The background characters may not be of utter importance but if you want to refresh your memories a little, please check here. Some of them will be around more often - the world Penny and her tribe members live in is secluded and small 😅 “It must have been the caravan’s guards. The attackers came from the trade route.” Faidra pointed at the hoof prints of several horses that had crossed the entire thieves’ camp. “Around fifty people in total, I'd guess. The confrontation must have taken place in the early morning. He hasn't been lying here for long.” Hippolyta bit her lip. “Dareios must have hired some mercenaries after the raid attempts last summer.” She looked around. Her companions were watching the body closely, still swinging their now useless weapons in their hands. Charon had been keeping the same relaxed posture since they had arrived. Leo of Burton shifted from one leg to the other. Cass stared at the ground. Never before had people died in the attacks. Of course, injuries had occurred and occasionally, they had taken prisoners. The prisoners had been sold into slavery to make up for the losses they had caused. Alexander had declared the rest of the raiders outlawed. However, they had stayed in the mountains, avoiding the tribes' settlements. No one was content with that, but everyone could tolerate it. This time… it was different. Sweat ran down Hippolyta's back despite the rather cool morning. The air became heavier the longer they stayed in the deserted camp. Masa, Alexander’s bodyguard, broke the silence. “I’m certain that we cannot be of any more use to him.” He nodded in the body’s direction. “So, what should we do now, princess Hippolyta?” Lyta closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “We will send someone to bury them later. Let’s get the horses. We’re going to ask Dareios if he knows anything about this incident. If it was indeed the caravan’s guard, he must be able to provide us with more information.” Since the caravan seemed to have arrived at the market only shortly ago, the princess knew where to head. Dareios would be claiming his usual spot. It was easy to find him. His flamboyant skirt outshone all the dull colors of the old market. The merchant turned around at the sound of so many feet and the clattering of metal. His eyes lit at her sight. “Aaah, the daughter of my very best customer and trading partner! Welcome, welcome, luck and health to you!” “Yes, yes, luck and health to you as well.” Lyta gestured the young man to follow her inside the small courtyard but stopped Faidra and Masa who were trying to come after them. “Stay outside, I’ll handle this alone.” Faidra was clearly not amused but the two warriors took up their posts in front of the yard. Dareios clapped and a slave who had already waited stepped up. “May I offer you a cup of spiced wine? An exquisite vintage, with a fine taste. An import from my very own home island, Porphyreia.” “No wine, just answers.” “Answers?” He indicated the slave to leave. “Most revered lady, I hope this is not about the goods your father acquired last summer? If there has been anything wrong with them, sickness or injury, I will gladly compensate him. After all, I pride myself to sell only the best slaves this side of the sea.” “I doubt that.” With a sigh, Lyta strolled toward the seat. It had been set up as a resting place for the merchant at times when no customer would find their way to the stall. “Last I heard of him, he was not unhappy with his latest purchase. Although you would have to ask him yourself. No, I am just worried about the security of this area. Say, during your way here, have you noticed any signs of raiders preparing for an attack on your caravan?” “Indeed, our mercenaries’ scout has repeatedly discovered traces of armed groups during our arduous travel.” Lyta frowned. “You didn’t have mercenaries the last time you came by.” “Ah, yes, how very attentive you are. Naturally, you also remember the two cartloads of goods my fellow tradesmen lost to the ambushes. I myself was only spared because driving stolen slaves away would have slowed the thieves down too much. So- when the opportunity for additional protection presented itself so willingly, I could not help but grasp it. Commander Teukros and his men sought work, and I had found the answer to a question I had not even asked yet.” “You know well enough that you could have protection for free. Alexander sent us to gather informations on the raiders’ activities. If need be, we can always scatter them by a surprise attack.” “A surprise attack? Please pardon my bluntness if you most graciously would, but are the men I saw the entire troop? You would not have stood a chance.” “Oh, I know. We were but the scouting party.” That was a blatant lie. Still, it was better than Dareios figuring out that they had, in fact, been the entire fighting party. “So, how many were they?” “More than last time, although I am not the best person to assess the situation. I merely know but a few details from commander Teukros’ report. Maybe you will be pleased to hear his evaluation.” He gestured toward the entrance, to her warriors. Lyta leant forward. “Faidra, Masa, if there's a man named Teukros out there, let him pass!” A few moments later, Faidra’s red thatch appeared behind the walls. “He’s armed!” “My lady, if you allow- I can help with that.” Dareios strode toward the entrance. “Ah, my most valiant commander, what a pleasure to see you back! We have a high-ranking visitor and avid admirer of your military expertise. She requires-” Lyta groaned. “Oh goddess, give me patience with that man...” At least his persuasion seemed to work. A little while later, a black-haired man appeared. The princess examined him closely while he stood still before her. “You must be that Teukros, leader of the mercenaries. I hope you are not a talkative Porphyreian with little self-discipline as well.” The man seemed to return the examination. When he opened the mouth to speak, he did so fluently but with a heavy, harsh accent. “I am Teukros, leader of the mercenaries that accompany the merchant Dareios. I am not his countryman, I am Tìreach.” “Tìreach? Where is that?” “It is not a place, although my homeland lies further to the west. In my tongue, Tìreach* means-” He struggled for the right words. “So- you’re a Westerner.” That explained the strange legwear. She had seen Westerners before: traders, slaves, not least Haimon, but… none of their warriors yet. All of a sudden, something in Teukros' bright eyes seemed to fade. “Some people of your lands call us that.” “Tell me, the robbers in the mountains. Was it your mercenaries that routed them out?” “Our scout discovered their traces. They gathered for an attack. We struck before they were ready. Less enemies, less casualties.” “Basic strategy.” “Yes, basic strategy.” “How many were there? And how many are you?” “Jove saw around 30. My own group are 26 men.” Thirty! That was almost twice the size of the groups they had encountered the last summers. So far, they had always kept to themselves. It had been nothing more but small bands targeting the slowest carts of the caravan. They had burst forth from bushes and rocks, grabbing whatever they could carry before they had vanished into the wilderness of the mountains. It hadn’t been dangerous for the traders but sure enough troublesome. Since Dareios had first arrived, no summer had passed without complaints from caravan members and demands of compensation. Thirty thieves on one spot. That also meant that small patrols would indeed no longer be enough to keep them at bay. A group of ten, maybe fifteen people would flee when suddenly confronted by an equal amount of more experienced warriors. Thirty, on the other hand... They might believe to have good chances and actually stand their ground. The patrols would have to be larger, making it harder to cover the entire area of the trade route. They would have to muster more men and leave the tribes without sufficient protection. Who would guarantee the villages' safety if the warriors were out in the mountains? Lyta rubbed her forehead. There was a lot to be discussed with Alexander. “26 against 30? Are there any dead on your side, any injured ones?” Teukros shook his head. “No dead. Few injuries. They didn’t expect us and ran off.” “Do you have horses? Archers? How good are your men?” “Experienced fighters, all of them. Twelve horses. Some archers, most of them capable to switch weapons to close-range fight.” Teukros' gaze sought hers. “Are we in trouble for fulfilling our duty? We came here to protect, not to cause a stir.” Hippolyta crossed her arms. “It isn't my duty to decide that. I just want to get to know your group. What will you be doing while the merchants sell their goods? Where will you stay?” “We plan to ask around for work. Maybe someone can use one more weapon or just a strong arm. We're not only fighters, we can also help with farm work or herding cattle.” He stretched out one arm. “You seem to hold some power. Where can I ask for permission to set up a camp while we’re here?” “I can lead you to the highest king of these lands if you wish. I enjoy the trust to come and go in his palace as I please.” Lyta was pretty sure that Alexander wouldn’t welcome strangers to meddle with his affairs but he would also want to see them. To make sure they wouldn’t be a threat. The commander hinted a bow of his head. “That is good. I don’t want to act against his will.” “Great!” Hippolyta propped herself up and rose. “Let’s go, then. My warriors will be our escort. We need to return and report to the high king anyway.” With that, she strode past him and stepped outside of the yard. “Faidra, Cassiopeia, Masaru, we’re going to Arythion with-” The rest of the sentence got stuck in her throat. Two more armed men, probably part of the mercenaries, were waiting in front of the local warriors. That very moment, they turned their heads toward the newcomer. One of them… She was staring at a brown-haired, youthful version of a well-known face. And the face looked back, evidently confused by her fierce reaction. “My lady?,” Masa asked. “Is everything alright?” Lyta shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Yes, everything is alright. I just remembered one more thing I need to do before setting out to Arythion. Faidra, step aside with me for a moment.” The warrior followed her without question. When she closed up, she inquired: “What is it? Shall I take these men into custody, my princess?” Lyta kept her voice hushed. “No need to do that. I'd rather you got your horse. Go to my mother as fast as you can and tell her to ride to Arythion. There’s someone here she needs to see. It’s urgent. If she arrives before we do, she can just wait. I’ll bring him right to her if she stays in close proximity of Alexander.” “Tell her- oooh, Goddess! I don't know, tell her I have everything under control. She doesn't have to worry, she should just come to see for herself.” Faidra bowed her head. “Understood.” Lyta watched her leave. Thoughts spun around in her head when she returned to her other warriors and the three strangers. “We’re going to the high king. Commander Teukros wants to ask for permission to camp here. This one,” she pointed at the brown-haired Westerner, “is also coming with us. Take their weapons but treat them respectfully. They’re not enemies.” Not yet. She was almost sure that as soon as her mother laid eye upon the young man, Penthesilea would not rest until she had removed him somehow. * Tìreach: The official translation is simply "countryman" and describes the Westerners. For them, that term means much more though. It's a way to distance themselves from the surrounding, rather unfriendly people. They would rather think of it as "fellow child of this country" This chapter has extra screenshots in the gallery
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Attention: mild swearing ahead Do you remember that Penny had a son whom Alexander and Serkon tried to spare from the characteristic fate of Amazon men? Yes? Onward, then! Palace of Dekanos, later at night. The light of the braziers danced on the walls. The vibrant colors of the murals mocked Hippolyta’s fury. In lack of a door, she slammed the palm of her hand against the wooden frame. Serkon flinched at the noise. Lyta wagged her finger at him. “How dare you! How dare you recognize a slave’s son as your own and look at mother the entire time during the announcement!” “Lyta… You should be happy for me. What’s your matter?” “You humiliated mother in front of everyone. And you have the audacity to pretend it wasn’t intentional?” The princess planted herself in front of him, arms on the hips. Serkon’s shoulders slouched. Despite his best attempt at a long, deep gaze, he seemed to look through her. “Goooods, I didn’t humiliate her. The news were delicate, I just wanted to make sure that she's alright.” Lyta frowned. “You stared, dad! How did it occur to you that that would be a good idea? Great Goddess, in the end, everyone was staring! You were talking of loving your new son. And all of them remembered that she refused to spare her son. They believed you were showing her up. Damn, I believed that, too!” Serkon shrugged. “Well… that's her fault. One doesn't just kill one's own child, that’s crazy.” He slurred a bit. “Ugh, still raking up old stories when you're drunk? Shit, dad, wine doesn't excuse you for being such a dick!” “Pha, it’s a wine festival. People are supposed to have fun and get drunk. Why aren’t you?” “I sobered up the moment you declared you had a bastard. Do you want to know where mother is right now?” For a moment, Hippolyta waited for a response. None came. “She’s with your damn wife, comforting her since you didn’t consider telling her in advance.” Serkon cocked his head. “Well, that’s nice of her. I guess.” “Yes, it bloody is!” She gasped for breath. “Mother is taking care of what should be your business! For the Goddess’ sake, dad, she came here hoping your invitation was a public offer of reconciliation. It would have taken long enough, two suns after Keleos’ birth! Instead, you stabbed her from behind and twisted the dagger! And all the while, you didn’t even realize she bled!” “Oh, my. Now you’re getting overly dramatic, dear.” “Dramatic? I’m not the one being dramatic. Why did you arrange a whole-ass feast to recognize an illegitimate son? You could have just told the council, or sent a messenger like everyone else does.” Suddenly, Lyta’s shoulders slumped. Her eyes hung on his face. “Why? Why did you recognize him but not the others before?” “Maybe I did want to show that one can treat their children kinder than your mother did. Maybe I like the woman who bore that one. Maybe I just want to be a good father.” Slowly, Lyta shook her head. “A good father, only now? You would have been a good father if you hadn’t established him as a danger to your childrens’ claim to the throne. That is what should matter to you first and foremost. I can’t believe I’m standing here telling you that.” “He doesn’t hold any right to become king.” “Since when has that ever stopped a power-hungry schemer? If he isn’t to revolt, anyone else could do it in his name now that he’s part of the royal bloodline! A bastard should never be allowed to wear the ring of Dekanos. He might turn on your other sons one day.” “He’s not the only one who could turn against them.” “Dad, you know I would never.” She watched his eyes wander to her right hand, where her own ring was. She rubbed her forehead. “Goddess, you are unnerving me with your drunken stare. I’m not in the mood for that shit. Just tell me whatever goes on in that head of yours and then go sleep it off.” “You’re jealous.” “I'm- What now?” Finally, his gaze lifted toward her eyes. “You’re jealous, because he’s the same as you.” “The same as- how? How in the world would he be the same as me when he’s illegi-” From one moment to another, Lyta paled. It felt like she had just received a punch to her stomach. Then, her head turned red. “The plague on you! If it’s like that, I don’t even want this cursed ring!” Forcefully, she pulled at the golden circlet around her finger. It got stuck at the middle joint. She pulled with even more force. Tears formed in her eyes. “How dare you! How dare you insult your own daughter. Me, who is princess of two tribes, queen-to-be of one. My mother’s blood alone is nobler than yours will ever be.” Finally, the ring slid off. “Here, keep it! I don't need your name, or your ancestors. The legacy of Santrake will be just fine, thank you.” With one smooth throw, the ring flew over the balustrade. Serkon’s eyes followed the golden flash. “You’re angry. I’ll leave so you can calm down.” How could he not raise his voice against her when she did, slandering his forefathers? “No!,” she screamed after him. “You can’t go, I wanted to leave first!” But he didn’t stop. “I hate you!” Slow, slugging steps carried him away. Through the doorway, to where those smug kings and their followers were feasting and laughing about her mother. About a woman better than all of them combined. “Aaaaaaaarrgh!” Hippolyta hit the air with her fists. Fiercely, she swung herself onto the balustrade and looked down, where the ring must lie. So in your eyes, I’m just another bastard? A danger to the throne? If you put up with gaining a son to humiliate my mother and me, you deserve to lose a daughter over it. She rammed her heel into the balustrade. The pain was welcome, fresh and maddening. She thought of her mother’s face as her best friend had betrayed her in public. How her own father had labeled her, Hippolyta, illegitimate. Unasked for. Child of no one until he, the mighty king, had deigned to allow her entrance into his heritage. “Me, a bastard? Downfall and Pride, I will show you bastard.” The whispered words faded away in the nightly silence. Only a group of crickets defied the taut atmosphere with their rhythmic chirping. These events of Santrakian mythology will be referred to in the next chapter. It was long planned to continue the mythology section anyway, so we will have a short interlude. To know who the myth is talking about, I advise to read this page first. And now, enter the door to the land of myths... In a time long gone, before mankind took its very first breath, all that existed was a divine realm. It hosted an immortal people whose kinsmen were gifted with unearthly powers and breathtaking beauty. One tribe and one family, those supernal beings were led by the mightiest of them all: the Great Goddess herself. Her wisdom and reign provided stability and security in a relentless world. A world that was inhabited by the most nightmarish creatures. Many stood by her side, on hand with help and advice. And though each was a deity themselves and endowed with outstanding talents, there were five the Goddess had chosen by name. First of them was Andros, warrior prince and finest of men. He was selected to be the Goddess’ lover and trusted consort. But higher even than him, she regarded her four daughters. Ruling alongside their mother, they had risen from the Goddess’ will alone with no man as their father. Each of them embodied one part of their people and their life. The oldest was Justice and equally followed Virtue, Loyalty and Freedom. On their mother’s command, those sisters set out to fight for her cause. Together, they brought peace to the land. Until one day, Andros, the Goddess' lover, left her palace on his own. Thus, he had betrayed her most severe order toward him. When she was informed about his breach of trust, she was enraged and condemned him to live outside of the protecting palace walls forever. Filled with the desire for revenge and seeking to weaken the Goddess' stand, Andros returned. In secret, he seduced Freedom, the youngest of the divine princesses, and sired a child with her – a boy named Epigonos, “the one who was born after”. But the treason was revealed too soon. Nothing was left for Andros but to flee the royal palace and seek refuge in the unsafe forests beyond. Disgraced, fallen for the charming wretch and chased by her once-so-dear sisters, Freedom decided to flee along with him. As soon as the Goddess had learnt of their deed, sacred fury overcame her. She assembled her three remaining daughters for a gruesome council. All of them agreed that they would willingly give their lives to restore their mother’s honor. And, moreover, to demand punishment for the loss of their most important good: freedom itself. So the Goddess sent a messenger to the wise seer Omphale, asking if there was a way to take away Andros and Freedoms' immortality. And indeed, Omphale saw a way. With the help of her subjects, the Great Goddess split the universe into three parts: one, the realm of the gods. One, the underworld, ruled by its fierce keeper, Dymio. And one, Earth, as a prison to hold the two evildoers. And the gods put a curse on two of the realms, stripping them from the divine nature that was closely woven into their very existence. Henceforth, no realm but the divine one would still endow its inhabitants with immortal lives. In their stead, Earth would provide them with pain of the soul and ailment for the body. And the underworld as home for the wrongdoers who had died would hold in store agony upon agony. Thus, the Goddess and her people threw Andros, Freedom and their infant son onto the new world. There, they were doomed to slowly wither and die while wandering without aim. To prevent further harm and uprising, the three remaining princesses, too, left immortality behind. They descended upon the new-born land along with their own consorts. And they swore never to return to their mother until they had brought down the rebels. But even in all their power, they could not defeat the joint force of Andros and Freedom. Children were born onto Earth to strengthen this side or that. Meanwhile, the fallen gods all grew to be rulers in their own right and ancestors to many. In the south, Justice became mother to the Lionesses of Agadja, warriors in Sima Migdhall and the hot-blooded Nerusians. The west and north were under control of Virtue’s high queens of Wahine and other tribes of warlike women. And in the east, Loyalty raised the high culture of Suzu and bloodthirsty Santrakians. It was her who nourished Theranor’s golden fields and Chan as nomads in the cold steppe. Yet- Andros and Freedoms’ children soon populated the world as well, fighting for each foot-width of land. They did – and still do to the day – call themselves “Tìreach”, “countrymen”. And though being remarkable horsemen and archers, builders and artisans, the Amazons and self-proclaimed cultured people would only speak lowly of those “Western savages”. But born on Earth, they and the princesses’ descendants lost their supernatural strength, powers and skills as well as their long life. Within several millennia, they became mere humans, outlived by their progenitrices until their own long-lasting breath would have perished. Until their death, the divine daughters were worshiped as great heroines. After they had passed away, the war between men and women still waged on, never to be ended. During those first days of Earth, the people who walked it had still retained godlike abilities. Then, the war was so bitter that Santrakian myths still describe it as the greatest misery humankind has ever seen. “And the Goddess waged a millennia-long war on the seceded man and his lover. Earth reared up in suffering. The deserted lands brought forth bleak mountains to keep the slaughter at distance. And while the young creation wept bitter tears over her numerously fallen children, the brooks and rivers turned red with blood.” Big shoutout to candy whose spear poses I could finally use! However, she doesn't only make amazing poses, she also writes amazing stories! If you haven't checked them out yet, let me just say this is one of the few stories with modern setting that has managed to get me hooked!
For this chapter, it is advisable to read the story of the Great Betrayal from Santrakian mythology first. It will not be necessary to understand what is going on, but it will be helpful 😉 - ₪ ₪₪ 66th sun after the plague. 26th sun after Penthesilea’s arrival. ₪₪ ₪ - Penthesilea is 45, Protego 48, Serkon 49 Lyta is 23, Phyllis 16, Faidra 29, Cass 20, Deia 7, Eos 6 and Thersandros 28 Phyllis’ clear voice echoed through the retreat of the royal family of Dekanos. The young royal couple of Borathion, scholar Amaunet and seer Adahy had claimed the room offside the jolly feast. Serkon had bid to celebrate the end of wine harvest. It was a strange circle that had found themselves, seeking out stories rather than people that day. The listeners’ eyes were glued to the princess’ lips. “...so in the last, decisive battle, Virtue left her sisters to challenge Andros and Freedom in head-to-head fight. The duel lasted for days.” “Finally, the traitors were overpowered and killed. Yet, blinded with elation, Virtue became careless. Forgetting her own mortality, the godly heroine mocked the defeated couple. In his last moments, Andros raised his weapon and dealt her a serious wound.” “Trying to retrieve her helpless sister from the enemy, Justice fell victim to a flurry of arrows. Epigonos had sent them, the son of the traitors Freedom and Andros. Against merciless death, even the Goddess’s powers fade.” “So, in deep grief, Loyalty healed Virtue while Epigonos and his treacherous followers escaped. With the last remains of their divine spark, the two daughters of the Goddess scattered their children and children’s children all over the world.” “Never again should their bloodlines be reunited with that of the traitor, Freedom. For then, the four joint bloodlines would awaken the godlike powers again. Then, their union would create the most magnificent warrioress of all time. A warrioress that would either save the Amazon way of life or destroy it.” Phyllis took a deep breath and looked around one eagerly. Adahy stood still, eyes fixed on the princess. The seer's face was blank of expression, the mouth hang open a little. Amaunet moved around, trying to slip off the spell. “Phyllis. Why did they fight?” Aoide looked at the princess earnestly. “They- I mean, they had to, right? Andros and Freedom wanted to kill all allies of the Goddess.” Aoide shook her head. “Andros could have told the Goddess that he felt exploited and neglected. He wouldn’t have needed to betray her. And the divine daughters, battling their own sister? What a nightmare.” She turned to Herchion. “I have never understood why humans lead wars. What would ever outweigh the price of a human life?” Phyllis’ eyes began to moisten. “Oh, it’s alright,” Amaunet rushed to reassure her. “It was a lovely story.” “Indeed, a grand tale. And remarkably narrated.” Adahy nodded apprehensively. Phyllis beamed at the seer. “Thank you! But I’m afraid that some day soon, I’ll run out of stories.” “Running out of stories?” Amaunet smiled amiably. “It would be a pleasure to tell you some of mine, my princess.” “It’s my lady, and- Oh, that would be great! Your stories are a-ma-zing! But I wouldn’t ever be able to recount them as well as you.” “That’s the fate of storytellers. We need our stories to resonate with us, otherwise we will not be able to awaken them. In order to find the stories that speak to you, you might need to work through many more.” The Al Simharan threw Aoide an asking look. “My lady, do you think that king Alexander will allow the princess to use the Arythion library?” “There are many reports from ancient times. They might prove useful to piece a great tale together.” The queen of Borathion pondered about it for a moment. “I’m sure Alexander would not object to me having a research assistant, would he?” She exchanged a glance with her husband. “I would learn your- our tribes’ culture faster if I had someone to outline their history for me.” “I will ask him politely if my wife may bring a helping hand. We don’t have to tell him right away who that hand is.” “Thank you.” Aoide smiled at him. Phyllis clapped her hands. “Ooooooh, I’m going to see the Arythion library! Lyta goes there to read dusty old scriptures about tactics and- and- well, they’re boring. I didn’t know they had other texts there, too!” All of a sudden, her elation was blown away. “But- how will I learn about all the stories written there? I can’t read.” Aoide put a finger on her lips. “Well, for now… Amaunet could read them out for you. She did that for me but one of my slaves is literate, too. I assume we won’t have to ask for him to accompany me. He should not count. And,” she turned to Amaunet, “that way, you could pursue your own studies more profoundly. Phyllis’ field of interest seems to match yours better than mine.” Amaunet smiled at her. “Thank you, my lady. I enjoyed assisting to you. However, since you wish it, I will gladly teach princess Phyllis the art of reading.” “Yesssss, I’m so stoked! We’ll have lots and lots of fun together in the library! But-,” she looked around. “What about Adahy? Can’t she come with us? Can you ask Alexander for permission for her to accompany us, too?” “It’s alright,” the seer assured. “Since my queen is king Alexander’s vassal, I am free to go to the library. I rely on their records of divine signs and the stars’ movements.” A mischievous grin stole onto Aoide’s face. “Well, then it’s all settled. Let’s sneak a princess into Alexander’s library.”
- ₪ ₪₪ 64th sun after the plague. 23rd sun after Penthesilea’s arrival. ₪₪ ₪ - Penthesilea is 43, Protego 46, Serkon 47 Lyta is 21, Phyllis 14, Faidra 27, Cass 18, Phila 17, Deia 5, Eos 4 and Thersandros 26 Hippolyta tried to hide her yawn behind a pensive hand gesture. What had started as a mere courtesy call had dragged on for the entire midmorning. Goddess strike me if I ever attend Alexander’s court again! What you do for family… The princess sighed. Of course her mother, heavy with child, couldn’t have come herself. But they needed a healer for the upcoming birth. So somebody had better get on Alexander's good side before asking to borrow his royal physician. Supporting her head, Hippolyta shifted to a more comfortable position. If only he would send the suppliants away already. The head of a small village and his son still refused to give up their land. Alexander had even been forced to send warriors to fetch them for further negotiations. However – had they not been promised new property? Fresh, fertile property within the Arythion and Dekanos territories. Property that would not be pestered by thieves and the like once the summer arrived. Summer meant trading season. This time, the expectation of traders would surely attract the plundering rabble in the hills. All the small mountain villages close to the road needed to be burned down. Otherwise they would serve as a comfortable hide-out or easy prey. Lyta hoped the two men would understand that soon. Trading season… A word so new for her, barely a sun old. Even so, it already held so much promise. It would bring the whiff of an entire world waiting behind the mountains and forest. And it would bring merchants rivaling their goods in attractiveness. “What else do you want so you will finally give up?,” Alexander inquired. “Nothing, my lord. No thing in this world or the next could ever replace our trusted neighbors. Be it in life or in death, we won't leave the land where our ancestors found refuge.” Ouch. No ‘my king’? The old leader still refused to use the proper title for the high king. “Your trusted neighbors have already agreed to much more modest terms. It seems they did not treasure your coexistence as much as you.” The suppliant lowered his head. “That will be on them to explain to their forefathers. I, for one, will not deviate from my course.” And here we go again… From the corner of her eye, Lyta spotted a slender figure entering the room and cutting a way toward her. “Thank Goddess you’re here,” she whispered when Cass touched her shoulder. “Alexander’s subjects are so stubborn, I could use some distraction.” “You might get more distraction than you prefer. The queen is in labor.” Lyta spun around. “What? Mother said there would still be time!” “My princess, I assume she didn’t expect it to happen so soon either…” Hippolyta sank back. “Ugh… It seems there’s not much of a choice, then” With a forceful start, she stood up and stepped in front of the two kneeling men. “I, Princess Hippolyta of Santrake and Dekanos, demand an audience with the king now. There is an urgent matter to be discussed.” They had told her that Lyta had rushed the borrowed horse all the way back from Arythion, with the healer in tow. Penthesilea knew she was grateful. Hippolyta’s haste had probably saved her life. But her heart stayed astoundingly still. She stared at the ceiling. Maybe she would find the answers there, somewhere above the roof in the vastness of the midday sky. Even now, days after the birth, the thoughts fled her. If only she had read the signs right to begin with. Penthesilea could have spared herself from risking her life in childbed. The past moons had been so strenuous, so full of suffering. Then, the new provider had born a boy. She should have taken heed of that warning. But the thought had been too appealing. Having another daughter? Sure, it would be quite nice now that it was happening. Who would refuse the Goddess’ blessing, after all? She snorted angrily. The healer had been sure she would live and she did feel better now. Yet all the suffering, all the hopes - they had been in vain. Hearing Protego’s regular breath, she knew that he was sleeping at last. And that his son was, too. A son. Had her losses during the quarrel with Zeuxippe not been atonement enough? Why did the Goddess keep demanding more? Even now, she still hoped to wake up. The door creaked. A brown-haired head appeared. “You’re awake.” Lyta entered. She inspected her mother closely. “How do you feel?” “I’ve felt worse.” Before you showed up. She hadn't seen her heiress all too often during the last few days. Hippolyta was always underway to organize this or settle that. Lyta sighed with relief. “Phyllis will be happy to hear that. Faidra and Cass, too.” The princess cleared her throat. “Mother… Dad and Alexander are waiting outside. They insist on seeing you personally. Not even Faidra’s icy stares could make them leave. They keep claiming that they intend to offer congratulations, but– Goddess forbid! That can't be the only reason.” “Tell them I’m sleeping.” “Faidra practically yelled it at them already. Cass tried her best at evoking compassion. Dad would have listened to me but Alexander won’t leave for anything in the world.” “Of course he won’t…” Penny felt her chest tighten. “Give me a moment.” She sat up. Lyta hurried at her side. “Should I…?” Her stretched out arms followed her mother’s movements. “I don't need help. I'd rather you make sure that they don't see Protego leaving.” She was almost sorry to nudge him awake after he had finally put his son to sleep. He yawned heartily, then watched Hippolyta quit the room. “How late is it?,” he mumbled. “Take him,” Penthesilea threw a glance at the sleeping newborn, “and go. I will receive visitors.” “But- but you haven’t recovered yet…!” Protego covered his mouth. “I- I’m sorry, my queen. That was too rash.” The Amazon sighed. “Apparently, they won’t bow before strength. So maybe they will back down before weakness.” She watched Protego lifting the delicate boy up. When the door swung shut behind them, the silence crushed her. How could she believe to be able to face two kings right now? Serkon squatted down at the edge of the bed and took Penthesilea's hand into his. “How are you feeling?” “Awful.” “You certainly look like it.” “That’s hardly surprising, is it not? I’ve escaped death by a hair's breadth.” She felt Serkon’s grip tighten a little. “Lyta told me that day. I’m glad that your goddess did not call you to her side yet.” He lowered his gaze. “My apologies that I didn’t believe you how dangerous it could be.” “Serkon- I don’t know if I even believed it myself. Even when we know full well what could happen, do we ever expect it to happen to ourselves?” Alexander stepped up. “Well, all of us are thankful that you live and that you have born a healthy boy. By the way, where is he?” “Outside. I figured you would want to see me, not him.” “Ah, indeed, how thoughtful. And does he have a name yet?” “No, not yet.” “But do you plan on giving him one?” “What kind of question is that? Of course he will have a name if he lives.” “So, will he live?” “Will he- is that not a question for the Goddess to answer?” The kings exchanged a quick glance. “What we mean is, will you sacrifice him?” “Oh,” Penthesilea whispered hollowly. “So that is why you are here. To keep me from murdering my own child viciously.” Alexander shook his head quickly. “No, that is not what I said. We merely wanted to inquire if-” “But is it not what you meant, Alexander? Serkon?” “Haven't you come here to save me, graciously, from going through with murder?” Serkon bit his lip, but he withstood her gaze. “You have watched dozens of slaves die in Orcheon. Why do you only start acting when it’s my turn? And- why do you come now of all times?” Alexander crossed his arms. “Shouldn’t you of all know better than jumping to conclusions so fast, Penthesilea? My father has always loathed the sacrifices you Amazons made, but he allowed you to do as you liked. The situation is different now. May you believe it or not, this is the first time an Amazon prince was born. We can’t allow royal blood to be spilled – even if only half of it is noble.” Penthesilea hissed. “Oh, to understand the hypocrisy of men! So you can’t allow royal blood to be spilled but your tribe members abandon their newborn daughters by the wayside? You won’t let me raise a boy in his birth family to give him a good life until we part?” Serkon threw his hands in the air. “What good life are you talking about? He will be a slave until his death!” “And that is so bad that you brought it upon not one, but two children of yours born by servants? You refused to recognize them as yours. You let them be raised as slaves in the same house as their royal siblings. You came to me, pleading for reassurance that it was the right thing to do. And despite all the secrecy - be sure, your wife noticed!” “I wonder, would you have done the same to your beloved warrior princess, Lyta, had she not been a queen’s daughter?” “Stop it!,” Serkon bellowed. Alexander stepped closer, an edge in his otherwise calm voice. “We are not talking about the laws of Dekanos now.” “Aren’t we really? You are the ones who believe that a child’s status is inherited by the father if he acknowledges them. And Protego, who likes his newborn son very much, is a slave.” Alexander closed his eyes. “But we don’t. Believe. A child. Should be killed.” “He won’t be a child any more by then. Listen, it is not your worry to appease our goddess, nor to deal with her wrath. So please, just let us decide what I will do with my child in my tribe.” “Oh, don’t worry. It will be your decision.” Alexander paused. “I just expect that it will turn out to my liking. You swore me loyalty after all.” Penthesilea groaned. “Loyalty, yes. We are training your youths for battle. My daughter and warriors have joined the fight against the raiders.” “I never speak out of line in the council or outside of it after you have declared a decision. But this, this is not a question of loyalty. It is faith, and it was you who assured the tribes independancy in that matter.” Alexander pursed his lips. “Fine. If you need more time to make up your mind, so be it. Take your time. Take everything into consideration. You know, neighborly relations. Friendly relations. Remember who assures your livelihood by paying for the warriors' training. Finally, when you have reassessed, seek me out.” Of course he would stay unreasonable. Tired, she rubbed her eyes. “All I want is the best for my children. For all of them. They deserve a chance to find themselves among the Goddess’ companions when this life is over.” “That requires sacrifices of all kinds, and should it be my own life. I just hope you can confidently say the same about yourselves.” Alexander’s face hardened. “May you make a quick recovery, queen. The council is awaiting you impatiently.” They set out to leave. Only the king of Dekanos turned again for one short moment. “Believe it or not, we only want the best for you as well.” Then, he followed the Arythion outside. As soon as the door had closed, Penthesilea broke down. She wrapped her arms around her body. A raging pain, a restlessness consumed her. Her life was going up in flames right in front of her eyes. And she could do nothing to prevent it. She had known they would come sooner or later. That they would try to talk the sacrifice out of her. That there was nothing she could bring up to make them understand. If only Alexander had insisted on her bowing to his will this time. It would have been a dreadful ending. But at least it would have been an ending. This chapter has extra screenshots in the gallery.
The next morning. “Eeeeeeeee!” Deia’s gleeful shriek echoed through the room. Eos joined in a little more tentatively. “Oh, mother, look who is finally joining us!” Phyllis' voice drowned the toddlers out. Queen Penthesilea waved toward the entry. “Come here, Philomene. You will sit with me today.” Faidra took a vigorous sip from her cup and thumped it back onto the table. The red-haired warrior had surrendered her seat on the queen's right to the newcomer. The new girl approached with small steps. Carefully, she avoided eye contact with the curiously watching Amazons. Penthesilea tapped the empty chair. “Seat yourself. We are having grain mash and fruits. However, I can ask Protego to fetch some bread and cheese if you prefer.” “Thank you, my queen, that- that won't be necessary.” Obediently, Phila slid onto the chair. Her hand hovered above the spoon. The queen raised an eyebrow. “Eat, then. You must be hungry.” Under the watchful eyes of the tribe, Phila guided the spoon into her mouth. She chewed a lot longer than the soft mash would have required. “I want, too!,” Deia exclaimed, pointing at Philomene. And off she was, already on her way to the big table. “No,” Protego leaned forward and angled for her arm. “You've got some of your own here. Eat that first.” If anything will be left by then. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that Eos was dipping her entire hand into her sister’s bowl yet again. Slurping, she started to lick the mush off her fingers. Great. Hippolyta made herself felt. “Alright, back to business. Will you let me and Cass join Alexander’s search party, mother?” Penthesilea sighed. “I don’t know how word of it has already spread. At the moment, that search party is no more than an idea. What does Alexander think? Arythion has tolerated the Morones living in the woods for tens of suns. The thieves retreated into the hills long time ago. And now that the old trade routes are in use again for the first time, he plans to dislodge all of the scum living there at once? What if they resist? Does he believe he could just wipe them out with one single blow? With their superior knowledge of the hills, they could easily trap any group of warriors.” “I could scout the area,” Faidra suggested. “I’m good in unknown territory.” Penthesilea shook her head. “The stakes are too high. I will have to figure out a safer plan to secure the trade routes before Alexander asks for our help. I cannot afford any of you dying.” Alexander's undertaking would take suns. Who knew, maybe it could never be completed. “Dad has already agreed to send warriors,” Lyta complained. Penthesilea threw her a merciless gaze. “Then your dad is a fool for wanting to save his recent trading agreements with Dareios. And he will fall flat on his face for it. No more of that matter. I have made up my mind.” Finally, the older princess leaned back. Protego breathed a silent sigh of relief and let go of Deia’s hand. The toddler girl jumped at the chance and bowed down to her sister to reclaim her bowl. “How do you like the food?,” the queen asked Philomene after a few moments of awkward silence. “You have barely eaten anything.” “It- it’s good. But I’m… I’m not hungry.” “Oh? And how is that… Is it maybe because you feel ill?” “Wh- what- no, I- I’m- I’m not sick. It’s-” “Maybe it is due to the excitement of having a new home?,” Cass offered an answer. “During the first few weeks in Santrake, I felt ill a lot.” Philomene nodded immediately. The queen smiled. “Well, it was but a wild guess. Too wild, perhaps.” In that very moment, a lukewarm, grainy mass and a bowl flew through the air and landed in front of Protego. Eos began to cry. Everyones' heads turned to the toddlers. And, well, to him. Oh no. Luckily, the little culprit took matters in her own hand. “No, Eos, don’t cwy.” Deia put her arms around the younger one. “Don’t cwy.” Fortunately, the crying stopped. Just some sniffling remained. Sisterly hugs would always save the day for these two. The queen turned to the new girl. “Well. Philomene, these are the tribe members who have already been sleeping yesterday when we returned from the market. Deianeira and Eos. They will become your responsibility to take care of and raise. For the beginning, Protego and you can share the task.” Something deep inside Phila’s healthy eye flickered when she beheld the children. Did her lip not tremble a bit? “So... That is your grand plan, mother? To buy a cheap slave to be our new provider when we have two slaves who can do the job?” “Do not destroy my good mood, Hippolyta,” the queen said casually. “Alright, I am sorry. It is just that it will be me having to explain Rheia why our new, formerly enslaved tribe member is of so much more use than hers. And hers is a seer, they say.” “Enough.” “A-hem!” Thersandros' presence alone put Protego at ease. For some reason, the younger man had the gift to appear just at the right moment to calm the waves of any upcoming storm. “The provider’s hut is ready for its new inhabitant. Lady Philomene, please inform me when you finished breakfast so I can prepare a bath and new clothes for you.” “Tell me,” queen Penthesilea questioned the girl again, “is there anyone else to consider in furnishing the hut? A child, perhaps?” “My queen, there are beds for Deianeira and Eos-” The queen shut Thersandros up. “Another child. Is there one, Philomene?” Cassiopeia gasped. Faidra cocked her head. Phyllis looked from one to the other, seeking any clue in their faces. Protego forgot to breathe. Almost tenderly, the queen took Philomene’s hand in hers. “What I want to know is, are you carrying a child?” “Ooooh, are you? Are you?,” Phyllis squealed. In the middle of it all, Phila shielded her face with the remaining hand and began to cry. “It is alright, Philomene. Being with child may seem like a catastrophe where you come from. But here, for us, it is nothing less than a blessing. It is good news and you can be glad for it.” She shot her older daughter a triumphant look. Hippolyta rolled her eyes but sported a broad, satisfied grin. “Two for one. Congratulations, Rheia will hate that.” “Congratulations,” Cass followed suit. Even on Faidra’s face, a soft smile appeared for the blink of an eye. Protego exchanged a glance with Thersandros until he felt a tug at his skirt. Deia looked up at him very seriously. “Eos spills food,” she explained. “Eos must go bath.” Protego examined the sisters. Eos' dress did not look half as messy as Deia had claimed. It was a matter of principle, then. “You’re right, big girl. Eos needs a bath. We'll go clean her up, alright?” On their way outside, Protego felt how pity for the new girl welled up. She had been a slave like him. Knowing how long it had taken himself to live without fear breathing down his neck… A couple of very tough suns awaited her. Gratefully, he looked down at Eos. She was following him with short toddler steps while Deia was holding her hand. In the end, I haven’t been that unlucky. Penthesilea let her eye wander over the members of her tribe. The sun was just about to set. The women were ready for a cozy get-together and the slaves eager to finish their last tasks for the day. Instead, they were all standing still, eyes on her. Probably wondering why they had been assembled. Eventually, her gaze lingered on Serkon. His face was not any less asking than the others’ ones. Now or never. “I have called you together to announce that…” A last, deep breath. “Our new provider, Philomene, is not the only one expecting. I am carrying a child as well.” Phyllis’ delighted “Ooooo-oooooooh!” mixed with an incredulous “What!” from Hippolyta’s mouth. Faidra’s jaw had dropped. Cass phrased her congratulations while Philomene was shifting her weight back and forth. Last, Penthesilea's eyes met Protego. His face radiated pure, almost childlike joy. Even from afar, it gave her heart a gentle caress. Just one person stayed conspicuously silent. And his silence stung. “Leave us alone,” Penthesilea ordered. Promptly, Hippolyta took it in her own hand to shoo the others away. Before she, too, entered the main house, she turned her head one last time. Then, they were alone. “What do you say?,” Penthesilea asked gently. Serkon snorted. “You made it clear that you do not care about my opinion. Is that more revenge on Zeuxippe? You know she has no means to learn that you will have another child by her slave.” “Why does it always have to be about others, Serkon?” Finally, he looked at her. “So you wanted it? Congratulations, then. You fulfilled your wish.” “You’re jealous.” The Amazon sighed. “Not that I was when you had your sons. Serkon, I did not intend to spite you. In fact, I would prefer not having to go through this ordeal again.” Serkon bared his teeth. “Well, that realization comes too late now, don’t you think?” “Women younger than me die in childbed every day. Amazons, too and queens.” He looked away but Penthesilea refused to relent so easily. “My body isn’t as strong anymore as it used to be. It isn’t fit to carry a child, nor should it.” She gave him time to think. He would need it, and more – a lot more of it. “I’m sorry,” he finally pressed through clenched teeth, staring at the ground. Then, he jumped up. “Your tribe members will want to congratulate you. I will leave you to them now.” With huge steps, he went off. “Wait,” the daughter of Thestia shouted after him until he stopped. “Will this child come between us or will we stay friends this time?” He breathed deeply, but didn’t move. Finally- finally, he squeezed out the redeeming words. “We'll stay friends this time.” Then, he stormed off. Penthesilea did not know how long she had sat there. The stone of the bench was still warm from the last afternoon rays of sun. She had just felt into herself. Into the fear, the oddly familiar feeling of carrying new life in her and also, a hesitant joy now that everybody knew. And in the middle of all that, she felt something else. Another body’s warmth. Careful arms around her shoulders. A breath at her neck. She leaned in. Part of her was surprised that Protego had come and maybe even more that Hippolyta had let him go. But at that moment, she was grateful for it. An advice for you: don't leave risky woohoo on. It always hits the wrong ones. Protego, Penny, you're driving me insane 😫
Cassiopeia found herself in a state of true elation. Merrily chatting people washed around her like waves around the hull of a majestic black ship. Women and men in their best robes made up small spots between the sun-bleached houses. She readily absorbed everything – the exotic chant of the Al Simharan spice trader and the heavy, dizzying scent of his goods. Two women were arguing about the same piece of cloth. Some men were cheering on their friend in a fight. The sharp smell of fish, algae and sweat filled her nostrils. The sun burnt her skin. Princess Nemia’s bright voice echoed in her head. “Um, Cass?” No, that isn’t Nemia. The young warrior woke at once. “Yes, my lady?” Phyllis' big eyes flashed up at her. “Please, don't call me that when mother isn’t around. We’re friends, aren't we?.” “Right, I apologize.” The princess pointed toward the storyteller. “Do you like it?” “Oh, yes, certainly, it is… very lively.” The young woman wore Al Simharan tissues and make-up and had entranced several children with her tales. Tales of distant cities, hunters in slim boats and wondrous, large animals with enormous teeth. Her tender voice painted a picture of far-off lands in the young listeners’ heads. Lands they had never seen in their short lives and most of them never would. Giant, peeked tombs, built for kings and queens of old. The stories had a familiar ring, as if they were from another life. No wonder her mind had slowly trailed off. Now that the memories were gone, they left her soul sore. “Can we give her some of mother’s rings?,” Phyllis pleaded with large eyes. “Of course.” Cass rummaged around in the small purse at her belt and pulled out two bronze rings. The storyteller gave her a smile fit to warm up a heart on a cold winter evening. “Thank you, my lady.” Then, she continued to dedicate herself to the children. On her left, outcries of disappointment attracted Cass' attention. The warrior from the east had triumphed over another one of his challengers. The defeated man gave a howl. Cass grinned. His injuries couldn't be worse than the ones of the contenders before him. His pride, on the other hand, had taken a blow for sure. In their eagerness to excel before the eyes of the great king, these warriors were not any better than the seamen that had rumbled through the streets of Nerusa. Loud, bragging and forever drunk. That very moment, Alexander of Arythion turned to his bodyguard. “This man is fabulous, is he not?,” Cass lipread over all the excited yells. He was indeed, that, she admitted with a hint of jealousy. In awe, she watched the muscled Easterner send challenger after challenger onto the ground after dancing around them. “Would you like to have a try, my lord?” King Alexander denied with a slight movement of his hand but kept staring on when a new challenger had entered the carpet. Of course, he landed outside of it just as fast. Another man replaced him then and there. It was the king’s very own bodyguard, Simachion. He had been trained by king Serkon himself who enjoyed the reputation of being the best fighter among all the tribes. Cass did not disagree. She had watched the Dekanos train with queen Penthesilea and their daughter. None of them was good enough to match him. Like all the others before him, Simachion placed a few bronze rings in the storyteller's bowl. She smiled at him, too. Cass wondered if her mind's eye saw him defeated already. Then, he entered the carpet. The Easterner bowed and for a moment, they measured each other up. The spectators' avid betting ceased. Nobody dared to put their rings against the foreigner any more, nor would they bet against their king’s greatest warrior. Simachion’s first attack came fast. His opponent deflected it and countered with ease. The Arythion managed to dodge. Cass’ heart jumped with excitement while she watched on. Even though the Easterner was tall and sturdy, the way he moved was the most graceful she had ever seen. Simachion stood no chance. His fall provoked a stunned silence among the onlookers, followed by tentative applause. It broke off to give way to one man’s clapping alone. King Alexander had risen and cheered for the stranger who had made his bodyguard sneak back with slouched shoulders. “Well fought,” he said while locking his gaze onto the tall man. Cass shuddered. “What is your name, stranger, and where do you come from?” The warrior bowed again before replying. “My name is Masaru, my king. I was raised far, far away from here and have been a wanderer since the days of my childhood.” “Well, well. A wanderer. What would you answer if a king asked you to settle down and serve him, Masaru?” “Such a request would honor me beyond measure. However, I am a nobody, child to no mother. What benefit could a king possibly expect from my presence?” Alexander’s eyes glistered. “How would you like fine clothes, a dwelling place and the chance to employ your talents in fight?” Another bow. “It would suffuse me with eternal gratitude, my king. However, I must humbly ask for a favor if I am to stay.” “Oh?” Alexander’s eyebrow twitched upward. “What is it that you require in order to do a king’s bidding?” “I would never dare to demand for more than is due. Nonetheless, I am bound to someone by oath. Thus, It is my duty to ask that you welcome my protégée as well. Of course I will swear loyalty to you, my king, but I cannot break my word toward her.” Cass couldn’t help but admire his placid boldness. The tale teller stepped forward through the throng of bystanders. “My king, it is me whom Masaru swore to protect from all ill. He generously offered me his company and protection when he found me travelling alone in dangerous lands. His oath will not keep him from fulfilling any service toward you. If you are so kind as to welcome me as well, I will swear loyalty along with him. I have seen many kingdoms as well and I know their customs, beliefs and trading interests. I will gladly offer all my knowledge to your advantage.” A shimmer of curiosity twitched through the king’s displeasure. At last, he raised his voice to drown out all other noises. “So be it, then. As long as both of you serve me well, you are welcome at my court and will receive everything you need.” “Thank be to you, my king,” both of them replied in unison. “Great!,” Phyllis exclaimed and clapped her hands. “Then we can hear a lot more stories in the future!” Alexander jerked around and shot her an angry glance. Immediately, Cass barred his view at the princess. In some way, Cass was glad when they joined queen Penthesilea again. Even though the younger princess was sweet all through, her company exhausted her more than any fighting lesson with princess Hippolyta ever could. “Oooh, who’s that?” Phyllis pointed at the girl following close in her mother’s back. “This is our new tribe member.” A broad, satisfied smile crept over the queen’s face. “How do you like her?” “She’s beautiful!” The slave girl’s eyes flickered at Phyllis for a moment. Lyta frowned. “She doesn’t have a name yet, how about you help her find one?” “Ooooh yes, yes, I’ll help you, I'll help you!,” Phyllis echoed. “We can be friends! Then Lyta has Cass, mother has Faidra and I have you!” She paused for a moment. “And Deia and Eos have each other, I guess. Wouldn’t that be great?” The girl kept staring at Phyllis with huge, brown eyes. The princess turned to Penthesilea. “Is... is something wrong with her?” “Don't worry, she will warm up to you soon. Once she’s bathed and fed and has had a good night’s sleep.” “Yes, of course! Silly me! Alright, let’s see, what could your new name be? Oh, I know, how about Thestia?” “Ew,” Lyta cut in, “you can’t name her after grandmother, that would be so weird!” Phyllis pouted. “But Rheia’s named after her grandmother, too and she’s your best friend and you find it alright with her!” “Yes, because it’s her own grandmother!” “But she’s part of the tribe now! You’ve heard mother!” “That still doesn't make her a blood relative to our grandmother!” Phyllis' brow furrowed. Finally, she pouted but was all sweet again when turning to the slave girl. “And what about Eleia? Then we'd be Phyllis and Eleia, almond tree and olive tree… That would be fun, don't you think? Orrr Telegone because you were born far away. You… you were born far away, right?,” she checked in. “Or Skoura for your dark eyes or...” Penthesilea smiled while listening. She would have to make sure that Phyllis did not give the girl a name without her consent. After all, she was a free woman now – she just didn't know it yet. “Philomene! How do you like Philomene*?” The girl blushed and looked away. “Are you alright?” Phyllis grasped the girl’s arm tighter. “I think that means she likes it,” Cass tossed in tenderly from the side. “Really? That’s great! Are you Philomene, then?” Hesitantly, the girl’s head turned to the princess. “Great! We can call you Phila for short because Philomene is such a long name. Just like Hippolyta, but we’re calling her Lyta. And Deianeira is Deia. Eos and I don’t need a short name because ours aren’t very long, you know? That would just make it more complicated.” Cass found it hard to follow Phyllis’ elaborations about the tribe members and slaves' names and how they were all so perfect for the person bearing them. When she looked at the others, queen Penthesilea and princess Hippolyta had long started another conversation. The young warrior decided to feast on the rare display of life on the market instead. In great gulps, she drank in the bustle. Secretly, she imagined the rushing of water in the distance and its salty smell in the flickering hot air. Had any of the women paid attention to the shy slave girl with the new name, they would have noticed the trickle of tears glittering on her cheeks. *Philomene means "the beloved" and her nickname, Phila, "friend" This chapter has additional pictures in the gallery
- ₪ ₪₪ 63rd sun after the plague. 22nd sun after Penthesilea’s arrival. ₪₪ ₪ - Penthesilea is 42, Protego 45, Serkon 46 Lyta is 20, Phyllis 13, Faidra 26, Cass 17, Deia 4, Eos 3 and Thersandros 25 At the end of the summer, merchants came across the range of hills. Bringing with them scarce materials, exotic spices and stories from the outside world, their arrival sparked a rare enthusiasm within the local tribes. The narrow streets of the market were bustling with life. Penthesilea, too, felt a rush of excitement in her heart and had observed the same vigor in the eyes of her daughters and in Serkon’s every movement. It had been many, many suns since that thrilling mixture of foreign tongues had come to her own ears, too, back in Santrake. Observing her friends, however, slowly led her to the conclusion that they had never seen anything comparable before. For tens of summers now, traders had avoided the routes leading through the hilly forest, in fear of the plague that had once raged these lands. And maybe, after some time, they had forgotten, too that something lied beyond. Serkon, Alexander, Hippolyta and Phyllis – they had never experienced the wonders traders would bring from all the known kingdoms. Through these never-seen figures and foreign smells, Serkon was leading the way for Penthesilea and their daughter. He had set his mind on having the first pick of slaves and watching his urgency was irrefutably Penthesilea’s favorite pastime that morning. “Are you confident that the scribe told the truth?,” she teased. “Of course,” Serkon hissed back. “They always tell the truth when it fetches them a few coins.” “A few?,” Hippolyta muttered under her breath. “We could have bought an additional slave for that much.” “Yes, because they were bloody cheap! I wouldn’t even want them for free.” “Well, the only one receiving slaves as a gift is mother anyway.” Even without seeing his face, Penthesilea could feel the king clench his teeth. During all the suns they had known each other, he had tried in any and every way to get his hands onto a new slave that was more than barely tolerable. Then, her sister had sent two warriors and with them Thersandros, trained as a master slave in Theranor and easily surpassing the worth of every single servant Serkon called his own by far. Out of pity, she had almost considered selling him the third time the king of Dekanos had asked. The asking had ceased ever since Thersandros was sharing the bed with Hippolyta but Serkon's discontentment had not. “According to the description, he should be here. I swear, if it’s a farce…!,” he mumbled. As opposed to the liveliness on the streets outside, a sophisticated atmosphere welcomed them in the small yard. Serkon looked around, satisfied. “Well. The slaves do look superior to the others.” “Luck and health to you, my lord! May I be of service?” A young man stepped up toward them from among the slaves. “Yes! I require to speak to your-” Serkon gestured toward the vacant seat below the awning. “master. Or father. Where has he gone?” Dramatically, the young man raised the hands onto his chest. “But, my lord! You wound me deeply.” “I fear we will have to drive a hard bargain now to prove the lord Kalaisthetos* that we are indeed both men of business.” “You are the trader? The leader of the caravan? I was told he is selling the best slaves of them all but did not expect him to be so- so…” The king of Dekanos gestured aimlessly. “So young? Do not worry, my lord, you are hardly the first to keenly observe that oddity and gods willing, you will not be the last either.” Serkon studied him carefully. “You must be remarkably gifted that you dare to open new markets at such a young age already.” “Oh, an undertaking as this requires the daring of youth and thirst for adventure!” The young merchant clapped his hands with eagerness, “The gods themselves must have joined our ways this morning. My name is Dareios of Porphyreia, a slaver by trade. With whom do I have the pleasure?” “From the Ruby Islands? Fascinating, my ancestors came from there as well. I am Serkon, son of Nikomedes, king of Dekanos. This is my daughter Hippolyta and her mother, queen Penthesilea.” “You honor me, my lord, my ladies!” The young man carried out a flawless bow. “If you allow, I will happily lend you the helping hand of a fellow countryman.” As Lyta followed her father to inspect the offer, Penny took a closer look at the displayed slaves herself. All of them looked healthy and capable enough. Serkon would be pleased. The king and her daughter were both very much invested in a discussion about a well-built, dark-haired man. Meanwhile, Penny noticed the young merchant approaching her. “I take it that Serkon has quickly dismissed your services in order to take an unbiased look at your goods, has he not?” The Porphyreian grimaced sufferingly. “A cruel word, my lady, however true. Would you allow me to fill this bare existence of mine with meaning again by assisting you instead?” “No, thank you. Today, I am merely company.” “Ah, my lady, and yet you have studied the offer meticulously.” “You do not expect any pay for curiosity, do you? I am not in need of new servants.” “What a pity, though it would be my pleasure to comply with my lady’s wishes next summer.” “So you plan to return?” In a few suns time, it could come in handy to have an outside source of slaves. Phyllis might decide to breed. Or Cassiopeia. Or, Penny reminded herself, Faidra, who was, by all appearances, more than happy without even more men living on the compound at the time being. “If my lady’s honored husband bestows on me the honor to make good business today, my return will be as sure as dawn follows night. I would be very much obliged if you lent me a hand with convincing him.” Dareios gave her a conspiratorial wink. A muffled laugh escaped Penny's mouth. “Oh, you are wasting your charms. The king is not my husband. I am a queen, but of another tribe and with no one to command me.” “Oh, my apology… so you are master of your own life, like myself.” He stepped up and lowered his voice. “Though you have not come to buy, will you give me the opportunity to persuade you otherwise? Let me make you an offer you cannot reject, will you, gracious lady?” Another smile stole onto Penthesilea’s face. Even though she would not waste silver for a slave they didn’t need, this man and his fast tongue promised a little amusement while Serkon let Hippolyta in on the secrets of trading. “Go ahead, try your skills.” “Dear lady, it will be my greatest pleasure. Please, follow me.” They took but a few steps toward the awning where a slender youth was standing just within the shadow. Long, ugly scars cleaved her face. The merchant stretched out his arms. “Please, hear me out, patient lady. Gods be my witness if she wasn’t meant for you to begin with! Even though you may find her outer beauty to be blemished, there is not one among the others who deserves to be called more obedient or diligent. She is young still, and eager to learn.” Whatever she had expected, it was certainly not that. A shudder of excitement ran down Penthesilea’s spine. This game promised to be good. She shook her head in disapproval while examining the girl. “Your lord Kalaisthetos must be the patron of jokes, too, young Dareios, if a blind girl is what you offer a queen who denied any interest in your goods.” “Ah, but wise lady, is not Bliss** herself said to be blind? Tell me what you might ever be possibly looking for in the future and I will tell you how this woman will fulfill the very task.” The girl clasped her hands into the fabric of her modest dress. For some reason, the miserable figure touched a soft spot, one that felt strangely familiar. There was no way Penthesilea could be sure but something made her believe she was indeed right. She pretended to think about it for a while. “How does she handle children, especially young ones?” “Ah, my lady, I knew she was right for you. From all the slaves here, I would trust her with my child first – would the great gods ever bless me with one. You will never see another woman so gentle and patient.” “Gentle and patient, yes? How much would she cost?” “For you, dear lady, she comes at the very special price of… say… a thirty silver rings***.” Penthesilea stared at him. “Now you must be joking, young man, for if I paid only the price you just named you would call me a swindler and thief afterward.” “Do not distrust your extraordinarily keen ears. The number that has left my tongue has well been true. However, if the price does not appeal to you, it will be my pleasure to raise it.” “If she was that cheap, it would make me question either her highly praised worth or your sense for business. The king of Dekanos would steal you blind.” Dareios, too uttered an amused laugh. “That, I believe!” “Do not fear, dear lady, for none of my senses has left me. Quite the contrary, I merely feel obliged to return the attention you devoted to my proposition. Take it as a gift for future business, if you so will, or for spoiling me with the blessed sight of your beautiful daughter first thing in the morning.” Penthesilea sighed. “With that price, it is truly hard to resist whatever catch there is hidden.” “A single word and the girl is yours. After all,” Dareios leaned over and whispered into her ear, “the blemish is quite apparent, is it not? Trying to sell her has given me a headache, my lady...! You would not believe.” A last deep breath, and Penthesilea held out her hand. “Deal.” As delightful the banter with the young merchant had been, as long Serkon’s negotiations dragged on later. So long, in fact, that even Lyta joined her mother. “He is being so greedy considering that he has bribed a mere scribe with the price of a fully grown slave without so much as a word of complaint.” No news indeed. It took a while until the gold and goods were exchanged and the two men approached them, too. “All gods, this man is hard to drive a bargain with,” Serkon complained. “Doesn’t deviate the slightest from his prices.” Dareios rolled his eyes so that only the women could see. “Well, my lord, I cannot give a skillful negotiant like you the advantage, can I? Or else I will not even have sandals to wear when I return next summer.” “He’s damn right,” Lyta remarked dry-wittedly. “Ah, what a refreshingly smart daughter you have, my lord!” Serkon murmured in his beard. “If he was as generous with his gold as with compliments, I would be a rich man by now- what is that anyway?” He gestured toward the slave girl behind Penthesilea’s back. “Well, she is my purchase and it might be the luckiest one I've ever made.” “That? Half blind and scarred? Are you out of your mind?” Unbelieving, he shook his head. “Why, yes. Don’t you and I have scars, too?,” she challenged him. “We are warriors! That's entirely different. Great gods, when I lose sight of you for one single moment!” Dareios smiled leniently. “The richer the customer, the louder the complaints. Woe this poor tradesman’s ears that the gods have made him wander among the wealthy!” Lyta burst out with a sudden roar of laughter. * Kalaisthetos: Arythion, Dekanos and Porphyreian god of wine, beauty, healing, trade and jokes ** in Porphyreian belief, many emotions have an personification. In this case, the personification of bliss is considered blind because "with so much evil and pain in the world, no seeing man can ever truly be blissful" *** an ordinary slave would cost around 200-300 silver rings but Penny would probably not even bother buying them for their "low quality" - ₪ ₪₪ Beginning of Generation 2 ₪₪ ₪ -- ₪ ₪₪ 67th sun after the plague. 26th sun after Penthesilea’s arrival. ₪₪ ₪ - Penthesilea is 46, Protego 49, Serkon 50 Lyta is 24, Phyllis 17, Faidra 30, Cass 21, Deia 8, Eos 7 and Thersandros 29 Ceallach blinked the tickle at the tip of his nose away. The trees grew more sparse here, in the mountainous area they had been crossing since noon. So from time to time, the treetops drew back for an unexpected beam of sun to find its way into one of the travelers’ faces. The sun is our enemy, Ceallach thought while wiping away the sweat from his forehead. The sun and the slowness of that damaichte caravan. He was sure that if people did live in this heat, they had to be poor as dirt. No crop could grow under this relentless sun. True, the young Porphyreian merchant they were traveling with had claimed the region further downhill to be more fertile for a variety of crops, and the mountains did hold the occasional game to hunt – but merchants always exaggerated. On the other hand, the inhabitants must have amassed at least some wealth to get one’s hands on if the tradesmen kept returning to the area. A horse’s clip-clop drew closer from the path ahead, each thud of the hooves clearly audible far and wide. The stony soil and cracked rests of a cobbled stone road nipped any attempt of an inconspicuous approach in the bud. No threat this time, though. The caravan had awaited the return of the scout long ago. As they passed each other, the Al Simharan gave Ceallach a short nod. Everything in good order. The young man’s shoulders sacked a little. They had found traces of several groups of armed people when setting up camp in the last few days. Their presumed number was high enough to cause trouble if an encounter was to take place. “Ceallach, feith! Wait!” Obeying the voice of their commander sounding from his back, the young man brought his mare to a halt and patted her neck. It had been an act of mercy by a compassionate god that he had come across a countryman at the edge of the borderlands, at the very same time when his own gold had come to an end. “Take a breath of this air,” the commander said, eyes flashing. “And have you seen the fortress on the way? Massive walls, even after all that time. No doubt, that must be it.” “No doubt,” Ceallach echoed, remembering the eerie remains they had caught a glimpse of from the road. The closer they came to their commander’s aim, the stranger the other man had become. It almost felt like the sweet, aromatic scent of the pine trees had cut a way free for a hidden, fiery temper in his countryman. As if his heart beat in the same rhythm with the forest surrounding them. “Ceallach, this is home.” The young Westerner stared along the dry path stretching out before them. Above it, the air flickered in the midday heat. I wonder, he replied in thought, I wonder if the residents would agree with you. Poses by beverlyallitsims and MrsRacooney
The world’s colors turned lustrous, its shapes more defined as soon as Zeuxippe and Hekuba had vanished in the distance. Only in the very last moment, the former queen of Orcheon had declared that her expecting lover was to accompany her. Only after she had been turned down by Protego. A wild feeling of power began to dance in Penthesilea’s chest. She could only guess what Protego must have told Zeuxippe in her makeshift cell but the next morning, the Orcheon had asked to be sent away as soon as possible. Hekuba, however, had been over the moon. The warrior had finally ceased to oppose Rheia’s accession to the throne and had been remarkably content in a cell of her own since then. With them riding away, the one great danger to Penthesilea’s life was gone – and Haimon’s future child along with it. Only few things would still remind her of the treacherous friend and even fewer of her late master slave. Penthesilea looked around, watched the familiar faces. A smile of relief and satisfaction had stolen into Serkon’s grim expression. He gave her an acknowledging nod. Both, Vince close in his back and the king himself were wearing heavy armor and weapons now, ready to put a swift halt to any potential opposition. Alexander at his side had already found another pastime, calmly listening to agitated Advik of Chonar. It was probably about his daughter, Deia, still living with Io and Iasion. In another man’s house. Unacceptable. The lowly born king was an excellent warrior and benevolent ruler but his mercy ended where his pride began. Penthesilea was grateful enough that Alexander promoted Deia’s return to the Amazons instead of giving her to Chonar – even if it was but a bribe. Boras and his entourage were already about to leave. The queen knew better than to thank him again for his advocacy. Zeuxippe’s exilement as well as the wedding preparations for his son used up all of his strength these days. Standing offside, too, Rheia was surrounded by her warriors. Even though not officially queen yet, they had already recognized her as such. It would have been foolish enough though to believe that the young ruler would face no adversity after the fate of her mother. In many ways, Penthesilea felt with her. Bearing an overshadowing mother’s heritage was hard to bear and even harder to master. However, with Alexander having a watchful eye on herself, the daughter of Thestia would have to step down. At least Hippolyta would be able to stand by the young queen. Seeing her own daughter mingled with the Orcheons so naturally was a strange sight to behold. However, even while still fearing Rheia could take after her mother, Penthesilea had to admit a certain pride that the two girls’ friendship had only been strengthened by their mothers’ quarrel. Hippolyta had not hesitated to ask for permission to watch the exilement at Rheia’s side. “Well, with that woman gone, let’s empty a few jars of wine, will we?” Serkon had stepped up to her. “You bet!” A great celebration was exactly what she longed for at the moment. And the next time, Serkon would be her guest and would have to try the new slave’s small honey-filled spice cakes. The sweets – and Thersandros’ cooking in general – evoked the more happy part of memories from her childhood in Santrake. She felt as young as never before. Even Hippolyta and Phyllis had been enthusiastic over the pastry while still cautious with the rest of Thersandros' meals. They would get used to them eventually, even though they would of course never taste like Io’s. Penthesilea herself was walking on air though. Her tribe had grown by two promising young members and with Deia and hopefully a second daughter of Io, two more were to come soon. And even after Trip had left a few days ago, the new slave had brought a piece of home. It was time to celebrate the victories of that day. We have now officially and finally reached the end of gen 1! Yey! 🎉✨🎈 First of all, thank you so much 💖 For enduring through the long times without updates, for taking an interest at all. This story would still exist if nobody read it - but that you do means very much to me and I hope it entertained you well in return. And now - time to let past days go by and embrace the ones to come. At the beginning of gen 2, only two years will have passed but if you have any more or less burning questions about really anything that happens in the following pictures or about the characters, please feel encouraged to ask! Heads up: The pictures are not in chronological order, so Penny's hair color is not consistent. At some passages, it's hard to keep up with the lyrics - but you can always go back and look at the pictures separately after all 😁 Also, the two black-haired toddlers you will see are Io's children, Deia (with long hair, by Advik of Chonar) and Eos (with short hair, by Iasion, born after Io left the tribe). They will stay with Penthesilea to ransom Chrysippos and Io 😔 The girl in Zeuxippe's company is Heraklia, Haimon's daughter with her lover, Hekuba. And the toddler with dark brown hair... Well, we will learn. Some time. 😉 And the blood will dry Underneath my nails And the wind will rise up To fill my sails So you can doubt And you can hate But I know No matter what it takes I'm coming home I'm coming home Tell the world I'm coming home Let the rain Wash away All the pain of yesterday I know my kingdom awaits And they've forgiven my mistakes I'm coming home I'm coming home Tell the world I'm coming… Still far away From where I belong But it's always darkest Before the dawn So you can doubt And you can hate But I know No matter what it takes I'm coming home I'm coming home Tell the world I'm coming home Let the rain Wash away All the pain of yesterday I know my kingdom awaits And they've forgiven my mistakes I'm coming home I'm coming home Tell the world I'm coming… I'm coming home I'm coming home Tell the world I'm coming home Let the rain Wash away All the pain of yesterday I know my kingdom awaits And they've forgiven my mistakes I'm coming home I'm coming home Tell the world I'm coming... home - ₪ ₪₪ End of Generation 1 ₪₪ ₪ -Poses by a gazillion creators to whom I'm very thankful
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