by Judith Hand
She struck again, and this time when he deflected the blow, he came in low with his own sword, attempting to land a touch to her leg. He would end this quickly. But she dropped her shield and blocked him.
They both stood tall again, and exchanged chops and counters. The clang of metal created the sharp white light in his mind that he had almost forgotten. And all sense of nausea vanished.
He let her back him up, testing her strength. Then he put more force into his blows. She backed.
“Watch out Pentha!” someone shouted.
He focused, looked for weakness. She might not be able to parry. He rushed her, slashing left and right. She blocked him, left and right with sword and shield.
He switched to a low, backhand stroke, but quick as a ferret, she swung her sword down in time to check him.
Again they exchanged blows and counterblows, circling left, protecting their exposed right sides. He had the sense, now, that if he tried to kill her, he might be able to. Might. He wasn’t certain. She was so strong. So fast.
She tried his own backhand stroke, but aimed high—she learned quickly. Her blade whistled close to his head.
“You have him now!” a female voice cried.
Again he tried to overpower her with fast, heavy blows. They overran the gathered crowd, which parted around them.
His arm muscles burned. If she felt fatigued, she showed no signs. No lowering of her shield. No lessoning of the power of her blows. She rushed him, came in low. Switched to high. He closed on her and their swords crossed, slid together until their hilts collided, and he and she stood so close he felt her breath on his face. He looked into green eyes, deadly with determination. They were both gasping.
“I declare a draw,” Harmonia said imperiously.
The crowd broke into cheers, “Well done!” and “Grand display!”
He felt letdown. His blood was running hot. He wanted to know if he could beat her. Then he smiled at the same moment that she smiled at him. What would it be like to cover her mouth with his own? To mingle the sweat of their struggle?
They disengaged and stepped back. Clonie took his sword and shield. Hippolyta took Pentha’s and the two Amazons, grinning and bantering, walked away.
“Thank you, Damonides,” Harmonia said, then she followed after them.
The crowd dispersed. Bremusa stepped up, two bronze cups in hand. “Mare’s milk for the champions,” she said, and then she, too, left them.
His heart still raced, but not just from fighting now. He took a long drink of the milk.
She said, “I suspect it was a draw because I spend nearly all of my time practicing with weapons. If you were in good form … .” She sipped at the milk.
“You are fast. And daughter of Artemis, you are incredibly strong.” He studied her with open admiration.
“Hard work.” She turned toward benches. “Come. Sit with me.”
They sat and she said, “I think now that you didn’t want to duel. I think I shouldn’t have insisted. I apologize.”
He grinned. “Why is it that you are always so serious? And now I see, determined?”
“That’s how you see me?”
“Those are good traits.”
“But you, you prefer to keep things light.”
“If I can.”
“My life, my responsibility, is to protect my people. I imagine that makes me serious. Or then, maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe I took on this responsibility because you are right, and I am much too serious.”
“I didn’t say ‘much too,’ I just said serious.” By the goddess, he had come all this way to see her, and here he was seeming critical. “I came to see you after I learned that Gryn was ill.”
“I’m glad you did.”
Did he see a hint of blush on her cheeks? He remembered the glowing smile she gave him when she saw him. He felt encouraged.
She said, “Will you come with me to the festival this evening?” She lifted her cup of milk. “Lots of mare’s milk and positively nothing serious. A lot of singing and wild dancing. And fine food.”
“You already know I don’t enjoy the company of a lot of people. I have been away from town and crowds for a long time.”
“But you came here.”
He looked directly into her eyes. “I wanted to see you.”
She paused, looked directly back, then said, “And I’ve wanted to see you.”
They sat that way, suspended.
She broke the spell. “I planned to go hunting one last time before the heavy snows fall. Tomorrow, with Hippolyta for three days. But I could ask her to stay behind. Would you go with me?”
“I should return home tomorrow. My animals need care.”
She tilted her head and smiled. “You said there is a boy who cares for them. Bias, isn’t it? Wouldn’t he care for them until you return if you sent him word?”
Without thinking, his hand went to his tunic where the arrowhead lay next to his skin. A powerful insight seized him. This was like the moment he decided to leave Themiskyra, like the moment he asked his wife to marry him, like the moment he killed the woman and her son in a senseless battle. This moment, this decision, came to him from the Fates.
PART II
TOUCHED BY THE FATES
18
DAMON FOLLOWED PENTHA DOWN A NARROW ANIMAL trail, the cool smell of damp earth like a comforting living presence around him. This was territory familiar to her, new to him. A shifting breeze rustled the leaves as if the woods now-and-then shuddered at the approach of winter. Both he and Pentha wore warm trousers and heavy tunics. Each carried a quiver, arrows, and a hunting knife. The sun, were he able to see it, would announce mid-afternoon.
What am I doing here? The thought startled him. And so did the answer. He wasn’t here to have a desirable woman for the first time in years. He walked behind Pentha fired by the hope that she might, like her mother, love a man enough to give up her Amazon life.
They gingerly crossed a stream on a fallen log coated with gray-green moss. On the far side, they stopped. They studied fresh scat. “Leopard,” he said. “No older than a day.”
She nodded. A look farther along the bank revealed a paw print.
He said, “I’d say a good-sized male.”
Again she nodded. She turned upstream.
They soon found a fresh break in the undergrowth. Silently they nocked an arrow to their bowstrings and followed the trail. Ten steps and he stopped and pointed to the dead body of a hind draped in the lowest branch of a tree where the leopard had hauled it up to keep less agile predators from eating it.
He and Pentha backed off and squatted behind low brush, peering over it to study the leopard’s catch. He said, “Artemis favors us. He’s away.”
They settled in. From a pouch in her quiver, Pentha fished out a tiny jar made from a single piece of hollowed, white quartz. Oddly shaped, not round but flattish on two sides, it had an unusually wide mouth.
“I’m going to share a secret with you,” she said. From the mouth she pulled out a plug made from bees wax covered with layers of linen. “It’s not that there is an oath against telling, it’s just something we keep to ourselves, and if I tell you, I’d prefer you tell no one else.”
“You can trust me.”
She nodded. “Yes, I believe I can. I like the feeling. Give me your arrow.”
He handed it to her. She brushed his fingers with hers, and gooseflesh prickled his sides. She dipped the arrow’s tip partway into the jar. When she drew the tip out, a thin, grayish-white liquid clung to it. She handed it back. “Blow until it dries.”
“What is it?”
“Poison. Gryn says it is the blood of the great serpent, Hydra. We use it for hunting, especially large game. But it works on anything with a warm body. So only one of us needs to hit the leopard. He will run. We follow. It won’t take long before the poison fells him.”
“It kills?”
“No, no! It’s difficult and dangerous to make the brew strong
enough to kill. We only use it to bring the animal down. When weak, the concoction only puts them painlessly to sleep.”
She signaled for him to dip the arrows remaining in his quiver. He set to work, and asked, “Why don’t I know of this?”
“It’s part of the Amazon way. It’s not something we share with others.” She gave him a gentle smile. “But I wanted to share with you.”
“But why haven’t I heard of this effect on Amazon enemies?”
She frowned. “To use it in battle is forbidden. There are ways to fight a person with honor, and ways that would dishonor Artemis.”
He finished dipping the arrows, then they settled once more into quiet waiting. Time trickled past. He thought of making love to her tomorrow. Anxiety hit and he clenched his fist. It had been a very long time since he’d bedded a woman.
Pentha fished another something from her quiver and unwrapped it. The gut-turning smell of polecat slapped him so hard his head jerked back. The revolting scent reminded him of the nausea that struck him only two days before, when he’d first entered the town. She quickly explained that foul smell would be their main protection from the dangers of the night. And their disguise when the cat returned. He rubbed the greasy stuff on his face and arms.
When she’d returned it to its wrapping and her quiver, she moved close to him. She scooted around so that their backs rested against each other.
Dusk brought darkness and a change in the forest’s voices. Bird twittering ceased. Twice he heard owl hooting.
A leopard pelt was prized for its warmth and beauty. Also because killing a leopard was difficult. The big cats tended to be out only at dusk or, even more likely, in the dead of night. A man exposed at night courted all kinds of dangers. Damon’s wife would never have done such a thing. But Pentha? Part of his attraction to Pentha had to be her courage and stunning independence. And apparently, fearlessness.
Her body warmth and her slow breathing brought on another surge of physical response. He could see only one small patch of sky. He concentrated hard on the stars. Profoundly mysterious points of light. Marching solemnly across the heaven, night after night, ever faithful, never understood.
He said what he had often wondered when watching them for long hours. “So where do the stars come from?”
She said. “Where do they go?”
From her tone he imagined he saw an ironic smile on her lips.
Something, perhaps a twig, snapped. They straightened and took knives in hand.
19
DAMON STRAINED TO HEAR ANOTHER SOUND. Pentha remained rigidly alert beside him. A faint rustling from their right. Then nothing.
Shortly he heard the leopard’s claws digging into tree bark. Not too much later, the crunching noises of bones being broken. Pentha sat tight to his side, and they listened to the leopard feed until what Damon felt might be close to midnight. Then once more, silence.
Twice they heard wolves calling their mournful yet beautiful wails, but never any hint of the leopard moving. Artemis still favored them.
A loud scraping sound startled him from sleep. Pentha, too, snapped to full alert. In the early light of day the leopard stood boldly on the tree limb. A huge male. The cat stretched, arching his back, then yawned, flashing his killing fangs, long tongue, and wide mouth.
They leapt to their feet, fixed their arrows. The cat saw them and even as their arrows flew, he lunged to the ground and bounded off. Both arrows whished into empty space.
Damon sprinted in pursuit, nocking another arrow, Pentha close behind.
Had the leopard had a fainter heart, he could have escaped, but when they reached the river, the animal stopped, turned, yowled. When he turned to run, Damon’s arrow hit him in the flank, Pentha’s in the shoulder.
The leopard raced downstream, but quickly abandoned the trail for dense undergrowth. Damon, Pentha now beside him, followed, dodging trees and crashing through bushes.
Just as Pentha described, the chase did not last long. They found the beast, standing still and breathing hard.
It turned and sprang at Pentha. She dodged it, and when it landed, it took only a few steps more before sinking to the ground. His mouth gaped open and his long tongue rolled out. His eyes closed as he seemed to fall into a deep sleep. His sides rose and fell with great gasps.
“Beautiful,” Damon said.
“Do you need meat?” Pentha asked. “Do you need a skin?”
“I’m here because I can always use meat and skin before winter sets in.” That wasn’t the reason, of course. She was the reason.
She smiled. “Amazons always let their first strike live. It is our thank offering to Artemis. You and I have both killed before, but not with each other. We can let him live. Our first hunt together.”
He nodded. “I’d like that.” He looked at the arrows sticking out of the cat’s side. “But the poison? The wounds?”
“The poison not only weakens, it keeps wounds from going sour. If we remove the shafts, he will carry our tips. But he will heal.”
“Then let’s offer him to the Goddess. Something beautiful.”
They removed the shafts up to the skin—Pentha had obviously done this more than once—then they left quickly, wanting to be well away when the cat regained his senses.
Damon led back to their camp. The first thing he wanted to do was get rid of the polecat smell. And if he undressed to bathe, she would see the arrowhead hung around his neck and know how deeply she’d hooked him. He pulled out the arrowhead, undid the knot, and tucked the charm and thong into his trouser pocket.
They reached the place where they had put down bedding and laid stones for a fire, a spot with a good view next to a swift river. The far bank, twice the distance he could throw a stone, presented a solid wall of mixed forest, mostly oaks. All of it was ablaze in shades of red, with here and there some orange and yellow, as much on fire with life as he felt in Pentha’s presence. Off their bank, about halfway across the river, a mound of boulders split the water. He imagined fishing just below the boulders tomorrow and taking at least one big trout for their dinner.
The two packhorses, hobbled in a grassy clearing, whinnied a greeting. Along the near bank, the water ran shallow enough to wade into, and an eddy formed a natural pool.
He said, “This smell kept me on the edge of nausea all night.”
“Go ahead.” She walked to their things and searched through one of the packs.
He stripped, waded in, grimaced, and sucked in a deep breath. The frigid water made even the hair on his head feel as though it were standing on end. Where the pool dropped off to waist height, he let himself completely under, leapt back up, running his hands through his soaked hair.
He turned, and there walking toward him was Pentha, as naked as Artemis at her bath. He had never seen anything more beautiful. She had let down her hair. It fell over her shoulders to her waist. Her woman’s hair matched its coppery red.
He watched, fascinated, as she followed the path he’d taken into the shallows and then into the small pool.
“The polecat stink is bad, but it works,” she said. She laughed. “Usually.”
She strode to where the water came to just below her breasts and they floated, pointing directly at him. She held something. His heart was pounding, his pulse throbbing in his throat. If he hadn’t been standing in ice water, he would surely have had the biggest erection of his life.
“This will not only take away the stink, we’ll smell lovely.”
She thrust the cube under his nose and he smelled mint. She washed his chest and back. She had him dip into the water and then worked the stuff into his hair. When he’d rinsed it, she washed very private parts under the water. He pulled her to him, then, and kissed her.
“Wash me,” she said.
He started with her breasts, and then her back, then her hair, and then, as she had done, he finished with private parts under the water, and when he touched her there, she kissed him.
“We’re clean,” s
he whispered.
He laughed. “And freezing!” He took her hand and led her to the bank. They ran, hand-in-hand, to the pile of furs. These had been sewn together to make sacks that could be laced up, with the fur on the inside and outside.
He slicked off what water he could, but she pulled a cloth from one of the packs and dried her body and her hair a bit, then handed the cloth to him. He dried as best he could, then they crawled into one sack together.
Their bodies soon warmed each other, and he kissed her as he had dreamed of kissing her for what had seemed like an age of restless nights. When she returned his kisses and began to touch him and run her legs along his, he stopped her and said, “Let me wait. I need to wait a moment.”
“Don’t wait,” she said. “A man who lives alone can’t wait.”
So he didn’t. He entered her, her hands guiding his. Weeks of longing and fantasy drove animal passion. His skin seemed on fire.
Her powerful fingers dug into his buttocks.
Stroked his back.
Pulled at his hair. Caressed his beard.
He exploded into hot, searing ecstasy. Too soon! Too soon. But glorious!
They lay together for some moments, Pentha with her head on his chest. Damon traced the bones of her face. Drained and yet complete, he let himself drift.
She woke him with a rain of kisses—his forehead, his cheeks, his neck—and finger caresses to match the kisses. Seeing he was awake, she took his hand and laid it on her belly. “Have you learned other ways to please a woman?”
He had, and soon her cries said he had succeeded, and finally she stiffened, clenching his wrist with that astonishing, powerful grip.
They rested, then he opened her hand and kissed the palm. “I have never felt more at peace in my life.”
“Gryn says that the sense of peace is one of coupling’s greatest gifts.”
This was not the peace of coupling. This was far more profound. “Say something,” he said.