The Daughters of Persephone, A Space Opera Special Edition

by Julia Barrett

  Tem smiled at the Empress’s words. “I have not seen my mother since I was sixteen years.”

  “Then ye should see her,” the Empress repeated. “Ye act like a child so perhaps thy mother will discipline thee like a child and ye will be the better for it. Kane Tirol does not love thee and ye would do well to stop pining for what ye cannot have.”

  The two women stopped alongside the bank of a fast flowing stream.

  “Our new world is beautiful, is it not?” asked the Empress.

  “Yes,” replied Tem. Her eyes lit on a white patch of snowdrops, a flower common to Persephone. “You chose well, my Lady. It is much like Earth when she was new.”

  “We spied this world from afar and We knew the human race would thrive here.” The Empress lifted Tem’s chin with a gnarled finger. “Ye need a home, child. This flitting about through time no longer serves.”

  “But where would I go, Lady? What place can I call home? I have lived in so many times I’m not certain I can tell one place from another.”

  “Oh, aye, ye can. Ye like to pretend ye cannot, but ye can. Find the place ye like best and a life will come to thee. Can ye ride a horse?”

  Tem laughed at the Empress’s question. She shook her head.

  “Thy sisters have become great breeders of horses, they and all their descendants. Ye should learn to ride a horse. We have heard it said that a good horse is better than a man, more reliable. Where do ye think the magnificent horses of Calen came from? Our own stock brought from Earth. Yes.” The Empress patted Tem’s curls. “Ye should learn to ride. Now, child, help Us back to the village. Urgent matters require Our attention. Ye may abide with Us for a time and help Us decide these weighty matters. Ye shall assist us in securing the future and then ye may search for a place to rest.”

  Book IV: The Red Demon

  The high plains of Persephone felt like home, especially in the late summer. The sun warmed Tem’s mahogany hair and the breeze blew soft over her bare arms as she wove her way through the tall golden prairie grasses.

  The Empress Ya had used her for months to act as the royal messenger and pilot, to ferry settlers and supplies all across the planet. The Empress had even sent her on several journeys into the future in order to retrieve the transports for the eventual expansion to the planet Calen. She’d also brought back a number of two-seaters, Rangers, so women of the Blood could begin their pilot training under the tutelage of herself and the Empress’s four daughters.

  For the first time in recent memory, Tem hadn’t given much thought to her own needs and desires. She’d merely done as she’d been told, allowing the dictates of the Empress Ya to guide her actions. She’d been relieved of the responsibility for the human race. Her stay on Pesephone had lifted the worry from her slender shoulders and revived her spirits.

  The sense of freedom was exhilarating.

  Born in exile, Tem’s mother had shaped her from conception to be the giver of life and the bringer of death, but over the past twelve years Tem’s power had threatened to consume her. It was as if she no longer contained the power, rather, it seemed the power contained her.

  She’d been wise to return to Persephone. The Empress spoke the truth. Tem did need to find a place for herself, and perhaps once she did a life would follow.

  “I need to settle upon one man and one time, the same as Aja and Ennat, and even Issa,” she murmured.

  The anger she’d felt at Issa’s abandonment had dissipated. She no longer pined after Kane. Again, the Empress had been correct. Tem had always admired the older woman’s wisdom, now more than ever.

  Kane Tirol was Issa’s true mate, Blood of her Blood. There was no sense in pretending otherwise.

  Tem tossed her hair back and laughed out loud at the irony, the sound of her laughter echoing back from a nearby grove of trees. She’d been obsessed with men and women who didn’t even exist yet. Tem always thought of them as alive and well, and inhabiting the same moment in time she did.

  “Well, when you can walk through time as you walk down a lane, it makes no difference.”

  Tem threaded her hands through the grass, running her fingers along the stems, stripping them of their rough ripe seeds. She gazed down at the blond nuggets. The grass seeds reminded her of the rich gold-yellow hair of the people of Calen, descendants of the men and women who would settle that planet in another hundred years or so.

  Lifting her palm to catch the wind, Tem watched the seeds drift away.

  I am like the seed heads. I have nowhere to go, nowhere to be, no bloodline to manipulate, no human race to save.

  She unbuckled her belt and tossed both the belt and her knife in its leather sheath onto a nearby rock. The horses always shied at the faint scent of blood on her knife so she had to discard it.

  She stepped into the middle of the meadow and waited.

  Tem felt vibrations through the soles of her bare feet and her smile widened. This was what she’d hoped for. Blood pounded in her ears.

  She knew the stallion and his mares would remember her. She’d decided she would learn to ride on her own and she’d found her way to the Empress’s grand herd shortly after her arrival on the planet, but she hadn’t found the time to ride in weeks.

  The vibrations beneath Tem’s feet became thunder; the thunder gave way to a great roar. The ground shook beneath the force of their hooves. A thick cloud of dust moved in her direction and within seconds, she spied the mass of sleek, smooth, muscular bodies bearing down on her.

  The Kirrae.

  “Yes,” Tem whispered. She stood still, entranced by the sight of so much power.

  Tem stepped in front of the great herd and closed her eyes. Relying upon her inner sight, she spread her arms. As the herd drew close, Tem stretched out her fingerss and the animals parted. The horses wove their way around her like water flowing around a boulder in the middle of a riverbed.

  Tem dug her toes into the grass and forced herself to remain upright. The strength of the herd transported her, lifting her out of her body, sending her soul soaring up to her own private Nirvana.

  She sensed the herd had passed her by, but now they began to circle back, cautious. Humans rarely approached them, let alone called them.

  Hearing the stomp of his heavy hoofed foot, Tem smiled and opened her eyes. He nosed her outstretched hand.

  The magnificent dappled gray stallion remembered her.

  “What in the seven hells are you doing, woman? You’ll get yourself trampled to death.”

  Tem turned around to look at the man striding towards her from the riverbank. She garnered his name in a single glance, Aytan Kirrae. Still smiling, Tem returned her attention to the horse. “I think not. He’s gentle as a kitten.”

  To prove her point, she ran a hand along the stallion’s velvet nose. “Birat,” she said. “He’s called Birat.”

  The man snorted. “The stallion has no name and you have trespassed into the Royal Grasslands. I’ll escort you back to the palace grounds. I’m sure you’ve left much work behind in the kitchens or the laundry. This is no place for the likes of you. Come.” He thrust an impatient hand in her direction.

  Tem swallowed the obscenity on her tongue. It wouldn’t do to let the idiot know he’d managed to rile her. Instead she concentrated on the feel of the stallion’s breath, hot against her hair. The horse pawed the ground. Perhaps she should encourage him to kick the man.

  “I’ll return to the palace later,” Tem said. She twisted her hands in the horse’s thick, white mane and vaulted onto his back. Squeezing her legs into the stallion’s flanks, horse and rider dashed off through the waving grass. Without hesitation, the mares followed.

  “Godsdamn it, woman,” Kirrae shouted after her.

  Tem dared a glance back. If looks could kill, she would be very dead. Kirrae appeared furious, but at least he had the good sense to stay put. He’d bred this stallion and he knew as well as she did he’d never catch her.

  Tem made sure he caught sight of her grin before
she turned away. She had all afternoon and she could play hide and seek with the best of them.

  Damn these blooded women and their arrogance. That’s my stallion she’s riding.

  Aytan would have given chase, but he was on foot and she’d already made him look enough of a fool.

  He’d been forced to put up with the red ones, as these women were called, all his life.

  His grandfather had traveled from Earth with the Empress as her official Master of the Horse. His father had been the Empress’s Master of the Horse, and Aytan had inherited the position from his father when the man retired.

  Aytan had grown to manhood in a wing of the royal palace and the Empress had insisted he be schooled along with the red ones, those with the Royal Blood running through their very blue veins. It stung many a young lad to be bested by a girl child at sticks and swordplay, or to be wrestled to the ground by a female in practice combat.

  He’d sought solace with the horses. Over time Aytan had developed a growing interest in the different breeding stock the first settlers had brought with them from Earth.

  The stallion that little fool had taken was his successful attempt at breeding a new stock for a new frontier. He’d been handpicking stallions and mares since he was fifteen years old, keeping careful records of the best brood mares and the qualities of their foals.

  Now, twenty years later, he’d succeeded in producing the stallion he’d dreamed of. The stable boys had taken to calling the stallion the Kirrae, after him.

  In the four years the Kirrae had covered mares, he’d bred true, producing sons and daughters possessing the same sturdy constitution and stamina, and the identical courage and intelligence.

  Aytan had bred these horses for the Empress and her daughters and he’d be damned to the Seven Hells of Wrath before he’d see his masterpiece ruined by that fool of a woman.

  How long has she been sneaking out here?

  Apparently, she’d spent enough time around the herd that the stallion trusted her. The horse had stood perfectly still while she swung her long legs over his flanks and kicked him into a gallop.

  Well, he could wait. She would be back and then he’d turn her over his knee. Aytan grinned at the thought. It was no more than she deserved after the smug look she’d shot him as she’d ridden off. Of course, if she was one of the fighting women she could perhaps take him down, but from what he’d seen of her she didn’t possess the muscular build of the women warriors. She’d been slight of build, willowy. Nor did she wear the royal veil, the red head cover that signified a close relative of the Empress. No, this was one of the lesser women, probably a messenger or household employee.

  Yes, I’ll wait. If she injures my stallion or any of my mares, there will be hells to pay.

  Aytan settled himself in the grass, leaning his back against a sun-warmed boulder. He crossed his arms, prepared to sit all afternoon if need be. Even if the little fool didn’t know the way home, the stallion did.

  If she had half a brain, she’d do her damnedest to stay on his back. Aytan didn’t relish the thought of having to search the grasslands for her. The plains outside of the palace were vast. If the woman fell and injured herself she might never be found, except by the scavengers.

  The warthdogs of Persephone weren’t selective. The flesh of a human would do for a meal. No different to them than the flesh of a giant forest rat. For her sake, and the sake of any family who might care about her, Aytan hoped the woman had the sense to hang on tight.

  Tem rode until the sun hung low in the sky and evening approached. She knew the man, Kirrae, would be waiting for her. She assumed he’d be angry. She laughed out loud at the thought, wondering if he’d try to drag her before the magistrate and see her charged with trespassing.

  Well, if he did, she’d have to seek the Empress’s intercession or risk exposure.

  Reluctant to end her ride, Tem turned the horse in the general direction of the palace. She hadn’t expected Kirrae to appear today. He visited the pastures in the mornings and late in the evenings. He’d never noticed her before, despite the fact that he passed her frequently in the palace offices and on the paved paths leading to the town center.

  The man himself was hard to miss.

  Tem had observed that just as his stallion did with his harem of mares, Aytan Kirrae seemed to attract the eyes of every woman in his vicinity. They either stared outright or peeked from under veils, beneath lowered lashes.

  Yes, he was that kind of man, tall and imposing, strongly built, very much like his stallion. The only difference was the coloring. Aytan Kirrae had ice blue eyes and a fat braid of golden hair that hung to his lower back. The stallion, on the other hand, was a rich dappled gray. The horse possessed a flowing white mane and a magnificent tail so long it dragged over the ground.

  Unlike Aytan Kirrae, Tem attracted no attention. She’d managed to remain anonymous and unremarked, merely one of the several hundred mahogany-haired attendants, the least among many.

  The Empress Ya had confided Tem’s true identity to her daughters of course, but then, they would have sensed Tem’s presence sooner or later.

  She’d shielded, but with so many of the Blood always around Tem had been forced to remain on guard within the palace. Sometimes it seemed as if the only opportunity she had to let her hair down was when the Empress sent her off on a mission or when she spent time with the horses.

  The fact that in a few thousand years she would be known as The Abomination mattered nothing to the stallion moving beneath her. The Empress had been right again. A good horse could make up for many deficiencies in life.

  When she spied the dim outline of the palace in the distance, Tem slid from the stallion’s back. She slapped the horse on his rump. He snorted, and tail held high, trotted off toward the creek followed close behind by his devoted harem.

  Tem watched them go, enjoying the feel of the cool evening breeze in her hair. She closed her eyes and stretched. Some food from the palace kitchens sounded good. A hot bath in her private quarters awaited her.

  Tired, distracted, Tem was unaware of the man’s approach until she found herself flipped up in the air and tossed over a broad shoulder.

  “Seven hells,” she shrieked. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  The man grunted. “I’m teaching you and those of your kind to stay away from my horses.”

  Tem could tell he deliberately bounced his step, pressing his shoulder into her stomach as he strode across the meadow. He was trying to knock the wind out of her.

  “Idiot,” she wheezed, and she wished to the Gods she possessed her sisters’ skill at unarmed combat. “I’ll gut you.”

  The man laughed, bouncing her harder. “You and what knife, Red?”

  Red? Does the man have a death wish?

  “My knife, fool,” Tem managed to hiss.

  The man dropped Tem down into his arms so fast her head spun. Before she could squirm from his grasp he sat on a flat stone and threw her over his lap. Shocked, she found herself facedown. The man smacked her rump, hard, with the flat of his hand. Tem let out a yelp of surprise and he smacked her again. This time she yelped with anger. Tem twisted towards Kirrae, trying to throw an elbow into the man’s abdomen.

  “Hold still and take it like a big girl,” the man growled, and he smacked her again. “This will hurt you a lot more than it will hurt me.” He snorted with laughter.

  Kicking and squirming, Tem cursed him in every language she knew, and with every curse she uttered he brought his hand down on her bottom. “Godsdamn,” she breathed after several minutes of punishment. “Enough.”

  The man held his hand. “You’ll stay away from my herds?”

  “Fuck you,” Tem said, and his hand came down on her bottom one more time, harder.

  He stayed his hand again. “You’ll keep off these grasslands?”

  Another insult formed on the tip of Tem’s tongue, but she bit it back.

  “I asked you a question and I expect an answer.”<
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  Tem started to speak.

  “A reasonable, pleasant, agreeable answer,” the man interrupted.

  “I’ll take it up with the Empress,” she mumbled, her head hanging over his knees.

  “What was that you said?”

  “I said I’ll take it up with the Empress,” she repeated, and she felt the man laugh at her words. Her body bounced up and down.

  He flipped her upright. Tem struggled to get her feet beneath her. Kirrae reached out a hand and steadied her.

  Tem thrust his arm away. “Don’t touch me, asshole.” She jumped back in case he decided to smack her again. If she hadn’t promised the Empress she’d behave, she would have disappeared on the man or perhaps manifested a knife and slit his throat. Tem closed her eyes, willing the redness away before he saw it.

  “Now I suppose you’ll cry. I gave you no more than you deserve for trespassing and riding off on the Empress’s prize stallion.”

  Tem took a deep breath and turned towards him. “You, Aytan Kirrae, don’t have a bloody clue what you are talking about or who you are talking to.” She shot him a sharp look and stomped across the pasture, wincing, to search for her knife.

  “Is this what you’re looking for?” Kirrae called after her, amusement in his voice.

  Tem whirled around. Her knife, still in its sheath, dangled from his hand. Tem’s eyes narrowed and for an instant she considered shifting him into the center of the big, yellow sun. She could hear the infinitesimal sizzle he’d make.

  “Keep it,” she shouted, and she headed toward the palace at a trot.

  Damn the male chauvinist and damn her sworn promise to behave.

  She wouldn’t be able to sit, let alone ride a horse, for at least three or four days.

  Aytan removed the knife from its sheath and studied it with interest. He ran the pads of his fingers over the complex scrollwork.

  Damn.

  The thing was hand forged from the finest Parsi steel. He touched the tip with his index finger. The lightest tap and bright red blood welled from a small slice.