Amazon_Signs of the Secret

by Ms. Becky J. Rhush

  Blood flooded the man’s mangled face. I scampered for my axe. Jumping to my feet, I narily escaped the blade of the second soldier. And out of the corner of my eye I spotted a mounted soldier approaching. He drew his sword, urging his crazed beast toward me. The ground soldier continued his attack, swinging his bright blade wildly at me. I dodged the sword in time to escape its cold steel, but not quick enough to take comfort in my ability. Luck and adrenalized fear seemed to play a goodly part in my escapes from the sword.

  I fought with strained grunts, muscles and lungs burning, sweat stinging my eyes. The mounted soldier. I gasped, turning just as the horse was on me. I dipped, keeping my neck clear of the hungry blade. Swiveling a hard kick to the ground soldier’s jaw, he flew off his feet just as the mounted soldier passed. I watched the horse trample by, then focused again on the ground soldier. He was already back on his feet, anger fueling his gaze as he heaved his sword down on me. Remembering the Queen’s words, I bolted to the ground, darting between his legs, slicing my sharp edged blade in. His inner thigh and dangling manhood ripped victim to the cut, slivering the flesh from the soldier in one crude slice. His cracking scream hit the jungle air as I jumped up behind him, kicking him to the dirt.

  A sudden flash of black fused with a dull thud inside my head. The gritty taste of dirt and a throbbing at the back of my head came before I realized what happened. Clawing into the jungle mud, I looked up to see the mounted soldier race past. I shook my head, the bruising pulsation blurring my eyes. I scrambled to my feet... off balance. Palming the back of my head, my hand met with a warm ooze soaking my hair. I looked to my fingers, smeared red. I glanced up. The same black stallion was galloping back.

  Sharp air sucked into my throat. I tightened grip on my axe. Gritting my teeth, adrenaline surged me. I hurled the weapon at the oncoming steed. The blade ripped through the air, blade over handle, till it stopped suddenly, sinking into the animal’s breast. Blood trickled over its black coat, shining.

  Its’ agonized shriek shot into my ears. The powerful beast went down under its own unsteady speed, taking its’ rider with it. The man thrashed into the dirt, screaming under the mammoth weight of the horse crushing his bones. Approaching the squirming beast, I cringed. Cracking bones splintered loud in my ears. Even through the noise of battle I could hear the man’s body breaking. I took hold of my axe, drawing it out from the dying horse’s thick flesh as it snorted and convulsed.

  The soldier screamed underneath, begging me. I looked on him, sorrow pricking my heart. I ached for the man, who now looked so common. So scared. Like me. In this moment we were the same. Afraid to die. But I could not help him. He was an enemy unto my people. He had come to us… but his screams were so loud. They cut inside my ears. Stabbing in. I stood over him in the dust, twisted and broken from his fall. With a great swipe, I mercifully sliced his throat with my axe, freeing his life and his pain in a quick spill of red. I closed my eyes. The bloody sliver seemed to be grinning up at me.

  I shook violently, gasping for breath. I scanned the battle. Fallen bodies littered the jungle floor. Red mud stained my feet. I stood ankle deep in the red death, smelling its rot and stench on the hot wind. Innocence drained out of me. The blood of slaughter dripped my hands. My ears were held prisoner to the moans and screams, terror and hate, polluting the jungle. Bones cracking. Shattering. Chunks of flesh ripping from the bone. Battle raged on every side of me. Blood misted heavy on the air, turning my stomach. My mind crazed, unable to think. To reconcile. To understand. I bobbed in every direction. Watching. Waiting.

  Then they came, two horsemen, their black armor dripping in blood. Their golden stallions stained red with gore. Hell riding. Charging me with mouths frothing and foaming. I searched escape, eyes whirling in my sockets. But there was none. I steadied myself. The stallions charged. Heated, mammoth monsters. With a battle cry, I ran headlong into the oncoming beasts, desperate to cut both steed off at the knees.

  But an axe spun past me, veering the two horses in opposite directions. I twisted back. Hippolyta stood behind me with her face flushed and empty hands. She gave me a quick nod, then charged into a fight with a ground soldier. Flitting my eyes back to the two horses, I witnessed one of the men loose control of his stallion. Sliding from the beast, he pummeled into the leaves. Twisting in the mud, he howled out, his hands shaking at his side. Hippolyta’s axe stuck out from his ribs, blood washing down the side of his black armor. Tainting the leaves a dark red beneath him. He lie there, face strained with scarlet pain as he twitched. Red life draining out of him.

  The second horse spooked as well, bucking till its’ mounted soldier flung to the underbrush. The man flailed, barely escaping the wild beast’s hooves pounding the mud near his head. He scrambled to his feet, but just as he regained footing, Hippolyta carved a dagger into his lower back. The warrior held the blade steady as the man jerked at her hand, bleeding hot over her fingers. Another man rushed in, but ran his chin right into the woman’s waiting kick. He staggered back a step, eyes confused. Hippolyta launched another kick to his hand, tossing the sword from his grip. Shocked, he crawled after it, but as he drew up, Hippolyta’s dagger slid under to meet his throat. A swift red slice. His eyes bulged like full moons. He gargled, clawing at his neck, blood streaming his fingers.

  I watched the man drop, then felt the burn of a blade scratch passed my own thigh. I turned. A boy close in age, lanky and fast, jabbed his sword at me. Watching his eyes, I clanged my axe into his sword in perpetual motion, anticipating his every strike. After several muscle burning moments, the boy began to tire, sweat shining on his forehead.

  And a scream rang out. A familiar scream, the sound icing my soul. Gripping me. I spun around to search the sound. In that moment, the boy’s blade slashed the side of my throat, trickling hot blood down my shoulder. The sting gritted my teeth, boiling my anger. Face flushing, I came back to the boy, swinging my axe as I came. My blade thrashed into his sword, flinging it from his hands. His eyes gleamed with terror as I grabbed him, ripping his chest plate off. Distracted by the pain burning my neck, I barely noticed the trembling in his body. Pulling my axe up, seeing no one, nothing but him, I sunk my blade into him. Red splattered my face, tanging on my tongue. The boy’s eyes flickered, seeing his own death. And the familiar screaming tore back to me.

  Chapter 6

  I dropped the dying boy to the dust, running toward the scream. The sound of it stung over me. It was not a scream of battle. It was something different. Something worse. I clawed up another tree, scanning the tangle of people below. Staring, I studied, seeking out the cry.

  A moment later, I froze. My body stiffened, cutting my fingernails into the bark. Saratiese. Almost out of sight, just outside the heart of battle, Saratiese struggled with a group of soldiers. My heart wrenched in my chest. Saratiese had only been a warrior for a short time. This was her first battle as well. Squinting, I tried to clear the image, but couldn’t see well enough. I dropped from the low branch into a run. The blood on my neck flew off in sweaty red streams as I zigzagged through the fighting. Saratiese was outnumbered. Heavily.

  I crept up to the bushes hiding the men. Saratiese’s screams were disturbing. Desperate and throat shredding. Holding my rushing breath, I peered over the brush. When the sight hit me, it sucked the wind from me like a kick to the gut. A flash of heat fired over me.

  Five men pinned Saratiese to the ground. A sixth man pressed dominantly down onto her, crushing her under his corpulent flesh. The air around them reeked heavy of rancid sweat and sour lust. Saratiese's red eyes were furious with tears. She strained against the men, screaming and pushing as they held her down. Drool slobbered down from the soldier’s gritted teeth as he grunted on top of her. She clenched her eyes shut with every violent thrust, helpless to the soldier bruising into her. Defiling her. She could feel his broad boots digging into the soil at her feet. Blood trickled her thighs. Her face soaked in sweat, her jaw clenching. The soldiers watched with howling laught
er.

  My thoughts raged. I shook. I couldn’t breathe. Wrath poured over me, heated hate, a source of anger I had never before experienced. Turning something in me. Distorting me. Snapping me. Bloodlust tightened the white knuckle grip on my axe. The man defiled Saratiese… my Saratiese.

  I jumped the brush, running in. Lifting my axe, I shoved hard into the rapist, cutting my blade deep into his back. He arched into the axe, desperate for breath. I ripped the blade free, slinging his blood through the wind. Kicking him down, I slashed after him with my blade. He squirmed in the bloody leaves, arms flailing. I hacked, scrambling after him, violent tears escaping me. He was no longer human in my sight, but some wicked thing. A devil to be destroyed.

  Saratiese, soaked in blood, semen, and tears… crawled away from the soldier and his men, fumbling her fingers after her own mud covered axe. She clambered to her feet, weapon in hand, staring through bulged eyes.

  I slid the sword from the dying rapist’s sheath, hurrying toward the others. Kicking one in his throat, I watched his air bust, choking him on his own blood. I swung back, my axe and sword slicing past the other four men. Jabbing the long blade, the sword fell in my favor, gorging one soldier through his stomach, protruding a crimson tip through his back.

  I spiraled, splitting the men down. Seeing only red. Hate fueled me, burning my veins. Hurting. I could feel it, this unrecognizable monster inside of me. Changing me. Pushing me. Inspiring me. The pain of vengeance changing a human heart. Blood spilt like rain from my hands as I slashed with speed, cutting till not one of them were left standing.

  Out of breath, I looked down to the fallen, seeing them through eyes blackened by this day. A dark world sprawled dead at my feet. I turned once more to the rapist, dying in the stream of red trickling the dirt. The fallen soldier gurgled in his own blood. I knelt down, sliding his head into my lap. Staring on him. On his eyes. They shined with fear now, hiding his true eyes. The eyes I had seen before. The imposing, arrogant, devil eyes he had glinted while raping Saratiese. They were gone now. Hiding like a mischievous child. He shook in my hands, blood dripping his lips. His chin. He stunk like days old sweat and rotting meat. And that’s what he was destined to become. Rotting meat. Caressing my palms over his ears I took hold. His dark eyes bulged like full moons. Frightened. Trying to plead with me. But it was too late. With one swift jerk, I snapped his neck. I jumped to my feet. Suddenly, I couldn’t leave his body quick enough. He seemed to taint me, his death rubbing off. I stood shaking. Blood splattered my arms and legs. Dripped my fingers. I swallowed, unable to recognize my own hands beneath their red, wet smear.

  Coming back to myself, I went to Saratiese. She stood with shock and hurt glassing her blue eyes, her axe dangling her fingers before dropping to the mud. A stream of blood trickled her inner thigh. Without a word, she crashed to her knees, burying her face in her hands, sobs flooding out.

  I knelt, pulling Saratiese in. She trembled in my arms, tears gushing, soaking my shoulder warm.

  Chapter 7

  The First Commander’s company staggered back into the borders of GarTaynia, the wounded and dead hanging in our arms. I idled at the end of the company, carrying Saratiese, careful not to jostle the wounded girl. My mind pained with unending thoughts as I walked, soaking in sticky blood and sweat. Thinking. I had done what I had to do. He deserved it. They all did. That’s what I will tell myself from now on. And refuse to question it. Maybe someday, I’d even believe it. Spiting my own understanding, it all came across like a dream. Even the sun felt somehow imagined, too bright to be real. None of this can be real.

  Overwhelmed, yet unfeeling. In pain, yet numb. I searched for softer emotions, but they hid from me, suffering lost in the unreaches of my contaminated heart. I felt no sadness, no joy. Just truth hurting my ears with the quite after battle. None of this is glory.

  Ambling back up the sloped woods, my arms burning under Saratiese, I squinted against the shine of sun at the top of the hill. When my eyes finally focused, my heart climbed up my throat. The army had broken through. GarTaynia swelled with soldiers.

  Still out of the army’s sight, Masseeia halted her company just under the ridge of the village. Ordered to the ground, I slid Saratiese from my arms, resting the girl in a bed of leaves. Saratiese shifted her eyes away from me, curling into a fetal ball. My heart sank, but I stifled it. This battle wasn’t over. I did my best to blanket the girl in foliage, then crept over to Masseeia.

  The First Commander leaned up against the ridge, peering over its’ ledge. Grinding her teeth. Her face glared purple. Glancing back at me, her eyes cut me in two. Without words, she bruised her fingers into my shoulder, pushing me away and motioning me back down the hill. I nodded, heart beating hard, heading back down, but as soon as her eyes left me, I changed direction.

  Cutting across the slope, I spotted a section of ridge veiled in thorn bushes. I crept through the trees, glancing back at Masseeia. The First Commander still engaged in her own watch, so I covered my binding with a protective elbow, and holding tight to my axe, burrowed into the thorns. The barbs dug into the dried Behto that cracked dry over my skin, nicking blood from the skin beneath, but I shoved through, tipping my gaze over the crest.

  Among the scatter of soldiers stood Ariella’s company, the force appointed to protect the village. The women stood like statues, a hundred or more mounted soldiers pacing around them.

  A young man, the army’s First Commander by the looks of his posture and position, trotted his steed around Queen Perseathea. He clad in black armor as well, but his shined clean. Not a drop of blood stained his skin, nor his blond hair. He clearly led men into battle without involving himself in the bloodshed. Side stepping his horse around the women, the man glowered down, searching their faces.

  "We have come for the Amazon." The man proclaimed. “Bring her out.”

  Taking a step toward the man, Queen Perseathea suggestively gripped her mammoth axe, the blades dripping with carnage. Unlike the arrogant officer, her body saturated in the blood of combat.

  "The Amazon you speak of is here no longer." She announced flatly.

  The First Commander raised his chin, but it did not hide his troubled eyes.

  "Foolish women.” He looked around the crowd of Amazons again. “I know she is here."

  "I told you.” Queen Perseathea kept the man pinned in her sight, her axe firm in her hands. “She is here no more."

  I glanced at Masseeia. The woman gripped the ridge rock so hard that her hand blared purple. From several paces away, I could see the veins bulging on her arm. Staring back into the village, every sister seemed to be looking on the Queen, just as confused as I was. Not one of us among the sisterhood appeared to know who this Amazon was.

  "You will tell me, Perseathea." A deep voice emerged, dark and intent from behind the First Commander.

  Trotting out his ash black horse came an older, barrel chested man. His head slicked with a silverish raven hair shining in the heat. The First Commander, stiff jawed, stepped his steed back as the warlord passed by.

  "I know the girl is here.” The man halted before Perseathea, looking down on her. “I know it better than you wager. Hand her over, young Queen, and I will leave you be."

  After a moment of hesitation, Perseathea lifted her chin. “I will hand over not one. I will die first.”

  “So it shall be.” Leaning on his hip, the warlord dipped his head to her, grinning. “It is humorous though, don’t you think?”

  Queen Perseathea stood without a word to satisfy his question.

  “Ask me, Belephron,” he said over his shoulder, his eyes still on the Queen. “Ask me what’s humorous.”

  A bearded soldier who looked more like a hairy animal then a man growled as commanded. “What’s funny?”

  The warlord smirked down on Perseathea as if she were an injured bird he planned to poke with a stick.

  “It’s funny how she thinks we don’t remember. As if we would ever forget who she is. Oh yes. Y
ou make be all grown up now Perseathea, but I remember you.”

  Queen Perseathea kept her stance solid, showing no reaction. The sisters kept their position as well, weapons at hand. Ready. Waiting for the command.

  “I remember her.” The words oozed out like tree sap from the First Commander as he sank back in his saddle. “We all remember her.”

  The men grunted in collective laughter, shaking their heads and grinning black and rotted teeth.

  “Scared little piggy?” Belephron snorted. “Run piggy piggy.”

  The soldiers grunted again. The warlord eased back in his saddle, jeering along with his men.

  Perseathea yawned, dropping the blade end of her colossal axe to the dust, leaning against the staff.

  “It’s been a long time since those days. Things have changed, Gragore.”

  “Oh,” he mocked, “have they?”

  “Have you not eyes?”

  “Things haven’t changed enough to save you. Not you, or the one I seek.”

  “Such threats, Gragore?” Perseathea asked. “Have you gone blind in your old age? You’ve lost a goodly portion of your army already.”

  The man’s gray eyes darkened. “You know I will not rest until-”

  “And,” Perseathea cut him off, “I know I have already told you. The one you search is here no longer.”

  “You think I believe such a feeble lie?”

  “I think it doesn’t matter what you believe.” Queen Perseathea kept her words bold. Unaffected. “I sent her away long ago. I knew you would come for her. Again.”

  I watched as the Queen studied the village. The warlord paced his horse around her, mouthing on and on. And then I caught it, the Queen’s glimpse of our company tipping the ridge. She saw us. She knew we made it back. Alive. The Queen lifted her eyes to the warlord.