this moment, and pressing on with the matter seemed likely to irritate Najara. I still have time, she thought to herself. Maybe Jett would know something to do. In the meantime, antagonizing Najara further wasn't likely to be immediately helpful. Bowing to necessity, Gabrielle decided to let the matter drop for now, to be taken back up at a more advantageous moment.
"So," Najara said, effortlessly taking control of the situation, "tell me, if you don't mind, about Xena's death?"
Gabrielle quickly sketched the story; it was still a very affecting memory for her, and she went into it only briefly. She would have been willing to provide more details, if Najara had asked, but the Crusader seemed to sense Gabrielle's discomfort, and politely accepted the account she gave her. As she spoke, it seemed as if she were living it again—seeing the insanity of Callisto, marveling at the sight of the Dark Conqueror and the Bright Warrior doing battle, hearing the cries of Callisto's men as they swept the encampment. That had been something to see, she thought to herself. It had been clear when they fought that nothing existed for each of them outside the other; the savage joy on Xena's face, the manic glee in Callisto's brown eyes, the way they struck, harder and harder, until it seemed certain that their weapons would shatter in their hands.
"She died to save me," Gabrielle said quietly. She was staring down at a candied fig in her hands, taken from a golden bowl. "Callisto—she saw me—" She had been standing right by the throne, actually, right next to Caesar, as she now remembered. "She aimed a blow at me…..Xena, she—" She remembered the look on Xena's face, the look of raw fear; she had never thought to see such a look on the face of she who was the Daughter of War. "She took the stroke meant for me. She died…." She had collapsed. Gabrielle had hurried to catch her; Xena had been too heavy, and she had almost dropped her….but then Callisto had come, taking Xena in her arms tenderly, sharing the burden, looking at the slain Destroyer of Nations with stricken eyes. She said I was her soulmate, Gabrielle remembered. That she had been told by a priestess that I was her soulmate. Maybe it was even true. Gabrielle had certainly never met anyone like Xena before….
"She died," Gabrielle finished simply, and looked down at her hands. Najara was silent for a moment, out of respect.
"The djinn told me that she was dead," She of the Djinn murmured after a moment, "but not what happened. Thank you for telling me," she said quietly. Gabrielle simply nodded. She had said nothing of the final promise Xena had extracted from Callisto, or that Xena had said Gabrielle was her soulmate; Najara looked almost as if she already knew. Caesar's hands were clenched into fists at his side; he had said nothing all during Gabrielle's tale, but simply sat there, pale and silent and tense. She remembered that he had not liked the fact that Xena had made Callisto swear to her protection, but not to his.
She drew a breath, trying to shake off the grips of memory; what Najara had just said struck a chord in her, and brought a question to mind. "You mentioned the djinn," she said, turning her attention back to the Crusader. "If you don't mind my asking…."
"What about them?" Najara asked.
"Do you…." She paused, not sure what to ask, somehow nervous to satisfy her curiosity. "Did you always hear them? When did you first hear them—if you don't mind talking about it that is," she faltered. "I'm just—I'm not sure what they are, and I don't want to offend you with my questions—"
Najara smiled warmly. "No, not at all. I don't mind talking about them," she said. "I'm not sure what they are either; just that they come to me from time to time. They always seem to tell me things I need to know."
"Did they tell you to become the Crusader?" Gabrielle asked, trying to feel her way; it was possible, she thought, that asking Najara about her background could lead to something that could help her with Stallonus. At Najara's questioning expression, she continued, "I hope—I mean, if you would rather not discuss it it's all right, but….I'm a bard, and bards love stories, and the story of the origins of the Crusader would certainly be one of great interest."
"Well, I don't know that it's all that interesting a story," Najara said. "If you want to hear it, I'll tell you." She drew a breath then, and a shadow crossed her face. Gabrielle quailed a bit at the sight of that shadow, but pressed on nevertheless.
"Please," she said, insisting. "After all, I told you a story….it's only fair that you tell me one in return."
Najara glanced at Jett, who looked at Gabrielle and Caesar. Caesar had not moved during this whole conversation, and was sitting tense and rigid beside her; he had contributed only monosyllables to Gabrielle's account of Xena's death. Jett looked back at Najara and nodded.
"Very well," the Crusader said. "You asked if I could always hear the djinn," she began, sitting back with one foot crossed over the other.
"Does it begin with the djinn?"
"In a way," Najara responded. "I could always hear the djinn, from the time when I was a little girl growing up in my home village in Syria. In fact for a long time I didn't know that others couldn't hear them; it just seemed so natural to me that I thought everyone could hear them too. Sometimes I got in trouble as a girl," she said with a reminiscent smile, "because the djinn would tell me things I had no way of knowing otherwise, and then people would say I was lying, or that I had been sneaking around where I shouldn't have been. But after a while, the village recognized that the djinn spoke to me, and spoke truly, and began to use the information I told them to help themselves."
"It sounds like it could have been a huge asset," Gabrielle murmured.
Najara didn't respond right away. That shadow crossed her face again. After a moment, she rallied and continued. "It was," she agreed. "It often was. For instance, the djinn would sometimes tell me if there was going to be a flood or a drought, and the villagers would be able to prepare for it. Once when some of my family's goats got lost up in the hills, the djinn led me right to them, and I was able to bring them back where my father and my brothers and sisters had been searching for hours without finding anything. They told me how to save my mother's life when she was taken ill, and often they helped our village to defend its flocks against raids from the neighboring villages. They were…they told me a lot," she said, with a small, almost awkward smile.
"Did they teach you how to fight?"
"No," she said, smiling again. "My family raised goats, you see. When I was old enough, I was sent out to guard the flocks with my brothers and sisters against the attacks of wolves or wildcats, or sometimes other villages. We all had to know how to use weapons, in order to defend our flocks well. My siblings and I were very determined," she continued. "Our family never lost a single goat. We were the only family in the village who never did." Najara smiled as she spoke, but again, there was a strange shadow crossing her face; she shifted slightly.
Gabrielle could see her as she must have been at that age: a tall, lanky teenager, still growing into her height and strength, with hands and feet out of proportion to the rest of her body; almost gawky and slightly ungainly, with wide and eager eyes; no hint as yet of the awesome force that she would become.
"For a long time," Najara was continuing, "I thought the djinn were sent by Calliope; she was the patron goddess of our village, and I believed that she had given me the djinn for the purpose of protecting our home and family. It wasn't until I was…oh, about seventeen or eighteen….that I learned differently.
"In my eighteenth year, I think it was," she murmured, her eyes going distant. "Jett, did I ever tell you?" she asked him. "Do you remember?"
"I think you said it was when you were seventeen, actually," the assassin supplied quietly. He was watching Najara carefully.
"Yes, it must have been when I was seventeen," the Crusader said thoughtfully. "Because tales of the warlord Krykus first started reaching our region when I was around fifteen…."
"Krykus," Gabrielle repeated, frowning. She had heard the name but it took her a moment to place it; then she had it. Krykus was one of Najara's most trusted lieutenants.
"The man known as the Crusader's Hand?" she asked, looking up at Najara eagerly.
The Crusader smiled briefly. Even seated casually at the head of the dining cloth, she drew the eye, Gabrielle found herself thinking peripherally; her charisma was that strong. "Yes," she agreed. "But that was later. When he first came to our region, we knew nothing about him, except that he had come from the south. He got his start in Egypt, on the Upper Nile, but Cleopatra's forces still controlled Egypt at that time and they drove him out. It's different now, of course," She of the Djinn added parenthetically. "But back then, Cleopatra still held sway; Krykus was driven out and he fled north to Syria.
"Our village knew none of this information at the time, of course," Najara added, smiling again. "We were…very sheltered; we knew little of what happened outside our immediate area. When rumors started drifting in that there was a warlord named Krykus, demanding tribute from the settlements along our river, our elders simply thought that if we ignored him, he would go away. Our village was a small one with nothing of any interest for anyone; They thought that he would not want anything from us or our neighbors. Our town had always been under the protection of Calliope, since the days of our earliest founding. She had been good to us, taken very good care of us, and we trusted her," she said. "We trusted that she would continue to do so; we made offerings and sacrifices to her, and hoped that that would settle the matter."
The Crusader paused there, seeming lost in thought, looking back through time. Her pale eyes were distant. The shadow that had crossed her face returned, more strongly; her presence was such that the interior of the tent almost seemed dimmer. Gabrielle shivered and quickly gulped some more of the hot tea. Jett was watching Najara with open sympathy in his face; Gabrielle glanced over at Caesar. He was regarding She of the Djinn as distrustfully as if she were a poisonous snake.
"The djinn never warned me," Najara said in a quiet voice. "I was very angry at them," she admitted. No hint of anger was on her face or in her voice. "I was angry at them for a long time after that. It was hard for me to forgive them. Eventually I came to realize that it was all for the best, but…." She curved her hands around her own tea glass.
She spoke revealing almost no emotion, Gabrielle saw, watching her; the Crusader's face was calm, composed, serene as that of a marble statue. Something about that calm gave Gabrielle chills.
Najara continued speaking, her head bowed, her eyes lowered as if in deep thought. She didn't seem to be talking to Gabrielle so much as reminiscing to herself. Her hands were turning her own tea glass idly; other than that, she sat completely motionless, perfectly still, almost tranquil in repose.
"It was during the spring of my seventeenth year. Krykus's men came at night," she said, speaking as matter-of-factly as if she had been discussing the weather. "They came at night, hundreds of them, with torches and on horseback. We rushed to arms as soon as we heard them coming; I took my sword down from the wall and ran to join my cousins—but there were too many of them. Just too many. They were burning everything, striking everywhere and at everyone. I tried to fight, but I failed," she said with perfect composure. "I failed to defend my home."
Gabrielle bit her lip, thinking of Najara's face in the moonlight, seeing the image of a young seventeen-year-old—two years younger than she herself—rushing to arms in the dead of night as flames and smoke reached into the sky.
"I was struck on the head," Najara continued, "and knocked to the ground. The men must have thought I was dead, because they left me where I fell. I could see and hear what was going on around me, but it all seemed very distant from me, and I didn't have the strength to move. Everything was hazy. The people of my village had fled to the one place they thought would be safe—the temple of Calliope. They fled to her, imploring her protection. But Calliope did not protect them," she said almost gently. "The last thing I remembered seeing before I passed out….Krykus's men were firing the temple." She paused. "When I woke, all was ashes."
Again, Najara fell silent, lost in thought. Her face was as flawless as if she were relating a tragedy that had happened to a stranger in a far-off land; touched, perhaps, with a tinge of gentle sorrow, but no more than that. There was something…almost unearthly….about that calm, Gabrielle thought, and shivered again.
"When I came to the next morning," the Crusader resumed her tale, "the men were gone. The village was in ruin; there was nothing left alive, not even a dog. I made my way to what remained of Calliope's temple. It was a charnel house. I knelt in the ashes," she said quietly, "among the burned bones of my people, and…." Now she paused. The tiniest hint of a frown marred her stillness. "I prayed for Calliope to take it all back, to bring them back, to undo the consequences of my failure. I offered my life in trade, if that was what it would take, as long as she would simply bring back my village and my family and my people. I prayed with all my strength, but Calliope did not answer."
Gabrielle bit her lip, her heart bleeding; it seemed she could see the tear-streaked face of that gangling, awkward girl, half-mad with pain and grief, kneeling in the burned-out ruins and reaching out desperately to a higher power for any help, any hope. She could not imagine what it must be like to pray for something that hard, and to have her prayers unheeded. Najara showed no pain at all, not so much as a flicker; perhaps a trace of that gentle sorrow, but nothing more. She spoke with perfect serenity. "Calliope did not answer, and after a long time, I realized it was because she would not answer. The gods did not hear my prayers."
"The gods are dead," Caesar muttered tightly beside Gabrielle. She glanced over at him, startled; his lips were pressed tightly together and he was pale and sweating. His hands were clenched. He would not meet her gaze.
Najara nodded. "Yes," she said tranquilly. "That was the conclusion that I came to as well. That the gods were dead. It was either that….or else that they simply did not care. They did not care," she repeated, her eyes distant. Gabrielle heard something in her voice as she spoke that, something so deeply buried that Gabrielle could not tell what it was; she doubted Najara even knew it was there. All traces of whatever that thing was were gone when she continued. "I would prefer to believe that they were dead," Najara said calmly. "I knelt in that place of death for I don't know how long, begging Calliope to help me. When I finally realized that the gods would not answer, I rose, and went out from that place. I took what food I could find from the ruins, and fled, west into the desert, to where Krykus's men could not reach me if they returned.
"I was in the desert for…days," she said thoughtfully. "I don't remember how long exactly. I knew enough of the desert to be able to find water and some food; I slept as much as I could during the day and moved only at night. I think….I don't remember that period very well," she said, "but I think it must have been at least three days, maybe more. It was on the evening of the third day," she said quietly, "that the djinn came to me. I had taken shelter in the ruins of an abandoned temple. The roof had fallen in, and the stars were very close. If you've ever been out in the desert at night, you know how close the stars seem, how near….it seemed almost as if the stars were speaking to me." Her voice was soft. A sort of almost childlike innocence had come to her face. Gabrielle stared to see it, on the features of such an awe-inspiring woman.
"As I huddled in the ruins of that ancient temple to some nameless god, the djinn spoke," Najara continued. "They had not spoken since the attack. They came to me now, and said…they said…."
She paused. Memory stole over her face again, and again, Gabrielle could see the child she had been, face perfect and still under a sky studded with brilliant jewels, as this awkward girl hovered on the cusp of embracing her destiny.
"They said, You have seen. Now you understand. The old gods will not help you. The old gods do not hear. You are the only one who can do what must be done. Take up the sword. It is your purpose. It is the reason for your birth. It is the reason for all that has transpired. You are the one who will bring the Light.
"I couldn't believe it, of course. I told the djinn that they must be wrong. 'You couldn't possibly want me,' I told them. Had they not seen how I had failed? How completely unworthy I was? I told them I didn't deserve it, that they should choose someone else besides me, but they simply kept repeating that I was the one who could do what must be done. They said that a very dark time was coming to the world, war and chaos and terror, and that I had been born to take up the sword, and bring the Light. The djinn said if I chose this way, I could expect nothing more from this path than struggle and weariness and the embrace of the Light at the end, yet if I had the courage, I could know that I was walking the path that had been laid out for me since my birth; that I was bringing good to the world, and holding back the dark.
"What else could I do?" Najara turned those pale eyes on Gabrielle, and Gabrielle swallowed, suddenly feeling as if that awesome woman were asking her directly. "I took up the sword. I accepted my purpose.
"That was how it began. I didn't understand all of it until a few months later, when Krykus's army had been defeated," she continued. "After I captured him, I wanted to kill him, to slaughter them all for what they had done to my village, and the neighboring villages of the region." Najara admitted this calmly, as if she were commenting on the weather. "But the djinn stayed my hand. They told me what to say and what to do; to present him with the choice, and to give him three days to decide. He accepted the Light," she said, "and has been completely faithful ever since. Now Krykus is one of my most trusted advisors; in fact, I have even left him in charge of the main army while I brought the detachment up north.
"That's why I can't free your friend, Gabrielle," she said, looking at the bard with sympathy, and suddenly Gabrielle knew that Najara knew exactly why she had asked about her origins, and what she was thinking. It was a very eerie feeling; she swallowed. "If it were up to me, I would gladly permit him to go free, but it isn't. I don't make the rules," she said, with a trace of regret. "The djinn are the ones who decreed that those I capture must be brought to the Light, not I. It's not something I can control."
Something I can't control… Gabrielle stared at her. "What if you're wrong?"
"If I'm wrong?" Najara asked.
"I mean—have you ever considered that maybe you weren't the chosen of the Light?" At Najara's look, she was emboldened; She of the Djinn did not seem angry or threatened by Gabrielle's question, but merely politely interested. Gabrielle continued, "Look, I'm not saying that you don't know what the djinn are telling you, but what if…what if the djinn are wrong? What if—"
"That's never happened," Najara said at once. She was stating a fact, no more. "The djinn have never been wrong. They are not wrong. I trust them more than I trust myself," she said. "What the djinn say has always been proven correct; they have assisted me more times than I could count. They may be silent on some matters, but they are not wrong." The total assurance with which she spoke closed off any further avenue of debate. "I know I am the Chosen of the Light because the djinn say I am, and the djinn do not lie."
Gabrielle considered that for a moment, biting her lip. Seeing that lane foreclosed, she tried a new angle of attack. "Okay, well, what if the djinn have…what if they have some purpose they're not telling you about?" Gabrielle asked. "What if—I mean, have you ever considered that maybe the djinn aren't….that great? I mean—"
"Yes?" Again, Najara did not seem angry. Gabrielle glanced at Jett, checking to see the reaction of Najara's Blade; Jett nodded at her, and again, Gabrielle was emboldened.
"Okay," she continued, "I mean, what if the djinn weren't—You say the Light is the cause of good, right? It seems to me," she added diplomatically, "that you definitely have a very strong desire to do good in the world—"
Again, Gabrielle was tickled—almost in spite of herself—by the spectacle of the fearsome Crusader blushing. "Well….to the best of my own limited abilities and as I perceive it in my own imperfect way," she qualified. "I'm not perfect, Gabrielle."
"But you do seem to have a calling to do good, and although I haven't seen much of the world, I have seen enough to know that's a rare gift," Gabrielle said. "Just for…for a hypothetical theory's sake, couldn't it be possible that the djinn aren't good? Suppose the djinn were trying to use you for their own ends? How would you know? I mean, would you resist them, or….?"
"It's not my place to question the djinn, Gabrielle," Najara reproved her gently. "I simply do as they tell me. You ask if the djinn are a force for good? I can assure you, they are. I've seen it. At the djinn's instructions and with their power helping me, I have fed the hungry, clothed the poor, and defended the defenseless. I've protected villages from Xena's and Callisto's depredations, and helped defend peasants from warlords—as I did here, with you and this village," she added. "I know the djinn are good because of what I accomplish for them and what they tell me to do. I know they are good because they tell me they are, and they do not lie. But most of all, I know the djinn are a force for good because I know it."
"That's circular reasoning."
"In this case, it is correct," Najara said calmly. "I regret that you cannot also sense it," she continued politely. "I would like for everyone to come to know the djinn as I do, and someday, I think they will. Until that day comes, however, some doubt and suspicion is understandable."
"But….if they're a force for good—Please," Gabrielle continued. "If I may—don't be offended, but I would like to understand—If they're a force for good, then why do they make you kill people just because they won't give up the worship of the old gods? My friend—his family are devotees of Isis and—"
"The old gods don't hear."
Gabrielle broke off, taken aback; Najara had not spoken loudly or angrily, but there was something about her tone that made Gabrielle stop and look at her closely. Again, the Crusader's face was almost perfectly serene, but there was something in her eyes, in her voice—something so deeply buried that it was almost not present, scarcely recognizable. It was what had been there earlier, when she and Caesar had agreed that the gods were dead. Gabrielle shivered, suddenly cold.
"They don't hear," Najara continued, looking at Gabrielle. "Your friend said they were dead. Maybe they are, and maybe they aren't, but it seems clear that they take no interest in the affairs of mortals. If they even existed in the first place," she added, and her eyes again were distant. "Any worship of them is futile, Gabrielle," she said, more gently. "They won't help. They only serve to give mortal men and women false hope. It is to be hoped that mortals will understand that, once they have come to see the Light."
"But if you want them to see the Light, then how come you kill those who don't?" Gabrielle asked. There was real anguish in her voice as she asked that; she wasn't just thinking of Stallonus, but of her own murder of Licinus in the caves. She knew what blood cost now. The idea that Najara might waste it, for no better reason that someone chose not to follow the Light—this woman who was in every other way so compelling, so memorable—chilled her. "Doesn't it bother you that the djinn, whom you claim are the embodiment of good, tell you to kill them? How can you claim you're a force for good when you execute those who disagree with you?"
"They have a chance," Najara responded. "It is my belief that all human beings have the potential in them to change. The people whom I execute, Gabrielle," she added gently, "are those who are guilty. They are those whom I and my army have apprehended taking up the sword against those who are defenseless. The djinn do not have me require those whom I defend to convert to the Light; the djinn have told me they will come to the Light in time," she said with perfect assurance. "I give those I capture a chance, as the djinn have instructed me. Every human being deserves a chance to change. But if they reject the Light, or if they show by their actions that they accepted the Light falsely….well, I can't be everywhere. And I cannot continue to allow them to hurt the defenseless. Since they have demonstrated they will not be sincere once, there is no reason to assume they will do so in the future—have you not heard the saying that the wise man is never bitten twice by the same snake? I am only a mortal woman. Perhaps an oracle would be able to see into their souls, or to bind them to the path of the Light, or to enjoin them to go forth and harm no more. I cannot do any of those things. Therefore, as the djinn have commanded me, I execute them, to ensure that they will do no further harm to those who do not deserve it."
Gabrielle bit her lip in thought, troubled. Najara sounded plausible; she sounded as if she were making sense, but there was something Gabrielle couldn't put her finger on, something…. Najara waited patiently; Gabrielle could feel the weight of that pale stare, the grip of the Crusader's charisma. After a moment, she said, "Okay, I—" She hesitated, then continued. "I agree with you that the old gods are—that they—" She thought of the destruction of Athens, her captivity at Xena's hands, the sight of Xena and Callisto; thought of the tale of devastation Joxer had told her a month ago, of the anger and betrayal she had heard in Brutus's voice. She thought of the burned-out plain of ashes where Rome had once stood, of the shattered desperation of the group of Romans that had taken them prisoner, of the dead and lifeless look in Minya's eyes before Gabrielle had helped her. She thought of all these things, and again felt a chill as she thought of Potedaia. A gut-clenching fear flashed over her—there and then gone—and she wondered if she would ever see her home village again….or what it would look like when she did. All this was enough to overpower her fears of blasphemy; she swallowed and then continued. "I agree that the old gods are—that they do not hear. M—maybe they're even dead, who knows. But there are many out there who still fear them. What if—if someone really is innocent, but refuses to convert because they fear the old gods? What about that? Has it ever occurred to you that you might be killing innocent people?"
"I'm sure I have," Najara responded. Again that calm, that serenity was unruffled; the Crusader admitted this without so much as flickering an eyelash. Gabrielle couldn't suppress a shiver. "It is definitely to be regretted," Najara continued without any trace of regret—without any trace of any emotion at all. "But I am dealing with events on a worldwide scale. I have captured and brought thousands—tens of thousands—to the Light, in one way or another, in my quest to bring safety and order to countless millions of people throughout the world. On that scale, Gabrielle, how much does the life of one signify?" she asked quietly. "What is the life of one, when compared against thousands—millions? When compared against the world? I do my best to avoid it, but I would be surprised if some innocent souls were not among those I have sent to the Light. I am flawed and imperfect, as all human beings are. The method the djinn have shown me is the best that can be expected of this imperfect world. It is merely the best I can do. I am not a god, Gabrielle," she repeated quietly. "I am no more than a mortal woman, small and limited and crippled like all mortals, and there is no one who is more aware than I of just how far I fall short of perfection. I'm certain that some innocent people have died by my hand, just as some of those to whom I show mercy have gone on to commit more crimes and cause more suffering as soon as they think themselves free of my grip." Najara bowed her head for a moment, her face shadowed. "Those I have killed will go to the Light," she resumed, "and the Light will judge them. If they are innocent, the Light will absolve them and take them into its embrace. If they are not, the Light will deal with them also. The Light looks after us all," she concluded, her face utterly tranquil and serene.
Again, there was something, something about the Crusader, something that Gabrielle couldn't put her finger on…it seemed almost like something familiar….
"I don't know," she said at last. "Please, don't take this the wrong way," she said hastily, even as she was aware that she was speaking to the Crusader in a way she never would have dared with Xena or Callisto, "but what gives you the right to make these decisions? What makes you worthy—"
"I am not worthy," Najara responded at once, bowing her head humbly. "There is nobody who is less worthy than I, less deserving of the Light's grace and trust. I said before, I know just how far I fall short of perfection," she said calmly. "I am too well aware of my own flaws; I could accuse myself of such failings, such shortcomings, that it were almost better I had not been born. I fail to attain the Light's deserving every day, in more ways than you could possibly imagine," she told Gabrielle. "There is not time enough in the day to list all my flaws….I am stubborn, easily angered, and quick to doubt. I am proud, spiteful, revengeful, and slow to accept what the djinn and the Light set before me." She spoke these words with that same unearthly serenity; there was no hint of anger on that face. "Nevertheless, unworthy as I am, flawed as I am, imperfect as I am, the djinn, for reasons only they may know, have chosen me to work their will. There are times when I would much rather they had chosen someone else, but such wishes are simply a manifestation of the weakness of my spirit. It is I who am their chosen, and it is not for me to question or gainsay that choice. And since I am their chosen, with all my many, many shortcomings, it is my sacred obligation, from which I may not turn aside, to try to the best of my severely limited abilities to work their will and perform their commands on earth…to bring the Light."
She folded her hands in her lap and returned that focused gaze to Gabrielle, waiting to see if her guest had any more questions. Gabrielle frowned, thinking. Her unease was stronger than ever, and she couldn't figure out why. Najara's strange serenity, that calm that she found so troubling—it was so familiar, somehow, but she couldn't remember—
Then it struck her like a ton of bricks, and sent her reeling. I've seen this before. I have. She turned to stare at her companion, dazed from the sudden flash of insight; her companion recoiled at her sudden motion and his eyes darted away from hers. That calm. That total assurance. That absolute faith. I know this.
Caesar.
All of that, she realized, raising a hand to her head. All of that talk about how she was the chosen of the djinn, how it was her duty to carry out their commands on earth, that it was not up to her to question them—it sounded eerily like the way Caesar had spoken of his destiny, in the first days of their travels. You are the only one who can do what must be done. That talk about how there was no one in the world as unworthy as she was, Gabrielle realized—that was a perfect inverse to Caesar's air of entitlement, to the way he had acted as if he were exceptional and everyone in the world should bend to his wishes. It's the same, Gabrielle realized dazedly. Exactly the same, except that Najara feels she's already failed, so she can't be broken as he is. It's the same…. And then on the heels of that thought, as she sat under the pale, calm gaze of She of the Djinn, She'll never free Stallonus. Caesar wouldn't, and she wouldn't either. She'll never let him go unless he converts. Never. What do I do now?
Najara was looking at her inquiringly. "Are you all right?" she asked solicitously. Gabrielle managed a nod and a weak smile, and took another sip of tea, thinking again, What am I going to do?
"She won't let you go. You'll have to convert."
Night had fallen. Gabrielle had ducked out of the tent briefly on the pretext of going for a walk, and had hurried across the dew-silvered grass to the place where the prisoners were chained. Only a sliver of crescent moon was out. Gabrielle had waited until the guards had passed on their rounds, then gone to where Stallonus was secured, out on the end of the line, separated a bit from the rest of them. The others were largely quiet, Gabrielle was surprised to notice; probably they were thinking of Najara's evening sermon.
"I can't," Stallonus had insisted, running his chained hands over his face.
"There is no can't, Stallonus, you have to. It's easy—I asked about it at dinner. All you have to do is be initiated into the Light and take the vows, then go on your way and give up the sword. As long as you don't take up the sword again, you don't even have to mean it! There's nothing to it—"
"I can't do it."
"Why not?" Gabrielle had demanded angrily.
Stallonus gave a frustrated sigh. "Look, there's a—there's a curse on my family, okay?" he said, looking up at her. "It goes back to the time of my great grandfather. Apparently he did something—my dad wasn't sure what—that angered a priestess of Isis, and so she laid a curse on him and all his descendants—that his sons, and his sons' sons, and so on till the end of his line would have to be followers of Isis, and if any one of us fell away from her worship, we would die horrible deaths that very day. I saw it happen. One year during a drought my uncle prayed to Demeter, and that same day he was crushed to death by a runaway cart. I can't do it, Gabrielle," he said desperately.
"Well, you're going to die a horrible death anyway when Najara executes you for not following the Light!" Gabrielle said sharply.
"Not if you get me out of here. I know you can do it, Gabrielle," he said fervently.
"I'm not so sure. Look, Najara says the old gods are dead," Gabrielle said. "Maybe—maybe—"
But Stallonus shuddered, in the damp coolness of the evening. "You'll forgive me if I don't care to take the chance," he said sharply. "Particularly not when Najara is saying blasphemous things like that. She's just asking for the gods to come and strike her down!" he said, looking distressed. Gabrielle held her peace, thinking blasphemous thoughts herself—thinking that, though she had never seen or dealt with the gods, beyond leaving offerings at their temples, she could not imagine any sort of god that would succeed in striking down the likes of Najara, or Callisto, or Xena.
"What are you even doing here, anyway?" she demanded irritably. "How'd you ever get mixed up in all this?"
"Look, what else was I supposed to do?" Stallonus demanded harshly. His face was set and unhappy. "My mother was dead, all right? My brothers had abandoned the farm months ago—they left my mother to die in the face of Callisto's advance; that's why I went home in the first place. I don't know where they are now, or if they're even alive or dead and I don't care, either. Two of my cousins had run off to join Xena's army when the Daughter of War passed through there earlier, and the rest had fled the valley to the gods know where. My village was completely empty, and there was no one to help me work the land. It was stay where I was and starve, or leave and see what else I could find. That's not much of a choice, Gabrielle!"
"You could have come back to the Academy—"
"How was I supposed to get to the Academy?" he demanded. "Xena and Callisto were fighting all between my village and Athens, and where they weren't fighting, the land was full of bandits and thieves and slavers preying off the people they'd displaced. You should know this yourself! It wasn't possible," he said, shaking his head. "What else could I do? I took my father's legionary sword and left to see what I could find, and I found Zagreas—or rather, he found me. At least it was three meals a day, Gabrielle!" he insisted angrily. "I never killed innocents. I never did that. I burned houses, carried off food and valuables, but I never killed women and children. I managed to avoid doing that. I thought about leaving every day, but I had nowhere else to go, and I was afraid Zagreas's men would kill me if I tried to leave. You've got to get me out of here, Gabrielle," he said desperately. "You've got to."
Gabrielle sighed, and ran her hands over her face. "All right. Just hang on. Let me see what I can do."