At the Crossroads
Part One
By Medora MacD
MedoraMacD@yahoo.com
August 1999
Revised August 2002
_____________________________________________________________
Disclaimers / The
Cliff's Notes Version
(The novella
length version can be found at the end of Part Two)
Legal Disclaimer: The characters of Xena: Warrior Princess and all other associated
with the television series of the same name are owned by MCA/ Universal
Pictures. This is a work of fan fiction and no copyright infringement is
intended. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the
sole property of the author.
Subtext: This story depicts a love relationship between two consenting
adult women. If you are under 18 years of age or if this type of story is
illegal in the state or country in which you live, please do not read it.
Violence: No more than on the TV show. Possibly less.
Hurt/Comfort: Yes; appropriate for the story line.
Language: No expletives harsher than damn, used sparingly.
Timeline: Set early in Season Three, before Dahak and the Rift stories.
Sincere Thanks: To Lunacy, for providing a list of beta readers; to beta reader
Gin, who did NOT take time away from her Xena the Conqueror stories to offer
helpful suggestions (as the gods are my witness: any advice she gave me did NOT
interfere with her own wonderful writing! I promise!); to Midget and to MaryD
for accommodating this story on their wonderful websites; and to my family and
friends for their love, advice, and tolerance of my ineffable weirdness.
Feedback: Send compliments, comments, and constructive criticism to
medoramacd@yahoo.com.
====================================
PROLOGUE
By tomorrow at
this time, it will be over.
She twisted uneasily on her bedroll.
One way or the
other...
A chill crept slowly down her spine despite the
warmth of the fire nearby. She considered exactly how dreadful one of those
ways might be. A sob started to work its way past her tightly compressed lips.
At the last moment, she turned it into something like a stifled cough, praying
that the innocuous sound would not catch the hypersensitive ear of her
traveling companion.
The warrior on the other side of the banked embers
stirred, then rolled to her other side, toward the fire. Her arm moved
awkwardly, as if expecting to encircle something, then fell to her side. A
frown creased her face, then the deep, even breathing resumed. She was
exhausted. It had been a long, hard day. Gabrielle refused to think about just how hard.
The young woman cast about desperately for something
-- anything -- that would quiet her mind and permit her to sleep for the few
candlemarks remaining of the night. Dawn would come early. It was nearing the
summer solstice and the longest day of the year, and they were on the eastern
slope of the mountain. The nights were still cold here at the foot of Mount
Kintla, however. She pulled her sleeping fur closer around her. Studied the
stars shining so brilliantly in the thin, crisp air. Listened to the creek
tumbling past on its way to the Aegean Sea.
It was a far cry from the quarters she once shared
with her sister, she mused. There she would have been staring at a cracked
ceiling, listening to her sister's gentle snores, her parents in the next room,
the animals in the barn. She wouldn't have been sleeping in the same clothes
she'd been traveling in for what seemed like weeks or be covered with furs.
She'd have on a soft sleeping shift, and the temperate climate of her hometown
would require no more than a light blanket. I
wouldn't be sleeping on rocks either! she thought, squirming to find a more
accommodating piece of ground.
Her restless mind filled in a few more details.
Potadeia would be stiflingly comfortable and predictable, Gabrielle. You still wouldn't be the person everyone
wanted you to be. You couldn't be the person YOU wanted to be. And Xena
wouldn't be there. She shuddered. No Xena!
It was hopeless, she decided. Maybe if she stopped
avoiding the subject. If she faced her fears head on instead...
After all, there's
always the chance that it won't be as bad as I think, that tomorrow night will
find us together still, sharing another campfire, another meal. We'll be
bruised. Maybe worse. But beginning to heal...
That other part of her mind ruthlessly pointed out
that Xena had never before faced a trial of this magnitude -- and that it was
one that called upon skills that even Xena would admit were not her strongest.
Gabrielle shuddered again, more afraid than at any
time during her travels with the warrior princess. More even than when they
faced the Horde. That, after all,
would probably have only ended with both of them dead.
Our encounter with
the Horde! Doesn't that show how much Xena has changed? Grown? She was able to
see things in a new light then, to overcome her fears, meet that challenge.
Surely there's a chance, a slim one, but nevertheless a chance, that she'll meet this one? There just has to be...
The bard's body sagged in exhaustion. There was no
point in dwelling on what the next day would or wouldn't bring. Gabrielle willed
her mind to go blank. To cast away the thoughts that had tied her in knots for
days.
Think of a new
scroll. The way it smells. The way it crackles as you unroll it for the first
time. The possibilities. The endless possibilities...
Sleep finally claimed Gabrielle. But it was a slumber
filled with foreboding. One that left her trembling.
CHAPTER ONE
Where in Tartarus WAS she, anyway? She was lying flat
on her stomach and something soft was pressing against her nose and mouth,
making it difficult to breathe. Her eyes felt as if they had been glued shut.
She was dazed, disoriented -- the way she'd been the morning after that harvest
party in the village last year, thought Gabrielle. But without the killer
headache. So far.
Just in case, she kept her movements to a minimum
while she tried to figure out what was going on. The smell of... burnt pine?
Bird song. The nicker of a horse. She shifted her head slightly, trying to zero
in on the noises around her. The movement helped her identify the stuff in
which her face was buried. It was fur. Her sleeping fur.
Slowly she pushed herself upright. She rubbed her
face vigorously with both hands, digging grit from her eyelids, then glanced
around. Ah. Another day, another damned campsite.
Argo was saddled. Virtually all
the gear was packed except for the bedroll on which she sat. Her eyes narrowed.
The sun was higher in the sky than it should have been. She turned her head at
the sound of approaching footsteps.
"Xe... What's going on?"
Xena walked up to drown the last embers of the fire
with a spray from their waterskin.
"Why didn't you wake me?" She glared at the
tall, armor-clad silhouette that stood between her and the morning's rays.
"I tried, Gabrielle. You just twitched, groaned,
and burrowed deeper into your furs. I figured yesterday's little adventure had
taken more out of you than I realized, so I ... "
"Augh!" Cutting Xena off in mid-sentence,
the groggy bard threw aside her coverings, grabbed her staff and stomped off to
do what had to be done before a lengthy day on the trail.
Xena stared after her friend with concern. Whatever
was bothering Gabrielle was getting progressively worse... and,
uncharacteristically, the bard didn't seem to be able to talk about it.
Oh, Hades! she thought. Who wouldn't be
upset to wake up on the cold, hard ground to face another meal of dried meat
and trail bread, another day traipsing about the countryside contending with
murderers and thieves?
She pictured Gabrielle as she should be, in the
kitchen of a comfortable home, two or three tow-headed children helping her
prepare the evening meal and set the table. She'd be telling a story, keeping
an eye on the loaves in the oven and on the window that looked out upon the
barn, where the cows were being milked. Waiting for a certain tall, dark form
to pass by it on the way to the wash house -- the signal that dinner needed to
be on the table soon.
Gabrielle and a farmer? Xena snorted. I don't think
so! It's easier to see her as a teacher somewhere. Back at the Academy for
Bards or ruling the Amazons. But definitely not here, cooking over a smoky
fire, peeing in the bushes, washing in ice water, traveling with a someone who
can go for candlemarks on end without saying a word. She deserves so much more!
Mentally Xena counted the dinars remaining in her
pouch. Maybe they could afford to stay at an inn in Mancor. Or maybe whatever's bugging her will just
blow over... the warrior thought wishfully. With a shrug that suggested
that she knew somehow that it wouldn't, she returned to the task of breaking
camp.
Xena was tying Gabrielle's bedroll to Argo's saddle
when the bard returned, tugging her garments back into place. She had dashed
handfuls of water from the icy creek into her face in an attempt to wake up.
Water droplets glistened on her ruddy cheeks and in the red-gold down that
covered her finely toned arms.
"Ready?" asked Xena, with an indulgent
smile. It faded abruptly at Gabrielle's retort.
"No! I'm not
ready! I haven't had anything to eat. And I don't know where in Tartarus we're
going! I'm tired of following along like some trained animal, Xena. It would be
nice to know, if somehow we got separated, that you thought I was competent
enough to get myself to our next stop. Not someone who has to be rescued like
some helpless child!"
Sure! As if you'd
waltz off and leave me behind
somewhere if we got separated! I know you're not a child, Gabrielle. (Believe me!) I just never thought you
wanted to be bothered with this kind of stuff... Right. Key words, Xena:
"never thought." Get a clue.
The hand on Argo's halter had clenched -- painfully
-- at Gabrielle's caustic words. Now Xena relaxed her fingers, raked them
through her shiny black hair.
"You're right, Gabrielle." The glowering
bard gave a start. "I've been acting like I'm still running some army.
Giving orders. I need to... I mean, I'll try to..."
Xena threw up her hands in frustration. She was no
good at these sensitive chats, and they both knew it.
"Here," she said finally, "let me draw
you a map."
Crouching down, she picked up a charred stick from
the remains of their fire, then thought briefly, getting the picture of their
position clear in her mind. She drew an upside-down bowl in the dirt. Above that
she incised a slightly flattened X. She pointed to the top right side of the X:
"We're here, near the base of Mount Kintla." Then indicated the
inverted bowl: "And this is the coastline."
"We'll be traveling southward, on this diagonal,
around the mountain and down next to the coast, and then up to Mancor."
She traced a V-shaped route. "That's where Athol said the new slave ring
is operating. When I 'put the pinch' on him yesterday."
"And if we kept going to the southwest?"
Gabrielle asked, pointing to the lower left leg of the X.
"That leads past Amazon territory, in two or
three days, and then on to Amphipolis and Potadeia. That's one of the reasons I
want to check out this slave ring if it exists. It's pretty close to home."
"And this leg? To the southeast?"
Gabrielle's voice had a strange timbre to it, but her mist green eyes met
Xena's guilelessly.
"That's the way to the coastal city of Kavala. I
hear it's grown a lot since last I was there. There's a new academy, even some
theaters. We'll have to visit someday," said Xena, dusting off her hands
and preparing to rise.
"How long till we get here?" Gabrielle stabbed the center of the X with the end of
her staff.
"About mid-day," Xena replied. "If we
leave soon," she added
pointedly, getting to her feet.
A few more
candlemarks, then. To prepare. Or do I mean, to survive?
"So... ready now?"
"No!" the bard responded angrily.
"Where's my scroll case?"
"I packed it. I thought..."
"You thought wrong!" She strode over to Argo. "I'm not the same
know-nothing girl you rescued in Potadeia, Xena. Even if I don't like to ride
on gigantic beasts -- sorry, Argo -- or chop thugs into itty-bitty pieces. By
the gods, Xena, at least let me take care of my own stuff!"
Missing the wince that flashed across her companion's
face, Gabrielle propped her staff against the patient mare and fumbled with the
ties on the case containing her scrolls and her journal. Xena followed, growing
increasingly concerned about her friend's extreme behavior and wondering what
she could do to help.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know. Here, let me..."
The warrior reached in to loosen the knotted cord on
the case, brushing Gabrielle's shoulder in the process. The bard gave a
startled cry and shied violently. When she came to rest, she was shaking
uncontrollably. Eyes closed, she wrapped her arms tightly around her torso and
rocked back and forth slightly, trying to regain her composure.
"What is it, Gabrielle?" Xena asked
frantically, moving in front of the young woman. "What's going on? You
flinch every time I come near. You moved your bedroll to the other side of the
fire. You've barely said a civil word to me in days!"
She paused, uncertainly, then continued, her voice
growing more and more strained. "What did I do? Why are you so afraid of
me? Tell me -- so I can fix it!"
"Me? Afraid of you?!" Gabrielle bit back a
savage laugh. "You think I'm afraid of you. That's funny!" She paced back and forth in front of the
warrior, muttering as she wrestled with her emotions. Xena herself was
motionless. Hands clenched at her sides, she watched anxiously as her companion
grew more and more agitated. Finally the bard stopped dead in her tracks, fell
silent, seemed to reach a decision.
This isn't how I
envisioned it. But what is it that Xena says? Battles have a way of setting
their own timetables. This one has just decided that its time is now.
Gabrielle took a deep breath, turned and faced her
friend, who stood braced, as if to receive a blow, an uncharacteristic look of
apprehension upon her face.
"I'm not afraid of you, Xena. I'm afraid for
you. Afraid of what might happen to you because of me." The warrior stared
at her, clearly at a loss. Gabrielle took another breath, uttered a silent
prayer, and plunged ahead.
"I love you, Xena. With all my heart."
The only response to her declaration was the sharp,
mournful cry of a hunting hawk, high overhead. The warrior's face showed no
sign of comprehension.
"As in, I am in love with you." She waited another beat.
"As in, I... desperately want to make love to
you."
Still the warrior gave no indication that she grasped
what the bard was saying, not so much as the twitch of a muscle. Gabrielle
carried on, determined to make her understand and respond.
"I can't stopping thinking about you, Xena.
About that. And yesterday it almost got you killed! Damn it, Xena! I never even
saw those guys!"
To this
statement, the warrior finally reacted: "It was nothing, Gabrielle. Don't
worry about it."
" 'Don't worry about it' ?!" Gabrielle was
close to hysterical. "I was supposed to be watching the back door at the
tavern. Instead I ended up watching you
-- the way you grinned as Athol's men came at you. The way the muscles in your
arms rippled as you fought them off."
She buried her face in her hands, remembering what
had come next. How the men who'd slipped past her had moved to stab Xena from
behind. How Xena somehow had sensed the threat. With a leap, she'd jabbed her
sword into a rafter for safekeeping and vaulted over the goons in front of her.
Then she'd grabbed the broom from the guy who'd been sweeping the floor and
used it to bowl the first group into the second. A high arching somersault took
her back to her sword and over the tangle of thugs on the floor, just in time
to cut down the scumbag who trying to choke the life out of Gabrielle.
The rest was anticlimactic, really. Gabrielle had
collapsed into the nearest chair, while Xena tidied up. A forearm smash had
greeted the first guy to try to get out of the pile on the floor, and a head
butt silenced the second. The rest of the gang wisely decided to stay put and
nurse the injuries they'd already received, rather than incurring more. When
Athol burst in from his backroom headquarters, Xena had treated him to a free
demonstration of her famed pressure points interrogation method. Pretty much
the usual "Wham! Bam! Whaddya want to know, ma'am?" routine.
Except for the momentous resolution it had forced
Gabrielle to make as she sat there, absently fingering the angry marks on her
neck but visualizing what might have happened, not to her, but to Xena, as a
result of her mental lapse. Imagining Xena's body on the tavern floor, limbs
slack, the light fading from those beautiful eyes. It wasn't hard to do. She
only had to remember how the warrior had looked outside Cirra, after that log
booby trap had slammed into her, catapulting her into a tree -- with deadly
results.
"Don't worry?" she reiterated. "Xena,
I made you promise never to die on me again. And then I nearly got you killed! That can't happen again. I
won't let it!" She approached the warrior, stared her full in the face.
"I thought this would go away. I tried
with all my heart to make it go away. That's not going to happen, Xena. Ever.
You are my heart.
"And I know
you feel the same way." The dark head in front of her started to move
silently from side to side. "Don't deny it, Xena. I felt it -- when you were inside me, when we were racing Velasca to
the ambrosia. But you're afraid I'll get hurt, that I'll miss out on a 'real
life,' whatever that is.
"The only thing that would hurt me, Xena, would
be to not be able to share my life with you. And the only way I can see of
doing that is to acknowledge the way we feel. We can't control it, can't shape
it, if we keep pretending it doesn't exist!"
She turned away, coming to the hardest part.
"Either way, Xena, I can't go on as we have
been. It's just too dangerous for you. Too painful for me. Too damned lonely.
So... either we go forward together, become more than 'best friends,' or we go
our separate ways. Learn to live apart."
I was right to be
terrified of this moment, thought Gabrielle as the
stark silence behind her grew. What a
fool I am! Xena wasn't able to make this kind of commitment to Borias, Marcus,
even Hercules! Lao Ma, the woman she said saved her in Chin, couldn't hold her
either. Why did I think for a moment that some peasant girl from Potadeia...?
Behind her, Xena warred with her own emotions. Even if... She terminated that thought
before it could take root; how either of them might feel didn't change the
realities of their situation. There's no
way that this could work. None. It just can't.
A look of unutterable sadness crossed her face. By
the time Gabrielle turned back toward her, however, the warrior's face was once
again shielded, an impenetrable mask that revealed nothing to the bard's
hope-filled eyes.
Gabrielle faltered, then continued. "Anyway, I'd
planned on telling you this at the crossroads. So I'd still have some traveling
time if I had to find my own ... " She trailed off, then started again.
"You've got till then, I guess, to decide what you want to do."
The bard walked over to Argo and retrieved her staff,
leaning briefly against the mare's strong, warm side and caressing the soft
dark muzzle before grabbing her reins. "I don't want to talk about it till
then, Xena. I... can't. Let's just go, okay?"
The warrior nodded tersely and took the reins from
Gabrielle's outstretched hand, being very careful not to make physical contact.
Slowly, carefully, she began to lead the palomino down the rocky path that
would take them to the crossroads. Her bearing was erect as always. It gave
Gabrielle no clues as to what would happen when they reached their destination
-- at least none that were encouraging.
CHAPTER TWO
Two candlemarks later the heavy silence hanging over
the travelers was broken by the sounds of armed conflict.
Dense forest on either side of the road lent a
sinister air to the place. Xena was riding slightly ahead. She'd led Argo until
the steep trail had leveled out a bit, then mounted up, announcing curtly that
she wanted to keep an eye out for those slavers. She'd been finding it hard to
breathe, for some reason. Probably all
that dust that our feet churned up. And the bard's staff, thudding over and
over again into the trail, had begun to feel like it was pounding directly upon
her skull. In truth, she'd found it impossible to ignore Gabrielle's
declaration -- and her ultimatum -- with the bard striding stoically beside
her. She wasn't ready to deal with that yet. She wasn't sure she'd ever be.
They were nearing the spot, Xena realized, where a
rutted overgrown wagon path from Pagosa, to the north, would cross their own.
Her ears caught the sound of metal hitting metal. Horses neighing. Voices
raised in anger and in pain.
Gabrielle had heard it, too, she saw, glancing back.
The warrior circled Argo around quickly, extended a powerful arm, and pulled
the bard up behind her on the warhorse. It was a kind of relief, really, to be
riding into danger. They always shelved disputes at times like these. The
chance to do so now, to pretend -- for a little while anyway -- that things
were normal, had never been more welcome. She kneed Argo into a gallop.
They pulled to a halt at the edge of a small clearing
in the forest. Twenty-odd men and women were locked in combat there -- in an
arena formed by a circle of four colorful wagons.
There seemed to be two parties in contention here: a
band of ragtag foot soldiers who might have been outfitted by Joxer's armorer
and another group whose fanciful garb marked them as actors -- or really bad
fashion designers. No one seemed to have been seriously injured yet, but the
horses hitched to the lead wagon were wild eyed at the noise and commotion.
"Whose side are we on?" asked Gabrielle,
peering around Xena's armored shoulder.
"Hmmm..."
Sides are evenly
matched, number-wise. Soldiers are competent -- barely -- but their hearts
clearly aren't in it. Actors probably don't have any real experience, however. So? Ah ha!
"Them," said Xena, indicating a duo at the
center of the hubbub. A valkyrie dressed incongruously in layers of fluttering
chartreuse scarves had just employed a sturdy wooden bucket to dispatch an
on-rushing swordsman. The dapper man next to her, though short enough to tuck
under her chin, was wielding a dirt-encrusted spade with equal efficacy.
"You gotta admire people with that kind of imagination!"
With a pang, each of them realized that this could
well represent the final airing of their long-running debate on the merits of
being creative in combat.
"So," said the bard, her voice suddenly
husky, "what's the plan this time, Warrior Princess?"
What indeed? Xena fought to drag her mind back to the business at hand. Well, creativity aside, it's hard to tell
who's in the right here. Or what started all this. Maybe the best thing to do
is just bust things up before someone gets killed.
With a bittersweet smile, she realized anew just how
much traveling with Gabrielle had changed her -- and for the better.
"Actually, Gabrielle, I think we'll just..."
Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she saw
something -- an open grave and, next to it, a pine casket that plainly seemed
intended to fill it. That changed everything.
"You're going to stay right here!" she
declared, swinging the startled bard to the ground.
"But...!"
"Don't argue, Gabrielle! And don't go
anywhere." She nodded at the gravesite. "At least not until I find
out if whatever that guy died of is catching." She kneed Argo into action.
"Aiyiyiyi!" Xena's warcry momentarily froze
the combatants in place -- or was it the sight of an impossibly tall, dark
woman charging between the wagons on a warhorse, the sun glinting off her armor
and upraised sword? Xena pulled the palomino 'round in a tight circle,
preparing to make another pass. Before that could happen, however, the band of
terrified soldiers broke and ran for the hills. Most of them, that is.
One enterprising lad made for the wagons instead. He
leaped into the seat of the lead wagon, startling its team into bolting down
the rugged shortcut that would lead him -- if he were lucky enough to negotiate
all its wicked turns -- to the coast road and Kavala.
"The props!" cried the man with the spade.
As one, the troupe charged after the jouncing wagon, their evident desperation
drawing Gabrielle into the chase as well. Xena shook her head ruefully as the
motley crew pounded after the runaway cart, then urged Argo to follow suit.
"Coming through!"
The shouted warning gave the pursuers just enough
time -- barely -- to hug a tree or throw themselves into the bushes on either
side of the track before Xena thundered through. As she passed, the warrior
noted with approval the precision of her companion's graceful tuck and roll.
She turned her attentions back to the track in front
of her, to the wagon jolting violently along between trees seemingly just far
enough apart to permit its passage. Redoubling her efforts, she closed quickly
on the wagon and flung herself on its back.
Now what, O
Warrior Teamster?
A glance inside the transport revealed that the wagon
was packed too tightly to allow her to scramble to the front that way.
Resigning herself to the inevitable, Xena began pulling herself along the
outside of the careening vehicle, plastering herself to its surface
occasionally as branches tried to pry her off.
She congratulated herself when she reached the front
-- and the warrior wannabe clinging there for dear life. Yes! No gods-damn-it-to-Tartarus supply buggy is gonna get the better
of me! Her triumphant crow ended abruptly. That vicious turn up there just might, however!
She grabbed the reins from the nerveless hands of the
soldier and hauled back on them with all her might. The potency of that pull
told the lathered team that someone was once again in command. And the fire in
her eye convinced her passenger that it would be wiser for him to disembark before the vehicle came to a full and
complete stop and she could get those powerful hands on anything attached to him. He scanned quickly for the
softest-looking piece of brush, then dove over the side. He landed with a
clatter and a groan that seemed to presage an extended convalescence.
One less thing to
worry about, thought Xena, getting back to the
task of stopping the wagon before it slammed into the unforgiving trunks
looming about 200 feet ahead. She had managed to pull the horses to a trot, but
the momentum of the massive wagon forced them onward still. She started seeking
out road hazards -- roots, rocks, anything -- which would slow the vehicle
further.
By the time they reached the deadly turn, the team
was going slowly enough to safely negotiate it. The heavily laden wagon was not
as fortunate. Xena balanced on the balls of her feet, assessing the shift in
its center of gravity. As it tipped up on two wheels, she vaulted into the air,
landing at the side of the horses, calming them, as it fell ponderously on one
side and spilled forth part of its cargo of... army uniforms?!
_____________________________________________________________
Xena had unhitched the horses and was examining them
for injury when a pandemonium of performers appeared in a cloud of dust --
followed shortly thereafter by a breathless bard.
"Gods, Xe... Are you okay?" Gabrielle
struggled to pull air into her heaving lungs.
"Just fine, Gabrielle, though the horses and the
wagon are a bit worse for wear. Not to mention your... uniforms and
weapons?"
Xena fixed the group's leader with an icy glare that
would have made a lesser man wet himself. The impresario, for all that he
looked like a bit of a peacock, was evidently made of sterner stuff. He didn't
even blink.
"These?" he replied, holding up a
vicious-looking sword. It was obvious, upon closer examination, that it was
made of wood covered with shiny silver paper -- now tattered and torn.
"Chama!" A handsome young man stepped
forward. "Examine all the props. Looks like we've got a lot of work to do
before we can perform in Kavala." He kicked disgustedly at a ruptured
crate full of armor and arms whose dents and dings now revealed all too clearly
their counterfeit nature.
"Actors, eh?" said Xena, lowering her guard
a bit.
"And 'purveyors of potions to alleviate diseases
and discomforts of every kind.' Ozymandias the Wise and Wonderful at your
service. I am the patriarch of this merry band of players." He preened
himself, twirling his dark, luxurious mustache. His garish tunic was adorned
with mystical symbols.
Oz the Wonderfully
Slick or Slimy, perhaps! A healer herself at times,
Xena despised the traveling peddlers who took scarce dinars out of the hands of
the ailing in exchange for alcohol-laden potions that dulled their pains just
long enough for the so-called healers to leave town. She was disgusted that she
seemed to have inadvertently assisted one of these snake-oil salesmen. Oz the Worm! That'd be more appropriate!
"My profound gratitude for your aid," he
continued, in a voice much too smooth and practiced for Xena's taste. "We
rely on our performances to draw in those in need of our healing herbs and
elixirs. Without these props, we'd be hard pressed to feed ourselves during our
sojourn in Kavala. How can we ever
repay you?"
"That's not necessary. Really!" said Xena,
who now had an overwhelming urge to wash herself from head to toe with the
strongest soap she could find. "We'll just be on our w..."
"Nonsense!" he barked. "It will take
several candlemarks to unload the wagon and tip it upright again..." He
turned again to the young man. "Chama, you and Nat and the boys set things
to rights, won't you, please? We'll be back to help after we get the rest of
the wagons. YOU, lovely ladies, must come back to our camp with us!"
Oh, we MUST, must
we? We'll see about that, you little...
The look on Xena's face must have alerted him to the
need for a change of tactic. Abruptly, Oz turned his attentions to Gabrielle, a
kindred soul if ever he'd seen one. "Can we offer you some food at least?"
On cue, the bard's stomach growled like a rampaging
minotaur -- reminding Xena that the young woman had had nothing to eat since
the night before and little enough then. She cringed inside. As if she needed
further evidence that Gabrielle would be better off away from her!
Gabrielle stubbornly refused to respond to the man's
invitation herself or to look at the warrior. She was damned if she'd admit to
being so hungry she'd willingly chew on a bootlace -- or to her sudden hope
that a distraction of this sort might somehow alter the course that Xena seemed
to be set upon following at the crossroads.
Xena relented. "Well, we're going back that way,
anyway. I should probably check to see if anyone there is in need of real
medical assistance. I'll get my kit."
She strode off to locate Argo, pretending not to see
the wounded look that Oz threw his mate at her implication that his healing
abilities were as phony as his company's theatrical props. Along the way, she
checked for signs of her former passenger. At the point of his departure,
however, she found only the nasty gouge where he had impacted with the ground
and some limping footprints in the dust. They disappeared as soon as he'd been
able to make his way to the rock surface that comprised most of the rest of the
path.
Didn't even have
the courtesy to bleed, blast him! Smarter than he looked. A lot smarter...
Xena found the mare sampling the grasses along the
path near where the warrior had taken leave of her. "I swear, Argo, you
are getting more like Gabrielle every day." She spoke softly so only the
mare's sensitive ears would pick up the mock-serious chastisement. "When
did you decide that it was appropriate to take lunch breaks during a battle?!"
Leaning her head against the palomino's sturdy neck,
she reflected again on how much Gabrielle had come to influence their lives,
from the way the warrior now dealt with conflicts to the jokes that lightened
their daily load.
Thank you for
that, my gentle bard... She quashed that thought.
Violently. She's not your bard, you big dumb warrior! She belongs to herself. She can never be yours. You'll have to make your own life, your own jokes,
if you want her to live past age 30!
She seriously considered just mounting up and riding
away -- till the sound of approaching voices prompted her to contemplate what
it would do to Gabrielle to be abandoned in front of so many witnesses. She
snorted bitterly.
Yeah, right! Much
better to do it when there's no one around to pick up the pieces, Warrior Wuss!
The bard seemed to be quizzing the actors about their
recent travels as they neared. Xena heard the words "Pagosa" and
"king" and "the best of modern theater." It wouldn't be
long, she knew, before Gabrielle had extracted their life stories from them.
She had a way about her, something Xena would never be able to master, that was
more effective than the warrior's "pinch" in gathering information.
Suddenly Ozymandias gave a heartfelt groan and turned
to his wife, tears in his deep brown eyes. "Oh Hades, Treeza! I forgot
about Piedra! How could I forget about Piedra?"
The large woman clasped him to her ample bosom for a
moment, then gently thumbed a tear from his cheek. "He'll not be going
anywhere, Oz my love. And I'm sure he'd understand. We didn't know him long,
but it was easy to tell he was a real trooper."
"Piedra?" interjected Xena. "He the
corpse back at your camp? What happen -- he take one of your potions?"
"Xena!" cried Gabrielle, aghast. She didn't
know what was bugging Xena.
Well, that isn't
strictly true, is it, Miss Love Me
or Leave Me?
But it was clear to her that the couple felt this
Piedra's loss deeply.
"No, dearie," said Treeza, clearly a more
forgiving sort than her affronted husband. "We didn't get a chance to
physic Piedra. I only wish... The poor lad only joined us a day or two ago.
He'd seen some hard times, to be sure, but he didn't look sick. I think his
dear heart just gave out once it knew he was in the company of friends."
"No fever, headaches, confusion, red rashes on
the skin?" probed Xena, trying to determine if they had the beginnings of
an epidemic on their hands. She remembered all too well the dread disease that
had devastated her army on the eve of a major campaign in Gaul.
"No, no signs of typhus," replied
Ozymandias, surprising her with his quick grasp of the question underlying
hers. "No real way to tell what happened without cutting him open. And
there didn't seem to be any point in harming the boy further. We were preparing
for his funeral when we were attacked."
"Yeah, tell me about that," said Xena.
"Who were those guys?"
"Never saw them before," puffed Oz's mate,
resuming her journey back up the path, scarves fluttering in the breeze she
created. "We'd had breakfast, a quick rehearsal. We were going to bury
Piedra before changing into our traveling clothes and heading to Kavala.
Suddenly, a bunch of vermin was swinging swords at us. Real swords!" she added indignantly.
Gabrielle reinitiated her gentle interrogation, with
a pointed glance that warned the warrior to keep out of it. Xena listened with
half an ear as she replayed the earlier clash in her head. She hadn't
recognized any of the attackers -- with good reason probably, since most of
them looked too young to have served in her army. And they were too
inexperienced to be working for any of the warlords she knew to be operating in
the neighborhood. Still...
She moved out in front of the walkers, determined to
examine what clues there might be to the soldiers' identities before careless
feet could destroy them. Her eyes scanned the woods restlessly, assessing every
scurry in the brush, looking for anything that was out of place. There was
nothing.
Sooner than she expected, she was back at the camp.
The canopies of the remaining wagons showed up first, bold lettering
proclaiming them to be the property of the Natural Wonders Theatrical Troupe, directed
by one Ozymandias the Wise and Wonderful, agent of "Apollo the Physician,
Asclepius, Health, Panacea, and all the gods and goddesses," and featuring
the fortune-telling talents of Treeza the All Seeing.
Shoulda just said
'charlatans'! Xena scoffed, once again angry with
herself for contributing in any way to their chicanery. She'd like to introduce
them to the healer's oath composed by her friend, Hippocrates -- forcibly, if
necessary. Especially that part about "I will ... never do harm to anyone."
Her disdain did not prevent her from noticing,
however, how tidy the actors' camp was. Their gear was worn, but very well
maintained. Some familiar smells drew her attention to one of the wagons.
Poking her head in, she discovered drying bundles of feverfew, an herb she used
herself to treat migraine headaches. And what was that? Leaves of mugwort.
Pumpkin seeds. Senna and comfrey?
She pulled her head out as the others came into the
clearing and glanced quickly around the camp one more time. The marauders had
left no casualties behind and only one artifact, a broken sword that bore no
distinctive markings. As she had somehow expected, the tracks of their feet led
unerringly from the dust of the arena in which they'd fought so ineffectually
to unrevealing rock that would shield them from pursuit.
The troupe set to work assessing its losses. They
were minor, just a damaged utensil or two and a few welts where the inept
swordsmen had gotten in lucky swipes. These they were treating, Xena noted
approvingly, with a soothing salve of aloe. She gave Ozymandias a glance of
reappraisal.
"Where'd you learn to fight like that?"
inquired Gabrielle, as Ozymandias returned his spade to its rightful place in
the supply wagon. She cocked her red-gold head to one side, as curious as Xena
was about this paradoxical lot.
"On stage," the dapper director responded
nonchalantly. "As a matter of fact, we'd just rehearsed a play this
morning that required everyone to swing a sword or cosh someone on the head.
Never done it for real before -- but the line between art and life can be a
pretty thin one," he concluded, a little grandiosely.
Yeah! A thin bloody one requiring dozens of
stitches! Xena's riposte was silent, though her
snort of disgust was not. Why was it that people who had never engaged in
actual combat or had to deal with its aftermath always thought it was so damned
glamorous? You're lucky, little man, that
this particular scene isn't going to leave major scars on people you love. Very
lucky.
Gabrielle's stomach growled again, reminding Oz of
his offer.
"Enough palaver! Treeza, my sweetling, can you
hunt up some bread and cheese for our friends here? Will that suffice, er...?
By the gods, where ARE my manners? You've saved our livelihood, if not
necessarily our lives..."
He smirked as his slighting words registered with the
oh-so-superior black-haired beauty.
We're even now,
warrior. I'll play nice from now on... He spread
wide his hands in a plea for absolution.
"And I haven't even asked your names!" he
concluded, with genuine chagrin.
"I'm Gabrielle. And this is Xena."
"Xena the Warrior Princess?!"
The traveling companions braced for the comment that
inevitably followed this discovery, making mental bets as to its nature. Would
it be antagonistic? Or admiring?
This bantam has a
sharp little beak. I betcha ten dinars he's gonna...
"Then YOU must be Gabrielle the Bard!"
exclaimed the director, saving the warrior from making a losing wager with
herself. "I read some of your scrolls in Athens. They're magnificent!"
He wrapped his arm cozily around the waist of the
startled, but pleasantly surprised storyteller and drew her to a log seat in
the center of the camp. "Tell me, my lovely one... Have you ever
considered adapting some of your stories for the stage? That one about the
Titans, for instance. Or the one about Morpheus?" He leaned in engagingly,
bringing his considerable charms to bear on the young woman.
"Don't mind him!" said his mate, taking
note of Xena's glower and drawing the conclusion that any rational person would
about the two women who traveled so closely together. "He'll not lay a
hand on her. She'd be wise to keep a close eye on her newer scrolls,
however," she concluded with a chuckle. "He has very few scruples
when it comes to a really great story."
She stuck out a hand in greeting. "I'm Treeza,
by the way. Thank you again for your help. We'd have been in real trouble if we
lost those props. Takes a might of acting to fill all the stomachs we do. And
speaking of stomachs..."
She handed a crusty loaf to Xena and grabbed a golden
wedge of cheese, then nodded over at the seated duo. "We better get some
food into your lovely bard before she keels over -- and before he forgets he prefers women with a
little something to hang on to!"
Xena followed slowly in the big woman's wake, trying
to determine why she was so unsettled by the discerning way Treeza had referred
to the bard.
CHAPTER THREE
The figures seated next to what used to be the cook
fire looked cozy -- too darn cozy, in fact, to Xena's eye. The dark head bent
closer and closer to the amber one as Ozymandias continued his campaign to
convince the bard to put her talents to work for the benefit of the Natural
Wonders Theatrical Troupe.
Moving with the grace, and lethal intent, of a
panther on the prowl, Xena glided forward. She had just the weapon she needed
to break up this little tête-a-tête. Three strides past Gabrielle, she pivoted
and held out the bread Treeza had provided. Gabrielle was compelled to leave
her seat on the log in order to reach it. That she managed to do so without
lunging at the loaf like a ravening beast was a tribute, thought Xena, to the
iron control she'd learned to exhibit while performing in some of the scuzziest
taverns in Greece -- where predatory patrons had been known to knife one
another at the first sign of vulnerability.
The bard's discipline didn't extend, however, to
waiting longer than absolutely necessary to alleviate her hunger. Loaf in hand,
she dropped back down on the log (now at a respectable distance from Ozymandias,
Xena noted with satisfaction) and ripped the bread apart with strong, tanned
hands. When Treeza handed her a chunk of cheese, she simply nodded her thanks,
her mouth too full to permit intelligible speech.
"How many people in your party altogether?"
Xena baldly inquired, seating herself ostentatiously on the other side of
Ozymandias. This meant the man either had to turn his attentions away from the
bard -- or turn his back on deadliest woman in the Known World.
He quirked a bushy eyebrow at the warrior in
appreciation of her stagecraft, then surprised her with a genial smile.
"Ten," he replied amiably and began to list them.
"The two of us. Our darling daughters." He
indicated two beautiful young women who were finishing the packing of the
cooking utensils, including a bucket, soup pot and ladle that had seen use as
weapons. Their flaxen braids matched their mother's, and their melting brown
eyes were clearly a legacy from their father.
Next he indicated the couple in their mid-20s who were
leading the rest of the horses in from pasture, in preparation for harnessing
them to the remaining wagons. "There's Treeza's brother, who helps with
the leading male roles, and my sister, his wife. She plays the female leads in
all the musicals. A voice like a lark, she has."
"Then there's the boys working on the props
wagon: our lute player and drummer; Nat, our new stage manager; and Chama, our
adopted son." His tone softened noticeably as he named the young man who
served as his second in command.
"Then, of course, there was Piedra," his
wife added somberly. "Another one of our 'strays.'"
"Oz seems to be a magnet for hurting and
helpless souls," she explained, standing behind her husband and patting
his shoulder fondly. "I call them strays, but in truth they've proved to
be some of the finest people you'd ever want to know -- better than many a man
with the best of pedigrees and opportunities.
"Chama is one such. We found him wandering in a
forest, no more than four, injured and in shock. Mayhaps his parents had left
him there to be savaged by wild animals. He only had the shredded clothes on
his back and a toy sword he must have used to defend himself. It was broken and
bloody..."
She squeezed her mate's shoulder as they recalled the
deplorable condition the child had been in when discovered.
"Anyway," she continued, clearing her
throat, "it was the better part of a year before we got him to talk. Still
doesn't say an awful lot, except when he's on stage. We named him Chama, after
my dad. He's one of the joys of our life."
"Still a good hand with a sword," added
Ozymandias. "As you may have seen earlier."
Treeza plopped herself down on the log next to her
mate, bussed him on the cheek and smoothed his lustrous mustache. They
exchanged proud and loving grins -- as their visitors reflected that it was
probably more than chance that the odd couple's 'strays' all turned out so well.
"We keep hoping Chama will fall for one of the
girls," Ozymandias confided. "Guess he can't decide which he prefers.
Gods know, I couldn't choose between them!"
"More like he knows that choosing one of the
them will break the heart of the other," Treeza said. "Too bad there
aren't two of him."
"What about Piedra?" asked Gabrielle, for
whom the subject of choices and broken hearts was all too immediate and painful.
"Another forest foundling," said Treeza,
"though less ragged than Chama and looking to be 14 instead of four. We
were making camp day before last when he turned up on our doorstep, as it were.
He was half starved. Garbed in pretty fancy dress, he was, but it looked like
two or three fellows had worn it before he had. Wouldn't tell us how he came to
be out in the wild on his own. Seemed to be suspicious of us -- or maybe afraid
that he'd bring trouble down on us somehow. Anyhow, we persuaded him to stay on
for a bit, especially after he let slip that he was a fair hand as a tailor,
having had training in sewing."
The formidable fortune-teller spread out her mighty
mitts and stared at them ruefully. "I have many skills," she began,
before breaking off in alarm when this simple statement somehow caused
Gabrielle to choke on the cheese she was eating. Xena, for her part, might have
been carved from stone. She arched an eyebrow, but otherwise made no move to
aid her spluttering companion.
Breathe,
Gabrielle, breathe. And for gods' sake, don't look at Xena!
Finally, the bard caught her breath. "So sorry.
Something went down the wrong way, I guess. You were saying...?" She
assumed an air of complete concentration, but continued to avoid Xena's gaze.
"Saying? Oh, yes. Well, using a needle isn't one
of my many talents. Piedra, though, was a marvel. That's why we left him in
camp yesterday, when we went out to help Chama and Nat finish harvesting the
comfrey they'd found. He was feeling poorly, he said, and volunteered to stay
behind to stitch up some of the costumes we'd be needing in Kavala."
"You weren't worried he'd rob you and
leave?" asked Xena. She received a pair of incredulous stares in answer.
"He wasn't like that!" protested Ozymandias.
"I've never met anyone I knew from the get-go was so essentially good and
kind. He was probably taking a bigger chance hanging out with a bunch of
disreputable actors than we were taking him in to the troupe."
Xena looked abashed -- and nodded in agreement.
Treeza resumed her story.
"Anyway, when we returned with the first load of
herbs, we found his body crumpled on the ground, near the props wagon. No
marks, just a very peaceful expression on his sweet face, as if he'd fallen
suddenly to sleep. We decided he must have had some malady that he didn't want
to tell us about..."
"If only I'd known!" blurted Ozymandias.
"I might have been able to do
something!"
"There wasn't any pain, Ozzie," his wife
murmured quietly, trying to soothe the distraught healer. Xena shot him a
comforting glance as well. She, too, knew what it was like to be powerless to
help, despite all one's skills.
Deciding that a certain briskness was indicated,
Treeza turned the subject to matters more tangible: "So, we put Piedra's body
in the simple casket we use in our performance of Antigone. We planned to build another once we got to Kavala."
"It's hard to beat a ripping story with a duel,
a burial, and a double suicide, isn't it?" noted the impresario,
distracted for the moment from his sorrow. "Especially one with a really,
really strong woman at the center of
it."
Ozymandias gave Xena a calculating look, as if
wondering whether she might consider auditioning for the title role. She shot
an icy blue glare back at him. The strong woman at his side slapped him lightly
on the leg. "Oz, you fool! She'll chew you up and spit you out. Then it will be MY turn!" When he
looked vaguely intrigued at the prospect, she gave him another tap and a fond
smile. He grinned in reply, looking surprisingly boyish.
"Anyway, this morning we dug the grave,"
Treeza continued. "We were going to bury Piedra just before we left."
Husband and wife looked at each other with an understanding borne of long years
together and on the road.
"Guess we better get on with it, then,"
said Ozymandias resolutely.
"Anything we can do?" offered Gabrielle,
just as Xena was about to stand and suggest that it was time for them to be on
their way.
Oz embraced her warmly. "Your compassionate soul
is a match for that of Piedra, Gabrielle. Thank you. We'd be honored if you'd
help us lay him to his rest. Do you have something that you'd like to read?"
Gabrielle nodded somberly, remembering a poem she'd
written on the long lonely trek down Mount Nestos with Xena's body. The warrior
resettled herself on the log. Neither of them, it seemed, was particularly
eager to resume their journey to the crossroads.
When the actors left in the camp had put the final
touches on their preparations for departure, they gathered at the fire circle
for a solemn procession to the gravesite. There was a certain theatricality to
the moment, though it was clear when Ozymandias tried to speak the opening
words, and failed, that Piedra had indeed died among people who had cared for
him.
Clearing his throat, Ozymandias was about to begin
again when he noticed that the lid on the simple pine box was slightly askew.
When he reached to straighten it, his trembling hand knocked it further awry --
revealing that it was empty!
Gasps turned in the blink of an eye to shouts of
outrage, as the mourners crowded around the open casket. Treeza's anguished cry
rang out above the rest. "Those bastards! Why would they steal the body of
a poor lad who never did them any harm?"
This time it was the diminutive director who
comforted his sobbing mate, wrapping his arms as far around her as they could
reach and rocking her as you would a child.
"Is there anything we can do, Xena?"
Instinctively, Gabrielle had turned to the warrior for a remedy to this
dreadful situation. Xena hated to disappoint her.
"I'm sorry, Gabrielle. These soldiers were inept
fighters, but they seem to have been expert woodsmen. They left barely a trace
in the camp, and the area around it is largely rock. They'd be almost
impossible to track in any case, and they're more than a candlemark ahead of us
now."
She shook her head, sorrowfully. "Whatever their
reason for robbing this grave, there's little chance that we'll discover it --
or them -- any time soon... Unless you want to postpone finding out about those
slavers... er, and other things... until this is settled?"
It was tempting, thought Gabrielle. This situation
offered an easy out: these were good people and Piedra had been a good lad who
deserved a decent burial. Much as she wished their conversation at the
crossroads could be delayed -- or averted altogether -- the bard knew that
doing so would resolve nothing, would make it harder, in fact. Xena wasn't
ready for this confrontation either, she sensed, but the warrior's integrity
wouldn't permit her to lie, or encourage false hope, in order to avoid it.
There really wasn't anything they could do.
Oz seemed to sense that, too. He and Treeza had
overheard Xena's response and drawn their own difficult conclusions. Hard as it
was, they had a theatrical troupe to run, ten mouths to feed, and performances
in Kavala in three days' time. They, too, could spare no time to find the scum
who had kept Piedra's body from its rest. The best they could do was to remember
their departed friend and ask the gods watch over his mortal remains even as
his soul began to explore the wonders of the Elysian Fields.
They said as much to the group, asking them to gather
again around the gravesite. Afterward, Gabrielle recalled not a word of what
was said, only that it was somehow simple and
eloquent and inexpressibly sad.
The mourners stood for a moment in silence, then life
resumed. Undirected, the couple's daughters shouldered the pine box and carried
it to one of the wagons for eventual return to its place among the props. Their
aunt followed with the lid. Oz and his brother-in-law began refilling the hole.
That left it to Treeza to bid their visitors
farewell. She walked Xena and Gabrielle over to where Argo stood patiently waiting.
"It's a hard world, my friends, and no
lie," the older woman observed. "And Piedra is in a better place.
Thank you again for your help. If we can be of assistance to you, you'll find
us on the road to Kavala for a day or two, then hawking our wares in the
central marketplace there for a fortnight or so thereafter. 'Performances twice
daily!'"
She embraced them both brusquely, wrapping Xena in a
bear hug before the astonished warrior knew what hit her. She gave the bard a
motherly buss on the forehead, then addressed them both solemnly, affixing them
with a prescient stare:
"Life is too short to waste a single moment of
it. Hold tightly to it -- and to each other. Nothing else matters. Nothing!"
With these startling words, Treeza the All Seeing
turned back to her family:
"Let's get this show on the road!"
Continued in Part Two
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