A meeting with Ananisia to discuss her love life and a lecture about an ancient philosopher. The unexpected return of a family member places old matters in proper perspective. A parting in the early morning. A trip brings Tyra and Wanda to a dangerous valley. The meeting of an old flame. An old friend from the earliest days appears in the night. A new beginning?

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The Legal Stuff: The Warrior from Batuk  © 2004, 2007 Aardvark
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 

 
Photo Credit: 3.bp.blogspot.com

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Chapter 31 (Conclusion)
 
 
I met Ananisia, the name she would be known by forevermore in Batuk, in her room at the estate later that morning. She opened the door and lit the doorway with her smile.

I let out a breath, thanking the Goddess that Kim hadn’t told her who I was.

“Da ... Deana,” she said, stumbling over my Batuk name, which we tried to use whenever we were close to others. I'd kept my blonde hair and blue eyes, but that was hardly a disguise. She pulled me inside and embraced me. “That body has always suited you, and it goes without saying that it feels right to be ‘me’ again.” She collapsed back into a chair with enviable grace.

“Your body has its advantages, but I’m glad to see its proper owner wearing it. I have a lot to tell you.” I filled her in on the trip to Ademar with Kat, and especially all that happened in Tulem.

Her jaw dropped. “Daphne is Queen; you made Nikolai a serum girl; and the Slavers Guild will leave us alone?”

“Yes to all. I think we’re safe enough now not to worry about the Slavers Guild.”

“That’s wonderful! But you gave up the crown... You’re just, ah, Deana now?” she asked, looking deep to see how I felt about it.

“It’s the culmination of a slow demise. There's no need to curtsy or to ever call me ‘Your Majesty’ again, and don't concern yourself with it; it's a relief. If you’re up to it, we could go for a walk. I have something to discuss with you.”

She held out her hand and I pulled her up. “A walk then.”

We left the house through the front door and walked by the practice field, where the men smacked each other and swore, and past the slaves quarters, where the pleasure girls of Eagles were just now rising, making themselves more attractive for the men, and nearly all the way to the front gate, where I stopped under a shade tree I used to sit under when I was a boy.

“It’s about Stefan,” I said. “I’ve decided to let you write him, even see him — that is, if you want to.”

“What?” Ann's huge blue eyes spoke the depths of her heart more clearly than words.

Stefan, you are a lucky young man.

“I have mixed feelings about this, but I think that he’s mature enough. I’ve told him that you would make the rules.”

She was halfway to tears already. “I didn’t fool you at all at the Fortress, did I?”

“Ann, I don’t think you tried very hard.”

“Does Franco know about us?”

“I think that if you took reasonable precautions, Franco wouldn’t care if you wrote each other, or met discreetly. Stefan isn’t Katrina, and Franco likes you.”

Ann looked away before turning back. “Dana, I have to be clear: My emotions are new, but I watched Stefan grow. I know him, knew the kind of man he would become. As soon as I return to my room, I will, unless you tell me otherwise, write Stefan a letter asking him to meet me in a tavern just outside the valley. He will agree. Soon after we meet, I expect that I will be lying beneath him. I don’t need to write a string of letters to tell him how I feel. I can show him. I’m not shy. I’m a serum girl who needs a man.”

“Oh, Ann.” I still had vivid memories of my son being born. I remembered a time when Ann was Merton.

“I have no expectations,” she said quietly. “I know only three things: I’m a knowledge-seeker, I’m a serum girl, and I ... I think I might love your son. The first two will be forever, the last could be ephemeral, but something happened at the farmhouse. I have to take a chance. I need to know.”

My son was no longer a child, and Ann wasn’t Merton; she was exactly what she appeared, a beautiful serum girl, much younger than her years.

“All I ask is ... I don’t know what I’m saying. Be a woman, let him be a man, and be careful.”

She tilted her head to the side and looked at me oddly. “This sounds to me almost like you’re bequeathing Stefan to me.”

“I’m not going to be here much longer. Let me put it this way: Stefan is going to see women, he’s already been with a few, but I can’t imagine a better choice than you. I’m going to worry about both of you, but this, at least, gives me some peace of mind when I’m gone.”

“I see,” she said, her face falling. “I hoped that you would choose to stay here with Kim and me.”

“I’m leaving Batuk in a month or two, maybe less. I used to be a fair hand at accounting. If I can find the right caravan, I’ll be on it.”

“To see the world and so forth?”

“Yes.”

Ann pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. "Dana, we should talk. Sit,” she said, pointing to the grass.

“What?”

“I’m the teacher now, and you are only the misguided ex-Queen. Please sit.” Ann folded to the grass like a swan, tucking her legs underneath.

I sat, crossing my legs.

“Have you ever heard of Wei Qing?” she asked.

“No. Should I have?”

“He was an obscure philosopher who lived a thousand years ago. Wei Qing taught that there are different aspects within us all, but only one is ascendant, and the truest happiness can only be achieved when that ascendant is realized. For instance, a woman with motherhood as her ascendant might have many qualities and talents, but without having children she could never become completely fulfilled; further, he taught that the ascendant could be detected by careful observation. It could be seen at that point where the person is happiest, most content, enraptured -- whatever word is best applicable depending on the aspect.”

“I never paid much thought to non-traditional philosophy.”

“Pay attention now. Anyone who knows me for long sees the way I ‘brighten’ when I learn something new. That is my ascendant. I’ve changed. As Ann, I abandoned the pure research for teaching, which I enjoy more than I used to, but without the library to feed my passion for learning, I would never be as happy as I could be.

“I was teaching Wei Qing in class two years ago when Stefan blurted out that your ascendant was fighting. Katrina struggled to find a more feminine aspect to advance in your defense, but she failed, and was forced to agree that if it was not, then it was related in some way. You see, this happened two weeks after they saw you with the spear. This is how I remember Katrina describing it:

‘Mother danced with the blade. She was graceful and deadly. An actress in a play of one; I saw her enemies. Like ghosts, they surrounded her, and she cut them down: slicing, stabbing, killing them until they were no more. I’ve never seen her more alive.’”

“You can’t be saying that I’m happiest when I’m killing people.”

“I think that there would be more bodies in your wake if that were true, but only you know what it means when you wield the spear. According to Wei Qing, it's a sign of your ascendant, the central facet of who you are. That’s one reason you couldn’t be happy in my body: You missed your spear like a eunuch does his twyll.”

I frowned. “Now wait …”

Ana laughed. “You did! By Ashtar, at your usual practice time; your fingers twitched for it.” She made a dismissing motion in front of her face to cut off any more protests. “Practically everything about me has changed to match my body since my transformation, but my ascendant is about the same, adjusted slightly to account for my body's influence. I think it’s the same for you. Whatever made you happiest before is what you’d be happiest doing now, allowing for the same female shift in perspective. I think you already know what your ascendant is. You should ask yourself if joining a caravan would satisfy it, or if it would be worse than a waste of time.”

“What do you think my ascendant is?”

She looked at me as if I were being deliberately dense. “You were happiest in the old days when you fought to keep your crown. You returned from Batuk, injured but flush with the thrill of being alive. You loved Ketrick, who was a warrior, and shared a common bond. To me, it’s obvious: I didn't know you when you were a man, but if Wei Qing was correct, your warrior spirit was your ascendant then and, in some form, still is. I used to envy you your happiness. Then something happened that changed it all nearly overnight and it steered you away from your true course. Kim told me some time ago that he betrayed you in some way.” She looked at me with a question on her face.

“I’ve kept it quiet for this long. I’m not going to tell you now.”

“You’re so stubborn,” she sighed. “You were never the same after you exiled him. The key to your happiness lies within your ascendant and with whatever he took from you. I wish you would tell me.”

“When did you become so nosy?”

She shrugged good naturedly. “You were the Queen. Now you’re my friend, just another serum girl. Dana, surely this can be fixed? If you would only allow your friends to help you…”

I pushed myself to my feet; then offered her a hand up. “I think you already have.”

***

A month passed. In my new apartment in the southwest side, I was close to the Institute and Ann, and, except for Kim, the family visited me from time to time.

Ana had been right. I would have made a huge mistake by joining a caravan the way I’d intended. As a records keeper on a caravan, I would have been with the merchants, a position of some prestige, but sheltered, protected. I'd set my eye in the wrong place. It had less status, but I liked the idea of being a warrior’s girl, to a mercenary or guard in a caravan. I wouldn’t want to marry him, but I would have a strong man in my bed every night. Choosing the right man would be the key. I would not change myself to be with him. He would have to respect me the way I was. Only then could I have something of the life I’d been destined to have when I was born.

It was a dream that, once planted, I thirsted for, but it was not as easy as I’d hoped to find the right companion. I'd been a queen a long time. Most guards were too crude for my heightened tastes, and the majority didn’t have the staying power I needed in the silks. Worse, sometimes when I brought a warrior home, he eyed Wanda. Still, I was sure that it was possible; it was just a matter of time before I found the right one.

At least that’s what I told myself when I woke up in the morning beside Sed. The rhadus had failed the only meaningful test of satisfaction, how I felt afterwards. Strangely, he'd been pleased with himself, and might have fallen asleep on top of me had I not managed to evade his collapse.

“Get up, damn it.” I said, shoving him with my feet.

With a final snort and a jerk, he awoke. “Wha…? Oh, Deana,”

At least he remembers my name. “It’s time to go.”

“Wha…? No breakfast?” I must have confused him: I was a woman; he had brolled me; I should be up and cooking.

“No!”

Once he was gone, I stomped around my apartment in a foul mood.

“Mistress, I’m sure it will get better.”

“After that, it can do nothing else. I just have to be patient.”

There were warriors like the ones I sought; there had to be. It was trickier than I thought, though, finding one who would care for me, yet understand and approve that I'd rather face danger with him by my side, than to be left behind. To most of the men I knew and liked, caring and protection went together like a hand in glove.

Someone will see me for who I am and want me. If it takes a year, I’ll find a man to my liking.

As Wanda made a late breakfast, I took a bath to clear away Sed's last traces, and then dressed for the day. As I pinned my hair up, Father knocked on the door. I invited him in and had him take a seat while Wanda went off to make the best tea.

“I hadn’t expected you back for another week. Did the training go well?”

“That was only an excuse we used to leave without comment; we returned when we did because we were successful.”

I thought that was very odd thing to say. “Father, you didn't come here just to visit me.”

He glared at me under bristling dark eyebrows. There was no warmth in his eyes. “We were hunting bandits, and we found them. The surprise was complete, and we killed them all except for one, without losses. Valloran was right about the sword. It was Met. We have him tied-up at an abandoned farmhouse a couple of hours away.”

“By the Goddess, Father!”

“I had hoped to never see this day, but we clean up after our own. The revenge is yours, if you want it. If you don’t want to face him, then I’ll finish it.”

My revenge. It would hardly be that, but I couldn’t refuse. If Father slipped a blade between his own son’s ribs, it would haunt him for the rest of his days.

“I accept, Father. I’ll give him a choice, death or Ruk’s serum, and I would like to speak with him alone first.”

“It will be done as you wish.” He clasped my shoulder gently. “It would be best done quickly, Tyra.”

“I’ll change to riding clothes. If you make a stop at the slavers to buy what is necessary, I’ll be ready at the stables.”

He departed, and within the hour, Father, Der and I left the Lion Gate, riding south.

“Kim helped us find him,” he said.

“Really?”

“She was with us this past week. She has a good eye for detail and a head to keep it straight. We went through every cave and canyon Eagles used during the border war. Kim’s talents and Der’s tracking gave us a fair idea of the raiding patterns, and we were in the right place when they returned.”

“I see. A good sign that she wants to be a part of Eagles. That was nice of her, considering the way she feels about me.”

“I suppose it was. The details aren’t clear, but then, possibly no man can understand the labyrinthine motivations of women. Kim went to your mother, and discovered that you still hated Met for what he had done to you, and they decided between them that you needed revenge to make you ‘whole’ again. Kim volunteered to work with us towards this end. Perhaps you could explain.”

“I’d like to, Father, but you’re right: no man could possibly understand it.”

He grunted as if that was about what he'd expected.

The farmhouse came into view about noon. One of the newer men I didn’t know stood guard outside. Two more waited for us inside, along with Kim. I caught a glimpse of Met in the next room, tied to a chair. It was a shock to see him again after so long. His black hair was matted from sweat, and his clothes were in disarray from struggling against his bonds. When he saw me, he looked me over like a siolat girl.

I moved close enough to Kim for a private word. “Thank you, Kim. I appreciate this,” I said.

She focused upon me for a change, but if there was any thaw in her voice from the last time she'd spoken to me, I didn’t detect it. “Thank Ann. I only did it because she was worried about you.”

“Nevertheless, I'm grateful,” I said as she turned away. I watched her leave the house, not knowing what to think. When she was gone, I told Father that I was ready.

He nodded, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, he can’t get loose; I tied the bonds myself,” words from a father to a daughter likely skittish at confronting a killer, except that I wasn’t.

From the time I'd offered him tea, he had settled, for the most part, into his role as father of two daughters. I never regretted my decision. If I no was no longer included in discussions of the manlier pursuits, I had an honorable place in my family and a solid niche in this world. Father would never admit it, but I thought that in a way, this “revenge” was for his sake as much as mine. Long ago, I'd forgiven him his part in the events making me a serum girl, but from certain pained glances at me when he didn't think I saw, I didn't think he'd ever forgiven himself for losing his son.

I put my hand on his and squeezed. “Thank you for this, Father.”

His expression was complex; that his other son would be dead or another serum girl in a few hours must have preyed upon his mind, and to confirm it, he took a last look at his eldest through the door. His voice was stolid as ever, though. “Take as long as you need. We'll be in the barn, out of hearing, so you'll have privacy. This is your right. Do what you need to do.”

When everyone gone, I entered the prisoner’s room and shut the door behind me. A single window, high in the wall, its glass broken, cast plenty of light. Years of wind-blown sand and grit lay heaped against the far corner. I pulled up the only other chair in the room in front of him and untied his gag.

“Would you like a drink, older brother?” I asked, holding up a water skin.

“Ah, yes,” he said, showing me the same cruel smile I remembered from long ago. “It makes sense now: pretty serum girl, you are Tyr, disappointingly free.”

“It’s Tyra l’Fay now.”

He snorted. “How original. Well, ‘Tyra,’ you must have prevailed upon Father to capture me, a neatly trussed revenge ‘present’ for his little girl.” He laughed. “It’s ironic, little ‘sister,’ I’ve done a few questionable things, but I didn’t do what I am accused of.”

“I know you didn’t give me Ruk’s Serum, but that won’t save you. Father and I saw some of the men you robbed and killed; I spoke to one as he died.”

His caustic joviality suddenly went cold. “You know I didn’t give you Ruk’s Serum? This isn’t a revenge?”

“Father thinks it is. I found out several years after you were exiled that Ketrick had done this to me. Since no one had heard from you since you’d left; I thought there was a good chance that you were dead or long gone. It seemed like a good idea at the time to spare Father from knowing that he exiled you in error. Since you did turn up, I was wrong, and I apologize.”

He wrenched at his bonds, the tendons in his neck becoming taut cords as he strained, but it was useless.

“By the Gods, what a womanish argument! Do you think Father is too weak to bear the truth? I might have been found. When I returned, all would have been forgiven, and likely I would have been a fine citizen, an honor to Batuk, instead of the murderous scum you see.” He grinned, and his eyes gleamed like black marble. “Everything I’ve done is on your head. If you have any honor, you must release me.”

I was sympathetic, but not insane. “You can’t blame the murders on me. Your exile was no worse than what many men face when they seek their way in the world. You made your life, not I.”

“You don’t know that, girl! You can only guess. The tiniest things make all the difference: a slip in the grass, and a warrior dies; a missed word, and a merchant loses a fortune; believing the wrong man to be a friend, a proud man becomes -- a serum girl.” I remained dubious, and Met’s good humor turned sour again. “I’ll be gone soon, but the guilt for my deeds shall live on in you. Ho! I’ll offer you a way out of your dilemma. Unbuckle my pants and slide them down. My twyll awaits your lips and tongue. A fine performance will earn you my forgiveness.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll live with the guilt.”

“This will eat at you forever! It will be acid in your guts, making you weak and vulnerable…”

“Met, during our final moments together, I hoped we could talk for a time as brother and sister. I don’t want to remember you as a rhadus.”

His face froze; then he gazed fiercely upon my breasts, lingering there. He licked his lips, as if they were a meal. Then he laughed. “What am I complaining about? The formerly powerful warrior is already a weak and vulnerable serum girl. I suppose neither of our lives turned out the way we expected, eh, little sister? How long do we have to talk?”

I checked the window’s angle to the floor. “When the sun strikes the corner, it will be time for you to decide.” This time, when I offered the water bag, he accepted.

“So, Tyra, what fascinating tales do you have to tell me? Will it be shopping, sewing, cooking, the care of children?”

“Perhaps a little more than that.” I gave him the highlights of my time in Tulem, leaving out the places where I doubted he would be interested or sympathetic. After I was through, I had no idea what he thought: it was as if he didn’t care. I wondered if he had even believed a word I’d said.

If I thought my story was more interesting than his, he, at least, had traveled more. He’d been a day laborer at first until he’d made enough money, or had stolen enough -- he had been vague on the point -- to go the coast, starting over as a seaman. Among other things, he’d been a privateer for Hellas, ran a siolat tavern in Defre, and had been a trader in stolen artifacts before turning to murder as Shade five years before. He had already been judged, so I tried not to assess his chosen path too harshly, and we laughed at calamities and terrible crimes like Gods, as if everything in life had equal weight.

But finally the sun drew ever further towards the wall, until it nearly touched. He must have been afraid, but all he did was look to me. I went to my purse and pulled out two syringes: one green, the other black.

I held up the green and said, “I hope you choose Ruk’s serum. You would live on.”

“As a slave,” he said, his lip turned down in disgust.

I sighed. “It’s not like that. You’d be reborn into a new world as a pretty girl with green eyes and hair of burnished fire. I’d make sure that you’d have a good master. Met, you would be happy. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.” I unbound one of his arms, and placed both syringes within reach.

From the way he measured the distance between us, I thought he might throw the syringes at me, so I moved away and to the side. He shrugged as if it made no difference. Picking up the green needle, he held it an inch over his leg. “You think I should choose the Ruk’s Serum?”

“Yes. You wouldn’t regret it.”

“Very well.” Grinning like a child who’d stolen an extra dessert, he tossed the syringe out of reach, and snatched the other one, jabbing it into his thigh and injecting the contents in one fluid motion. He then flicked the spent needle in my direction, but I dodged it easily.

“Met!” I wailed, rushing towards him. “Why do you do that? You could have lived.”

He leered at me as if he had won a mighty victory and laughed. “The poison works fast. My arms and legs are already going numb.”

I took his face in my hands. “Why, Met?”

He slapped my hands away in rage. “Why do you think? I’m not weak like you. I’ll go to Hades before I become a woman, much less a slave.”

“Then you’ll have your wish. I’m sorry.”

“I’m really dying,” he said, as if he only now realized what he had done. His breath labored, becoming fast and shallow. “I can barely see!”

“I’m here. Met, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t mourn me, damn you. I’ve hated you since you first beat me with the spear. If Ketrick hadn’t made you a serum girl first, I swear, given another week I would have killed you.”

“What? What did you say?”

But I would learn no more: his body convulsed, and then his black eyes went cold forever.

I closed his eyelids, cut his bonds, and let him settle to the floor. I left the farmhouse and signaled Father that it was over, and he walked to my side. After a moment when Father briefly wept for his oldest son, and after a sign of Ashtar from me, he tied Met in a pelt and slung him over a horse. Then we started back, just the three of us, having sent the others on ahead.

Met would have tried to kill me! He really would have.

“Was it a good death?” Father asked.

I tried to find the right thing to say. “He died like a man.”

“That’s good. You’ll be able to say a few good words when we bury him.”

“Yes.”

“Well, did it work? Are you ‘whole’?”

I wanted to tell him everything, but the lies I’d told secured me as neatly as any slavers knot.

“The revenge was most helpful, Father. Thank you.”

He nodded, and reached across the gap between us to grasp my hand. “Then some good has come of this. Sometimes a revenge is unsatisfying, or not what you expected.”

I wished I could have told him!

The sky above wasn’t the sky, but a painting of vibrant pinks amidst bone-chilling blue; the air teased my nostrils with precious spice; the bushes’ vivid reds, yellows, and whites were pure beauty that disputed the land’s brown and gray homeliness; Batuk stood ahead, a gleaming bastion of strength and freedom, my home.

By the Gods, the turmoil that raged in my head and heart! The very world had changed. I hadn’t believed Ketrick before, hadn’t dared allowed myself to believe.

Met was really planning to kill me.

But after more than twenty years, Tyr was a close friend, and always ready for a fight:

It doesn’t mean that Met would have killed me!

Like Hades. Decker had taught me a woman’s fear and helplessness in the hands of a determined man. I hated it, but I was weaker than any adult with a pair of suren on the planet, and beauty and my sex, my protection, was a two-sided blade. Women lived by different rules; no woman in her right mind could pretend otherwise. If a man wanted to kill me, I’d be a fool to try to fight him. It wasn’t cowardice coming from a woman, just good sense: I’d simply report the man to Father, or Ron, and either would be happy to take care of it.

But that was now. Then, I'd been a warrior, strong, fearless, and expected to defend myself. Never completely convinced of the danger, I had taken some precautions, but the warrior’s way was to live like a man and die when the Gods decided, a strategy ill-suited to stop an assassin within the family. Met had been far from stupid. With Der helping him, Met would have known enough to plan a bolt in the dark, or a poisoned blade. As one who knew a woman’s fear and helplessness in the hands of a determined man, I knew better how to separate a young warrior’s brashness from the truth: if Ketrick had not intervened, Met would have killed me.

Ketrick could have warned me!

How? The only way that would have saved me was to leave Batuk. In those days, I would have despised it as a cowardly act.

Ketrick thought to make me his slave!

I gnashed my teeth on it, but found the answer: yes, he did. Then again, I had just advised Met to become a slave to save his own life and, I thought, blushing, that if had to have a master, there was none better than Ketrick. I should have been humiliated, but my slut urges forced me to admit on the deepest level that it wasn’t a crime for a man to know what he wanted.

He had no right to give me Ruk’s serum!

Truth! I had been a man, a warrior; I had had the right to decide my own fate, and yet, I had justified killing Tam Polgher, the “hard choice” Ron had spoken of. Ketrick had his own “hard choice” to save me with Ruk’s serum or watch me die.

What an arrogance bastard to so easily think to make me his slave!

That last rang true, all right, and I tightened my grip on the reins. If Father hadn’t been riding beside me, I would have shouted, “Ketrick, you Gods damned egotistical rhadus!” But being egotistical was a league from being a betrayer.

Staring through tears that blurred the world, I now knew that I could not have stayed Tyr: I would have been either a dead man or a live serum girl -- and I was happier to be alive. I could blame becoming a serum girl on Met, or on my warrior’s stubbornness for not taking Met seriously enough. I could not honestly blame Ketrick. Ashtar, Goddess of Mercy, was it my destiny to become Tyra l’Fay?

I had hated Ketrick so long! I wept, not knowing why. It was still a tragedy that I was a serum girl, wasn’t it? Without the hatred, it wasn’t a question I could avoid any longer. I tried to weep silently as not to disturb Father, and then the voice returned, calmer now, and wryly amused:

Crying like a woman.

Still crying, I started to laugh. Father shot me a fatherly glance, willing to do something for his daughter, if only he knew what in Hades was the matter with her. I lifted my hand and smiled to show him I was all right, and then laughed and cried some more. He wouldn’t ask, I knew: Herth Tarr had said that I was ‘unfathomable’.

***

That night I took a warrior to the silks. He was a strong man, with black hair and eyes that brightened when he laughed. He was good-looking and had a naturally dominating presence without being demanding.

He knew how to please a woman like me. He took me like a slut, longer than I had a right to hope, making me shiver and thrash. Few men are disappointed with a freewoman who responds like a slave, and he was no exception: it spurred him on, and he compelled me to his will, while leaving something for me. When he could hold back no more, he pounded his seed into the deepest part of me, rocking me with a force that tingled all the way to my toes.

Having taken all that he could give, I lay back, limp and alive as only a woman can be after a thorough brolling. Still joined to him, I wrapped my arms around his neck and smiled. He had met all my requirements easily; he was even a Lieutenant in the guard.

If he wanted me, my plans of the day before directed that I would be his woman in his caravan, to ride beside him whenever possible, or to ride in a wagon with the other women. He would be my lover and protector; I believed him to be a decent man with whom I could share adventure in far-away places.

But my dreams were of another, with a face rugged rather than handsome. I awoke before the warrior and made him breakfast. When the warrior asked me to be his woman, I told him that although he had been wonderful, I had changed my plans. He left disappointed.

We buried Met at noon that day outside the city walls in the common cemetery. Only the family was there. Father said a few words of his skill as a warrior and his leadership in younger days; I spoke of his bravery as he died. I didn’t think our praise was enough to keep him out of Hades. Privately, I added:

Thank you for telling me, brother. It was a great gift; although, to be honest, I’m sure you didn’t mean it that way.

I doubted that would keep him out either.

***

When all was prepared, I met my family in the sitting room.

First, I gave my mother a hug. “I’ll miss you, Mother,” I said.

“I still don’t like it. A woman by herself on the road isn’t safe.”

“It’s more dangerous to stay. My identity is wrapped up in a web of names and half-truths. Sooner or later one of us would slip up.” I smiled. “Herth Tarr said that a man should shed complexity whenever possible.”

Her mouth twitched, but let it pass. Like everyone else at Eagles, Mother preferred the illusion; she, especially, didn’t like to be reminded of what I used to be. “Let me know where you go,” she said.

“I’ll write when I find a place.”

I’d already said goodbye to Ron and Tisa. Kim had refused to meet with me, but I’d expected that.

“You will take care?” Father asked, watching my face closely.

I nodded. “I will.”

“Then there’s nothing more to say. You are a daughter of Eagles, Tyra. Do not forget.”

“Never,” I replied, holding him one last time.

I left the main house with Wanda. Together, we walked to the stables and picked up our horses, already packed and ready. With a last look back at the estate, we rode down the wall road and out through the Lion Gate.

The morning lines were forming. Wagons, coaches, and riders traveling to the coast or to places south and west rattled or rode into designated spaces as the caravans organized according to time-worn protocols. Mercenaries in black and blue leathers and light road armor, and guards in house colors dismounted upwind, out of the dust. Wanda and I joined them to wait.

We didn’t wait long. Ann rode through the Lion Gate alone, her blue riding cloak draped over the horse’s flanks with her hood pulled back. She sat straight in the saddle, her head searching. I waved to catch her attention. Smiling, she kicked the horse into a trot. Ann rode better than she used to: the former librarian had had a lot of practice lately; this would be her second trip in as many weeks to see Stefan in Trestia.

As soon as she dismounted, she hugged me. “I don’t know if I should be happy or weep for you,” she said.

“Don’t be sad that I’m leaving, if that’s what you’re worried about. Ann, you look disgustingly happy.”

The big brown eyes flashed, and the inner passion slave, normally kept under tight wraps, peeked through, making her seem a fraction of her real age. “Stefan is young, finding his way, but in some ways…” She looked down, blushing. “For the first time, I don’t feel like I’m in control. Sometimes he makes me feel that I’m his princess -- me! At other times, I’m his concubine. He offered to set up a room for me in Trestia.”

“Well, you didn’t accept, did you?”

“And give up the Institute?” she scoffed. “No, and I don't think he expected me to, although, it was a little tempting.” She grinned the slightest bit, lifting one eyelid more than the other. “One day I might enter a fantasy and beg him to make me his slave, just to see what he does.”

There were only two women on the planet who could understand what that meant. “Goddess, Ann,” I laughed.

“Dana, I wouldn’t want to be anyone else.”

I brushed her hair back gently with my hand, nearly in tears. “I’m pleased beyond words for you.”

“Come with me. Stefan would like to see you again. He could send word to Kat that you were there.”

“They would ask me how long I’d be gone and where I was going. My vague reply would worse than no reply at all.” I smiled. “Besides, Stefan is in good hands, and, well, Kat is grown.”

“She’s become a wonderful young woman, fully into her majority.”

“You had much to do with it.”

Ann became the scholar for a moment, giving the matter due consideration, and then shook her head. “She’s changed these last several months. I wasn’t with her, you were. In the ways that count, Katrina is very much her mother’s daughter.”

I had known it. I loved my son, but it wasn’t the same. Franco had a similar bond with Stefan, but as his mother, I would never quite fathom it. I was Kat’s mother. She held an unshakable place in my heart, and we understood each other in ways that Franco never could. Some of me, and some of Lady Katrina, were in Kat, and when she had her own daughter, I would be a part of the chain that carried on her line into eternity.

A caravan foreman bellowed an announcement for a group of riders traveling south, Ann’s direction. She and I shared a long glance, each aware that it might be a long time before we’d see each other. I pulled her into my arms one last time, memorizing the feel of her, her hair, and the scent of her perfume.

“To the end, Ananisia Tan. I’ll miss you.”

“To the end, Dana, my dearest friend. I hope you find what you need.”

She mounted her horse; she waved; I waved back; and I watched her ride off with the rest until I couldn’t see her anymore.

My eyes blurred with tears. I let them flow. I'd wanted to tell her who I was. She deserved to know. I thought that I could bear the hatred in her eyes; I knew her inner strength — she would get over it eventually with Kim's help, but I couldn't be sure that she wouldn't feel obliged to carry the news to Tulem and threaten most of what I'd done there. This was a lie I had to keep, and it meant that I could never live in Batuk again: the danger of her finding out would be too great.

I dried my eyes in a handkerchief and took a deep breath.

When I turned back, I discovered that Kim was watching me.

With her hood down, and the wind blowing her distinctive white tail like a banner, she wasn’t making an effort to hide. She was dismounted, the reins of her horse in one hand, standing tall with her legs spread slightly apart like a soldier at rest, at the far end of a line of guards.

She wasn’t smiling. In fact, her entire demeanor was a warning not to approach. So, why are you here, Kim?

She flicked her eyes towards the south where Ann had ridden, and then looked at me and nodded.

So, that's it, then. Still testing the Queen.

Kim brought her hand up and waved. I waved back.

She climbed on her horse and gave me a single nod.

I could never be sure with Kim, but I thought she was telling me that she still hadn't forgiven me, but someday, if I didn’t press it, she might.

It was much more than I'd hoped for, and I bowed my head, accepting her gesture. She then departed, disappearing inside Batuk’s walls a minute later.

I placed my hand on Wanda’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s find a caravan.”

I spotted a caravan master in green and white walking the line, checking riggings and cinches. I liked his no-nonsense manner and the makeup of the party, a medium-sized group of light wagons, horsemen, and a few coaches protected by a dozen guards. It looked fast and secure enough.

Sensing a possible profit, he stopped what he was doing and waited when he saw us ride towards him.

“I seek passage to Olwen for my slave and me,” I said, dismounting.

He asked me a few questions, mainly about provisions and sleeping arrangements, while he checked our mounts and packhorse. Satisfied, he said, “That will be four silvers, Miss…”

“Call me Dana, Caravan Master,” I said politely. “My slave’s name is Wanda.” I reached for my purse and pulled out four coins, but he refused to take it immediately.

“Unless you’re looking for attention,” he said, meaning that I could be a slut who might cause trouble, “you’re going to have to wear a veil.”

As the man responsible for the caravan, I couldn't fault him for his concern. A woman who dared be too pretty on the road was, for some, an advertisement to be taken. Essentially, although politely, he was calling my character into question. I could have endured a veil for four days. It would have been the proper choice for a lady. I was tired of being a lady.

“I like attention, but when I don’t want a man, I’m not too shy to let him know, and I am not defenseless.” I pulled the knife from my calf sheath and threw towards a hay wagon several yards away, sticking the knife hard and straight. “I also despise wearing veils.”

He went to the wagon and retrieved my knife for me, giving me a stern look. “You’re mistaken if you think that this will protect you from a determined man.”

I shrugged. “Perhaps not, but if he has a brain larger than a chicken, he would think twice. To sweeten it, I’ll allow the guards to use my slave on occasion.” On cue, Wanda held her head up proudly, a beautiful slave who knew that she was the most attractive and desirable of women.

With a lopsided grin, he took my silver. “That helps. Welcome to the caravan. We leave in an hour.”

Four days later we came around the last hill and the stench of fish and whale blubber assaulted our noses. The bustling port city of Olwen surrounded a bay, with warehouses, an infamous main strip just off the ocean, and docks for fishermen and longer ones for deep water trading vessels stretched out into the green bay. I sold the horses, and a few days later we caught the Elric, a three-master heading south. I spent as much time on the deck as they allowed passengers, making a place for myself close to the bow where I could breathe the salt air, get a taste of the spray, and best get a feel for the sea and ship. It was a good vantage, also, to watch the crew crawl through the rigging, like attendants to a living entity. Who knew? If my dream didn't come to pass, I might choose to be one of the women captains in Pasri.

The Elric fought the prevailing winds south for a month, and then whipped around the horn, sailing through a tropical storm, and onward to the mist-shrouded port of Old Illium and its ancient honey-yellow towers, waterways, and marsh gardens. Our ship pulled into a deep draft dock, and we left as soon as they dropped the plank.

I had never been anywhere this far south. The air smelled of spices and flora I couldn’t identify. The people were slim and darker than those in the North, and walked differently, slower, something like gliding, I supposed to conserve energy in the muggy heat. The men wore loose colored pantaloons of shades of reds and yellows, the women light dresses, and most cut their hair short. With my veil on, they didn’t stare, foreigners were too common, but their reputation as casual thieves made me keep Wanda leashed with an iron collar and chain wherever we went out. Trent, the passenger I’d chosen to sleep with on the ship, had lived in Old Illium long enough to speak the local language and knew the customs. He insisted that I stay close to him while I bought supplies and horses, and I was happy for his protection.

Wanda and I left Old Illium as soon as I could manage to find a sizable caravan traveling west. Once outside the walls, we rode past rice paddies, where horned oxen tilled the wet soil, villages of sticks and bamboo built off the ground, plantations, and vast marshes where multicolored birds cawed weirdly from tall, wide rooted trees, and where decaying plants thickened the air.

Few spoke the northern tongues and, while my trade Renfew was adequate, I always kept my knives close at hand, and twice abandoned caravans: once I stayed behind when I grew suspicious of a man whose eyes prowled my body more than I liked, and once in the dead of night, when Wanda came crying to me that she feared she would be stolen.

Once out of the lowlands, we arrived at the heart of the continent, the city of T’gana, by the Neriss River, the “black city” known for the color of the stone and its mercenary origins. I didn’t waste time there but continued westward, through nameless towns and famous cities I’d only heard of, like Akorne and Gless, until the distant peaks of the Terlune Mountains rose and sharpened at Berthe, a village in its shadows.

I took a seat in a small tavern with a window, and attached Wanda’s leash to a convenient ring built-in to the bench. The tavern keeper wasn’t busy that time of the morning, so when he walked by, I stopped him with a hand, smiling my best. “A wonderful view of one of the most famous sights on Zhor, tavern keeper. You must get many visitors.”

He grunted noncommittally.

I added a demure bat of the eyes. “Has anyone actually seen an Overlord?”

“No one I know of has, and lived.”

“How do you know? Isn’t it possible that...”

He rounded on me and growled, “Miss, you’re a idiot, and I’ll not help you.”

“But…” I said, taken aback at his anger.

“D’ye think I don’t know your questions for what they are? I’ve seen it before.” He put down his cleaning rag and eased his heavy frame into a chair in front of me. “Look,” he began, resigned, as if he’d given the same speech a dozen times before. “Nobody has ever come back from the mountains. Nobody. Philosophers, kings, savants, mystics — they’ve all gone over the centuries. Seen it myself a few years back with a party of Overlord lovers, a pathetic batch of red-robed fools, all dreamy and cocksure. They went straight into the mountains and disappeared.”

“That’s all? They just ... disappeared?”

He just looked at me, disgusted that he’d even said that much.

“Please tell me. I have no intention of throwing my life away. I couldn’t care less if I ever meet an Overlord.”

Somewhat mollified, he went on. “Well, they didn’t exactly disappear. They went on foot, carrying supplies and a sort of offering crate with lifting poles attached, so that two fools could carry it. It was late in the afternoon before they made it through the pass and they must have settled down for the evening because we saw the smoke of a small fire before nightfall. Late that night, there was an unnatural storm in the mountains. Light, like two silent bolts of lighting, then nothing. Afterwards, there were two black rings inside. Within ‘em lay what was left of the priests, skeletons burned to ash, like an angry god -- or an Overlord -- had spat fire.”

I made the sign of Ashtar, which satisfied him. In truth, I was shaken.

He patted my hand. “That’s right. The Overlords want their privacy. Best give it to them.”

I ordered food and siolat. As I ate, and while I fed Wanda, I cursed Ketrick for causing me all this trouble.

Two days later, I left my room at the lodge, slipping silently away in the pre-dawn. I saddled my horse from feel, and heaved a pair of saddlebags over his hindquarters. Teasing her outside, I rode towards the mountains down a little-used trail. I slowed as I climbed the gap in the mountains, allowing my horse a chance to rest.

The valley inside wasn’t unusual save for its propensity to deliver death: it had rocks, scrub, long grass, a few trees, and a stream in the base. Picking my way carefully through the rocks, half expecting a bolt of lightning to make me a pile of cinders, I saw the twin circles the tavern keeper had spoken of, about a mile inside, still mostly barren and black after several years. I picked up the pace as fast as I dared. The hoofs echoed across the quiet valley, possibly a death knell if I weren’t swift enough.

The circles were what the tavern master had said. The ash had washed away, but parts of a skull here and traces of bones there gave proof to his words. I dismounted, and opened the saddlebags. I had chosen lime. The white powder would make a nice contrast against the background. I hauled out a bag, looped one end over the back of my neck and pulled a cord at the bottom, releasing a stream, some blowing away in the light breeze, but most of it falling where I wanted. Then I started walking, making sure I wrote large and thick enough, but not so large that I wasted time or ran out of lime.

As soon as I finished the last letter, I tossed the bag aside and ran for my horse. Mounting her, I escaped the valley as fast as I could without risking her legs. I was back in my room before lunch, grinning like any idiot who had cheated death.

Wanda was pale, and her eyes were red from crying. Little wonder; if I hadn’t returned, she would have been an abandoned slave in a strange place, the property of the lodge.

“Mistress, I was so worried!” she wept.

I took Wanda in my arms and held her close against my shoulder.

“It’s all right now,” I said softly. “The worst is over.”

“And … and if he doesn’t come, Mistress?”

“Then he doesn’t, and we will make new plans.”

“Yes, Mistress,” she said, but there was no denying her preference. She and I were friends as much as mistress and slave, but in the end, Wanda needed a man. And so did I.

“Run a bath for us, Wanda,” I said, as much to take her mind off of it, as it was to clean away the grime of the morning.

A week later I gave a last kiss to my chosen bedmate, slipped out of his bed, and returned to my room early in the morning, before first light. Wanda was ready, looking as if she’d barely slept.

“The horses and provisions?” I asked.

“Already taken care of, Mistress.”

I gave her a last hug. “Let’s go, then.”

We rode the same trail with our two mounts and packhorse. The sun rose, making long shadows before us. We climbed the gap again. I gave Wanda a last questioning look before we crossed the threshold.

“Wanda, you can stay here and wait. You probably don’t have to come in with me.”

“Mistress, I will go with you,” she said, returning a firm nod that belied her obvious fright.

“We'll wait an hour or two, but no more,” I told her. “If he hasn’t come by then, I’m guessing he won’t.”

“Yes, Mistress. And then?”

I took her hand at the summit of the pass, gripping it tightly. “Then we’ll find our own destiny.”

We rode into the valley together. I tried to be brave, mainly because I didn’t want to scare her, but I was probably as terrified as she was. If the Overlords wanted to kill us, I wouldn’t be hard to find: I’d told them when I was returning with my message. But no bolt from the sky burned us to cinders, at least not yet. We continued towards the twin circles with the long-incinerated priests, our horses’ steps upon the rocky hillside cracking echoes in the otherwise silent valley.

The black circles grew larger until we were there. I was in tears when we arrived, I had so hoped that I’d see him by then. We dismounted, having nothing better to do, and sat on a boulder to wait, splitting our watch between the beautiful blue sky that could kill us at any moment, and the dip in the hill across the valley. I sat quietly, my nerves on edge, and darted glances at any sound.

“Mistress,” Wanda said hesitantly, “that question you always asked me ... about a new master...”

I smiled, and put my arm around her shoulder. To pass the time, we spoke of our days together in Ketrick’s stable, when life was simpler, and our lives revolved around our master, long enough, sometimes, for me to forget who I was. With her around, I could never forget that deep down, she and I were the same, natural slaves who were happiest when a strong man owned us, that if it hadn’t been for a remarkable twist of fate, I would have been like her. And she had been my lover as a man and woman, the last a bond we never spoke of openly, but one that neither of us could forget.

“Mistress!” she cried, clutching my arm like a vise, and scaring me half to death.

I followed her eyes, and spotted a flash, not in the hollow, where we’d expected Ketrick to appear, but higher, and then I saw it again, this time seeing a man with his sword held over his head to catch the sun.

I leaped to my feet and waved. “Ketrick!” I screamed.

“Oh, Mistress! Is it really him?”

“Who else would be so arrogant as to ride to the top of the hill and signal like he was claiming the valley as his own?” I asked, but I was smiling. Why not?

Make your entrance, Ketrick!

Ketrick moved as quickly as he reasonably could, considering the terrain, picking his way through the rocks and brush. It was still too long for me, nearly a half hour before he trotted in the last two hundred yards and dismounted. His eyes never left me as he advanced, and then he was there! He swept me into his arms; his hands covered my back and bottom as if we’d never been apart, and then he kissed me. This was the man I wanted! With him, I would never need to lie or pretend to be anyone I was not. I opened myself to the one I loved, and he weakened my knees and make it difficult to think straight.

He smoothed back my hair in the old way, and I darn near purred against his chest, happy as a feline. Ketrick picked me up casually, took a pelt from his horse, and began walking, taking me to a convenient place where he might brol me.

After a quarter century as Queen, I thought it presumptuous, but under the circumstances, I could think of no reason to stop him. Still, I was a freewoman, and some protest was in order before I was stripped and helpless. “Do you mean to take me here among the burned bodies?” I demanded.

He merely grinned. “The bodies are unlikely to care, but there’s a flat spot just beyond that boulder I saw on the way here, a fine place to put a thick pelt.”

I might have been offended that he had planned for this, but more of me was pleased that I wouldn’t have to wait. Then, a new thought pushed its way to the fore:

“Ketrick! Will the Overlords be watching us?” I asked, suddenly wary of god-like beings observing my penetration.

He looked to the sky and laughed. “Tyra, right now, I wouldn’t give a damn if one watched over each shoulder.”

“Oh,” I replied.

His words were honey to the slave urges. Out of protests, and soon, out of options, he laid me out in soft furs, my hands tied above my head, and took me as I hadn’t been in decades. He allowed me little, and I gave him everything. Forced to admit my true nature, the shrieks of a woman facing her female core reverberated across the valley of death.

Hours later, as I lay by his side, melted and drained, I touched the place on my thigh where a brand would be. Had he asked, or, more likely, ordered me to cross my wrists, I would not have submitted to him. Over the years my control had improved. Nevertheless — if there was a man on Zhor that I would willingly give myself to, this was he. I didn’t have to imagine life as a slave with him; I had lived it.

“Tyra, why are you here?” he asked.

I didn’t think he was serious at first. “You mean, why did I cross the entire continent and dare the Overlords' wrath? Why do you think?”

“I’d rather you just told me. The last I heard from you, you burned my apology sight unseen. What’s changed?”

Goddess, he could be irritating, especially when he had a point. “Well, that was before I found out that Met would have killed me. I believe you now; I would have died if you hadn’t made me a serum girl.” I told him about Met and what he said before the poison took him.

“So, that’s all it was, a coincidence and a slip of the tongue.” He said nothing for a moment. “It makes it easier,” he said softly. “I couldn’t read your brother’s thoughts; at the time, I wasn’t absolutely sure that he was going to kill you. It was a hard decision to give you Ruk’s Serum.”

I placed my hand on his arm, and looked into his eyes; I wanted to make sure he saw what was in my heart. “I understand hard choices, and I have no regrets left.”

I felt his body relax. “That was dangerous placing the message where the Overlords could see it.”

“I thought it was a reasonable risk. A tavern keeper told me about the twin circles. He could have only known that if someone had entered the valley and reported it. From that, I guessed that sneaking inside the valley for a brief period is allowed.”

“Not bad. Of course, you could have saved yourself two months travel if you had read my apology: instructions were given for contacting me. All you had to do was send me a letter and I would have come to you. As it was, it wasn't easy getting here.”

“Well, I was angry at you then,” I said, imagining how pathetic that sounded.

He grunted. “Yes. Did you know that in three hundred and fifty years, you are the only woman who has ever whipped me?”

I smiled. “This then proves Herth Tarr’s adage that living life fully is a near random progression of events, in its essence a walk across a tapestry of …”

“It was painful,” he said.

I meant it to be. If you only knew how close I came to killing you, I thought, but I wanted to forget those days. I was determined everything would be different this time around. “I am only a weak woman; I knew you would survive.” I waved my hand airily. “Fortunately, all that is in the past. Doubtless, after twenty-two years, the pain has become a fond memory.”

He affixed me with a sidelong glance, finally breaking into a half-grin. “Doubtless. You impressed the Overlords with what you did in Tulem.”

“That's one of the reasons I’m here. If the offer is still open, I’d like to be an agent for them.”

“It is still possible ... depending. How much have you changed?”

“In some ways, not at all. A friend of mine recently told me about Wei Qing,” I said, ready to teach this smug man something he didn’t know.

“The ancient philosopher,” he said, stroking his chin for a moment. “Ah, I see -- the ascendant. You figured out when you were most alive, and concluded that your ascendant was that of a fighter, a warrior.”

I sighed.

“If you had asked, Tyra, I could have told you that long ago, but I suppose that wouldn’t have done much good. It is possible that you had to learn that on your own.”

“I had to discover Wei Qing to learn I had a warrior heart?”

“Or someone like him, or just reason it out. You probably knew this ‘truth’ all along, and just needed a push to remind you of it.” He considered me. “It did take you a long time to realize the obvious.”

“That’s not fair. After you were gone, I had to stay behind, hating what I was. Franco made me feel wanted again. He offered me a way to make a new start as his wife, and I took it. For years I tried to combine my warrior side with my duties as the Queen, wife, and mother ...”

“... and then you found out you could not,” he replied.

“On the contrary, I ... I could. It was my husband who couldn’t accept it. Ketrick, the last time you and I saw each other I didn’t know what it was like to be a woman. Now I do.”

“Does this mean you wear frilly nightwear and coo at babies?” he inquired, looking at me dubiously.

I smiled. “Sometimes. I may have even giggled once or twice.”

“By the Gods,” he muttered.

“Is it so surprising? I’ve lived longer as Tyra than as Tyr. Despite all that, though, I'm here with you, ready to ride towards a future serving the Overlords.”

“If they reject you they wouldn’t let you leave. Are you sure that you’re strong enough now?”

I rolled to my feet, went to my clothes, and grabbed my calf knife. I approached my left palm with it.

“Wait! Tyra, there is no need…”

I shook my head. “You have to know, and so do the Overlords.” Clenching my jaw, I slashed my palm, holding it away from me to allow the blood to drip onto the ground. “I’m not weak,” I shouted into the sky, “and anyone who tries to make me their slave will still die!”

He tossed me a clean cloth, and I wrapped my hand with it.

“I swore I would not doubt you.”

“You had cause, and I release you from your oath retroactively. All I ask is that you don’t doubt me too often. Slicing my palm is painful.”

He grinned. “Right.”

There would never be a better time, I decided. “I want to give Wanda back to you, but only if you want her. I hope you do; she needs you as much in her own way as I do.”

He glanced over where she stood, waiting anxiously in the shade of a boulder, and then back to me. “I’ll take her. She's a remarkable slave.”

I sagged in relief and waved her forward. My face told her enough. I hugged her one last time as her owner, as she wept against my shoulder.

“Thank you, Mistress!”

“You deserve nothing less,” I whispered in her ear. You’ll be where you belong again -- and this isn’t goodbye. We’ll see each other again.”

“Yes, Mistress,” she said, giving me a final searching look, but we both knew that it wouldn’t be the same. Her world would have a bright new sun that I could never compete with, but this ending was as it should be.

“Wanda, you belong to Ketrick,” I said, and it was done. The raven-haired beauty shot me a last glance of gratitude, and ran into his arms with a sob.

“Master!” she cried.

Ketrick gave her a master’s kiss, and reestablished his dominion over my former slave. I bore it more easily than when Franco had used her, knowing the years that she’d waited. I dressed, and was ready to go long before Wanda’s cries stopped echoing from the hills.

***

After a day and most of the next approaching the mountains, the rolling hills grew taller; the air was cooler, and clean with the scent of pine. With the man I wanted riding by my side, I caught myself smiling like my daughter at her first party. I had a thousand questions about the Overlords and what we would be doing, but when I asked my first, he just grinned.

“It’s not my place to tell you. All I can say is that they aren’t gods. They are more powerful than you can imagine, and less; similar to us in ways, and different.”

Well, that’s as clear as a muddy river.

“I heard stories that they travel to a planet called Earth, where people live in tall cities. They fly and...” He started to grin again. I turned away, disgusted with him, that he wouldn’t give me at least something to chew on, and with me, for not controlling myself better.

He patted me on my leg. “I wanted to know everything at once, too, but you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. That was something to think about.

Ketrick had enough questions for me to fill the time. He knew a great deal about events in Tulem, but not all. He and the Overlords, for instance, had no idea that I wasn’t the Queen until I wrote my message in the circles, and then they verified it in some way, both aspects I thought were interesting. They also hadn’t known that I'd been behind Nikolai’s disappearance.

Mainly, he wanted to know everything that happened during the past twenty-two years I’d been away from him. He was the same; I could see that nearly immediately, but there was no telling what he thought of me after telling him about my children, a marriage, and watching my aristocratic manners, a habit of mine after years as Queen.

Fortunately, a warm pelt on a cold night is a fine place to restart a fire and reestablish a connection between a man and woman, especially if she is a natural slave who can hide nothing if the man is skilled enough. After a couple of hours reacquainting ourselves, I lay under a soft pelt, my arm draped over his back, pressed against him, in that wonderful lethargy where body and mind are utterly satisfied -- and that's when it happened:

Tyra.

Tyr? That brought me fully awake. Tyr existed, of that I was sure, but I'd always thought of him as my old self, a piece of me that I'd kept around because I wouldn't let go, or possibly a creation of my mind that I’d bring to life when I needed him. He was familiar, like an old friend, but I'd always called upon him, never the reverse. Until he spoke, I didn't think it was possible.

I closed my eyes, prepared myself, and entered the palace garden in Tulem in the afternoon, the same place and time of day I’d visited for years. I arrived wearing a dress in the Queen’s colors with my circlet binding my hair, which remained blonde. I formed the marble bench, flowers, the sky, and the buildings surrounding the enclosure. I made the fountain, gave it water, noise, and breathed its cool mist.

Tyr walked around the corner in a brown and orange tunic, as if he were on his way to supper at Eagles. I had never forgotten what I had looked like, the blonde hair, the blue eyes, similar in those respects to my body. He was powerfully built, and handsome, although he lacked Ketrick’s animal appeal.

Tyr smiled halfway, amused. “Not many compare well to Ketrick, and I know that from personal experience.”

The garden wavered for an instant before I regained control. “How...? Are you reading my mind?”

Tyr shook his head slowly, while looking at me steadily the entire time. “I’ve been with you as long as I can remember. It stands to reason that I’d know your reaction to seeing me. I called you because I have a good idea what you want.”

“I ... I suppose you would.” I sighed. Tyr didn’t look happy, and I couldn’t blame him, considering what I'd been thinking very recently. “Would you share the bench with me?”

He shrugged. “It's your fantasy, Tyra.” He sat, shifting his body towards me. “You’ve kept me alive for decades. You’ve always wanted me to be around -- until now.”

I couldn't stop staring. He seemed so real. I barely had to think about him to keep him coherent. “For decades?” I thought back to the first time I'd sought him out. “Yes ... a long time. That — that means you're the original Tyr, or as close a copy as doesn't matter.”

“I can only know what you know, but that sounds about right.”

“You think I don't need you anymore.”

“I can read your memories. What else can I conclude? This is my end, and I mean to say goodbye.” Tyr said it with only a trace of sadness, but I knew the courage it took to speak the words so calmly. I didn’t even know quite how he'd come into being, but he was real, and the sentiment was enough to make me rub a tear from my eye. I reached out and took his much larger hand. It was warm, as I knew it would be, and calloused from the sword and spear.

There would be no deception, no evasion, not with him. “You're right. I may be at that point where I don't need to wonder, 'What would Tyr think?'”

“That's the way I read it.”

I sighed. “You live, Tyr. I have no intention of getting rid of you. I can see only two options: we can keep it the same. I may not call on you very much, but now that I know you're here, I'll bring you out and visit you from time to time.”

“I can tell already you don't like that.”

“It wouldn't be my first choice. In your position, I think it'd feel like prison or a slow death.”

He grinned like a warrior, cool and almost arrogant, a man who lived by codes of conduct that permitted him to consider death in certain situations. “I agree. And the other option?”

“The other way is harder and would need your cooperation. I'd bring you inside me, make you a part of me.”

He frowned, looking at me askance. “You want to ... digest me? Like the other fantasies you created?”

“No. Assimilate. The other fantasies were like thoughts, a new way of thinking, remembering a friend. I knew them, but they weren't living in any real sense. I absorbed them like experience. It changed me, I suppose, but not to any appreciable degree. You're not the same at all. You not only live but we're far enough apart now that I can't read your thoughts. I don't know what you're going to say or how you're going to act. The only way we could join now would be like creating a fantasy in reverse. For you, it would be much like 'walking in' to me.”

He considered it. “Would this be dangerous for you, Tyra?”

I looked up into his eyes, blue like mine, and I wondered if the concern I saw wasn't something like what Tisa had seen in me when I'd been Tyr. “I don't think so,” I said, shaking my head. “No, the danger is to you. Let me demonstrate.”

I pushed myself to my feet and raised my hands. The fountain behind us spilled blue water, then red, then green. A thought, and the garden melted and a forest of trees rose in its place. I made the sky dark with clouds, and lightning flashed in the air. When it started to rain, I looked down at him. “All this is my mind. You exist in it as a separate pattern, a group of thoughts, attitudes, feelings, your own will — but you are an inhabitant here, and only come fully to life when I think of you.” In an instant, I returned everything to normal, dried our clothes and sat back down beside him. “I'm too strong to be damaged. The danger for you is that I've never done this before. I could lose you if things don't go well. I do know that if this is to work, I'd need your help. As in any fantasy I create, you would have to want to join with me.”

“You mean that I'd have to want to be a woman?”.

I snorted softly. “Tyr, you are the original. As much as you instinctively hate the idea, the only difference between us is that I have twenty-seven years as Tyra. You're going to have to trust me that being a woman is better than you can imagine. If I've learned nothing else, it is that men and women are marvelous in their own way. It's a fair trade.”

“A trade of strength for beauty...” he began uneasily.

“It’s more than that,” I said, on surer ground now. “Women are physically weaker, but not unreasonably so. We’re softer, smaller, shaped to have children, pretty, made to be caressed and desired, and we desire men in return. There is nothing unusual about being a woman; we're one half of humanity. We marry, have children, enjoy our bodies and what makes us unique. We depend on men, but the reverse is true as well. We have different needs that fit the other's. You can't see it, but men and women don't see the world the same way; you can't possibly judge how it is to be a woman unless you become one.”

He knew it as well as I did, or would if he looked close enough into my memories. Like a man, however, he was stubborn. “Being a woman is not the life for a man,” he said nervously, gripping the side of the bench..

Goddess, why did I think this would be easy? Of course he would be afraid. “Remember the adventure that awaits us. Think about how I came to be here. The original part of me was Tyr. Without his drive to be free, I would have been branded and collared. Without his warrior heart, I would have been well pleased to be Franco’s wife. Neither came to pass because we are one now, inseparable in spirit and body. You would be at home with me.”

I prayed silently that it would be enough. Too much time had passed to put me completely in his place. I started to worry. It was possible that he was incapable of making this leap, of wanting womanhood, even to save his existence, not for any lack of bravery, but of what he was. Met had preferred to die.

Tyr looked at me, his visage determined as anyone in the midst of battle. He said, as much to himself as to me, “When you called upon me ... it was a joy to be with you.”

I sighed, relieved that he hadn't rejected it out of hand. He's trying. Thank you, Ashtar.

“Tyra, I respect you. I always have, even when I couldn't understand what you were thinking sometimes.”

And that would be his way, I understood, working, seeking an acceptable way to want to be a woman. I wondered what I dared say that would help convince him. I could hardly tell him the joys of being taken and forced to become my true natural slave self, or the fulfillment of penetration. Just as I was too much of a woman to desire a twyll, he was too much of a man to consider the other side.

And therein lay the key, I realized, or thought I did. What I contemplated was impertinent, but at least that defining image of his maleness I could adjust. I stood and held my hand out, asking him to rise. When he did, I imposed my will on my little world, and a duplicate of myself down to the dress stood before me.

“What? Why did you do that?” he demanded in my own voice, outraged. He held out his bodice and stared at his breasts, then at his arms and hands, now womanly smooth and slender.

“I did it because you're thinking that you're a man. You are, inside, but not physically. What you see and feel,” I noted distractedly that his hands were squeezing his breasts in a most unladylike manner, “is what your real body is like. Our bodies here are illusions. The real body we inhabit is at this moment lying naked under a pelt with our arm over the man I love. A warrior must accept reality, Tyr, and in the ways that matter, you are already female!” I reached for his hand, now exploring a rounded hip, and grabbed it. He was still incensed, but he was no dullard; he knew why I'd done it. “I'll change you back in a moment, but let's walk the garden for a while.”

My purpose was to talk with him for a while to make him forget that he was a woman, to temporarily bury thoughts that what once hung did not anymore, but I soon discarded small talk and the gentle approach for what I really wanted to say.

I like being a woman! Why should I have to justify it to anyone? By Ashtar, I have nothing to be ashamed of!

He may have had my memories, but remembering is nothing compared to experience. I spoke passionately of Lady Katrina and her friendship I'd valued so much, and explained the Tress'lan section of the garden, designed to represent a woman's life. I told Tyr of my children, of raising Kat and discovering much of myself through her, my pride in Stefan, the choices I'd had to make, the simple pleasures I'd learned to love, the woman's sense of being a part of everything, my sisterly love for Tisa, and the burgeoning love for Father as his daughter. I dared him with my eyes to say one word about liking what I saw in the mirror, or my deepest desire to be with the man who slept beside me.

“Hold,” he said, raising his hand firmly — like a man.

For a second, I wondered if I'd said too much, too quickly. “Tyr, I....” I shut my mouth and stood with my head high. I'd said what I did, and I wouldn't have taken back a word of it.

“You haven't said anything about the battles you've had,” he said.

“Being a woman isn't about that. I don't shy away from what I must do, but I don't go looking for trouble. Of course, Mother may have a different view.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “You are what I would have become.”

“Exactly, Tyr. And I'm not embarrassed at all. I like being me.”

He took a long breath, then exhaled. “You want me to join with you, Tyra?” he asked me seriously.

I was so relieved the garden wavered. “Oh, Goddess, yes. Didn't I say so?”

He held out his hands, his eyes glistening. “Then I'll never be readier than now. You turned out better than well, and I'd be proud to join you in spirit. How do you do this?”

I took a breath and wiped a tear away as I prepared myself. “Think about how much you want to be me, and step forward into my arms. I'll bring you the rest of the way.”

He gave me a final look, and started moving forward, faster than I thought he would. I reached out and took him into my arms, his breasts against mine, and I willed him inside with all I had.

With a flash of bravery that made me proud of who I once was, Tyr plunged like a diver straight into me, heedless of the risk, trusting me with his life. I felt him instantly, a male presence, strong and direct to the edge of hubris — a warrior. And yet, his presence wasn't totally unfamiliar: I felt a sympathetic chord within me -- a part of me inside knew him. I rejoiced, for this confirmed that at least some of me had survived the years and lived on. It made it even easier to draw him into my being, and I accepted him into my heart, where he belonged.

I withdrew from the fantasy world, and opened my eyes. It was hard to know if I was any different. I felt no change save that perhaps I was a little stronger, more sure of myself, and happier than I'd ever been. I was Tyra l’Fay, whole and complete — and I decided that I wanted a man. Fortunately, one was readily available, and with a little effort, he was ready for me. If Tyr was attached to me, he learned then what it was to be a woman in a man's arms. As Ketrick took me, forcing me closer to my natural slave self, I looked to the stars, thanked Ashtar for her mercy, and swore that this time, when I had the chance, I would make an offering at one of her temples.

Ketrick woke me with a light slap to my bottom, and I peeked out of the furs. It was teeth-chattering cold with a breeze that snatched the breath clouds away.

Ketrick was already up and stretching naked, warrior-fashion, making believe the chill didn't exist. Wanda, wrapped in a pelt, gave him adoring glances as she heated water she’d collected from a nearby mountain stream. I wasn’t crazy; unless I had to, I wasn’t getting up until the water was hot, and waited until Wanda gave me a sign before I headed towards the pot downwind of the fire.

It was nearly dark when we’d camped, but I thought that I’d spotted a trail leading over a distant rise several miles away. With the morning light, I saw that I'd been right. There was nothing overtly unusual about it, just a well-worn trail over a hill that wouldn't have ordinarily had drawn comment, except that we hadn’t been on a trail of any kind or even crossed one since coming into the Overlords’ territory. I could just make out a connecting path from another direction, and that confirmed it for me. The traffic, if an occasional horse wandering through could be called that, centered around that rise, and that could only mean one thing.

Ketrick saw where I was looking and nodded, pulling my naked body against his. “That’s where we’re going. We’ll be inside by noon.”

I dropped the towel I was using to wash myself and let the heat from the fire dry me. It was as good a time as any to say what was on my mind. “I haven’t mentioned Angel or what will happen between us inside.”

He turned his head thoughtfully. “I thought the matter was settled. We'll marry, and I'll sell Angel.”

“Before last night, I would have said the same thing, but it occurred to me that coming here must have been a shock to you. After the way I threw away your apology and with the news of the Queen being pregnant again, I wouldn’t have blamed you for giving up on me. I know how you felt about Angel and how she feels about you.” I pointed towards the hill in the distance. “I’ll bet that she’s waiting on the other side right now, desperate to find out if you'll return with me.”

He nodded. “It's true that I didn't expect to see you again, and I still own Angel, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do exactly as I said.”

“Ketrick, I want to marry you. I love you; I always have, even before we left Batuk and I didn’t fully understand what it was that I felt. The Goddess knows that I don’t want to let you get away, but I don’t want to marry you unless you want to marry me. If you’re marrying me because of your word, then I release you. If ... if you prefer Angel, then so be it. I’m not the same Tyra I was. I can live with whatever you decide.”

Ketrick laughed. “Tyra, you can still surprise me! And if I choose not to marry you, what would you do?” he asked, his tone faintly mocking.

I glared at him. “Then I would still be there, a constant reminder of what you were missing, and before I let you back into my arms, I would ... I would force you to woo me.”

“Freewomen!” he said to the heavens. He looked down steadily into my face from a few inches away. “We have danced with death together more than once, were as close as a man and a woman could be, and you would want me to woo you?”

Put that way, it did seem ridiculous. “Well... perhaps just a little wooing.”

He smiled in a way I knew well. I was slow leaving the fire because it was freezing everywhere else, and that, I think, is why he caught me so easily. He brought my mouth to his lips and held me, crushed against his chest, while he gave me a masters kiss. I fought him with all the strength in my body, kicking his shins and battering his ribs with my fist, but gradually my determination evaporated.

There is a point where an experienced man knows a girl is his. She stops fighting, her lips soften, and then she presses back. I had known it as Tyr with Angel many years ago, as a woman in the slave club, and once or twice more. His hand caressed my breast, and his mouth lowered to my neck. I gasped, unable to resist anymore. “Oh, Ketrick... I...”

“Is that enough wooing, Tyra?” he whispered into my ear.

“Maybe ... maybe, a little more...”

He laughed, and laid me down at my feet into a pelt that Wanda must have put down for us. Like any good slave, she had anticipated the needs of her master. This time, when he was through with me, only long habit and what pride remained to me kept my hands from crossing. He wouldn’t have made me his slave -- I’m not sure he could have trusted me -- but he had made his point. The heart of a natural slave is not obtained through long walks, dinner, and entertainment, but through submitting to her man.

I lay back, my chest heaving with each breath, my hands gripping the long hairs of the pelt. I felt, rather than saw the man next to me and the force of the cold wind blowing through the fire, and had one of my more obvious premonitions: This will not be an ordinary marriage.

We broke camp in mid-morning. About noon we approached the rise. On the way, I thought, not about where I’d come from — that was the past — but what lay ahead. I would be the mistress of our house, a new experience, and one that I looked forward to. I planned to acquire a necklace to identify him as mine as soon as I could. I would wield the spear again openly, and Ketrick would not laugh or think it unladylike. We would see adventure together as agents for the Overlords. And someday, I vowed, looking at my man riding beside me, I would have another child. Surely, the mysterious Overlords could make sure that our baby would be free of the slave gene.

It was only a few more yards to the summit and the glimpse of what lay ahead. I reached my hand out for his, wishing that we see our future together. He took it, grinning with mirth and energy that told me he knew exactly what I was feeling. “Are you certain you don’t want to be my slave, Tyra? We would be love slave and love master.”

I laughed and smiled back. He would never know because I would never tell him, but a part of me would always desire his brand, burned from his hand, for the full three seconds on my thigh. “Ask me again in a hundred years!”
 
 

 
I hope you enjoyed the conclusion to this epic. The section with Tyr took a couple of re-writes because I wasn't satisfied with what I saw. The ending of a long story, I feel, is critical. Thanks to John for the long read. :)

Thanks for reading this far, I know this was a looong story. :) ~Aardvark