It took two weeks for Xena’s voice to return to a shadow of itself. In that time Agassou the Panther simply forbade her to speak.
“The voice carries the soul. Shall you risk what is not yours? All the nation saw Gabrielle of Greece call you back from the gates of the cemetery. It is she who owns your soul, it is she who may speak for you. Submit, hero, you are forsworn.”
Xena’s eyes blazed up, but a touch from the hand of her bard quieted them. There was nothing in Agassou’s words she could argue with, and so she did not. She spent the weeks a glowering presence, avoided by all but the bravest Amazons, who dared approach the woman who had contained Oya’s rage and lived. her own anger must be a thing not meant to be seen on the surface of the earth.
The one among them who, besides Gabrielle, who had seen her anger unleashed, even loved her for it, spent his time at her side. He was as silent as she, the breaking of his neck by Oya had changed him. Geb was no longer a laughing, self confident desert chieftain. There had come a silence into his soul, the silence of long gazing on the wasteland each man carries in his own heart. Anansi had healed him, but as it was said, the touch of Anansi is not always a gift, and never a gift unmixed. He would never again be who he was, before he’d been Ridden by the Trickster. He sent his raiders away, under command of Hardanes and Aram. he knew he would never ride with them again. The silent warrior and the silent dwarf spent a portion of each day gazing out over the dun hills at the silence of the desert beyond, finding there an emptiness they sought for different reasons. Gabrielle could see that Xena had found a kindred spirit, however the casing of flesh was arraigned, and let them be alone together in their companionable silence.
The Army of the Goddess returned to the City of Har with the General Azarnes. Great King Oromenes and her wife Malache the Beautiful journeyed on with the royal family of Dahomey, intent on cementing their ties. What better way, then by accompanying them back to the land of the Amazons for the wedding of Nzinga’s third daughter?
Even after seeing Mazena, after the transformation of embracing her dead wife in the body of the Greek hero, Nzinga was still Nzinga. Oseye approached Gabrielle, after a few days of the Greek Queen keeping to her tent with her hero. It was said, afterward, that the sounds issuing from that tent formed the basis for a cycle of romantic poetry, to be sung for generations by the Amazons of Dahomey. Oseye was cognizant of this, as she scratched at the tent flap, as awkward around the Greek Queen and hero as she had ever been.
“Come in.” Came Gabrielle’s cheerful voice, from inside the tent. Oseye ducked in, and squatted in front of reclining Queen, her head in her hero’s lap. The hero was stroking her hair, wholly absorbed in that task.
“Oseye! What can we do for you?” Gabrielle asked, brightly. Her days with her hero had been well spent, evidently. Oseye blushed, having only the vaguest notion of what occurred inside of the hide tent.
“I, we, all want to thank you, Gabrielle of Greece, for what you and Xena have done. My mother is...my mother again, not just the Queen.”
“You’re welcome. But you’ve all thanked us. The feast, the dancing, the wrestling with Captain Musu, that song about Xena-”
Oseye blushed again, thinking about the songs being sung about the pair of Greeks around the camp, most of them beyond repeating to the lovers face to face.
“Yes. So it is that I hesitate to ask more, of two who have given so much to the nation.”
Xena tapped Gabrielle’s shoulder, and jerked her chin at Oseye.
“Xena wants you to spit it out.” Gabrielle said, correctly interpreting her lover’s mood.
“Speak to Nzinga for me about Malika.” Oseye said, in a rush. A smile of pure complicity spread over Xena’s face. She nodded to the girl, and patted Gabrielle’s shoulder.
“Of course we will. I will, I should say. We’ll have it handled by this evening.” Gabrielle said, warmly. Xena motioned to the tent flap, then at Oseye. She touched her own chest, then Gabrielle’s, over her heart. The bard smiled at her lover, a smile so intimate that Oseye felt like she should leave.
“Xena says she understands. You feel about Malika like she feels about me, the gods themselves will not be able to stand in the way of that. Go on, and get ready for your wedding.” Gabrielle translated, with a small smile of personal joy. Oseye took her hands, impulsively, and kissed them. She hurried out of the tent to seek Malika, at Agassou’s campsite. If the Greek Queen vouched for it, it was as good as done.
I know, I elaborated a bit. You more or less said what I said.” Gabrielle said, to Xena’s raised eyebrow. “But she should go get ready for her wedding, we are going to handle it. We’ve handled everything else in this part of the world, what’s one Amazon wedding?” Gabrielle saw the expression on Xena’s face, and shook her head. “Don’t you take that tone with me, warrior. I might decide that I haven’t given you enough Hades for not telling me about that stunt with the eggun.” Xena shrugged, and turned her face to the tent wall.
“You are so transparent. You sulk like a six year old. Stop. You know I love you.”
Xena cocked her head, eyebrows raised.
“How can you doubt me?” Gabrielle asked.
Xena hung her head, the jet black hair hiding her features.
“Xeeena.” Gabrielle cajoled, drawing the hero’s head back up. “What is it?”
The warrior motioned to the tent flap, to herself, to Gabrielle. The blue eyes added the unspoken words. She gently moved Gabrielle off her lap and stood, enacting the motions of drawing her sword. She swung the imaginary blade like a butcher’s cleaver, Gabrielle could see the bloody flying in a scarlet rain, feel the hot breath of the combatants on her skin. Xena turned, her eyes feral and savage, her teeth bared in a vicious snarl.
Anyone else living would have flinched back from it, even Geb. Gabrielle did not. Xena dropped her sword hand, her head fell forward on her chest. She collapsed to her knees and crawled to the bard, laying her head in Gabrielle’s lap. Automatically, Gabrielle’s hands caressed the dark head, combing the jet hair through her fingers. Xena turned her head, her eyes looking up at Gabrielle, gentle as a kitten.
“I understand. No one else, in all the world.” Gabrielle said, stroking her warrior.
Xena sat up, and took Gabrielle’s hand. She placed it over her heart, above the leather. Gabrielle could feel the pounding beneath her palm, the strength of that savage heart, beating for her. She could see the question in her lovers eyes, as well.
“Yes.” She answered, without hesitation. “We should wait until we get back to Greece, but yes.”
Nzinga, Queen of the Amazons of Dahomey, was trying to have her dinner. The constant interruption wasn’t helping her mood. In the space of a few minutes Oseye, Tanit, Captain Musu, Geb the Nubian, even her grown daughters Enomwoyi and Izegbe had dropped by her tent, just to see how she was feeling. She answered them all the same, she felt fine, but couldn’t vouch for her mood if one more person interrupted her meal. It was a tribute, Nzinga thought, to the changes that had happened in the nation since the ceremony of the ancestors, that people now felt that they could pester her unmercifully.
She raised the cup to her lips and paused, her hearing still as sharp as a lioness on the hunt.
“Stealth does not suit you, or you are not trying hard enough. Come in and be done with it.” She said. To her surprise, it was the Greek Queen who ducked in the tent flap, along with the silent hero. She had thought they were still secluded in their tent, cementing ties of their own, after the hero’s ordeal. Nzinga had refused to move the army back to Dahomey until they had had their time, it was the least she could do for them, who had given the nation, and her, so much. She understood, in the grieving of her own heart, how much it hurt to lose your lifemate. These Greeks, for all their fire and passion, seemed like old lovers sometimes, knowing each other better than they knew themselves. It was a odd mix to watch, the madness of youth, coupled with the affection of a long life together. Nzinga glanced at the glory of the Greek Queen’s face, the beauty there staggering after her days in her lovers arms. She wondered how long they had been together.
“Good evening, Nzinga.” Gabrielle said, brightly. The Queen of Dahomey motioned for the Queen of Greece to sit on the floor of the tent, along with her. The hero remained standing, behind her Queen, arms folded. Had Nzinga not been used to the posturing of warriors, it might have unnerved her, but she found it charming, in its way. The Greek fighter wanted there to be no room for question, even in the tent of Nzinga, that she was the champion of Gabrielle. She wore her place with great pride, and seemed a little sad that no one challenged her, so she might defend it.
“You may dispense with formality, Gabrielle. Half the nation of Dahomey, as well as many distinguished guests, have already dropped by, apparently to prepare me for your coming. And so I am prepared, and so you are here. What may I do for the friends of my family and myself?” Nzinga said, setting aside her cup.
“It’s more of what we want to do for your family. One of your daughters has asked us to speak on her behalf.” Gabrielle said. The hero tapped Gabrielle’s shoulder, the Queen patted her hand. “Not yet, my love.”
“Though many stories are told of my ferocity, why do you approach me so gently? What does Tanit want, that she asks you to intervene?” Nzinga asked.
Xena shook her head, the motion of the black hair drew Nzinga’s eyes up.
“Who then?” She asked the hero, forgetting that she was forbidden to speak.
“Nzinga, I know of the regard that you have for Xena and I. I know of the regard you have for Agassou the Panther, how vital a griot is to your nation. It’s about griots that I want to talk. Without the storytellers, the keepers of the history and culture, we lose who we are, do we not? It might even be said that a griot is more important than a warrior, because they are more rare, the training much more specialized, and talent plays a big part-” Gabrielle broke off, when Xena shifted her weight and refolded her arms.
“Oseye. She’s in love, and wants your leave to marry.” Gabrielle said, sensing that Xena’s patience was fraying.
“Oseye? Who does she want to marry?” Nzinga asked, thunderstruck. Her middle daughter had fallen in love, while she’d been swamped in her own grief. “What warrior has stolen her heart?”
“Well, that’s it. It isn’t a warrior. This is where the bit about the importance of-” Gabrielle was cut off by Xena’s hand, dropping onto her shoulder.
“Agassou’s apprentice Malika.” Gabrielle finished, and Xena smiled.
“A griot’s apprentice? The daughter of Nzinga wants to marry a griot’s apprentice?” The Queen said, the idea simply never having occurred to her. Every woman in the nation bore the spear, there were ten thousand warriors to choose from outside the tent flap. And her daughter had selected the one girl in Dahomey who was sworn not to bear arms?
“The Queen is the leader of Dahomey in war. It is our place to be first in battle, to lead the army, to be a bearer of the spear. How else might a nation of warriors follow us, were we not warriors ourselves?” Nzinga said.
“Oseye is already a warrior, she earned her spear. She’s seen battle, at you side. If she becomes Queen, I don't think any warrior in the nation would hesitate to follow her. The Queen is also the leader of the nation in peace. You proved that, in accepting the hand of Oromenes of Har and stopping the war. A queen has to have wisdom and tradition on her side, as well as courage. What better way to balance that for Oseye, than by having her marry a griot?” Gabrielle argued, in a reasonable voice.
Nzinga hesitated, tradition crowding her. This had never happened before, in the long years of her knowledge. Xena dropped into a crouch, facing the Queen of Dahomey. Her pale eyes drew Nzinga’s, reminding her of a moment when another had looked out of those gems at her. Xena tilted her head, holding Nzinga’s eyes. She closed one large hand around her own upper arm, where the armband of the royal house might be worn, then closed the same hand around Gabrielle’s arm. Gabrielle added the words.
“We’ve seen them together, Nzinga. They are already family, it isn’t up to us to allow or not. All we can ask is the chance to bless their union.”
Nzinga turned her head away, silent for a the space of many heartbeats. Gabrielle made a move to reach out to her, but was restrained by Xena’s hand on her arm. She glanced at her lover, who shook her head. The Queen had to bear this for herself.
At last Nzinga turned her head back, and Gabrielle could see the weariness in her eyes. The beauty of her face was the beauty of character, of a woman who had loved, and lost, and loved again, had lost faith and had to find it for herself. It showed her strength, underneath all else, the willingness to keep going. Even bereavement had a grace to it, when it was acknowledged and lived with. It was how Gabrielle pictured Xena looking, in a decade or so, once wisdom joined with hard experience. It is how she hoped she would one day look.
“I love my family, oh honored guests. I have recently been reminded of how vital it is for Amazons to love one another. Mazena told me to look to you, who move heaven aside to be with one another. Let you be my example, then. Go tell my daughter to come in and speak with me.” Nzinga said, with life in her voice.
Xena and Gabrielle rose to go, the hero holding out her arm for the Queen to use in getting up. Nzinga’s voice halted them.
“Oh, and Gabrielle? Find Agassou the Panther. Have her tell the army to get ready to move. We have a wedding to hold in Dahomey.”
The army was on the move by first light. Agassou went from campfire to campfire, spreading the word- Oseye, daughter of Nzinga, was to wed Malika, the griot’s apprentice. The Amazons not already convinced of the changes in their Queen had no more doubts, when this announcement went out. It was a joyous band that marched back across the border, shaking the yellow sands of Baluchis from their heels. The good grasslands of Dahomey caressed their feet as soon as they passed through the guardian’s huts. Runners went on ahead to prepare the closest village for the greatest celebration they were ever likely to see. The Queen was coming with her triumphant spears, to hold a wedding.
By the time the army arrived, the fires had been lit, cattle had been slaughtered and the smell of roasting meat filled the air. The army camped out across the grasslands, dividing up now into village groups, the fire circles containing friends and lovers, wives and daughters. Griots went from fire to fire, telling the stories of the Battle of Baluchis, of the bravery of the Boy King of Har, in coming unarmed to the camp of Nzinga. They spoke of the generosity of their Queen, in extending her hand to the Great King of Har, and ending the war. Girls not yet old enough to take the spear sighed in envy when the heard of Tanit’s coming of age, her adventures with the Queen of the Greek Amazons, her first kill, her reunion with her mother. Tanit herself was called to tell the tale in person, at many a fire circle.
The tale of the Greek hero and her courage in accepting Oya’s anger, the tale of Geb the Nubian and Anansi the Spider were saved for the night of the wedding feast. The Greeks sat with the royal family in their place before the central fire, to the right hand of the Queen. Next to them sat Oromenes of Har and her wife Malache, once foes, now honored guests. When the wedding ceremony was finished, when Oseye had pledged her spear to the defense of her bride, the cattle had been given, the calling of the blessings done, the pair of lovers walked to the royal place. There Nzinga took the red gold arm band of the running lioness, and placed it on the arm of her daughter’s bride. The girl, shy to the last, ducked her head, feeling the lack of the heavy braids that all the warriors gathered around the Queen wore. But the touch of Oseye’s hand on her waist, the look of pride in her new wife’s eyes, was enough. She took Oseye’s offered hand, and sat with her and the royal family.
Agassou the Panther walked to the center of the circle, leaning on her spear shaft. She raised her ancient eyes to the ranks of women, taking all of them in.
“We are surrounded in beauty.” She said, and the nation murmured an assent.
“Strength is the servant of love, not it’s master. Ferocity is the tool of the warrior, but not her heart. Remember the days of Nzinga, who ruled Dahomey when our grandmother’s grandmothers were not yet born. In her pride she marched on the City of Har, by the strength of her arm did she grind the Army of the Goddess down to dust.” Agassou paused on this, letting the Amazons remember the tale. Gabrielle glanced at Malache and Oromenes, to see if they took offense, but they seemed calm, enjoying the tale. Oromenes’ night black hair caught blue sparks from the firelight, she tilted her head toward Malache, smiling. There was no anger in the King of Har.
“Yet it was love that brought Nzinga down, love that stayed her hand, standing on the very battlefield, thigh deep in the bodies of those she had slain. She looked on the face of General Narbada, the proud commander of the Army of the Goddess, and she knew love. For love of her Nzinga spared her City. For love of Nzinga, Narbada took her hand, still stained with the blood of Harrian soldiers, and came as her wife to Dahomey. In this she became an Amazon!” Agassou’s voice rose, taking on wings.
It reached out over the heads of the gathered soldiers, to the village, to the grasslands beyond. In ran on into the night, heard by the orishas, by Oya the Warrior, who looked on her women with pride. Next to her, inside of the gates to the cemetery a figure stood, leaning on a spear, ear cocked. She smiled, at the sounds from the wedding and threw back her head, arraying the braids over her shoulders. The echo of her hearty laugh came back across the grasslands, a ghost of a sound that just tickled the ear of the Queen. Nzinga glanced up, as if at the touch of a hand. She saw Oseye and Malika, hands clasped together, listening to Agassou’s tale. The fire hit the gold of their armbands, highlighting them.
Geb the Nubian watched from the fringes of the firelight, hands hooked in his belt. It was good to see the Amazons rejoicing, it was pleasant to see the dancing and hear the songs. The food was not the food of a Pharaoh’s court, but certainly as good as any he’d had in his days as a chieftain of raiders. He felt apart from the festivities, he, who had known how to laugh through any pain. Since Anansi had Ridden him, he felt no pain from his limb. The constant agony of his body had become almost a friend to him, to have it gone suddenly was like relearning to walk without gravity. The touch of an Amazon god had done this to him. He didn’t like to follow any gods, and certainly had made a life out of carving his own fortune from his circumstances. What was he to do now, that the world had changed?
A small sound alerted him to the presence of another, a deliberate sound, for he knew the warrior could move more silently than the coming of night.
“Thought I might find you out here.” Xena’s whispered voice came from the darkness.
“And where else would I be, great killer? Ah, I should say ‘hero’ now, for that is who you are. You are no more the Drinker of Blood than I am the chieftain of raiders. My hate is gone, hero. I don’t know how to live without it.” Geb admitted.
The towering Greek blocked out the stars, from his vantage point. She stood next to him, and let the sounds of the drumming wash over them.
“I came to get you. The party returned from Palmyra. They have the Syrian. And the two Romans, who he worked with.” Xena said, one hand catching at her throat. her voice has started to return, she was testing it out when Gabrielle couldn’t hear her. Geb nodded, his gold earring bobbing.
“I felt it, on the night wind. Come then, hero. We have business to finish. Leave the wedding celebration to those suited for it.”
The Amazon warriors camped a respectful distance from the celebration, in knowledge that the sounds that carried on the wind might be very disturbing to the uninitiate. They were hand picked warriors, led by Captain Musu, to journey to the garrison and see if Anansi had kept his word. As Xena and Geb approached their camp, they could see that in this, the Spider had spoken the truth. Two Romans, their military haircuts grown out from the week on the march, were bound and gagged on the ground. Musu pointed to them with one brawny arm, speaking softly to Geb.
“The Captain says that these Romans belong to the Amazons of Dahomey. This one was the commander of the garrison, that one the owner of the Syrian. They are claimed by Nzinga for Amazon justice.” The Nubian translated, watching the Romans with detachment. The one identified as the commander was stupid with fright, his eyes roving over the gag without purpose. His fellow Roman had the look of a soldier, even bound and gagged. He bore himself upright in his bonds, and kept his face a stony mask.
“How did they get two Roman officers out of an armed garrison without starting a war?” Xena asked Geb, barely glancing at them. Musu smiled, and stretched out her massive shoulders. Geb translated as she spoke, trying to capture the Captain’s pleased tone.
“The Amazons camped outside of the garrison and waited. They had heard Anansi speak when he confronted Oya, they knew what to wait for. Once they got to Palmyra they built an altar to the orishas and called him, to remember his promise to Oya, and the nation. In the night, a dream came to the Romans, the dream of a spider. They went mad with it, and followed it out of the shelter of their walls, out of the ring of their soldiers. Unarmed, they walked into the night, following the Spider. It was easy work to take them, as a lion takes an antelope. Now they wait for Nzinga’s justice.”
Musu pointed to a stretch of grass behind the tents. She looked at Xena, with a mix of pride and compassion. The Greek hero walked in the direction the Amazon Captain had pointed, knowing what she would find.
There, staked out spread eagle, was the Syrian. He opened his eyes over his gag when he heard footsteps approach, not knowing the tread of his own death. His eyes saw the figure that loomed above him, large hands spread wide, fingers curling into claws. His face went bloodless at the chips of sapphire that glared at him, out of that shadowed face. Skulls looked down at him.
“Musu had a gift for you, great killer.” Geb observed. He watched as Xena swayed over the bound body, saw the conflict raging in her. The muscles in her arms twitched and danced, her knuckles turned white with the desire to strangle this man, even helpless as he was. the anger was instinctive and immediate. This was the man who had taken Gabrielle from her, and made her think Gabrielle was dead. This casing of flesh and blood had caused her all the agony of Tartarus. Every sweet thought of revenge that had seen her through those terrible days came back, calling to her to give in, to rend this foe like the beast he was. Tear out his neck with her teeth, it she had to. It was her right.
“A gift for you as well, Geb. I still have the dagger that you gave me, when we met. I promised you that I would kill him for you.” Xena’s voice bore little resemblance to any human thing, the harsh whisper more frightening than a shout could have been. The anger of Oya was echoed in the anger of Xena.
Geb’s answer surprised her. “I release you from it. Throw the dagger away.”
Her eyes snapped around and fixed on him. “What?”
Geb stood, his arms across his chest. His head was back, his mahogany eyes fixed on the horizon. “Don’t kill him. I don’t have the hatred for him, anymore. Anansi robbed me of it. If I had, I would rend him myself. To what avail, great killer?”
“He took Gabrielle from me!” Xena said, through teeth clenched in rage.
“And that was effective, wasn’t it? Even with the help of a god, he failed. You stopped the war, made peace between Har and Dahomey, healed the Amazon nation, bore the anger of a god. And you got your woman back. Where has he done a thing that keeps you angry at him?”
The Nubian walked to Xena’s side, and put his hand on her back. He felt her tremble, as a race horse trembles, before a long run. “I loved you for your savagery, Ghoul. I had never seen the like. I think now, having seen you bear Oya’s anger with such strength, then come back through the pain to bear the wife of Nzinga, that anger is completed for me. I have seen the best example of it, and I have seen how it can be won through. That lesson is done. Your woman completes you, great killer. You are more than anger with her. I think that is the next lesson.” Geb stepped away from the bound figure on the ground, not even looking back. “Come to the fire circle, hero. There is a celebration going on. Your woman awaits.”
The Nubian walked away from the warrior, back toward the camp of the Amazons.
Xena stood over the Syrian, her fingers flexing. She leaned down close to him, blotting out the stars, a deeper darkness then the night sky above the grassland.
“ I could kill you.” She hissed in Persian. She contemplated that fear she saw on his face, enjoying it for a moment. She looked at her fingers, strong as steel, able to snap his neck like a twig. It would be easy, one quick flick of the wrist, and he would be dead. But then what? She would have to go back to Gabrielle, and with that same hand, caress her lover. With the hand that slew an unarmed man, bound hand and foot, who had caused her no permanent damage. Xena shook her head.
“But I have a wedding to attend.”
She turned her back on the bound Syrian, who had fainted dead away. She waited until she was several paces away from the Amazon’s tent circle, before she spoke.
“You heard all of it?” She asked, to the night behind her. Gabrielle’s hand closed around her waist.
“I heard enough.” The bard admitted.
“You left me alone with it.” Xena said, her voice breaking.
“I let you make the choice. I’m proud of the one you made.” Gabrielle said, touching her lover’s face.
“They can have anything from me but that part, the part that you love.” Xena said, in a whisper.
“I love all of you. Not just a part.” The bard said, sliding her arms around her lover’s neck. Xena raised one black brow.
“So you haven’t changed your mind.”
“"When we get back to Greece, you ask me again. We’ll see.” Gabrielle said, lightly.
Xena leaned down and kissed her with a passion that left her gasping. “I will.” Xena took Gabrielle’s hand. “Come on. I hear there are some songs about us that we have to live up to.”
The hero and the Queen walked, hand in hand, back into the fire circle of the royal family of Dahomey. The dancing had begun. Somewhere out in the night, a Spider danced to the music of the drums. The gates to the cemetary swung shut. The watching figure turned away, leaving the night to celebration of the nation.
To be continued eventually in The Death Cult of Lydia.