Let It Bleed
Athena had never seen Ouroboros so shaken. For as long as she had known of it, Ouroboros was an oasis, separated from the wasteland by geography, politics, and deception, a bastion of culture and immune to the dangerously volatile conditions of the wasteland. For more than a decade it had been untouchable.
She was honestly surprised at how prepared Ouroboros was for attack. As soon as they went on lockdown, she was shuttled behind an already established barricade by a coordinator and given orders to fire at anyone until the all-clear was sent out. She had walked past the barricade every day for a year without realizing it. It dawned on her while she waited with her laser pistol drawn that much of the architecture of Ouroboros was designed for defense. Although she had never been prepped on what to do in the event of an attack it was clear that there was a well-thought-out plan.
What wasn't prepared for, however, was the aftermath. The Goddess had been quietly planning the assault by the Legion for years, building up strength and training her followers how to repel a massive Legion attack. She was confident her machinations would escape the attention of Caesar and his men, but was not so proud as to assume it would always be that way, that there wouldn't be a tipping point eventually. She assumed the Legion would eventually catch wind of her plots and retaliate. She miscalculated, however, in assuming that the tipping point would draw the ire of the entire Legion. For years she'd plotted in secret for the great battle that would decide the course of the southwest wasteland, devising ruthless ways to compensate for the Legion's superior size and unwavering devotion. She believed it would all come to a head in a single massive conflict, with no ambiguity. But this was different.
The bodies collected totaled about one hundred and the estimate was that about fifty had been disintegrated by energy weapons, leaving one hundred and fifty total. A single centuria and their slaves out of hundreds. It left questions needing answers. The Goddess held council in the main hall of Ouroboros' temple. Daughters from all over the wasteland found seats in the gallery or stood on the floor. The Goddess herself took her seat of silken pillows on a raised dais surrounded by incense burners. Her throne at the end of the hall, behind and above a half circle of chairs occupied by her most esteemed priestesses. Although she appeared before her Daughters very rarely, she knew she needed to be among them in this time of crisis.
"She's much smaller than I thought," Soledad, Athena's best friend, was called back from her Utah tribe to participate in the council.
"How large did you think the Goddess was?" Athena whispered back, egging Soledad on "Twenty stories tall?" Admittedly the first thing she noticed when she saw the Goddess was how small Hecate looked.
Soledad chuckled uncomfortably, "Well, maybe. I didn't think she was so... human-sized."
The main hall of the pyramid was packed to the brim with Daughters of all stripes. Some Harpies in the most remote corners of the southwest wasteland could not be in attendance, and many Maenads were attending to more important business, but it was without a doubt the largest congregation of Daughters that Athena had ever seen. She scanned the ranks of women and noted with pleasure that Arama was not in attendance.
As she had spent more time among the Daughters of Ouroboros Athena found her faith in the Goddess shaken by the Goddess' own faith in Arama, now known as Julia. She had discovered that the Goddess had appointed Julia her High Priestess sometime before Athena had been cast out of the Crazy Horns, a discovery which made her blood boil. She had almost abandoned the faith then and there, but two things kept her in Ouroboros. The first was her fear of Julia. She was scared of her. Their encounter in the Maenad bar had cowed Athena taught her just how unhinged Julia had become. The second reason she remained loyal was her fear of the Goddess, which outstripped her fear of Julia by far.
When Athena lived among the Crazy Horns she taught them to fear and worship the Goddess through a variety of means. She preached, she proselytized, and she gave aid all in the name of Hecate, but her efforts all paled in comparison to the Goddess' own demonstrations. The Goddess was perhaps small in stature, but her presence was felt across the wasteland. Before Athena came to the Crazy Horns, a tribe neighboring to the south of Salt Lake received a Daughter carrying the teachings of Hecate.
They were targeted for conversion first as they were the most powerful tribe in the area, extorting other tribes for food and slaves much like Athena's own Twisted Hair tribe had done before the Legion. They were known as the Ichorous and they were strong. A Daughter approached them and was greeted warmly, at first. But soon she began to speak of the Goddess, and the tribe's chieftain, Let-It-Bleed, was insulted. He was warchief of the Great Salt Lakes region, and much of his power derived from the belief that there was no one more powerful than him. And a belief was all it was, as thanks to his skills in battle and intimidation he had successfully aged past his prime and could no longer control the Ichorous through strength alone. His authority had become a con, and belief in the Goddess Hecate was a threat to his power.
His solution was cruel and cunning, although ultimately short-sighted. He sought to make a fool of Hecate's messenger, to denigrate Hecate through her missionary and mock her for not retaliating. Let-It-Bleed betrayed the Daughter he had welcomed in the night. He tied her up and held her prisoner until the morning, when the tribe was awake. He then tied her to a large piece of sheet metal facing south. He invited her to fight back, to show them the full power of the Goddess. He encouraged his tribe to pelt her with rotten food. The Daughter calmly warned him of Hecate's retribution, but did nothing to stop him. Let-It-Bleed laughed.
"Let's see your goddess come find your grave," he boasted half to her and half to his people. He put on a show. He smeared the Daughter's face paint, repainting her face to a comical appearance. He spat on her, he stripped her naked and invited all the men of the tribe to grope her and ejaculate on her naked body. He humiliated her, repeatedly and thoroughly, mocking the Goddess and her authority all the while. She did not beg or plead or cry. She remained stoic and proud and dignified despite her tortures. Let-It-Bleed mutilated her and let her die tied to the sheet metal, facing south towards the Goddess. Before she was gone she said one last thing.
"You have killed the Ichorous," and again the chieftain laughed.
They didn't bother to bury the Daughter. Her mangled corpse was left to rot in the sun. As time went by her body became less a threat from to the Ichorous to the Goddess. The body became the Ichorous' albatross, a reminder of their sins and their shame. Hecate's retribution started slowly at first, too slowly for the tribe to realize what was happening. Animals began dying. Rotting gecko and bighorner corpses littered the plain immediately surrounding the Ichorous. The ground turned to poison. Children started to grow sick, in greater and greater numbers. A pall was cast over the tribe, and it only grew worse and worse. Other tribes began to refuse trade, fearing the deathly specter that haunted them. More and more of the tribe grew ill, with hideous diseases that covered their bodies in oozing pustules. The rotting body of the murdered Daughter took on a menacing appearance as her lips receded and her eyes rotted away. All that was left of her face was a hollow smile, a cruel scarecrow that delighted in the suffering of the men and women who had made her.
Neighboring tribes started to grow sick. In retribution they banded together, and slew the Ichorous who had not yet succumbed. Then the Daughters came, providing vaccines and cures. The Goddess' power had been witnessed, and it was terrifying. All of the Utah tribes knew the story of Let-It-Bleed and the Ichorous well. Even consumed by her hatred of Julia, Athena could not forget it. The body of the slain Daughter was recovered, and given special burial in the valley. Her name was Bao. She was known as Bao-Who-Died-For-The-Goddess.
So Athena could not renounce the Goddess, as Let-It-Bleed had renounced the Goddess and had died covered in boils, knowing his blaspheme had killed everyone he loved. Thinking of the story of the Ichorous again made Athena feel an acute pain in her chest. She thought of the Crazy Horns, but only for a moment, as more than a moment was too painful.
Atia knew nothing of the Goddess' retribution. She knew nothing of the Ichorous or any of the other tribes the Goddess had punished. But she was very familiar with the Legion.
When the order went out to make Ouroboros combat-ready, as a non-combatant she was sealed away with other record-keeping noncombatants in the very back of the hall of records. She was scared but confident that whatever was happening the Daughters could handle it. More than anything she was scared for her son, who was in class with other children his age. Would he understand what was happening?
She and the other record-keepers waited silently for awhile, not knowing what to expect. Someone brought up the question of exactly what was attacking Ouroboros, which inspired a whole range of terrifying guesses, but none more terrifying to Atia than the suggestion that it was a Legion attack.
She had been freed from the Legion for years but she still remembered them well. The cruelty, the misery, the smell of burning garbage and burning flesh. The moans and the screams of the crucified. The innumerable scores and scores of battle-hardened young men and boys marching in step, clashing metal spear on metal shield. The howling battle cries of the blood-mad, desperate for victory and unstoppable. She still saw them in her nightmares. One of the other record-keepers asked her why she was shaking. She couldn't admit it was because of her fear of the Legion.
Her worst fears were confirmed after it was finished. Word spread quickly that the Legion had attacked Ouroboros, although there were conflicting stories on whether they had penetrated the valley or had been stopped at the corridor. At first there was celebration, jubilant exultations of victory against the most hated enemy of the southwest. Atia could not join in the celebration. She voiced her concerns.
"How many attacked? Who was their leader? Are more coming?" she asked again and again and received unsatisfactory answers. Her fear spread like plague among the Daughters, and soon the Goddess was facing a full-scale panic among her devout.
The Goddess called the Victory Council a week after the attack, and a day away from a fear-induced riot. Despite it's upbeat name the Council was full of grim Daughters, scared and uncertain and not ready to pleased with the answers they had been demanding for days. Atia had never seen the Goddess before, although there were paintings and statues dedicated to Hecate all throughout Ouroboros. In the main hall of the temple Hecate was obscured by a thick cloud of incense, and the dais she sat on was shrouded in poor light. Atia wondered if she was really there at all, or whether it was instead an old mannequin trussed up with a huge dreadlocked wig. It made her angry that the Goddess possibly wasn't even bothering to appear at her own Council, to her most dedicated followers. A thought occurred to Atia that perhaps there wasn't even a Goddess at all, that she was an elaborate lie established to enslave the Daughters. Paranoid visions flitted through her mind as she stood on the floor of the temple surrounded by two hundred other women. Atia thought of the most terrifying motives for inventing a false Goddess, and the Victory Council began.